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Subject: Title story: "Burping Frog Publishing" Author: Jack Allen 128053272
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Date: Thu, 17 Jan 2008 08:49:04 +0000
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A Whisky Lemonade by Jack Allen jallen@burpingfrog.com
Ethan ran upstairs to his bedroom to get dressed. He put on a pair of boxer
shorts. His dick was not as hard as before, but it hung out the left leg of his
shorts. He put on his jeans and looked at himself in the mirror. His dick
clearly stood out against his left leg. He sighed and took the jeans off.
Somewhere in his dresser was a pair of jockey shorts he no longer wore. He found
them buried in the bottom drawer. He took off the boxers, put on the jockeys,
and put the boxers back on over them.
Immediately, he was uncomfortable. The jockeys were too tight. His penis grew
even harder, straining against the underwear. He looked at himself in the mirror
again. At least he couldnt see the outline of it against his leg. It was
terribly uncomfortable, but nobody would laugh.
He put on his jeans and shoes and a shirt and went downstairs. Mom and Mrs.
Thorn were still in the kitchen, having tea. He went out to the garage and
turned on the light. The car was waiting patiently for him. He stood back to
look at it for a few seconds. It was a 1966 GTO, his grandfathers. On the
workbench, by the repair manual, were three two-barrel carburetors. It took him
two weeks to strip them down, clean and reassemble them. Today was as good a day
as any to put them back on.
He raised the hood. The engine lurked beneath like a wild animal restrained by a
cage. At the top, the three holes in the manifold were covered with masking
tape. Ethan removed the tape from the rear hole, picked up the carb marked for
that spot, and placed it carefully over the four mounting studs.
In his mind, he saw the cheerleaders going through their routines. They had
slender waists and smooth legs and their chests jiggled and bounced. He grew
stiff again. He stopped tightening the bolts on the carburetor to adjust his
penis in his shorts. The harder it grew, the more uncomfortable it got. Shifting
it in his shorts only made it harder. His penis finally slipped through the leg
of the jockeys. He shook his legs a few times until it was hanging down his
jeans against his left leg. That was better, but the band of the jockeys was too
tight, cutting into the shaft.
He heard a footstep and turned around quickly, taking his hands away from his
groin. Mrs. Thorns eyebrows arched up. She was looking down at the front of
his jeans.
Uncomfortable, Ethan? she said.
Ethan blushed and stared at the floor. Just ... a little tight.
Mrs. Thorn smirked. Ill bet.
She leaned against the fender of the GTO and looked in at the engine. Her large
breasts ...
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