The Telemachus Story Archive

By Hooder


I checked my watch – ten minutes until the last train of the day. I hate stations at night, especially ones around here because they’re too quiet.

I keyed in the three-digit code and touched my card to the reader. The Doritos moved jerkily forwards, propelled erratically by the plastic spiral, and tipped into the well of the machine with a clunk. I tore the packet open and turned around.

“Giz a Dorito.”

Shit. I was face to face with three skinheads. The middle one was holding out his hand. Shaking a bit, I offered him the open packet.

He slapped it out of my hand. “Get on the fuckin floor.”

I didn’t know whether he meant kneel down or lie down, but it was made clear to me when the skin on his right kicked my legs out from under me. I landed in a heap at his feet.

“What’s a pretty boy like you doin out this late? Shouldn’t you be at home in bed?”

The other two sniggered. “Yeah, wankin, prob’ly,” one of them said.

“Oh, we can do better than a wank,” said the middle one. “Bring him.”

They were obviously familiar with the station because they dragged me off the platform and straight through a service door, which they closed behind them. We were in some kind of walkway with graffiti on the walls.

“Hold him.” The other two grabbed me while the leader roughly unfastened my jeans and pulled them down to my knees. “Oh, commando! This gets better.” He manhandled me until I was lying face down, then there was a sound of spitting, and I screwed my face up as a cock entered me. Shit, that hurt.

He lay on top of me and fucked me. I could feel his weight, his heat, smell his sweat, hear him breathing hard next to my ear. His hands were gripping my shoulders. Inches from my face were the black DMs of the other two as they stood watching, and above those, the turn-ups of their bleached jeans. I heard zips, and then the boots began to move slightly and rhythmically, as they began to wank themselves off.

I clenched my fists and gritted my teeth as his cock pounded my arse. Thankfully he didn’t take very long. He came with a grunt, panted for a moment, then pulled out.

I sighed in relief, but I think he mistook that sigh for one of pleasure. “You fuckin enjoy that, did you?”

I didn’t answer.

“Put your fuckin dicks away, you two.”

I heard their zips being closed.

He lifted me up to a kneeling position and stared at me. Under the scowl, he wasn’t bad-looking, I saw.

“I asked you a question, Fucker.”

“What do you want me to say?” I asked. “Would have been better on a bed, and if it had lasted a bit longer. Your jeans felt sexy.”

There was silence for a few moments, then the other two started laughing lewdly.

He looked at them. “You two piss off. I’ll deal with this fucker.”

“Aw, Frog…”

“Move it. Now.”

He’d got them well trained, I’ll say that. Muttering, they went back through the door together and closed it, leaving me alone with him.

“Stand up.” He moved back a bit to give me room, then leant forward again and pulled me up roughly with one hand. “And fasten your jeans up.”

I did so. He looked me up and down. “You’re a pretty boy. And those jeans are a bit tight. You a pooftah?”

I hadn’t heard that word for a long time. “I don’t know.”

He sucked his teeth for a while, then spat onto the floor. “Look, I didn’t wanna… You all right?”

I nodded. “A bit sore. Never been fucked before.”

He was silent for a while, then he said, “you wanna get a drink?”

Alcohol wasn’t what I wanted at that moment. “Coffee would be good.”

“Coffee.” He nodded. “Come on then, Fucker.”

I followed him up to street level and we found a Starbucks. “In the absence of coffee, this’ll do,” I said.


“Never mind.” I got two large flat whites and we sat down.

He seemed a bit self-conscious. “Look mate, Sorry about all that. I didn’t mean to hurt ya.”

I chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. There’s worse things than your first fuck being with a hot skinhead.”

He looked up from the coffee, frowning. “You think I’m hot?”

I nodded. “You’d be even hotter if your jeans were tighter and you smiled a bit more. You’re a good-looking boy but you’re always scowling.”

He looked down at his jeans, then back at me. “Tight jeans turn you on then?”

Now it was my turn to feel self-conscious. “Yeah,” I said quietly.

“You sure you’re not gay?”

“I don’t know. Tonight was the first time I’ve had sex.”

“What, with anybody?” He seemed incredulous.

“With anybody.”

“Fuck me.”

I smiled. “Was that an offer?”

He blinked. “What? No!” He laughed. He was a lot better-looking when he laughed. “How old are you?”


