Clint Toulouse was supposed to be a manly man, like his namesake Clint Eastwood, but it wasn't working out too well so far. At 16, Clint was a short, plump boy, not a muscular he-man. He did have a manly seven-inch penis, but he also had embarrassing "moobs," also known as "bitch tits." They were beauties, or they would have been if Clint had been a girl--but he often thought about getting rid of them.
It would be easy to do, Clint thought, if only he were rich. He had often seen the television commercials of Dr. Richard Oglestone, known as the "Moob Doc," a specialist in male breast reduction surgery.
Dr. Oglestone's hard-hitting commercials showed boys being mercilessly humiliated, and even beaten up or worse, for having "moobs." Then came the too-familiar song, "Call the Moob Doc, Moob Doc, Moob Doc; call the Moob Doc now!" While the song was playing, a teen boy in a boat, with no shirt on, glided effortlessly across a lake under a full moon at night. When the boat started out, the boy had "moobs"; when it reached the other shore, he didn't.
If only it were really that easy! Clint had often thought. He knew it wasn't, though, for at least three reasons. First, health insurance didn't cover cosmetic surgery such as breast reduction, and his thrifty parents would never pay for it. Second, Clint wanted to have as little as possible to do with hospitals and surgery as possible. And third--
Clint grimaced to think of the third reason. It was bad, really bad. It was sexually perverted, Clint feared. The third reason was that Clint's breasts were exciting to him, almost as if a girl with bare breasts were Clint's constant companion.
So, Clint went on as he had been going, "bitch tits" and all. He didn't get beaten up or worse; he did get humiliated by boys teasing him about looking like a cute girl and needing a bra, but he figured he could take it in the future as he had in the past. Yes, Clint could just keep on keeping on--until one fateful night.
Clint had been getting pretty bored with beating off. He had decided to give it a rest. For almost two weeks now, after having beaten off almost every night, Clint had refrained from masturbation.
One night he received his reward,if it was a reward. At long last, he had a wet dream--and what a dream!
One of the sexiest girls in his class at school, Deb Boomschmidt, was nude in the shower. Clint, incredibly, was watching her without being seen by her. Deb was lathering herself up all over.
Now she was rubbing her breasts. Clint had never really seen a girl get sexually excited, but Deb sure looked like she was. She was breathing heavily, and her breasts couldn't be getting any cleaner than they already were, but she kept rubbing them anyway. They weren't big for a girl's breasts, but they were fine little beauties.
Soon Clint knew for sure that Deb was sexually exciting herself. Her hand was between her legs, and she was moaning softly.
Clint had to get into the shower with Deb. She looked up and gave a little shriek when she saw Clint getting in with her. She covered her breasts with one arm and her delta with the other, but Clint pushed her arms away, and she wasn't resisting him.
Clint pressed Deb against the wall of the shower enclosure, and pressed his seven-incher against her delta. She put up a pretense of trying to fight him off, but she was laughing; soon she stopped pretending and let him enter her. He pressed his penis into her tight, hot, moist vagina, getting the most incredible thrill when he felt himself inside her.
As soon as he was in her, Deb moaned with pleasure and pumped her hips as he fucked her standing up. Soon her vagina was rapidly clenching and unclenching his penis, and she was crying out, "Oh! Oh, yes! Oh, please plunge me harder!"
Clint plunged her harder and faster. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she was trembling all over. "YES! YES! OHH! I'M COMING!!" Deb cried. Clint felt his semen gushing uncontrollably out of his penis into Deb's vagina as she lost all control and quaked in overwhelming orgasm.
Clint awoke. He was alone. His semen had gushed onto his bedsheet, not into Deb's vagina. But he could never forget the unbelievable heights to which he had taken Deb by fucking her.
The very next night, a strange, unheard-of desire was gripping Clint and refusing to let him go. He couldn't forget Deb's wild, overwhelming passion in the shower, and he was feeling that he just had to know how it felt to be Deb being fucked.
"Oh, God, no!" Clint groaned. "That's too unmanly!" He told himself so, but he couldn't help feeling that, when he got into the shower, he was going to cave in and go girlish, because he just had to know how it felt to be Deb being fucked to orgasm!
The time came. Clint got into the shower. He held out for upwards of one minute, maybe even two minutes, without touching his breasts. Then, giving a deep groan, he succumbed.
Clint's hands were on his breasts, just as Deb's hands had been on her breasts in the dream. His nipples quickly became hard, and his penis was not long in following. He was still trying to resist the final capitulation to girlishness, but he could feel his resistance weakening by the second.
Soon it was gone. The final capitulation was upon him. He pressed his erect penis down into hiding between his legs, and descended into masturbating like a girl--like Deb, before he had fucked her in the dream.
Oh, God, this feels so good! Clint murmured. His thighs were much better than his hand for surrounding and stimulating his penis. He now saw why he had become bored with beating off: because beating off with his hand was far inferior to this girlish delight. If Deb's masturbation was anything like this, Clint could easily see why it would drive her wild.
Clint was masturbating just like Deb, except he didn't even need to slip his hand between his legs. His thighs caressing his penis, and his hands caressing his breasts, were plenty sufficient to excite him toward the maximum.
But what about the fucking? Clint thought, Looking around in the shower, he saw a cylindrical shampoo bottle about the same diameter as his penis. Wasting no time, Clint pressed the shampoo bottle between his thighs, rubbing it against his penis, pretending the bottle was a boy's penis and the boy was fucking him.
Who is the boy? Clint thought. With a shock of shameful desire, Clint knew the boy had to be Belnor Ragnarsson, a handsome, muscular, brainy blond boy, and an incessant teaser. "Clint, would you please wear a bra to school?" Belnor had repeatedly begged Clint. "It's not decent to flaunt your breasts with no bra!" Clint was pretty sure Belnor was sexually attracted to him, and now, despite his feeble efforts to resist, Clint knew he was sexually attracted to Belnor too.
"Oh, Belnor!" Clint moaned, fucking himself with the bottle while pretending Belnor was fucking him. "Oh, Belnor, YES!!"
Clint was trembling all over, as Deb had done in the dream. His hips were pumping out of control as he plunged himself with the bottle. Soon shocks of orgasmic delight were shaking him to the core, and his semen was gushing out of his hidden penis beneath his butt, as he imagined Belnor's semen was gushing into his girlish entryway.
Clint groaned. He knew he was going to be terrifically ashamed of himself really soon for doing this, but he also knew his shame wasn't going to keep him from doing it again. It was going to be too exciting to resist. Clint had gone girlish, and he wasn't going to go back.
