A nose knows

For

Ryan Jones

who urged from me a tale with more oral sex than

in my preceding contributions to this distinguished site.

* * *

This story has profited from contributions by reader James Rozo.

* * *

Cummy fingers to his nose, Conrad inhaled deeply.

The aroma combined a wet beach’s salinity with gym room sweat. Familiar and strange together, the scent eerily stimulated the skinny late-teen wimp.

Marek sometimes smelled like that after he had been with Xavier. Conrad could sort their difference.

Another sniff and Conrad wondered why he felt no guilt about what he was doing or his thoughts, which were leading toward taking a taste. There was no one to see the tip of his tongue touch a finger and withdraw. No one to see his eyes open or the impression of delight to his smile.

He thought it not bad. He rather liked it. Just like he had been told. Something about the combination of olfactory and gustatory factors rolled from his head throughout his body as his finger conveyed a taste of the athlete’s cum from the soggy jockstrap.

* * *

A week before, jerk-off-only buddies Marek and Xavier had exercised a while together for an anything-you-can-do-I can-also-do at their Junior College gym, then doffed their workout clothes with casual abandon. Towels in hand, they had headed someplace, but not directly to the showers. In their evident haste, Marek’s jock lay behind.

Conrad, who nervously always hung around those hot guys, made sure no one saw him grab the article, take a sniff, and tuck it into his rear pocket. Marek’s scent imprinted in his memory, he spent so much time in private with it.

No surprise then, when Conrad stole into the gym’s closeted area where the two just had had such sex as they had had, and recovered what he could of what was on the floor, using the sweaty jock.

Two distinct splotches. By their scent, he could tell which was which. Xavier’s provoked his nose not at all nor had he any desire to taste it. Marek’s attracted him the way an aromatic spice might. He longed for a lick of it. Settled temporarily for what could be absorbed by said jock.

The tiny freezer in his half-size refrigerator kept the plastic-housed jock fresh and ready to thaw whenever Conrad needed to boost his libido for a hand-job session of his own. Disdain marked his interest in personal effluent, so he relied on the fetish. It enabled him to forget his otherwise mundane, directionless situation. That was, until…

* * *

“Conrad, what are you doing in there?”

Shit.

Xavier was at the door to Conrad’s single room. Xavier, whose muscles were more pumped than Marek’s.

“Just sniffing glue.”

“No, you’re not. I’ve got your glue tube and brown paper bag. You’re doing something else.”

The door wasn’t locked. Xavier opened it to sounds of huffing and puffing.

Suddenly guilt-ridden at being caught in the act, Conrad tried to hide the object of his contemplative research.

“If that’s what I think it is, you twerp…”

“It’s not yours, it’s mine. It used to be Marek’s but he lost it and I found it.”

Rather than a colloquy on what constituted ownership and the proportion of possession as law, nine-tenths and all that, there ensued a fracas so frenzied, so fast, so furious that it cannot be recounted here. When the dust settled as, proverbially, it must, the two were locked together.

Conrad, twisted in something like a choke hold, was trying his best to syphon Xavier’s spuming emission but couldn’t swallow. Thus, he foamed from his mouth as if beset by rabies. Cheeks and lungs burning, he fought a wild fracas in every direction. One of his hands clawed the attacker’s balls, the other going under and pulling the hair that grew there.

He was let go, wondering where such reactions had come from. Oh well...later maybe he would understand. Xavier seemed ready for a concession, one might say.

Thus began an understanding. Xavier would sneak scent-embedded articles from Marek’s dorm room for needy Conrad’s sniffer. As recompense for keeping secrets and providing favors, Xavier would train the little pervert’s mouth and throat to accept his length on demand. Reinforcements by manual grip assured Conrad’s capitulation but were unnecessary when some new Marek-cum-rag was pressed – held in place – between Conrad’s nostrils and Xavier’s pubes.

Gratitude would well in the boy’s eyes as he gagged and inhaled under the remorseless logic of Xavier’s manhood at full flare. Conditioned by frequent demands of older upon younger, Conrad tried to think of exercises for his throat to be even better – so Xavier would produce more of Marek’s body’s bounty for him.

“Be really good to me today with your throat – I want to go way back in it – really good and I’ll have a gift for you, one you’ll want to kiss my ass for,” Xavier said a few days later.

Conrad, who had been studying the Declaration of Independence in school, said to himself the founding document’s opening line, constricting his throat where the stresses fell: We holdthesetruthsto be self-evident. Over and over, as deeply as he could, he drove Xavier’s cock into the saliva-heavy passage, repeating the rhythm.