“Eighteen and you’ve never fucked anybody?”

I looked down self-consciously.

He thought about that for a while. “Bugger me.” He looked up sharply. “No – I mean -”

I chuckled. “I know what you mean.”

“What’s your name?” He asked.

“Jeremy. But I hate it. People call me Jem.”

“Ok. Well I’ll call you Fucker. People call me Frog.”

“Why Frog?”

“Oh, a camping trip years ago. I was going at it one night in the tent and there was a light on behind it and me mates said the shadows looked like a fuckin frog humping.”

I laughed.

He drained the rest of his drink and grimaced. “That coffee’s crap.”

“Tell me about it.”

I watched him stretch. He had muscles.

“You wanna come back and grab a beer?”

It was Friday so nothing to do until work on Monday. I looked at him, and thought about it. For about three seconds. “A beer sounds good.”

He lived in a flat near the common. We climbed the concrete steps to the second floor, through a faint smell of piss. He unlocked the door. “Home sweet home. Shift the cat and sit down.” He went into the small kitchen.

A tabby with torn ears and a mean expression looked at me, hissed once, and then ran off as I approached. I heard Frog’s voice. “Fuck off Rambo. I fuckin fed you earlier,” Then he came back with two bottles and sat down opposite me. He looked at me for a moment, then took a large swig.

His eyes went to his bleachers. “So you think these should be tighter.”

I looked at them. “Oh yeah. A lot tighter.”


“’Cos I think you’ve got a good bulge but it doesn’t show. You’d look really hot in tight jeans.”

“Fuck me,” he said. “I can’t believe we’re talking about this.”

“Why not? Girls show their boobs off as much as they can. Why don’t boys show their bulges off?”

He thought about this. “That’s different. So bulging dicks get you horny then?”


He shook his head in wonder. “Fucker,” he said.

For some reason talking to him like this was getting me very horny indeed. “And bulges can be played with. Teased. Rubbed. Sucked.”

His eyes opened wider. “What?”

“Well you did ask me.”

“Why would ya want to do that?”

“Because it feels so good.”

“How do you know all this if you’ve never had sex before?”

“Because I wank in my jeans a lot. I’ve got lots. And when I do, I tease myself through them. I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to have somebody else do that to me. And what it would be like to do that to another boy.”

He stared at me for a while, then put his beer down and got up. “Stay.” I watched his arse as he walked through a doorway and closed it.

A few minutes later he was back – and I gasped. He’d changed his jeans. These bleachers were a lot tighter.

“Haven’t worn these for years. Didn’t know if I’d still got them. They’re too small for me.”

My eyes were open wide. “No they’re fucking not…” I breathed.

“Seriously? These turn you on?”

“Oh, you have no fucking idea.” My cock was as hard as a rock in my own jeans.

He noticed. “Yeah, I see they do.” He sat down again and picked up his beer.

“Oh shit, Frog, you are a hot boy.”

I don’t think he knew quite how to react to that. “Jesus,” he whispered. He gave a kind of laugh – short and quiet. He looked down at his crotch. “This bulge better for ya?”

“Oh yes.” It most certainly was. I could see the spherical mound of his balls, and above it the sausage shape of his soft cock lying across a thigh. I very badly wanted to touch it.

“So what would you want to do to a guy if you saw a bulge like this then?”

After a moment’s silence I said, “I could show you if you like…”

“Fuck off. You keep your fucking hands to yourself. I’m straight.”

“Mmm. Straight boys struggle more.”


“Nothing. A joke.”

“You like the idea of playing with a straight guy?”

“Mmm. Oh yeah.”


“I dunno. Just find the idea horny. Very.” I looked down. “Though the thought of a straight boy playing with me is horny as well.”

“Jeez…” He shook his head again. “I don’t fucking believe you, Fucker.”

I shrugged. “Takes all sorts.”

Nothing more was said for a while. I couldn’t take my eyes of his jeans, and my hand went to my bulge and started to tease it with my fingertips. I could so easily fucking cum like this, looking at him, I thought.

“Hey, fuckin stop that,” he said. But there was a ghost of a smile on his face. I paused my fingers, but kept my hand there. “You, Fucker, are the first person that’s ever called me hot. You know that?”

