The quiet one

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• Latest update: 9 November. Next update: 23 November. (Submissions welcome.)

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Even before puberty arrived and changed everything, Spencer had been in love with his tongue.

It just felt good in his mouth. He didn’t know why—it just did. He found himself playing with it all the time, exploring the simple, low-level pleasure it unfailingly provided him. On boring, rainy days he could keep himself amused for hours just lying on the couch and running his tongue over his upper palate. He’d slide it this way, then that way, side to side and front to back to front again; first with the tip, all narrowed like he was dragging a message across the roof of his mouth, then with the flat middle, his tongue spreading out to mash against his teeth as he moved it around. Eating was great, but he especially enjoyed filling his mouth with anything viscous, like gravy or milkshakes, and letting his tongue move through the heavy liquid. Jell-O was fun too. He liked breaking it down with his tongue until it was sloshy, fruit-flavored sugar-water. Even mashed potatoes were good to play with. More than once growing up Spencer had to me admonished to swallow his food.

When he was busy doing other things, Spencer still let his tongue wander in his mouth, sending occasional tingles up his spine as he studied or swam at the lake or played baseball with the neighborhood kids. By the time he was in middle school it was almost unconscious. He developed a habit of bending his lips in and pushing the front of his tongue against them, first all narrowed and sliding it back and forth with just the tiniest part of the tongue’s edge peeking out into the world as it caressed his in-bent lips, then with his tongue flat enough that there was full contact between lips and tongue from corner to corner; then back to the tip again.

Jeff, the freckly redhead who sat next to him on the bus to and from school, brought it up once. “Why are you always licking your lips?” he asked, like it was something he’d been meaning to quiz him about.

Spencer had been staring out the window, watching the corn fields go by, and (he realized) doing the thing with his lips the whole time. He looked over at Jeff, who was watching him curiously. Jeff was always curious.

Spencer stared at him, not so much because he felt like he’d been caught out but because he didn’t exactly know the answer to Jeff’s question. He just did it, ‘cause it felt nice. He shrugged. Then he remembered his Dad telling him shrugging was rude, but another time his Mom had said that smiling was an antidote to rudeness, so he smiled. It was a closed-mouth smile, not a grin, but it seemed to work because Jeff smiled too. Spencer let just a hint of his wide, flat tongue sneak between his lips, almost unnoticeably. He wasn’t sure why he did that, either. Maybe because it felt good, and somehow he wanted to share that with Jeff a little.

Jeff imitated him, then giggled. “You’re going to get chap lips,” Jeff told him. Spencer didn’t know what that was, and he suspected Jeff didn’t either. He shrugged again, then added the anti-rudeness smile. Then Spencer went back to watching the waving cornfields slide by, and they passed the rest of the trip to school in companionable silence.


The first time it happened, Spencer thought he was going to throw up. He and his older brother, Bobby, were watching the baseball game on the big flatscreen in the den, the remains of a plate of nachos on the coffee table in front of them, except the game was over and they were doing locker-room coverage. The athletes were walking around in towels, damp from sweat or from already having gotten their shower in, while the blasé reporter interviewing them acted like standing in the middle of a crowd of wet, mostly naked guys and chatting them up was a normal thing.

Spencer had been noticing for a while now that this part made him feel funny all over, especially in his crotch, which had started doing that “hard-on” thing so often and so unpredictably that he’d abruptly changed his entire wardrobe. Over the past couple months he’d ruthlessly tossed aside any shorts or pants that were at all tight or snug on him into the donate pile on the pretext that they were all worn out or no longer fit him and had instead gotten his parents to buy him all new, extra baggy stuff made of heavy fabrics—anything that might stand a chance of hiding his sudden, unwanted boners. (He later overheard his Dad asking his Mom worriedly if Spencer was getting involved with “gang types” or something, what with all the baggy trousers and suchlike, but his Mom just snorted a laugh.)