At last, boy won! Xavier spasmed with such force that he fell away in need of minutes’ recuperation.

“What’s my surprise?” Conrad swallowed and pouted, “Where is it? You promised.”

“Go look out in the hall,” came the gasp.

In annoy, the boy, ever so coy, peeked and beheld – in the pink (clothed) – Marek!

He approached slowly, his walk that of a sure-footed, athletically-honed stud. His face, at first, a frown. About the manly apparition, Conrad felt the prevue of an aura which must radiate many scents – possibly, probably to come under his nose’s purview. Gift of gifts!

Humility crept throughout. Uncertainty resulting from the approaching presence weakened the emotionally stultified boy. Conrad sank to his knees.

Marek smiled crookedly. “A starting point, Conrad, better suited to privacy in your room than out here where people can see.”

Resonance of voice vibrated, tuning Conrad like a musical instrument, raising the pitch of his anticipation.

“Rouse yourself and follow in my steps. You’ll catch wafts of me if you’re close enough.”

He passed the boy who struggled upright. “As your surprise, I have much ahead to require of you.” A finger flick indicated Conrad’s nervous excitement, “Your pecker looks to be more alert than your brain, the way you dally.”

Marek, like Xavier, enjoyed the act of belittling inferior Conrad. Bolstered his bully’s smug sense of superiority.

Conrad scrambled, his walk a crouch so his nostrils were in wake of his desired one’s walk.

At the door of the boy’s room, Marek stopped suddenly. Conrad’s nose crashed into the small of his back. “Oh. Oh, I’m sorry.”

They stepped inside.

“I’m dropping my pants. I want your nose at the top of my crack, and I want you to sniff down and tell me how you like it.”

Knees knocking, Conrad had recourse to the truth in order of descent. “Moldy .. clayey … stinky .... sweaty.”

Marek pulled up his pants and demanded from seemingly nowhere, “What are those plants on your windowsill?”

“My African violets. Aren’t they pretty?”

His mean streak asserting itself, Marek had a bizarre idea to humiliate further the student for whom he loved to assert dominance. Conrad’s weaknesses invited it, he reasoned.

“Eat them and let me smell your breath. Now, dodo.”

Incredulous that anyone, much less an idol such as Marek, wanted to smell him under any circumstances, Conrad obediently noshed his prize herbaceous perennials and their velvety leaves, then fuzzy stems. A salad with no dressing – strange, but most interesting to his taste buds: grassy flavor with subtle cucumber nuance and basil hints.

“Preferable. You may lick me,” Marek said, checking to see that Xavier had a view of him and Conrad in the room.

Conrad’s tongue darted to the hair between Marek’s pectorals, his nose in contact as well. Scents and taste aligned – masculine flesh, violet-tinged saliva. Licking and lapping at upstanding nipples, down the treasure trail to navel and pubic cluster, bypassing hair-free cock for wirily hirsute scrotum, the boy steadied himself by gripping Marek’s knees and kneeling gradually.

“My main attraction – now. As you did for Xavier, lower your jaw. Slide your tongue under, where the soft vein bulges, and do not resist my possession of your mouth. Breathe through your nose while I let you, when I let you, and be grateful.”

The instructions and the way Marek issued them rattled Conrad, whose childlike cocklet threatened breakage. Strong hands – the man’s – took his head, steadied it, and moved cockhead to soft palate.

“Begin swallowing, fool, before I have to resort to punishing you for lack of cooperation.”

No sniff-and-blow job, but a mouth rape and throat assault. Splutters, guttural croaks, ghastly gaggings, running snot, choked-back regurgitative surges, spews of excessive pre-spermatic effluent – Conrad’s wind-desperate head swam for life in whirlpools of sexual revulsion and spine-tingling thrills.

Xavier’s ‘training’ by Xavier had not prepared him for Marek’s violent insistence.

When he could catch a breath, his nose registered the sour pungency of perspiring pubes. Air! It was the bearer of scents, he realized for the first time. Raw data! To be processed when he could, sorted into such categories as his nose’s sensitivity allowed.

Momentary serenity was demolished by a flash of cock in throat, fingers holding his nostrils closed. Marek geysered into gullet, strangling Conrad who fell limply away.

They made sure his mouth and nose were cleared so he could breathe.

* * *

Conrad woke, not knowing the time of day nor even the day of the week. But, all that had happened to him came back – as colliding thoughts.

To alleviate his confusion, Conrad sought the comfort of toothpaste and brush to cleanse with peppermint flavor and scent before gargling similar mouthwash. A fresh start for what had been abused. He breathed easily then but not for long.

