Foong
Physical Exercise was the most favoured of all subjects because it gave the boys a chance to roll in the mud and chase after a ball. For me it was the opportunity to see sweaty boys grabbing each other and doing all sorts of things that made me aroused.
Our playing field was vast, not like the ones we have in the city. Back then I had been whisked off from the city into the country and was enrolled in an all-boy's school in a small town. The field was so large you could park six Boeing 777's side by side and still have space.
The preferred game was soccer and the boys loved it. I on the other hand was more content sitting in the substitute’s bench. Of course back then when you are condemned to the substitute’s bench it means you'll never get to play. I didn't really mind this exclusion, though. I was afraid of the ball so instead of running for it, I ran away from it.
It was sweet watching the guys get silly over a ball and getting their pretty faces into the smelly mud. I didn't know it at that time but I had begun to develop my first crush on another person. I began to feel strongly about someone other than myself.
His name was Foong, and he had one of the most gorgeous faces in the entire school. His skin was smooth and boyish, with little hair and muscles but lots of boy fat. His nipples were particularly odd for an Asian; they were light pink and fleshy. My eyes used to trail him in the field, constantly looking at that pretty-boy face.
After our Physical Exercise lessons we would strip in class and change into our uniform before the next class. That was the time I used to look at him with the most evil of looks; that was when he was most vulnerable to my stares. My gaze was like bullets firing directly at him, and he made no attempt to dodge it. It was as though he WANTED me to stare.
He always wore pastel coloured briefs, usually light blue or green but occasionally had little patterns on them that reminded me of the diapers my mom used to strap on me when I was a kid. He didn't have much of a bottom or a chest, but he was oh-so-desirable nonetheless. All I wanted was to hold him, touch him, and kiss him on the lips. He would flirtingly rub moisturiser all over his chest before putting on his singlet; he always wore one under his carefully pressed blue collared shirt.
I always wondered why he had an erection when he was changing, though I may have been imagining it at that time.
Our playing field was vast, not like the ones we have in the city. Back then I had been whisked off from the city into the country and was enrolled in an all-boy's school in a small town. The field was so large you could park six Boeing 777's side by side and still have space.
The preferred game was soccer and the boys loved it. I on the other hand was more content sitting in the substitute’s bench. Of course back then when you are condemned to the substitute’s bench it means you'll never get to play. I didn't really mind this exclusion, though. I was afraid of the ball so instead of running for it, I ran away from it.
It was sweet watching the guys get silly over a ball and getting their pretty faces into the smelly mud. I didn't know it at that time but I had begun to develop my first crush on another person. I began to feel strongly about someone other than myself.
His name was Foong, and he had one of the most gorgeous faces in the entire school. His skin was smooth and boyish, with little hair and muscles but lots of boy fat. His nipples were particularly odd for an Asian; they were light pink and fleshy. My eyes used to trail him in the field, constantly looking at that pretty-boy face.
After our Physical Exercise lessons we would strip in class and change into our uniform before the next class. That was the time I used to look at him with the most evil of looks; that was when he was most vulnerable to my stares. My gaze was like bullets firing directly at him, and he made no attempt to dodge it. It was as though he WANTED me to stare.
He always wore pastel coloured briefs, usually light blue or green but occasionally had little patterns on them that reminded me of the diapers my mom used to strap on me when I was a kid. He didn't have much of a bottom or a chest, but he was oh-so-desirable nonetheless. All I wanted was to hold him, touch him, and kiss him on the lips. He would flirtingly rub moisturiser all over his chest before putting on his singlet; he always wore one under his carefully pressed blue collared shirt.
I always wondered why he had an erection when he was changing, though I may have been imagining it at that time.
Fell from the sky at 11:25 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home