This time his reaction to the locker room jocks was no different, but as Spencer tried to sink deeper into the couch and maybe vanish that way (his brother might not notice if he did, and he was texting his girlfriend again anyway) he realized it wasn’t just his crotch that was reacting. His tongue was feeling weird, too. He felt flushed and warm everywhere, like he might be getting a fever. His hands, resting on the cushion to either side of him, twitched. He shivered, and then, as the interviewer turned to a particularly fit player with a great smile who had a long patch of dark hair nestled between his hefty pecs, all at once Spencer felt a light pressure on the back of his throat and his mouth seemed to be filling up. Alarmed, Spencer leapt up from the couch and raced into the downstairs bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

“Spence?” his brother called after him. Spencer ignored him. He was standing at the sink, breathing hard through his nose while keeping his lips tightly clamped shut, though he’d already figured out he wasn’t about to vomit—he just didn’t quite understand what was happening. Something strange was going on with his tongue. It was feeling big, and thick, and… really, really good.

Just like his dick.

Spencer stared at himself in the mirror, horror-struck and fascinated all at once. He thought he should look pale from how lightheaded he felt, but his face was pinked and he felt hot. His heart was thumping against his ribs and he was still panting through his nostrils. The pressure in his mouth from his thickening tongue finally made him crack his lips, and the huffing of his warm breath as it shifted to his mouth seemed to complete the stiffening of what could only be described as a tongue hard-on.

No, this couldn’t be happening, he thought. It can’t be real… can it? Tentatively, with mounting dread and equally intense curiosity, Spencer parted his lips further and let his tongue stretch out to its new, hardened length. The blunt, red head pushed out rudely past his lips almost a full inch. His tongue was fully aroused and as stiff as iron, waiting impatiently for Spencer to do something about it.

Spencer gaped at his tongue hard-on in the mirror, stomach roiling. This was catastrophic. His tongue-boner looked exactly like the one that had already been causing his trouble a few feet further south, all big and thick and shamelessly inconsiderate of its host not wanting to be fatally embarrassed by his own equipment. Only this one was worse. He couldn’t hide a mouth-boner with thick, baggy jeans and poor posture. He couldn’t hide it with anything! He thought about the way some people in Japan walked around wearing surgical masks to protect other people from their germs, and quailed at the thought of going to school that way and all the attention it would bring. He might as well just announce his tongue-boners over the P.A.

His brother picked that moment to tap on the bathroom door. “Spence?” he heard Bobby ask. “You okay? Was it the nachos?”

Spencer almost panicked. He couldn’t talk! And if he responded to Bobby with inarticulate grunting, that would probably convince him that he really was sick or something. Staring at his mouth in the mirror, though, and trying to get his thoughts under control, it occurred to him that he could talk around his not-so-little problem—as long as it didn’t involve any of those sounds you needed a tongue or lip contact for. Ps or Ts, stuff like that. And even as he thought this he recognized something that gave a shot of real, steadying relief: what he wanted to say to his brother in that moment didn’t require a tongue after all.

He turned toward the door and shouted “GO AWAY!” as distinctly as he could. It wasn’t quite right—he couldn’t quite manage the Y, so that it sounded more like go aweh—but it did the trick. “All right, fine,” Bobby groused from the other side of the door. “That’ll teach me to care.” Spence heard him moving off back toward the den and the TV (and his Gwen-texting device, a.k.a. his phone), and Spencer turned back to the mirror, staring hard at his problem and forgetting his brother’s existence almost instantly.

His problem was still there, but the rush of panic had ebbed, leaving behind a thrumming excitement and a swelling fascination. His heart pounded fast and hard as he fixated on his thick cockhead protruding from his mouth. He tested to see whether he still had any side-to-side motion now that his favorite ultra-flexible plaything had turned stiff as steel. He tried shifting his tongue a little to the left, and not only was he capable of doing so but the slide against his lips was so pleasurable he almost groaned. His hand snuck unconsciously to his crotch, grasping his regular cock through his thick, khaki cargo shorts as he tried again, this time pressing down a little more firmly with his lips as he slid his mouth-boner back the other way. He couldn’t suppress a low, quiet, throaty moan as pleasure surged through him, quickening his pulse and tightening his balls. He’d stroked himself a few times, so he recognized the feeling surging through him. He was going to cum. Soon. Very, very soon.