What he had been forced to swallow – Marek’s sperm! – worried him. Too much of a strong thing? Something, anything – he must eat for the sake of his sperm-challenged stomach. If not, what would happen further down, in his digestive tract?

A not quite over-the-hill banana, soft and sweet, and a jar of crunchy peanut butter proved perfect for the situation. He made careful not to eat too fast. He chewed thoroughly and washed down the sustenance with a glass of water. Milk would have tasted better but there was none. Half a glass more was used to rinse his mouth while thinking of the milk he wished he had.

A shrug of his narrow shoulders, Conrad burped and turned toward the bed – where lay the jock strap that had set in play the only wild adventure of his young, otherwise deprived life.

He flung himself on it, nose down. Conrad’s desperate need for validation dispelled as he savored Marek’s dessicated effluvia. It faint but complex emanation so moved the boy’s emotions that he began softly to cry. Each tear soaked a tiny spot on the crusty fabric, freeing molecules to rise noseward. His little prong squashed into the bed. Rapt in his masturbatory effort, the door being opened went unheard.

At the sound of his name, Conrad contracted foetally, covering the strap. “It’s mine. Don’t take it away, please.”

“No hysterics needed,” Xavier said, swatting the boy’s exposed butt hard.

“Hear what we’ve come to say,” Marek touched Xavier’s glowing handprint. “Come, put your nose in my lap and pacify yourself.”

Sniffling a bit, Conrad did as bidden. Although moving where Marek said exposed hardon and all, he was ready to listen. How nice they were being to him.

Xavier squatted to be near. He followed Marek’s example by placing a hand alongside Marek’s, each on a rear cheek. “We liked making you do what you really wanted to do but were probably afraid to unless we forced you into it.”

Offended as he was, Conrad could not refrain from peeking up at Marek and around at Xavier, curious. Both of them, so compellingly alive and vital if frightening. A hushed rush in his voice betrayed his interest, “W-w-what?”

“You’re glad to see us, we note. Your – ha-ha – boy part is standing straight out.” He went on, “Conrad, something about you brings out our potency.”

Xavier’s words disturbed Conrad less than the sets of fingers centering on his knotted ring of backdoor muscle. He clenched tight. They stroked, probed a little. Another worry!

“It’s your mouth we want, your constricting throat, Conrad, not where we’re touching you. Here’s what we’re going to do to you for us: you’re ours when we want and how we want as rough as before; in exchange, you get all our underwear to sniff when you’re not face-deep on our cocks, and we’ll replace your African violets as often as you eat them for us.”

The illogic did not phase Conrad. Gladly would he be a slave to their demands – for such promised rewards. They would pay for his flowers!

Marek leaned to kiss the top of Conrad’s head, “Lift up your face so I can unzip. You’re going to suck me as I sit, and you’re going to be spanked each time you don’t make yourself gag.”

The promised spanking began with whaps from each at different rates. Conrad drove his head onto Marek’s near-cartilageous rigidity, sputtering as he pressed the cock to his throat’s entrance and retching as he gagged to choke down reflux.

“Stay on it, you little turd,” Marek muttered, “or I’ll use my hands to hold you there.”

“He can do it,” Xavier sounded amazed. His hands left the younger’s ass and moved to himself, one to cradle bulging balls, the other to comfort a lust-laden cock. His eyes flickered from the head action to Conrad’s suggestively-lobed bottom and back.

Marek’s smirk of approval went haywire, his eyes rolled back, and he gasped for breath as desperate determination drove Conrad to cram himself to the man’s crotch and to receive mouthsful of salty jism. Downing all of it, he lifted off to gasp for air, expecting relief.

Not.

“Let me have him,” Xavier grabbed the boy’s legs, pulled him away from Marek’s lap and, displaying his might, held Conrad by the ankles high enough that the boy’s mouth had nowhere to go but onto the cock that had coveted his ass.

“Suck it! Or.. I’ll.. drop.. you.. on.. your stupid head.”

Suspended upside down, Conrad had no choice. A new experience! Xavier’s cock felt completely different. Fucked toward the boy’s uvula, it threatened to trigger the gag reflex uniquely, while balls flopped near forehead. Took only seconds.

The novelty triggered unprepared, frantic orgasm. Xavier’s copious discharge presented a new challenge to the bewildered boy, his mouth full.

How to swallow up.

By reflex, his windmilling arms and hands reached for the man’s muscular thighs but found purchase on his knees. Conrad, whose face was turning red, had stabilized himself enough to concentrate. He forced his throat to cooperate.

