The Telemachus Story Archive

Essays
Part 9 - Straight Boys
By Hooder
Email: hooder@ntlworld.com

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Straight Boys

What is it about straight boys? For some gay guys, they have a unique attraction - a sort of mystique all their own. For me personally, the attraction is, I think, that they have no idea just how mind-blowingly horny sex with another guy can be. I'm not quite sure why, but I tend to get a lot of straight lads contacting me. The most common reason seems to be that they want to try pervy fun, they could never tell their girl that they're into it, and that they see me as a suitable pervert while finding the things that I'm into reasonably non-threatening. In a way it's sad that they don't feel they can try interesting pervy sex with their girls - but on the other hand, do you hear me complaining? If someone has to tie them up and do kinky things to them, I suppose it might as well be me. Sigh…

Not far from here - just down the road, in fact - is the Boywash. That's not its real name, just something I call it. It used to be a filling station, but for the last couple of years it's been used as a car-washing place. I call it the Boywash because it's staffed by a small army of boys, most of whom look like they're on day-release from the local Borstal. I take my bike there regularly to be cleaned - not because it gets dirty quickly, but because I love to sit and watch these hunky lads wielding their jet-wash lances and sponges. I have what is probably the cleanest bike in town.

A couple of weeks ago I popped in to spend a pleasant quarter of an hour watching the boys washing my (already spotless) CBR600 and saw that the lad working on it was a new one. The turnover of staff at that place is fast - the lads are undoubtedly on minimum wage, and it must be a mind-numbingly boring job, so they don't stay long. I always give the boy who's cleaned my bike an extra couple of quid for himself. This one was drop-dead gorgeous. I don't mean just 'mmm yeah', I mean 'fucking hell!' About eighteen, five foot six, short light hair, firm slim body, and as cute as an exceedingly cute thing. I'd been sitting on the end of the stone wall with a hard-on in my tight leather jeans, staring at him as he bent down to clean the wheels and lovingly wiped the seat with his chammy leather.

He nodded and smiled at me when it was done, and I went over to him. 'Thanks. Here - have a drink, sexy boy,' I said, handing him a fiver. I don't think they get tips very often at that place – certainly not that much, because his eyes widened and he grinned. 'Wow! Thanks!' He beamed. Then, as I watched, I saw him register what I'd called him. He sort of froze, then batted his eyelids and sort of giggled. I rode off, leaving him staring after me.

A few days later I went back again (well, there was a squashed fly on one of the headlights...) and he was there. He recognised me immediately and nodded, grinning to himself. He was already gripping the jet-wash lance as I parked the bike on its centre stand, making sure no-one else got to the bike first. Again I watched him from the stone wall, and again my cock was trying to burst my (even tighter, this time) leather jeans. He kept glancing at me, and I could see that he was trying to suppress giggles. I guessed he'd probably talked about me to the others, told them what I'd said to him last time, but I didn't care what he thought about me - it was enough to watch his lithe, boyish body working. I glanced around, but none of the others seemed to be paying me any attention at all. Perhaps he hadn't said anything. I paid the owner when he came around, and continued watching the boy.

This time he was even more meticulous on the bike, and when it was done it looked like it had just come out of the showroom. He nodded, and I went over.

'Nice bike,' he said. That was the beginning of a conversation which lasted about ten minutes and by the end of which I'd found out that his name was Mike, that he'd got a little 125 scooter and a girlfriend named Sue, told him that yes I was gay, I was into leather and tying boys up, I fancied him like fuck, and I would like to get him strapped down helpless in my playroom and tease the fuck out of him for a few hours before making him cum. I gave him his five-pound tip and, as I rode away, I saw him in the wing mirror, watching me go. He looked very confused.

The next time I went in, he wasn't there. When I asked the owner about him he told me that Mike had left the carwash - but that he'd left something for me. He popped back into the office and returned with an envelope. Inside was a piece of paper with a phone number and a scribbled note which said: 'Please ring me. Mike.'

I did, as soon as I got home. He talked so fast he couldn't seem to get the words out quick enough. He was so grateful that I'd rung him - apparently he hadn't gone out for the last few days in case I rang (he didn't have an answering machine). He hadn't been able to get me out of his mind, and he'd had a permanent hard-on thinking about me. All this came as something of a surprise to me - I hadn't really expected him to be interested in me at all. We talked for ages. He desperately wanted to try being tied up, and to be played with. But he was also afraid of it. He said he was straight – never even thought of going with another bloke before – that he didn't want to be hurt, or fucked. I asked him if he had access to the internet, and when he said yes, I gave him the URL to my website. I told him to go read it, as that would tell him the kind of things I was into and also what I wasn't into. He said he would do that straight away, and ring me back.

