Author's note: This is not a love story, but rather designed as almost a comedy. Please accept it as such.
As high schools go, it was small with only about 140 students. Brandon was a sophomore and superbly gay. More accurately, he was a precocious flaming queen and it didn't bother him one bit. He stood a whopping 5' 5” tall and was as skinny as a rail. He had delicate, feminine features, sandy blond hair, blue eyes and a lilting voice.
Everyone liked his upbeat, outgoing spirit that was full of humor. He didn't have a lover because the school was so small, but gave an occasional blow job or very selectively allowed his cute, little ass to be plowed by the few closet gays and bi-curious jocks.
However, he was particular in that regard, preferring small to average cocks over the monsters. By his way of thinking, more than a mouthful was a waste, and sitting on a telephone pole wasn't a thrill; it just fucking hurt. He also didn't care for the hairy apes, thinking of one senior who was so hairy that his dick looked like a button on a fur coat.
Of course, he had been through the wringer with every type of bullying known to man, but quickly learned to adapt, using offense as his best defense. The jocks had actually come to admire him. In a way, he was “their” fag, and they relished it when a new student arrived to begin his series of abuse, not knowing what he was in for.
The first day of the new school year was always the best. The jocks would gather a short distance away from him in the hall and wait for the first victim. Sure enough, some brute would start his assault. “Fucking fag. Make sure you stay away from me, you slimy worm.”
The jocks looked on. “Oh, this is going to be good. Wait for it. Here it comes,” they snickered in anticipation. Brandon would jump onto his chest, locking his legs and arms around him like an octopus, then mash his lips against the attacker's.
The effect was stunning. The bully would panic, his eyes bulge and thrash around trying to rid himself of this barnacle. You might as well try peeling off 50 layers of plastic wrap.
Unable to speak because Brandon kept a vice-grip on his lips, the abuser could only squeal and spin around, crashing into the lockers until Brandon suddenly jumped off and ran away, leaving the asshole in a complete daze. The jocks roared with laughter and, if the guy tried to pursue him, they would step in and tell him to leave Brandon alone.
Six hulking jocks sent a pretty clear message. Similarly, if the attack came in the classroom, where someone would hurl “fag, queer, fairy queen,” or other derogatory hand grenades at him, Brandon would get up, walk straight to the accuser and plant a big, wet kiss right on his lips, saying, “I love you, too.”
The classroom would erupt in laughter and the dork would be left feeling like a complete boob. Public humiliation is a wonderful thing.
Harold was also a sophomore, and a nerd. He was able to quote Shakespeare, solve physics problems and point out every constellation in the night sky. No one ever called him Harry or Hal. He was Harold, a name that destined him to nerdness forever.
Brandon had observed, however, that he was unlike a nerd in at least one way; he was gorgeous, at least by his standards. Harold did not have the gangly, long legs and arms, the goofy smile or the black-rimmed glasses repaired with medical tape at the bridge. He also didn't use a pocket protector full of pens. He was average in every way; average height and weight, build and looks, brown hair and eyes, physically fit, but not athletic or muscular, friendly and bright without looking down at others.
Brandon had also scoped Harold out in the shower. He needed to do this carefully, taking a few peeks through the long hair that fell just below his ears as he washed his face. He faked not paying attention, lest someone beat the shit out of him.
Average cock, smooth, mostly hairless skin, and a set of firm, round buns that were to die for. Harold had no friends to speak of, much less a girlfriend. Hell, a math problem would interest him more. Brandon wondered if he had ever whacked off. Probably not, he concluded. Determining the frequency of lunar tides would surely make you forget a hard-on.
Although he had no strong emotional attraction to him, Brandon had decided that his new mission in life was to get past that brain and into his pants. He wanted that body more than anything else, and knew that it might be as difficult as climbing Mt. Everest, but what a challenge it would be.
Brandon deliberately chose to sit next to Harold in chemistry lab, watching him carefully measure different substances into a beaker. “What would happen if you added magnesium sulphate at this point?” asked Brandon. Harold paused, furrowed his brow, and said the three words he despised most, “I don't know.”
Not that he thought he knew the answer to every question in the world, Harold just didn't like not knowing something. Quickly checking the chemical tables in his textbook, he said, “adding magnesium sulphate to this mixture would cause the erosion of carbides, resulting in an acidic, flammable solution.” Harold sighed in relief; one more question answered and another piece of information stored in his brain.
After class, Brandon was helping him clear up the equipment and boldly asked, “what do you know about kissing?” Without batting an eye, Harold replied, “ kissing is the process of placing one's lips against another surface, living or otherwise. You may kiss the Blarney Stone, a bishop's ring or even a photograph. You may also kiss another human, such as on the forehead, cheek or lips.”
