A Year to Remember, Chapter Three - Sex Stories

A Year to Remember, Chapter Three

... He's wearing Superman slippers. Shit! He's wearing what? I look down again at his feet, unable to comprehend what I thought I just saw. Yes, he is! He's wearing Superman slippers…and no socks. I can see the tops of his feet, almost glowing a supernatural white against the electric blue of the velour slippers. “Hey, Simon. Nice slippers! Er, superman?” “What?” He doesn't move, just speaks whilst looking skywards. “Nice slippers, have you got the matching pants?” I did say sarcasm runs in the family. Simon pulls his head off the bed and looks down across his supremely flat chest, past the inch of bare flesh and peers down at his feet. Completely straight-faced: “Come here and say that. You're only jealous.” I pad over in my white socks to where he's laying. I had left my shoes at the front door, like any well brought up boy. I stand between his feet, looking down on him. Now that I am that much closer, I see that where his shirt has ridden up, the bare flesh is not bare at all. There is a fine smattering of reddish hair collecting toward the centre line of his flat stomach and making its way down, beneath the waistband of the joggers. His arms are behind his head again now. Simon just lays there, letting me look at him, taunting me almost. My head begins to spin, why would he be taunting me? Taunting me with what? His slippers? His ‘noisy wanking’ speech? Was he just trying to shock me or was he just trying to be a 'lad'? Mum had said he was quiet and shy though, hadn't she? ...

... Whirr click. Simon is flirting with me, I see it now. So, the kiss and the boner last month were not an issue for Simon. What about me though? The arms of his plain, white tee shirt are pretty short. With his arms pinned back under his head, he must have pretty long arms to fold them like that, I can almost see his armpits. There is a fluffy tuft of reddish hair, some of it long enough to peek out from each armhole of his shirt. I involuntarily lick my upper lip, it takes a nano-second. “Seen enough?” Simon stuns me out my in-depth survey of his body hair and the internal conversation with my subconscious stops dead. He still hasn't moved though. He must have been watching my eyes the whole time, clocking where and what I was looking at. “Sorry,” tumbles out of my mouth, “I was er...just...er...” “What? You were just what? Taking the piss out of my slippers? Why not take a photo?” Cheeky bastard! He seems relaxed enough though. Maybe he wasn't watching me. “How come…I mean, you're wearing white socks…with jeans! Very 1985, Adam.” So, sarcasm runs is his family too. That's fine by me, I like a bit of witty banter, now and again. “Fuck off, Simon.” I'm on the defensive now. I always am when it comes to clothes, fashion, hair, looks, my peers. I have never quite fitted in. I fumble in my jeans pocket for my phone, looking down at my feet in glowing white cotton. “What are you doing?” He asks. A hint of concern, at last. “Smile!” I point my phone towards him and snap a photo, just ...