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A Whisky & Lemonade

A Whisky & Lemonade
by jallen944 ©

Ethan ran upstairs to his bedroom to get dressed. He put on a pair of boxer shorts. His thing 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 thing 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 couldn't 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 grandfather's. 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 his thing.

He heard a footstep and turned around quickly, taking his hands away from his groin. Mrs. Thorn's eyebrows arched up. She was looking down at his groin.

"Uncomfortable, Ethan?" she said.

Ethan blushed and stared at the floor. "Just ... a little tight."

Mrs. Thorn smirked. "I'll bet."

She leaned against the fender of the GTO and looked in at the engine. Her large breasts rested on her folded arms, bulging from the halter top like they might burst out.

"This is a nice car, Ethan," she said.

"It was my grandfather's."

"Looks like it belongs to you."

Ethan just nodded and stared at her out of the corner of his eye. One of her long legs kicked up and her backside moved side to side. Mrs. Thorn was not like the girls he knew. Her chest was much bigger and she had longer legs than any of those girls. He badly wanted to touch Mrs. Thorn, to see how her body felt.

"You probably can't wait to drive it, can you?" Mrs. Thorn said as she moved around to the front of the car.

"No, ma'am," Ethan said. His eyes were on her breasts, watching the way they jiggled.

"You're what, nineteen now, aren't you?"


She started to say something, but lost her balance. Her arms went out and she fell back against him. Ethan caught her around her waist. His fingers touched her breasts. He was right; they were soft. Her butt pressed against the front of his jeans and his hard penis lodged in the crack between her cheeks.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Ethan," she said. Her butt moved side to side on his stiffness and she leaned against him for a few seconds. "I just wanted to get a better look. Would you hold me up?"

Mrs. Thorn bent forward to look over the front grill. Ethan's hands moved down her waist to her hips. Her butt pressed more firmly against the front of his jeans. His eyes rolled up.

"That's a really nice machine you have here. You'll have to take me for a ride some time."

"Sure," Ethan said, but as she stood up and left, he got the feeling she was talking about something else.

He couldn't move. His penis was as hard as a rock and stretched down the leg of his jeans. The leg band of the jockeys cut into it painfully. There was no way it would go soft and he couldn't go out to dinner with it sticking out like that.

He leaned back on the stool. Mrs. Thorn's butt felt incredible. He never would have believed being touched by a girl like that would have felt so good. He rubbed his thing through his jeans and gasped. His knees became weak. He sat for a long time with his hands on his knees, trying not to touch it.

From behind the car, he watched the neighbor across the street watering his lawn, and a few cars that drove by, until he couldn't stand it any longer. He had to do something. He couldn't go in; Mom would see him like this. Besides, he didn't think he could walk. Maybe if he took it out of his tight shorts, the cool air of the garage would make it go soft.

He opened his jeans, pushed down the front of his boxers and the jockeys, and pulled out his thing. He sighed. The tension eased from his body. He let his weight settle on the stool.

The jockey shorts were a bad idea. He could not stand being so uncomfortable all the time. There had to be another way. He would just stop thinking about girls, that was all. He wouldn't think about them and his thing wouldn't get hard. He wouldn't think about their soft chests or their round butts or their long legs ...

The cool air wasn't working. He was still as hard as a rock and it wasn't getting softer. He lifted his penis. The skin burned like it was on fire. He never understood how it got so big. It was like it happened all of a sudden. He couldn't remember it being so big until one day when he was younger and noticed it for the first time. Now it was about as long as his forearm and as thick as his wrist. He squeezed. It felt like there was a piece of wood under the skin. It got hard sometimes in the morning when he woke up and had to pee, or in the middle of the night when he was having a dream. It got hard, too, when he looked at girls, like those cheerleaders, or when he just thought about them. He moved his hand back and forth and gasped. That felt good. He squeezed and moved his hand back and forth and groaned. His knees felt weak. He did it again and groaned again. He moved his hand all the way up to the end, then all the way back down to the bottom.

Ethan closed his eyes and saw Mrs. Thorn again, saw her big breasts and her long legs, and the way her slender waist fit in his hands and the way her butt pressed against his groin when she bent over. His penis spasmed and he grunted. It felt too good to stop. His hand moved faster. He moaned as his hand pumped. His penis spasmed again and he groaned and opened his eyes. He started to cum and his stuff shot out the end. His penis spasmed again and more stuff shot out. It was white and thick and splattered on the floor. He stared with his mouth hanging open. Over and over, it spurted from his penis and landed on the floor.

Pam was leaning against the fender of the car to his left. Ethan froze. She was looking right at him, and grinned. He blushed and tried to pull his jeans up, but couldn't get them over his hard penis.

"That was nice," Pam said.

"What do you want?" Ethan turned away.

Pam stood upright and her grin disappeared.

"Mom wants you to go to the store." She turned and walked out of the garage.

Ethan groaned. He looked down at his penis. It was still hard.

* * * *

The sun was strong and straight overhead. Ethan was dripping with sweat. The stifling heat had sapped his strength. He stood in the driveway, holding the basketball, no longer with the energy to even dribble. Sweat dripped from his face and bare chest and evaporated as soon as it hit the pavement. He needed some relief, and the air conditioning inside just wasn't going to do it. He needed to sink himself in some cool water. He needed to go swimming in the Thorn's pool.

Their driveway was empty. Perfect. They invited him and his sister to use their pool anytime they wanted, but he preferred to swim when they weren't home. Mrs. Thorn was all right, but Mr. Thorn always wanted to tell him one of his long stories.

This was the Fourth of July weekend, though, and they had probably gone away somewhere. Ethan grabbed his t-shirt and went inside to put on his swim trunks. He changed in his room, grabbed a towel from the closet, and ran next door. The gate of the tall, wooden fence was unlocked, as he expected. He went in. The water in the pool shimmered in the sunlight like a beckoning oasis. He tossed the towel on a lawn chair, kicked off his basketball shoes, and dove in.

Gayle Thorn picked up the bag of groceries, unlocked the front door, went in and set her keys and purse on the table beside the door. She took the groceries out of the bag and put them in the refrigerator.

She heard a splash. Someone was in the pool. She leaned over the sink to see out the window. The water was rippling. She rushed out of the kitchen to the sliding glass doors in the living room. Her worst fear had always been that one of the young children in the neighborhood would wander into the backyard and fall into the pool. If that happened, she would never forgive herself.

A head appeared in the water. It was Ethan. He swam to the far side of the pool and climbed out. Gayle smiled. Ethan was no longer the scrawny young kid she watched growing up next door. He had grown lean and tall.

Ethan trotted to the diving board, leaving a wet trail on the cement. He climbed up to the board, walked out to the end, bounced a few times, and dove in. Gayle closed her eyes, remembering the way she saw him in the garage a few weeks ago. She'd seen a lot of cocks in her time, but never one as big as the one in Ethan's jeans.

Ethan climbed out, ran to the diving board, and dove in again.

Francis did not believe her when she told him. He claimed that since she did not actually see it uncovered or touched it, she could not accurately judge its size. When she told him how she bent over and pressed her ass to his groin, he was equally disbelieving. According to him, she could not measure the dimensions of a man's cock with her ass. She told him he was full of shit.

Ethan floated on his back, kicking and splashing with his feet. Gayle had an idea. She would find out exactly what Ethan had in his shorts, and she knew just how to do it.

Ethan drifted slowly on his back with his eyes closed. The sun was warm on his face. The cool water reenergized him. He would have gone back to play more basketball, but he was too relaxed, and having too much fun in the pool. Pam always said diving in the deep end was the most fun. Now he knew what she meant.


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