“What purpose does it serve?” Brandon queried. “From a practical standpoint, none. There is no information exchange, financial benefit or knowledge gain,” Harold replied logically. “Then why do so many people do it so often?” Brandon asked, weaving his web even tighter.
"Perhaps there is some primal instinct that is satisfied. It is also an outward demonstration of affection,” Harold replied. Brandon was steering him into his trap.
“What does it feel like? I mean, like kissing someone on the lips,” he asked with fake innocence.
Then came those three dreaded words to Harold yet again. “I don't know.” This time there was no textbook to check, no teacher to ask. Harold was forced to sit with his wrinkled brow and ponder.
“Well, I think we should conduct an experiment to answer that question. You know, a real laboratory experiment,” suggested Brandon. “We could go to my house after school and do it there in a controlled environment,” he argued. Thinking about it for a minute, Harold felt that a scientific investigation would be the only way to answer the question, and agreed.
When Harold arrived, Brandon took him into his room where he had prepared a rating sheet. “Now, you sit on the bed. Since you are the subject, I'll conduct the experiment and you can rate the effects from 0-5,” he said. “Let's start with this,” he suggested, and gently kissed him on the forehead. “How do you rate that?” “I give it a 0. It had no effect,” said Harold. Brandon noted it on the sheet, then kissed him on the cheek. “That's another 0, but maybe just above.“ “Okay, now we have to move to the lips.”
Harold closed his eyes and pursed his lips together, poking them out as far from his face as he could. He looked like Olive Oyl waiting for a kiss in a Popeye cartoon. “No, no. Not like that. Just relax and keep your mouth natural,” said Brandon. He leaned forward and ever so gently gave him a small kiss on the lips.
Harold opened his eyes and said, “I suppose that's a 1, but I have nothing to compare it to.”
“I'll give you some different samples,” Brandon said as he dropped to his knees so he was level with Harold, then softly kissed him a bit longer this time. He gave him several light baby kisses, and finally a deep, passionate one. He was relishing Harold's sweet lips, but stopped to see how he was reacting.
Harold's breathing had increased slightly and his eyes appeared a bit glazed. “Those, ah, were better. I, I think the last one was a 3, but maybe a 4,” he stammered. “Then we need to find a 5, if we can,” said Brandon.
Brandon put his arms around Harold and began kissing his lips sensuously, interspersing longer kisses with little pecks. Brandon wasn't going to try any tongue action at this point, afraid that it would be too much for him to handle. Harold was now breathing harder. “To be truly scientific, we need to try other areas now,” said professor Brandon.
He gently pushed Harold back on the bed, and started kissing his neck while running his hand over his chest. Pulling up his shirt, Brandon moved down and kissed his smooth, hairless skin. “Oh, my,” Harold now panted, “that might be a 5.” “I don't think so,” Brandon said coyly as he looked down to see the bulge growing in Harold's pants.
Unlike most males, whose nipples can actually be irritated by contact, Brandon quickly determined that Harold's nips were directly wired to his dick. Every touch made that beautiful cock harder. He ventured a kiss on each, making Harold groan and thrust his hips upward.
Brandon knew it had to be done quickly to succeed in his mission. This might only be the only opportunity he would ever have to dine on that luscious nerd body.
With a single motion, he opened Harold's pants and pulled them down with his briefs to just below his balls. Harold's beautiful hard cock slapped back against his abdomen. Brandon was in heaven, staring at his small patch of dark pubes, hairless bag and gorgeous 5.5” dick. Perfection.
Wasting no time, he took the shaft into his right hand and kissed the head, then slipped it into his mouth and began sucking. He worked fast, sure that Harold wouldn't hold out long, and he was right.
It took all of 60 seconds before Harold let out a loud moan and shot his sperm into his mouth. Grabbing Brandon's head with both hands, Harold continued to fire cum into him, grunting with each blast.
Brandon didn't count, but Harold just continued to fill his mouth with hot cream. Brandon swallowed everything and felt him slow almost to a stop, then buck his hips and erupt like a volcano again, dumping another few shots into his mouth. Only Harold, probably with 15 years of pent-up juice, could manage a rare double-orgasm.
He finally let Harold's cock slip from his mouth, noticing that it wasn't even going soft much. Mt. Everest had been climbed!
As Harold panted helplessly in a daze, Brandon pulled all of Harold's remaining clothes off, moved up, and kissed his chest and neck. “Now that's a 5,” he whispered into his ear.
Stripping himself naked, Brandon told Harold that it was now his turn to continue the experiment so that he could rate the kisses. Although naive coming into this, Harold was a quick learner and understood exactly what was going on.
“Okay, I'll let him rate my kisses,” he thought to himself. Besides, his cock was raging again and had taken over his brain. He ran his eyes over Brandon's skinny frame, milky-white skin and hard 4” cock with just a tuft of pubic hair above it.