I suppose I'd expected him to call back in 30 minutes or so, but in fact it was three hours later when he rang. He said he'd never seen anything my site before, and he'd cum twice reading things on it. He particularly loved the idea of not knowing where he was being taken on the bike and of not being allowed to see my face at all – being ‘kidnapped and played with by a mysterious masked man’ as he put it. (I don't take my helmet and face mask off at the wash, so he’d never seen my face). I said that all that could easily be arranged, and that I’d pick him up from the end of his street the next afternoon.

He must have really been paying attention when he'd been reading my website cos he was standing on the corner wearing a leather jacket; tight, ripped jeans; and DMs. He looked good enough to eat. I stopped the bike, gave him the blacked-out helmet, waited until he'd got it fastened up, and guided him onto the back of the CBR. He clamped his arms around my waist and we set off. He was so light I could hardly feel him on the back of the bike. I took the scenic route back to the house so he wouldn't be able to remember the way, and drove into the garage, telling him to get off and wait while I closed the door.

After guiding him carefully into the house and up all the stairs to the blackroom, I strapped him down to the bondage table, making sure he couldn't move a muscle. Only after I'd swapped my helmet for the leather mohican mask did I remove his blacked-out lid. He stared up at me with wide, little-boy eyes. 'Oh fuck,' he said. God he was beautiful.

'How old are you?' I asked. He said he was eighteen. I'd guessed right. I told him that I wasn't going to do anything to hurt him - that I wasn't into that - and that the only thing I'd be doing to him would be to play with his cock, tease it, and eventually make him cum. He smiled, and relaxed a bit.

I sat down beside the table and began to stroke my fingertips slowly up and down his thighs through his jeans. Whenever my hand got anywhere near to his balls or cock, he closed his eyes and smiled, groaning in pleasure. You'd have thought that nobody had ever done anything as simple as that to him before. His cock was as hard as a rock, and I grinned as I realized he wasn't wearing underpants - he must indeed have been paying attention to the things I said on my website.

I tickled his perineum and his balls gently, while scratching a fingernail over the round bulge of his cock-head through the tight denim with the other hand. This made him try to arch his back, to push his cock further into my grip - but I wasn't going to give him that much stimulation yet. I intended this boy to get horny first.

He'd said on the phone that he wanted to feel helpless, so I got a leather hood down from the shelf. He asked me what it was and what it was for. I told him that it would enclose his head in tight black leather, blindfold him so that he couldn't see anything, and make him feel very helpless - and very horny. He wasn't too sure about it, but he didn't have much choice in the matter. I got it over his head and fastened it up. From that moment on, every time I touched him, anywhere, he jumped, and gasped. I went back to tickling his balls and the insides of his thighs, and stroking his cock gently through his jeans.

Then I thought I'd try the vibrator. I plugged it in, and warned him that something was going to make a buzzing noise, but not to be afraid cos it was only a vibrator, not a chainsaw. He nodded, and I switched it on.

The thing about straight boys - and indeed gay ones who have never done any kinky stuff - is that they often get very horny very quickly. Sometimes unexpectedly so, even when you know this. I hadn’t intended to make him cum in his jeans, but I’d only just touched the vibrator to the tip of Mike's cock-head when he gasped, then moaned loudly, and his cock started to jerk up and down. As soon as I realized what was happening I swore to myself - I'd wanted to make it last a lot longer, get his cock out and work on it slowly and for a long time - but as it was now too late and he'd already started to cum, I kept the vibrator in place until it had extracted every last drop of spunk from him. His jeans went a dark, wet blue as the spunk saturated them.

He yelled into the leather hood, his body stiff and jerking on the table, as he came. It went on for quite a while. Eventually he relaxed, breathing hard. I took the hood off his head to give him air, and his face was a picture: he looked like a boy who'd just been given the most amazing present he'd ever had. 'Oh fuck...' was all that he could manage to say just then. When he'd got his breath back, he asked, 'What the fuck was that thing?' I laughed, and showed him the vibrator. He inspected it, then dropped his head back onto the pad, closed his eyes and shook his head, grinning. 'Jeez... that was fucking amazing!'

