This is my first story...I usually write erotic poetry but I want to live vicariously through Tyler for a while. He's just getting a taste for the places I want him to go. My aim is take the reader on a wild sexy ride, through some unexpected twists and turns to learn about the other side - I hope you enjoy!
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Hi, my name's Tyler McKenzie. I'm that shy 18-year-old high-school kid who sits in the back of science class and keeps to himself. No one really notices me and I like it that way. I keep my head down and pretend that I'm doing my work or listening to the teacher. In reality, I'm lost at sea, in a tempestuous ocean of the most intense sexual fantasies a guy could have.
Some of the stuff I think of doing to makes me question if I'm some kind of sex addict like you hear about on the news. I can't stop myself. Thoughts of smooth legs, hard fucking, tied-up limbs and dominated asses cloud my thinking. I sport constant hard-ons throughout the day. Anything and everything involving sex drives me wild: the exotic sandalwood of Tyra's expensive perfume as she saunters by my desk; the shape of Mrs. Wood's hard nipples poking against her blouse like Hershey kisses - Lord, I beg you for one chance to lick her chocolate body. I feel like fainting at the sight of Becky Cole's exposed thighs from under that cheerleader skirt. Whew.
Sometimes I get so turned on with erotic thoughts that I must think about sports to calm myself down, so I don't come in my pants. I've done that though. It's been real problem for me - when I ejaculate - the amount of semen that I produce seems to be abnormally copious, even though I masturbate twice a day. Sometimes in class I'll get so close, so sensitive, that any further thought or touch will set me off. Most of the time I can suppress the impulse in time to prevent an orgasm. Even when I manage to stop it, some watery jism still leaks out. A couple of times I've blown full loads into my pants, right in class, just from using my extremely vivid imagination. That's when I have to think fast - figure out a way to hide the chaotic mess in my pants. It sucks when that happens.
I'm on the swim team at the insistence of my workaholic mother, who probably wants to keep me out of trouble after school. Whatever. Being on the swim team isn't the most glamorous athletic endeavor; there's like seven people on the team. One small bonus is that I stay in good shape so maybe I'll get lucky one of these days and get laid. Needless to say, I've never been with anyone else besides rosy palm and her five sisters.
Anyways, the showers in the pool locker room have been broken since last week, which means we have to rinse off in the main locker room with the football players and assorted athletes. This kind of sucks because most of these guys are fucking assholes to us, especially me, I'm the skinny white nerd. It's intimidating going in there. The cold water and exhaustion of swimming laps for two hours will definitely shrink your junk, which is actually a good thing for me. Otherwise I'd be walking around with a chubby in the locker room all the time, and that's just not cool. Nothing like taking a shower in your Speedo's with ten muscular boneheads horsing around like idiots with their big dicks swinging around, laughing at us swimmers.
Yesterday, sitting in science class, gazing out the window, I couldn't get the image of Jamie Desmond's long dick out of my head. I tried not to look at it as he was towel whipping Barry Salomon's ass on Monday. It must've been eight inches long, flopping around in a thick bush of blonde pubic hair. I can't stop thinking about it right now. I imagine what it must be like to see that thing jamming Melissa Starin's beautiful pussy. I've been in love with her since the sixth grade, but she never really noticed me. I'm sure she's been fucked by a lot of those guys, and if I keep thinking about this right now I'll blow a load for sure.
How could you walk around all day with that monster between your legs? When I get hard-ons, they are hard to hide, and I'm only six inches at the most. It's kind of embarrassing when somebody notices you have a tent when you're walking down the halls. Maybe guys like Jamie don't have such problems, the lucky bastards. The hottest girls fling themselves at those football guys. They probably get more ass than a toilet seat, and get all the relief they need. I'm not the type to strike up conversations, let alone make any first moves. That's probably why I haven't made it with anyone, except for holding hands and making out with Jenny Sutton last year at an assembly. I just spank my monkey twice a day, go to swim practice, and work my shitty job pushing carts at the Supermarket after dinner.
So, today's the big swim meet is at Spring Harbor tonight. I'm not really thrilled right now. By the time we get back, it's going to about ten o'clock, and I have a shit-ton of homework. It's four-thirty, and we are just getting on the bus. It's going to be a long, boring ride. The races start at six, and I'm looking forward to closing my eyes for some erotic dreams. It is getting dark already because it's January. I walk down the aisle to the back of the bus and slouch into the bench seat, leaning back to get comfy.
My friend Cameron (who's also eighteen and much better-looking) plops down across the aisle. He's been on the team as long as I have.