Harold got up from the bed and wrapped his arms around Brandon, feeling his warm, smooth flesh against his own. It was totally new to him, but Harold buried his face into his neck, taking in the scent like a narcotic, and started kissing him gently, moving to his lips for the first kiss he had ever offered to anyone.
It was sheer bliss as he pressed his eager lips to Brandon's, then pulled away and asked, “how do you rate that?” “Maybe a 3,” Brandon said with a smile. “You just need more practice.”
Harold kissed him again, this time softer, not trying to crush his face. With every kiss, he learned to relax and open his lips, sometimes just giving him a light touch and then pulling away, but always coming back for more. Brandon moved his hand over those smooth, firm buns he had admired so often in the shower.
Harold's cock was screaming as it pressed against Brandon's soft skin, and, when Brandon nudged his asshole with his fingertip, he couldn't take it any more. Wrapping him in a tight embrace, Harold moaned as he released another flood of jizz between their bodies. Brandon could feel the hot goo between them and thought, “oh no, what a waste of perfectly good cum,” but again found that Harold's cock never softened.
Harold fell to his knees and licked up the cum smeared over Brandon's abdomen. A bit salty, somewhat bitter, not exactly gourmet, but he could handle it. He moved down and gently held Brandon's balls in his hand while kissing the pink head of his cock, then slid his mouth over it and began to move his head up and down the shaft, not thinking to suck.
“Oh, Harold, suck it, suck it!” Brandon pleaded. Harold applied enough suction to pull his balls through his dick. “Ohhhhhhh, yeah. That's it,” Brandon moaned, running his hands through Harold's brown hair.
Harold sucked faster, bobbing up and down like a yo-yo until he felt Brandon's balls tighten and let out a loud groan as he erupted into his mouth. Harold was surprised by the gushes of steaming boy gravy that filled his mouth, not quite sure what to do. Instinctively, he swallowed some, but swished the rest around with his tongue, savoring the bitter taste.
Harold released Brandon's cock from his mouth, and stood up to embrace him, who had cum so hard he needed support to keep standing. “Was that a 5?” Harold asked. Between deep gulps and breaths for air, Brandon managed to say, “oh yeah, oh yeah.”
Harold was pleased.
Once he regained his senses, Brandon took a tube of lotion from his nightstand and got onto the bed on his hands and knees, his ass facing Harold and his stiff cock. “We have to continue the experiment. You need to kiss this,” Brandon said, running his hand over his ass. Seeing that Harold looked a bit anxious, he said with a smile, “remember, it's all in the name of science.”
Harold got to his knees and placed a small kiss on his right cheek, then another on his left. He continued kissing his smooth, hairless buns until, without knowing why, he began to lick them. Brandon spread his legs, inviting Harold's tongue to his pucker. Harold obliged and ran his tongue along his crack, finally flicking it around his little bunghole.
“Oh, Harold, that's so good, but I need you inside me right now,” he begged. Brandon took the lotion and lubed Harold's stiff rod, nearly making him cum in the process. Back in position, Harold grabbed his dick and shoved the entire thing into his ass with one thrust. Brandon's head shot up and he gasped, but knew it was his first time and could forgive the instant ram.
Harold put his hands on Brandon's hips and began thrusting into his smoldering chute with increasing speed and force, his balls slapping against his ass. The tightness and heat drove him wild, and it didn't take long for his entire body to be wracked with orgasmic convulsions as he drained his balls into him, shooting wad after wad of hot, liquid love.
Harold collapsed onto Brandon, his cock still inside him; dizzy, fatigued, panting, his mind reeling. Brandon was surprised to feel his cock finally soften.
Trading places, Brandon now enjoyed his opportunity to savor that beautiful geek, untouched ass. He kissed every inch of Harold's smooth globes, licking, sucking, devouring them.
Worming his tongue into his hole, Harold moaned with pleasure at the new feeling that sent shivers through his body. Brandon stood up, lubed himself and slowly, gently prodded Harold with the head of his hard cock, slipping it just inside of him and holding steady. Harold jumped at the invasion, but loosened his muscles to accept the small shaft.
With slow, deliberate thrusts, Brandon began to fuck him, feeling the tightness of his virgin ass surround his dick. Pumping faster and harder, Brandon grabbed Harold's hips and rammed into him like a demon until shooting volley after volley of boiling sperm into his bowels. Totally spent, Brandon fell onto the bed, his eyes closed, covered with sweat and unable to stand.
It took several minutes, but when he had finally recovered and opened his eyes, Brandon was shocked. Looking through the long, blond hair matted to his sweaty face, Brandon saw Harold standing in front of the bed stroking his rock-hard cock with a broad smile and devilish look on his face.
Feeling like Dr. Frankenstein, Brandon thought to himself, “oh, my, I've created a monster.”
Indeed he had, yet the experiment needed to continue because “it was all in the name of science!”