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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Archive name: fumble.txt (M-teen, exh, humor)
Authors name: Dats Him (Address withheld)
Story title : Fumble
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2003. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your
consideration.
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Fumble (M-teen, exh, humor)
by Dats Him (Address withheld)
***
A boy has an embarrassing episode while dressed in a
hospital gown as he's wheeled to X-ray due to a possible
broken arm.
***
Men are basically lazy. Let's face it, who do you think
invented the remote control for the television? It was a
married guy who didn't have any kids to change the
channel.
We're also not the most patient of God's creatures. How
many guys out there have, at one time or another, wanted
a pocketknife while trying to take your girlfriend's or
wife's bra off? Especially the ones with the hidden
front clasps which, by the way, I believe are also used
to secure the engines to the wings of a Boeing 747.
Most of us become grunting animals with a sports game on
the television in a bar too. Hell, if it weren't for the
beer and car commercials, we'd probably piss in our
pants before a televised game was over. As it is, I've
seen some guys just about do just that, only because
they didn't want to miss any of the action.
Also, God forbid that a rational thought ever entered
our head while we're sporting a hard-on. I'm not really
sure, but I think this is the criteria Catholic's use to
elect a new Pope. I don't mean they pick a candidate who
can still think with a hard-on, although this in itself
would be a miracle, but that the new pontiff must be
past the age of having one.
Where's all this leading to? Regretfully and
humiliatingly, I'm trying to work up the courage to tell
you about the first time I ever had a climax with a
female present.
Notice, I said 'present'! She, or in my case the three
of them, didn't physically participate in this
experience. They only watched.
As a reasonably normal and always horny teenager I had
many orgasms before this incident, but I really don't
count beating off while looking at a centerfold in some
steamy bathroom as having sex. True, you eventually do
cum and it's better than nothing, but it's just not the
same when you're alone and you DO feel like a jerk after
you've finished. Is this why some people call it jerking
off?
Unlike some of the stories you may have downloaded from
the internet (yours truly included), my sex life didn't
begin with shapely, beautiful, walking wet-dreams
throwing me down on the playground and having my brains
fucked out.
Wa-a-a-y back then, if a little girl liked you, she hit
you a lot and pestered you in the most annoying way. To
a boy who couldn't even spell hormones yet, let alone
know what they were, this was not a person you wanted to
be near. To me, girls were to be avoided.
Somewhere along the line, as all 5 and 6 year old boys
find out, I realized I was stronger than the girls who
were hitting me, so it was only logical that I should
start to hit them back.
This was when I first enrolled in the course; Big
Brothers - 101. Looking back at this period of my life,
it's really a shame my school didn't include the subject
on their report cards. My parents would have definitely
been more proud of me. There were so many Big Brothers,
and those of us who attended their classes had a
difficult time graduating.
Besides learning the relationship between a cold
compress and a black eye, I was taught how to properly
re-align mangled fingers, the different techniques to
stop a bleeding nose, shown that, yes, I could be lifted
up by the ears just like a puppy.
And for the last lesson I was amazed to learn the tiny
things hanging between my legs had nothing at all to do
with how much pee I could retain before I finally had to
find a toilet. The small and hard to control rubbery
organ, which I seldom pulled out in time anyway, was
primarily there for pain! Big Brothers always hit or
kicked these first so they must be protected at all
times.
With all this new knowledge, I focused my attention on
sports and stopped hitting little girls. I felt though
if someone I was competing against in a sport hit me, I
could justifiably hit them back without the threat of
retaliation from a Big Brother. From the age of 7 until
I turned 16, I ran up against a whole different set of
problems, though.
Not to appear boastful, but I was pretty good at almost
every sport I tried out for. I didn't have any silly
dreams of becoming an All American. I just wanted to be
good enough to make everyone forget about Johnny Unitas,
Wilt Chamberlain and Sandy Koufax.
But again, those dreaded girls came out of the woodwork.
Thankfully, they had retired their Mohammed Ali like
jabs and, more importantly, their brothers were chained
up in basements, or in jail where they belonged.
The girls now began giving me these strange looks
instead of hitting me, and started to ask me to walk
them home from school, like I was some kind of
bodyguard. A few even suggested we do our homework
together. Boy, these frilly little things sure were
dumb. I could take the garbage out at home by myself! I
had to be told 8 or 9 dozen times, but I certainly
didn't need their help doing it.
Little did I know all of their kindness made these girls
even more dangerous. To be fair, they weren't this way
intentionally. Anyway, this was when I enrolled in my
second extracurricular studies; 'The Disposition of a
Jealous Boyfriend'.
I can't really say this course was more difficult than
'Big Brothers', but I sure did hate all the pop-quizzes.
You know the ones I'm talking about, where you walk
around a corner and suddenly four or five guys are
standing there, looking at you as if you just said
something bad about ALL of their mothers.
If the female readers of this story think men have no
idea what it's like to be gang-banged, you're mistaken!