“Really? That’s hard to believe; you are a very sexy boy.”

“Why do you keep calling me a boy?”

“Cos you are a boy. Dunno why but the word turns me on. A lot.”

He gave that short, quiet laugh again.

“Come here,” he said. “Kneel down.”

I knelt between his spread knees.

“Look, but do not touch. Is that clear? Hands behind your back.”

I nodded and put them behind me.

“So I really turn you on?” He said it like he couldn’t believe it.

“Oh fuck yes.”

He dropped a hand to his knee. After a while his fingers stroked the tight denim, just once, and then stopped. There was another pause, then they started again, and kept going. As if gaining confidence, his hand began to move up the top of his thigh. Then it went inwards, and ended up on his bulge. It was still stroking.

Oh fuck, I needed to have a wank. The sight of that was doing my head in.

He looked at his hand and frowned. “I don’t understand. Feels like jeans, that’s all.”

I swallowed. “It’s better when someone else does it.”

He considered that for a while. “Show me.” He took his hand away.

I reached out and ran my fingers over the shape of his cock lightly and slowly, just like I did it to myself. I tickled his balls with my other hand and scratched a nail over the cock head.

His knees jerked together slightly, then opened again. “Oh fuck,” he breathed.

I couldn’t stand it any longer. I ran my hands all over those tight jeans, then leaned forward and buried my face in his crotch. I came. My body shook as my spunk shot out into my own jeans.

When he realised what was happening he jerked back in the chair. “Fuck!”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it,” I said, certain that he was going to beat me up now.

“Fuck!” He said again. “Jeez, you really are into tight jeans, aren’t you.”

I nodded. “I’m sorry. But it’s not just them – it’s you.”

He looked at me, not quite knowing what to do. “Go and clean yourself up. Bathroom’s through there.” He pointed to the doorway.

I found it and wiped myself down. There was nothing I could do about the wet patch though. When I came back he was still sitting there, and still in those same jeans. I sat down in the chair again.

“What you were doing with your hands,” he said, “before you –” he nodded to my damp crotch, “before you shot your fucking load, that felt good.” He looked unsure for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. “You, erm, you want to try that again? But not the cumming, Ok?”

“Ok!” I knelt down again and teased that boy through those horny jeans like I really wanted to. His calves, his knees, his thighs, his bulge. I ran my fingers up the inside seams and made love to those bleachers, his balls, his cock. It wasn’t long before I felt – and saw – him beginning to get hard. He stretched out more, and the denim got even tighter. I teased the head with my fingernails, then gripped it and squeezed it. He put his head back and closed his eyes, moaning quietly.

“If you keep that up you’re gonna get fucked again, you know that, boy?

I smiled. “I’m still sore down there, but if you do it a bit more gently…”

He chuckled, then pulled me to my feet. “This way.” He led me into the bedroom.

He lay face up, looking at me, saying nothing. I lay down beside him and went to work on him. His cock was really hard now. “Move about. Move your legs.”

He frowned, then started to move. He opened and closed his knees, even turned face down at one point. I ran my fingers over his round arse, between his thighs, over his perineum, found his bulge and teased it.

“Would be better if you were tied up,” I smiled.

“What? Fuck that! No way, Fucker!”

I looked into his eyes and stroked his cock head through those bleached jeans. I was in heaven – and I wasn’t far off cumming again.

“Oh God you’re so fucking sexy ,” I breathed. I pushed my face into his crotch and worked on his cock with my teeth. He smelled beautiful.

He grabbed my ears and lifted my head, looking into my eyes. “I still can’t believe you fucking fancy me.”

I smiled at him. “I think I fancy you more than I’ve ever fancied anybody.”

His head shook slowly in disbelief. “That’s weird.” He pushed me away. “Strip.”

I got off the bed and undressed quickly. I saw him looking at my hard cock. “Get on top.”

I did. He closed his thighs lightly around my cock. “Just lie there. Don’t fucking move. I do not want you cumming again. Ok?”

I nodded.

After a few moments he slowly pressed his thighs together, squeezing my cock tightly between them. It was hard up against his perineum and I could feel the tight denim of those horny bleachers all around it.

“Oh fuck.” I closed my eyes and sighed in pleasure. “If you move in the slightest,” I warned him, “I’m going to cum again. I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“Don’t you fucking dare cum, Fucker,” he growled dangerously.