I released him, and let him look around the blackroom. He'd never seen anything like it before, he said - not altogether unexpectedly. He picked up various things and asked what they were for. I explained the purpose of each. In the corner was a pile of shorts and football kit (still there from the last boy, who'd had a fetish for them). Mike looked through them and picked up a pair of red nylon shorts and a matching red footie shirt. I could see by the way he was looking at them that they held a particular interest for him, so I asked him if he'd like to be played with in them. His eyes lit up.

While he got changed, I hung the leather sling from the ceiling chains, then got him aboard. I put the thick leather mitts over his hands and fastened the leather cuffs to the top of the sling on longish ropes, so that he could struggle and move about a bit. I decided not to hood him this time, as I wanted to see his cute face when I made him cum again. And this time I was determined to make the bugger wait.

Feathers. Wonderful things - they can feel intensely sexy, but it is inordinately difficult to cum from their light touch alone. And they work very well with shorts, being long and thin and perfectly designed to slide up inside the legs of shorts to tease and tickle thighs, balls and cocks. I selected two which I knew from past experience were particularly effective, and sat down between the boy's spread legs.

I worked on him for a long time, using nothing but the two feathers, pulling the legs of the shorts further away from his thighs when necessary so that I could get them right up inside them. I teased his perineum, stroked them across the insides of his thighs - right at the top - tickled every inch of his balls, getting round to the back and the sides of them, and traced little patterns slowly up the shaft of his hard cock to the very tip. He began to move more and more as time went on, as he got hornier and needed to cum again. But I kept right on with the feathers, doing nothing more.

He looked so sexy lying there in the sling, in the red footie shirt and shorts, his legs tied wide apart, with his hard cock tenting the shorts out like crazy. Precum had soaked into the material and was running down the shaft of his cock. He kept asking me to let him cum. Soon he started to plead. I just smiled, and continued doing what I was doing.

After half an hour or so I pulled his shorts down so that I could get to his cock itself. It wasn’t huge, but it was nice – he was cut, and his balls were almost hairless. For the next half-hour I worked on him first with the feathers, and then with rubber-gloved and very well-lubed fingers.

By this time he was desperate. He kept on thrusting his hips, trying to fuck my hand to make himself cum, but whenever he did this I relaxed my grip so that his cock slid frustratingly between my fingers.

Eventually I stood up, walked around to his side, and looked down at him. 'Do you want to cum?' I asked him. 'Oh fuck yeah,' he said. Then he raised his head towards me and whispered, 'please, will you kiss me?'

This took my completely by surprise. Straight boys in the main don't want to kiss blokes, but this one apparently did. Perhaps it was because I was masked. I wrapped my rubber-gloved fingers around his cock, then I bent down and kissed him hard and began to wank him off firmly but very very slowly.

He didn't know whether to keep his eyes open to look at my masked face or to close them - but in the main they stayed open. After about five strokes I felt his cock stiffen even more, and then he began to cum. I gagged him with my leather-masked mouth and brought him off fast and hard, rubbing my thumb over his frenulum with each stroke. He kissed me back violently as he came.

I was so horny myself that the instant he'd finished cumming, I quickly dropped a loose hood over his head so that he couldn't see, then I stood between his spread thighs, got my cock out and wanked myself off onto his shorts. My spunk looked good, milky-white against the red shorts that were darkened in places from his own orgasm.

After I’d cleaned myself up and zipped my jeans back up I removed the hood and looked down at him. He was beaming. He said he’d never had two orgasms like those before, and that it had been ‘fantastic’.

We chatted for a while then. Seems he'd never even thought about pervy stuff or any kind of sex with another guy before I showed up. I told him that surprised me. But he said that after he'd met me at the Boywash (he pissed himself laughing when I told him that's what I called the place) he hadn't been able to think about much else. Sex with his girl, he said, although it didn't happen very often, was going to be a bit dull from now on. I asked him why he'd left the Boywash, and he said that he'd got pissed off with the management - that all the boys were. That didn't surprise me.

Afterwards I took him back to his street corner, sightless on the back of the bike again, in his cum-soaked jeans that were still wet from his first orgasm. I gave him my phone number and said that if he ever wanted to play again, get in touch.

Oh, straight boys. I love them.

That was the day before yesterday. I wonder if he'll ring.

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