When he managed to swallow, Xavier said, “I felt that to my toenails.”

Marek recovered enough to witness his friend’s body quivering with muscle fatigue as it lowered Conrad tenderly to the floor. They smiled at each other.

“We’ve got to take care of this one.”

“I’ll say. He’s to be nurtured.”

“With any flowers we make him eat.”

And so he was.

* * *

Excoriatingly fierce use of Conrad’s mouth in the next weeks had the men’s dicks red as grilled frankfurters and hypersentive from contact with the boy’s teeth. They shared a tube of hydrocortisone crème.

“You shouldn’t slap his face so hard. That’s when his jaw contracts,” Xavier complained as he smeared himself.

Marek countered, “You initiated that. Now what’re we going to do?” He gestured for the ointment.

“His ass doesn’t have teeth.”

“You kidding? A stinkhole? I want my gobbets agitating his soft palate, frightening his uvula so he fights with his only defense, guttural gags. He’s like a soprano trying to sing while being choked and fucked at the same time. Turns me on. And the way snot drools down – he loves it, I can tell.” He tucked his medicated part into clean underwear.

“Yeah, when I’m depressing his tongue and reaming his soft tissues I kind-of have affection for him. He’s so submissive with me.”

“Listen to yourself, pining like a pussy-whipped straight. You thought I didn’t see what you’ve been up to.”

“What did you see?”

“You approaching Conrad, merely tapping his jaw – and how he kneels to just slurp you in. Where’s the sport in that? Why don’t you at least pull his ears or put pressure on his jugular?”

“I think he’s sweet, especially after I let him sniff my shorts and jock straps. Say, if you’ve got some of yours ready as I do, let’s take them over and get our others back for laundering. I’m running out.”

“I’ll drive.”

* * *

On their way, they passed a high school athletic field where football scrimmage was underway, boys were running track, others were trying pole vaulting.

Marek stopped the car at Xavier’s urging. “Look! There’s Coach Wright. I remember him and bet he remembers me. Listen, I’ve got a mad idea. Stay put. Let me jog over to speak with him.”

The gesticulations Marek witnessed included what he thought, after initial manly embraces, was the coach’s grope of Xavier. Animated conversation. Heads nodding. Familial hugs. A handshake. Then, instead of returning to Marek’s car, Xavier went out of view with the man, only to reappear with a small bag in his hand.

“Go directly to Conrad’s,” Xavier said, shutting the car door. “We can make some money, I think, with that nose of his.”

* * *

His explanation a thing of the past, Xavier, with Marek just behind, walked in on Conrad. “Hi, twerp. Take off those ridiculous clothes.”

“I was doing my homework.”

Stared at, he complied.

“The useful parts are on his face,” Xavier did not need to say. The remark was for Conrad. “We’re not here for a suck-job.”

Marek regarded his friend, “Shall I tell him what he’s to do?”

The bag was tossed to Conrad who surprised himself and his visitors by catching it.

“One by one, take each article out and tell us what you can by smelling it.”

Unable to believe his luck, Conrad took a general whiff of the white cotton contents and immediately was exhilarated. He extracted a jock strap. “It’s damp.”

After a we-mean-business snap of Xavier’s fingers, Conrad breathed tentatively, then deeply. “What’s this? It’s not yours. It’s…it’s some young male’s.” He waved it under his nostrils, “Must be…wait, let me try another one.”

Marek crossed his arms.

“This one’s your’s, Xavier. Wait,” he pulled out a pair of jockeys, “this is, too. You are in my memory bank. But the first one’s new – and nice.”

His men’s items went into one pile, the unidentified ones’ into the other. “These are not all different. Some are duplicates.” Feeling safe, Conrad ventured on, “I can tell they are not adults’ because they don’t emanate a strong male scent. Most have urine, though, which gets in my way.” He volunteered the most interesting observation last, “Piss aside, four of these males’ sweat have an element I don’t know. It’s wonderful, something special.”

“Put your clothes on – and hurry. We’re going to take you to a place where your talents will get a real try-out.”

* * *

Dreadfully on-edge in the school’s team dressing room with three men behind him and a row of teen boys clad only in gym shorts before him, Conrad would have faltered had not Coach Wright spoken out.

“Listen up, boys. This is a random drug-use test. You’re to stand still, hands clasped behind your back, and look forward. On no account move.”

They were imagining a drug-sniffing dog but didn’t see one.