I opened my eyes again. I was very close.

A small smile appeared on one side of his lips, and then he pushed his hips once. It was just a small movement, and then he stopped. He was watching my face intently. I felt the tight skinhead jeans move around my cock and it almost made me lose it.

“Don’t! I’ll cum!” I said urgently.

“You’d better fucking not.”

He squeezed his thighs even tighter.

“No! Stop!”

The smile got a little bigger. He waited, then pushed his hips once more.

“Please! Don’t!”

He opened his legs. “Get off. Kneel between my knees and put your hands behind your back.”

I did so.

He was smiling properly now. “So,” he said, “do you fancy all skinhead boys? Or is it just me?” His hands were clasped over his head.

I swallowed. “Skinhead gear turns me on. Especially the jeans. And especially if they’re tight and bulging. And the DMs. But it’s more, with you. You are fucking beautiful. You’re so fucking sexy. It’s like you’re not just wearing the gear, it’s like the gear is part of you.”

“What is it about tight jeans that gets you so fucking horny? I don’t understand it.”

I looked at them. “The way they cling to your legs. Show the shape so clearly. The seams that run up the inside, up to your balls. They make me need to touch them. The zip. The thinness of them - knowing you’d be able to feel the lightest touch teasing up the inside of your thigh. Over your balls. Imagining running my finger along your cock. Tickling the head. Rubbing it through those sexy jeans. Squeezing it. Making you need to cum. Your arse. Round. Tight. The seam between the cheeks. The belt loops. Ramming my face into your crotch. Smelling you. Licking you. Sucking your cock bulge.” I ran out of words.

He lowered his arms and started to tease his fingers slowly over his thighs, and then his hard, bulging cock. “Does seeing me do this make you horny?”

I couldn’t take my eyes off them. “Oh fuck yes,” I whispered hoarsely.

“Kneel on the floor.”

I got off the bed. So did he. He stood in front of me, his hands on his hips. “Keep your hands behind your back. Do not move your head an inch. Do not touch me. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

He moved forward until his crotch was just a few inches from my face. He stayed there for a while, watching my face closely, then he started to tease his fingertips over the bulge again. I could feel my cock jerking in the air as I watched those fingers moving over the skintight bleachers. I was salivating.

“Put your tongue out.” He pushed his pelvis forward until the bulge of his cock head was millimetres from the end of my tongue. Then his stroked his flat hands over the outsides of his hips and thighs. I could hear them sliding over the denim.

“You getting horny, Fucker?”

I struggled to nod my head; my body had ceased to function properly.

He chuckled evilly. He was beginning to realise that he could reduce me to a quivering jelly without even touching me – and he was loving it. He moved back a little and slowly pulled the zip of his jeans down. “I am going to fuck you,” he said slowly. “Get on the bed.”

I lay on the sheets and felt him get on. I could just see him getting his cock out, but he’d left his jeans on, the button still fastened. He lubed it, then leaned on one elbow and put the head against my sphincter. Very gently this time he pushed it in, and I prepared myself for pain again – but it didn’t hurt at all. He was lying on top of me properly now, his hands holding my shoulders, and he started to thrust slowly. I could feel the bulbous head moving inside me, and again I felt the beautiful weight of his body on me, those tight jeans against my bare thighs and legs, and pressing against my arse with each stroke.

Gradually his thrusting became more powerful, and I started to bounce on the bed under him. The most sexy skinhead boy I’d ever seen was on top of me, fucking me in his tight bleached jeans, It was the most horny thing I’d ever felt in my life. My own cock was rubbing against the sheet with every stroke, and his was hitting something unbelievable inside me.

There was nothing I could do to stop it - as I started to cum, he rammed his cock in hard and held it there. I felt his spunk shooting out into me at the same time as I came. We lay there motionless, both of us moaning, him pushing hard against me, his cock pulsating inside me, my own jerking under me.

“Oh fuck,” he gasped after a long time. I thought he was going to pull out, but he didn’t. Instead he kissed the back of my neck and nuzzled his face into my hair.

Eventually we separated. He wiped his cock, pushed it back inside and zipped himself up. We lay on our sides, gazing at each other.

“First time I’ve done that.”


“Fucked a guy.”

