Cares Away

So what came afterward was, I think, natural. Like selection. And I conceived it all by myself. Me, Sister Nature!

The precise impetus was up for debate. Chalk it to the look in the boy's face, the thrill of the control at my earlobes, the freshly stewing honeypot in my own pants. Points to all three, Templeton.

But most of all, (dramatic monologue incoming), it was society. Every one in their prudent, uptight bubbles, afraid of even a little hint of instinct, of not just sexual but self-liberty. It was suffocating! Wasn't it? At least it was to me and my cheek-rubbing, confused teenaged self. Do this, think that, be them. Every hour in my room locked out of playtime with the neighbors next door. Every muffled sniffle in the rear-most pew.

Sigh. Why did I have to be born to Baptists?

So, it wasn't out of nowhere, in my suuper unbiased opinion, to say the world had themselves to thank for giving birth to me. And for all the things I intended to, ya know, make them do and stuff. And think. And be.

"All anybody needs is some room to breathe." Re-focusing my thoughts, I surreptitiously watched the boy from my carpet-warming haunt, and wrung my fingers together. "Just like that flag of yours, mister..."

Trying to ignore the growing background fuzz as more people hobbled through the doors in time for an afternoon stride down bookstore-ville, I thought of how to word my next 'change.'

"It is normal," I began, "for guys to masturbate or play with themselves in public whenever they get aroused by something or someone to full mast but to try to hold off from cumming for as long as they can."

I figuratively clapped the dust out of my hands.

There. That should foster some entertaining new mores...

Zip!

Then, looking up, I was presented with a cutely improper scene.

Just on cue, I thought. There, in front of the E-designated authors, my boy had unzipped his pants and was now grabbing at the bulge against his underwear!

Holy crap! I mentally half-choked, half-giggled. He... he's actually doing it..!

One hand on his tightly covered cock, the other cradling his book as he still continued to read it. Not a single skipped breath more out of him. I watched in a feat of suppressed giddiness as his arm shifted up and down, up and down, at some points his own ministrations causing him to bend his legs a bit and wiggle his hips against his teasing, slightly out-of-sight hand as he got into it. He no doubt did this a few times in private. What guy didn't?

Only now, I gave them the capacity to screw privacy in the ass. You're welcome...

I tucked my own hand into the space between my thighs, grating it against my dampening pussycat. This, actually happening, actually occurring in the middle of a public store, was the most erotic experience I'd had... well. Ever.

This power. This uncanny disregard for norms.

My gawd, my gawd, I, this... I churned out something you'd get if you crossed a laugh with a hyperventilating chortle, ...this is insane!

Suddenly, a motherly looking woman passed through from the path perpendicular to our aisle, straight blonde hair and physique the epitome of an attractive female in her late 20s or early 30s or so, and once again, I straightened by instinct.

"Excuse me," she then smiled after a glance at the area in front of the guy I was currently watching fondling his own dick, her expression unaffected, "can I, ahem, squeeze by you there?"

The boy almost flinched at the woman, but quickly relaxed. "S-sure," his breath seemed to quicken, and his hips jerked against his hand as he bit his lip a bit looking at her.

I let out a breath of disbelief.

He was straight-up fucking himself with his hand to the sight of this lady as she bent over to pull a book out of the second bottom-most shelf -- only a foot or so away from his cock -- and she wasn't saying three leagues of shit..! And he didn't bother with cleaning up a fraction of his act in the meantime.

Too much. It was just... too...

"Ohh... gaawwdmmpfh!"

Haa--

I gritted my teeth.

Whoops.

In a shiver, I realized I might have made a slight mess of myself. Looking down, I began to blush furiously, but then calmed, managing to keep my cool. I looked around. A few glances were sent my way, but just as perfunctorily, were drawn back to whatever it was they were fixed on previously. It was then I noticed the men who had done so shifting their pants as an extra strain seemed to bother their nether-regions. Most of them began rubbing their penises through their bottoms and squeezing it with cavalier airs. Several were even doing it in front of their family and unfettered partners.

Haha... I never thought I'd say it, but I haven't ever loved jewelry as much as I do now.

My head whipped back to the front of me. Apparently, the boy and his new masturbation stimulus didn't mind my self-induced, vocal orgasm either. In fact, one of them was just as composed as before, the other just as 'handy', as they both now held a book in their hands.

I held my tongue as the boy began to slow his ministrations, now just rubbing against his cock with soft, sporadically jerky, massages. It was a heavily hot display; how casually he pushed and diddled with his cock through the slit provided by his opened zipper. It was like he was just scratching an intermittent itch, absentmindedly.

To be honest, I wasn't sure that was much breathing room, as my one-liner a few trains of thought back would have insinuated. But this... this would do for now.

Voices found their way to my ears, causing them to perk up.

"Oh, is that Eliot?" chimed the blonde lady.

"Er, yeah."

"I just love his work. They're so vivid!"

"Unh." His breaths chopped a bit. Squeeze, went a hand. "Yeah, no, I think it's great, too. I got tasked with him for my English class but I didn't mind. Some of his poems are pretty cool."

I balked.

Wow, that kid liked T.S. Eliot huh?

Cute and literary... I held back a smirk. A winning combo, if ever.

As the two chattered, I observed them from my completely open and exposed position, one I'm sure no one would give two dog bones about with these earrings at my disposal. Darting from the kid to the woman, my eyes shimmered and I sucked in my diaphragm -- the sight of the dark-haired guy just so casually sticking his hand in his own pants mid-conversation, with no one jumping up in mortification, while picket-fence mom over here continued an innocuous gab about modernist poets with him, was endlessly entertaining.

I found dirty thoughts cluttering up my head once more. All warped, and sticky, and oh so confoundingly devilish.