Some of us have a pretty fair idea of what it must feel
like. The best result of the class 'Jealous Boyfriends'
was that our family doctor and I became close friends. I
also learned a lot about hospital emergency room
procedures and X-ray machines.
After a particularly hard homework assignment from two
jealous guys and three of their friends one afternoon, I
was waiting in the antiseptic hallway of my new campus;
"The Hospital of Forms, Forms, and More Forms'. As
people walked by, I tries to keep my crotch covered just
in case. Being 14 at the time, I thought everyone wanted
to see how big or small I was down there. Nobody was
really sneaking any peaks, but they kept giving me these
funny looks.
"What happened this time, Ken?" a soft voice asked.
It was Mrs. Unbelievable, a young and very attractive
volunteer worker I first met when I had my nose broken a
couple years back, and who I last saw a few months ago
when my friendly doctor finally fixed the hernia left
over from my 'Big Brother' days.
"I think my arm and a couple of my fingers are broke
this time." I replied, lifting my left hand up and
forgetting all about the gown.
Although it hurt like hell and tears came to my eyes, I
wanted to show her it beat the shit out of getting
kicked in the nuts again.
"That looks painful so why don't you put your hand back
in your lap, and we'll get you over to X-ray."
When her gentle fingers wrapped themselves around my
wrist to place my hand down, the pain disappeared. I
suddenly became aware of two things. Her tits! Those
magnificent, missile-shaped mountains of flesh were
almost poking me in the eyes. I could even see the white
lace covering them up beneath her blouse.
"You can cut my hand off, just don't move." I found
myself mumbling. Luckily, Mrs. Bountiful-Boobs
misinterpreted my words.
"You're such a baby! Of course we have to move you. If
your arm and fingers really are broken, the doctor will
have to reset them but I promise he won't have to
amputate your hand."
I almost jumped out of the wheelchair when I felt her
hands on my thighs, trying to close the gown.
"Honestly, Ken! I think you're a bit of a show-off!
You're always putting this thing on the wrong way."
"Everyone can see my rear end if I wear it the other
way!"
"Would you rather they see something else? Oh well, just
keep it closed until I get you to X-ray."
I was definitely going to keep it closed! I now had a
hard-on you wouldn't believe, and it wouldn't go away!
"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Mrs.
Juggernaut-Jugs asked when we reached the elevator.
I couldn't reply. I had lost the ability to speak the
moment her tits started bouncing up and down on my head
while she wheeled me through the hospital. I then felt
her leaning over me, the front of her soft warheads
poking into my shoulders now.
"Don't you think you should cover up again?" she almost
whispered as the elevator doors opened.
I don't believe I'll ever be more embarrassed as I was
then. I looked up and saw two girls, maybe 17 or 18,
both of them wearing the red-stripped outfits and both
of them giggling their heads off while staring at my
lap. I must have been dreaming about Mrs. Nike Missiles
because my dick was harder than ever and sticking
straight up out of the gown I had on backward.
"I'm sure you two have something better to do," my
private Florence Nightingale said, "so stop embarrassing
this poor boy and move out of the way."
Just before she pushed my wheelchair, I leaned my head
back to beg her to wait for the next elevator. While
gazing at the two perfumed beauties only inches above
me, my hand slipped and out popped my dick again. I must
have looked like someone who just received a lobotomy,
because all I could do was drool over the two lace
covered mounds which were about to smother me in the
tight quarters.
When her hands closed the front of my gown and then
patted it in place, I went off like a rocket! My dick
sprang free once more and waved around, spraying my cum
like I had never done in the bathroom back home.
No, the two girls in the elevator didn't suddenly drop
to their knees and start devouring my dick. And no, Mrs.
Make-Me-Lose-Control didn't begin to lick my eruption
from her fingers and beg me for more. In my mind they
did all this, but in reality the two girls began
laughing their asses off and Mrs. Baker (the volunteer's
real name) jumped away from me like I had some dreadful
contagious disease.
After finishing in the X-Ray department, someone else
wheeled me over to get a cast put on my broken hand and
arm. The coaches at school cried a little, but I didn't
tell them what really happened. After all, I still had
other limbs to worry about!
*
Yes, the story of how I acted like a sex pervert by
cumming off in the elevator had run the rumor mill even
before I was released. My friendly doctor told me the
version he heard, and I gave him mine after he explained
Mrs. Baker could be fired because of what happened.
The only good thing about the whole incident was how
everything was blown out of proportion. All the female
nurses kept checking me out with sly smiles, and several
offered to help me into my street clothes. Of course, I
wasn't as big and hadn't cum as much as all the rumors
said, but who was I to spoil all those dreams (I'm
talking about mine, not all the nurses).
I did have a chance to see Mrs. Baker several times
afterwards, but she would only smile, say hello, and
quickly walk on. Can't say as I really blame her. All
those rumors were more cruel to her than me, but they
did eventually die down.
END
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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 22