I was about to ask him how it compared to fucking a girl, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer.

We lay there for ages, not saying anything, him watching me gazing at him, a slight smile on his lips.

“I’m not used to feeling like this. It feels good,” he said at last.

“What does?”

His smile got bigger. “Being a sex object. Being fancied.”

I smiled too.

“Get my socks and boots. Put them on me.” Since he’d changed his jeans he’d been barefoot.

I brought them over, pulled his socks on and pushed his boots over his feet. It took me a while to lace them up. The narrow turn-ups of his jeans just came to the tops.

He got off the bed and took his tee shirt off, then faced me. I ran my eyes over him. God, I thought, he’s beautiful. He looked even hotter stripped to the waist and with those boots on. His dark blond hair was short, and it was the first time I’d seen his bare chest; perfect pecs, and his arm muscles shone in the light. I shook my head. “You’re serious? Nobody has ever told you they fancy you?”


“You’re fucking gorgeous. You are unbelievably hot.”

“That just cos you like the jeans?”

“No! Oh I like them - you have no idea how much I like them. But they’re just part of you . You are beautiful. I want to lick you all over. I want to kiss you. I want to kneel at your feet and lick your boots. And yes, those sexy, fucking prick-teasing jeans... I want to make you fucking cum in them for teasing me with them, you bastard. I want them to make me cum.”

He stared at me for a while, then a smile appeared very slowly on his face and he nodded. “So. My little pretty Fucker likes being teased, does he? Needs prick-teasing by a straight skinhead boy he fancies like fuck, in tight, bulging jeans...”

Although I’d only cum a few minutes ago I was already getting hard again, and when he said that I felt my cock jerk to full erection. The thought of him intentionally using those jeans, and the fact that I fancied him so intensely, to tease me, was making me tremble.

“Come here.”

I walked towards him. He put his arms around me and pulled me tight against him. I smelled his sweat, felt the muscles of his back under my fingers. He looked into my eyes for a moment, then brushed his lips lightly across mine. It was all I could do not to crush my mouth to his and kiss him hard – I was longing to do that. He put his tongue out and traced it lightly over my upper lip. He moved his head back and smiled a sexy smile. “Hmm,” he said. “I think I might enjoy teasing the fuck outta you.” He brushed his thigh over mine. I inhaled sharply when I felt the touch of his jeans on my bare skin. Then he pushed his bulge against my hard cock. He chuckled at my involuntary gasp, and when he felt it jerk. “My own little skinhead’s slut. Yeah, that has possibilities, Fucker.” He gazed into my eyes for a while, then he lowered my hands to his round, tight-jeaned arse. He pulled my head towards him hard, and kissed me.

He’s basically straight, and that’s not going to change - but he gives me a call every few days, when he’s feeling horny. He’s discovered that he loves the feeling of being an intensely fancied sexual object. He loves the power that gives him over me. He’s got some new bleachers: they’re skin -tight, stretchy, and show his bulge like you wouldn’t believe. He uses them like a weapon against me to tease the hell out of me. He’s merciless. I’ve only got to set eyes on him and I go weak at the knees. He knows that, and boy does he use it. I cut my hair and got myself some skin gear and he likes to take me with him when he goes round to his mates for beers, knowing that I’m sitting there having difficulty keeping my eyes off him. He takes every opportunity to run his fingertips slowly over his thighs, and he strokes his bulge under the table when he knows that only I can see it, and smiles to himself when I can’t stop myself getting a hard-on, knowing I’m desperate to touch him. And every time I go round to his flat he strips to the waist and spends the evening using those jeans and boots and his beautiful body and his sexy smile to tease the hell out of me. He’s come to love having his cock tickled and teased through his jeans, and I’m getting better all the time, learning exactly how to turn him on the most. All of this gets me so fucking horny I can’t think straight. Occasionally he lets me cum fucking his bleachers, with my cock squeezed tightly between his thighs, or wank myself off while I’m kissing him, or worshipping his body, his boots, his legs, his bulge, those jeans. Then he fucks me. And he’s stopped being gentle. He fucks me hard. He uses me. He rapes me. And I fucking love it. The other day he tied me to the bed. That was the best thing ever. I don’t know if he’ll do it again, but I’m hoping.

He knows my name, but he never uses it.

I’m Fucker.