Spencer shoved his hand into his baggy shorts and took his lower dick directly in hand, but almost immediately some stray strand of rational thought reminded him of where he was. Bobby might be distracted by his obsessive need to chat with Gwen every minute they weren’t actually together and making out like they’d invented it, but he could get up at any time to grab a soda or even to check on his brother. Spencer couldn’t count on walking out of the downstairs bathroom with cum-soaked shorts and getting away with it. Hurriedly he undid the button, unzipped his fly, and, grabbing the shorts and his underwear together, shoved the whole kit halfway down his thighs, exposing his big, obscenely stiff-and-happy prick. It bobbed eagerly and Spencer took himself in hand, but his attention was already back on his mouth.

Watching everything in the mirror, he skated his tongue-boner back to the other side of his mouth between his compressed lips and shuddered hard, surging almost all the way to the edge of climax with that one lick of his mouth-cock. Then, sweating and as powerfully aroused as he’d ever been, his heart hammering loudly in his chest, Spencer tried the move he knew would take things past the point of no return. Cautiously, his eyes never leaving the spectacle in the mirror before him, Spencer slowly thrust his sensitive, greedy tongue-boner forward, past his pressed lips.

Oh, god, that was it. His regular cock and his mouth-cock both sparked twin doses incredible joy all through him. He pulled back and did it again, and that was enough. Almost instantly his body flooded with lightning euphoria. His brain went white as his cocks spat jet after jet of cum from his body. He felt like he was floating though his knees almost gave way and he had to grab at the counter with his free hand, still ejecting spurts of hot jizz from himself like that was what bodies were for.

When his vision cleared and his mind started working again an untold amount of time later, Spencer took in the mess he’d made. His heart was still hammering hard as he saw the spray of spunk dripping down the mirror that had come from his mouth-boner; the rest of it, all over the sink and counter, had come from his regular cock. His tongue was still had a dollop of cum hanging from it, and before Spencer could decide what to do about it he watched as it dropped wetly into the sink. He’d been lucky to be slumped forward like this, or he might have gotten jizz all over his shirt after all.

There was no way around it, he thought with a confusing mix of resignation and wonder. His eyes remained fixed on his still mostly hard tongue as it lolled from his gaping mouth in the mirror as he made sense of what happened. The was nothing else to call it. His tongue… was a cock. But would it stay a cock?

He withdrew the sensitive organ into his mouth, enjoying the new burst of almost painful pleasure this gave him, and tried examining how it was reacting as it softened in parallel with the cock in his hand. Was it going to be a cock, or a tongue again? His regular cock was reverting to its usual flaccid self, and his tongue… yes, it seemed to be widening and flattening. A moment passed and Spencer decided it was definitely recovering its usual shape and function, as though all this that had happened had been a passing aberration, a streaking meteor in an otherwise normal stark-pocked sky. Spencer could only wish it was something so transient, but something told him he knew better.

He found the paper towels and spray cleanser under the sink and cleaned up his mess with meticulous care, hoping no one would ever notice cum had been spilled here, or wonder why Spencer had suddenly gotten it in his head to clean up the bathroom sink. He threw the paper towels away in the garage wheely-bin and then hid away himself in his room. He lay in his bed for hours trying desperately to pretend that all of this was a one-time thing and that he didn’t have a new, disastrously permanent problem in his life.


It took him three agonizing weeks for Spencer to get up the nerve to try to talk to anyone about it.

“Can I ask you about hard-ons?” he asked Bobby one afternoon when he was sure no one else was home.

His brother looked up from the homework problems he was working through, eyes alight with amusement, and Spencer felt himself go red. He almost turned to flee, but he needed to do this. The internet had told him nothing at all no matter how he’d searched (deleting his history each time), and that in itself seemed worrisome—no one talked about this. Was it not a thing, or was it just so freaky that it was never spoken of?

It had happened eight more times since that first surprising manifestation watching TV in the den, and Spencer was belatedly putting the pieces together about his boners, and how, both before they were tandem and now, they were pretty obviously kind of tied to hot dudes. That buff baseball player on TV with the nice smile and the hairy sternum had been kind of a clue. Spencer had cum twice in his room since then just from wallowing in thoughts of that player and the room-full of athletic nakedness around him. A few more times he’d been idly thinking about that bright-eyed guy from that one show on the CW, the one who always wore sleeveless shirts and smirked a lot, and he found himself wondering what it would look like for him to have a tongue that got hard like Spencer’s. That had also been pretty effective, and had definitely seemed like not a coincidence.

Then the night before, after spending two whole hours after going to bed stressing over the hot-for-guys thing, he decided to put it to the test. He got naked, then lay back down in the dark of his room with only the noises of the woods through the open window to keep him company and thought hard about that guy at school that had been making him feel funny for a while now. His name was Jamie, and not only had he been hit by the puberty stick seemingly a year ahead of everyone else, but lately it seemed like his pecs were getting bigger (and his tee shirts snugger) practically by the week, repeatedly drawing Spencer’s attentive gaze to them for reasons he was only now fully understanding. As he lay in bed he dredged up every vivid memory he’d managed to squirrel away of the guy: how his shoulders were round and square, how his jeans hugged his firm, high, muscular ass, how his long legs looked like he could run a hundred miles, how he beamed excitedly when his talked to his buddies in the hallway about god knew what… and bam! Spencer was rock hard, down below and up top. It didn’t take him long after that, especially as he was now supplementing his stroking and mouthing of his cocks with all-new imagery where Jamie and him were alone in a dimly lit, empty hallway by his locker, and Jamie’s keen blue eyes were fixed on Spencer’s, and Jamie was licking his full, steak-red lips… and it suddenly occurred to Spencer for the very first time just how much his mouth-boner might appreciate meeting someone else’s lips… and someone else’s tongue.

He’d come so hard and so copiously he’d had to stealthily change the sheets before he could get back in bed and try to sleep. His post-orgasmic languor competed briefly with his racing thoughts until finally the afterglow took him into a deep sleep filled with very strange dreams. He woke up early, before his alarm, and the predawn solitude gave him time to formally add a new worry to his existing litany of anxieties: maybe mouth-boners were a boy-likes-boy thing, a sign of how freaky it was to be gay.

So now here he was, in his brother’s bedroom, trying not to die of mortification as Bobby unsuccessfully fought a grin. “Why?” he asked. “They been giving you trouble?”

More than a little, Spencer thought. He wanted to whimper, but he forced himself to ask his question. “Are you supposed to get them… anywhere else?” God, he was definitely going to die just from asking the question. Or the Earth might open up and swallow him, which sounded promising. His heart was pounding loudly in his ears, like it had actually climbed up into his skull and replaced his brain—which would at least explain how he’d convinced himself this was a good idea.

Bobby’s eyes were dancing. “What, like your nose? Your feet?” he taunted.

“Fuck you, I’m serious,” Spencer said, a rush of anger bleeding into his humiliation.

Bobby took pity on him. “Naw, dude,” he said easily, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, it’s normal to feel, you know, turned on all over, right? Like when I’m making out with Gwen, I get hot and stuff. Or—wait, did you mean your nipples?” Bobby asked suddenly. He blushed slightly, finally taking his share of the embarrassment.

Before Spencer had fully realized that the nipple thing was a possible cover for his stupid question, he shook his head. Bobby soldiered on. “Right, okay. ‘Cause they do sort of firm up. Especially on girls. But, um, the… a hard-on, that’s just your dick wanting to, you know…”

“Okay, thanks,” Spencer said quickly, before Bobby could start talking about how his dick wanted to shove itself inside Gwen Loretsky. Spencer hastily turned away and started to hurry out of his brother’s room.

“Why, though?” Bobby asked seriously. Then, a little more wryly, “You been getting weird boners, Spence?”

“Nope! See ya!” Spence called over his shoulder. He almost ran out of Bobby’s room and pretty much kept running right down the stairs and out of the house and straight down Kessler Street, all the way to the park. He collapsed into one of the swings in the playground, ignoring how he was too big for them now, and put his face in his hands.

At least one good thing would come out of that conversation. Thanks to those two horrific minutes he’d spent discussing boners with his brother, he was absolutely certain he would never have another hard-on again as long as he lived.


In high school, a bustling complex across town that seemed to be mostly filled with people he didn’t know, Spencer quickly became known as the quiet one to the few that were aware of him at all. He didn’t talk much, never volunteered an answer in class, and always seemed to be feeding bills into that vending machine down the east corridor, the one that nearly froze everything. He always had a bottle of ice water or was in the act of buying one, especially before and after his fourth-period phys. ed. class.

A locker assignment shake-up at the start of Spencer’s junior year put him three lockers down from a familiar face, his former bus buddy Jeff. They’d run into each other once or twice, and Spencer had seen him in the lunch room a few times, but the school was so big their schedules hadn’t overlapped anywhere until now. Spencer smiled, glad to see up close that Jeff’s cheeks were still freckly, though boyish cuteness had given way to a fresh-faced handsomeness, and that his hair was as red as ever, all the more visibly as he was wearing it almost shoulder length now. Spencer’s eyes kept traveling instinctively downward as Jeff went about unlocking the combo lock and pulling open the door, and Spencer realized with a bit of discomfort and a little joy that Jeff had filled out in all the right ways since middle school. He was tall and lanky now, with a tight ass and nice shoulders, and Spencer knew as if he’d been blessed with x-ray vision that under that plaid flannel shirt was a defined, nicely muscled torso Spencer could probably get off on just from looking at it. His body started to react, and he sheared his eyes away—fuck, he was in big trouble. And it was going to be a problem every day from now on as they both went to their lockers in the morning. Fuck!

He reached for his ice water bottle before remembering it was empty. Damn it! He started to turn to hurry over to the east corridor before his first class, but the motion caught Jeff’s eye and he turned, grinning widely as he caught sight of Spencer.

“Hey! Spencer!” he said happily, closing the distance between them. “It’s good to see you, man!” To his amazement, Jeff grabbed Spencer’s upper arm as he looked him over with frank appraisal. “Really good,” he added, dragging his gaze back up to Spencer’s and grinning even wider.

Spencer blinked at him. Was Jeff flirting with him? He’d never imagined anyone could be so brazen, especially with him. He wanted to ask… but at the moment it was absolutely imperative that he keep his mouth as firmly closed as possible.

“So,” Jeff continued relentlessly, not letting go of his arm, “I meant to ask you—why’d you stop playing baseball back then? I was always at the games, watching you run around the bases…”

Spencer blushed furiously, ducking his head. Damn it, just clamping his lips shut wasn’t going to be enough in a minute. He was powerless to turn away from Jeff, though. There was something about him that made Spencer want to hold onto him and basically not let go.

Though he hadn’t let go of Spencer’s arm, he felt Jeff’s fingers from his other hand under his chin, gently but firmly lifting his face up. Their eyes met, and Jeff’s dark hazel eyes were glinting. “I thought so,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen it once or twice. Especially that one day Jamie Prentiss wore that sleeveless UnderArmour shirt to school. I’ll admit, that had me going, too.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, and Jeff gave a rueful smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell,” Jeff said, his voice low. “And I don’t think anyone else knows. No one else is paying attention like I am.” Jeff licked his lips, and Spencer felt his blood heat up in a snap, and his heart starting bashing against his ribs like it wanted out.

The bell rang, and then, as if the Rapture had come and taken everyone but them, he and Jeff were alone in the corridor.

Jeff was standing very close, his hand still clasping Spencer’s upper arm. He was looking Spencer right in the eyes. “I guess you didn’t realize,” Jeff explained after a moment, “but… I’ve been crushing on you for a long time, Spence.”

Spence made a constrained sound in the back of his throat that was almost a whimper. His lips were mostly closed with only the narrowest of gaps right in the center, but they were bowed out like his was trying to keep something from escaping. Which he was.

Jeff grinned again, but his cheeks were red too, and his eyes were getting darker. “I’d kiss you right here, dude, but we’d both make a mess in our pants,” he murmured in Spencer’s ear. Spencer’s heart almost stopped. Jeff pulled back and looked him over, his gaze lingering on Spencer’s mouth before looking up again, visibly aroused and a little amused as well. “You don’t talk much these days, do you?” he teased, easing the moment a little.

Spencer shoved him lightly, then tentatively rested the same hand on Jeff’s shoulder. He was shaking with nervousness and desire. He needed for Jeff to kiss him. He had to feel what that was like, and suddenly he couldn’t imagine anyone but Jeff to share that experience with.

Jeff smirked fondly at him. “I heard a rumor,” he said, “that the lock on the third floor textbook cupboard is broken. Want to see if it’s true?” Without waiting for an answer he took Spencer’s hand in his and pulled him toward the stairs, and Spencer followed eagerly. He knew he was about to be glad for the first time that he was the way he was, and he was already sure that Jeff’s kisses, today and in the days to come, would make it all worth it many times over. He couldn’t wait for everything to change, one more time.


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