An odd-looking fellow, slightly older than they, approached the first in line, leaned down, and moved his nose dangerously close. Moved it back and forth an inch or two. Moved to the next. The same head-shake. At the third, he stopped and, with serious mien, reached to pull down the teen’s shorts, and put his nose directly to the medium-sized bulge strapped tight.

“McDermott, step over to my left,” Coach Wright said.

Garcia, Tremont, and Jones were similarly, if puzzlingly, singled out. The others were dismissed.

In common, their perspirational aromas included the mysterious element detected by Conrad’s unusual power of smell. When they were together in the coach’s office, chance closeness of kneeling Conrad to Wright’s groin brought, “You have it, too.”

Turned out, all four were gifted with exceptional athletic prowess, at least in the making.

“A sort of sports DNA by the olfactory nerves,” Wright concluded. “Knowing that, I can negotiate college scholarships for these boys, really big ones.” Knowingly, he added, “If they have the necessary desire, drive, and ambition.”

The kids congratulated themselves with similarly knowing smiles.

Before Coach Wright went further with financial, even fiduciary speculations, Xavier wanted Conrad out of earshot. He moved the two of them out in the hall.

“Conrad, of the four boys you helped the coach find today, which smelled to you like one you’d want most to suck?”

“Huh? Well, it would be…Tremont.” Conrad thought hard to find the right word from his reading, “There are subtle tinctures to his aromas – all attractive. All worth collecting, you know, like people collect butterflies, only I collect in my nose.”

“And if you sucked him?”

“My nose would be in his pubes as long as he didn’t push me away. I would be happy to collect him, even to swallow what he might give me.”

A short conference of Xavier with Coach Wright led to dismissal with thanks of McDermott, Garcia, and Jones. Coach took Tremont aside.

“You are the luckiest member of my team. Conrad’s selected you for research more special than anything in your life so far. I know, because you told me things in one of our counseling sessions. That boy’s some kind of genius. I’m going to place you and him in my own inner room until you are ready to come out. Cooperate with him fully, OK?”

He then whispered something no one could overhear.

* * *

Tremont’s features suited his frame. Perfectly proportioned were blue-gray eyes under wide-set brows, a crisply defined nose over a mouth that welcomed every chance to smile, a chin meant never to be hidden beneath any whiskers, ears every tongue would wish to caress, and a head of lustrous sandy-colored hair which threatened to curl if allowed to grow out.

Shoulders, chest and stomach matched the musculature of legs and buttocks in lean lines appropriate to a boy someplace in development between runner and swimmer.

Conrad, inexperienced in acknowledging male beauty, gawked at the vision standing before him.

Tremont glowed with devilment as he let his shorts whisper to the floor. He drew circles on his stomach with one finger, pointing at the strap cupping in rounded fashion what Conrad sought.

Taking his suppliant’s position, Conrad turned his face up, nostrils aquiver.

The vision’s expected melodious voice was veiled most curiously by impatience, “I’m naked here. I think you should be, too.”

Conrad took the hint. Managed to stand. Hustled to strip himself bare. Opened his mouth. Sank back down.

Tremont’s proud part and what had drawn up below were ripe with glandular secretions. Conrad wove back and forth drunkenly as the redolence reached his sinuses, so deep were the breaths he took. With each, his brain whirled like the reels in a slot machine.

Afraid the strange creature might topple, Tremont caught Conrad by the back of his neck and pulled his gaping mouth where it could only do him good. The boy’s hyped system exploded with sparks as hot as Roman candles. Conrad grabbed the boy then to keep him from collapsing. Male mouth sucking high school cock with lightning strikes of tongue conjured cries of unknown agony like pain from the would-be athlete. And they grew worse as Conrad’s jaw and throat muscles insisted on more delicious fluid until there was no more.

Weakened legs gave way. Tremont had to lie back. Fingers shook, heart pounded.

Like a hawk swooping to seize prey, Conrad straddled the boy, gobbled up his flopping cock, and rooted his nose within the teen’s odoriferous thatch of tawny curls. Bouquet and sapor of boy, both rich in nuance. A dual feast for the compulsive consumer!

Powerless but for his heels digging down, Tremont could do nothing to stop his hips boosting up and into Conrad’s maniacal, devouring, purging torment. Nothing to prevent returning engorgement of exhausted tool. His breathing harshened with each intake. Ghastly with hurt was what he remembered from earliest masturbation attempts – a dry orgasm. Only now, in a dervish-mad mouth aswim with secretions of saliva and remains of sperm, and demanding more.

To a naively fearsome, primal outcry, the teen’s bladder released its contents so fast they were swallowed unthinkingly. Guzzled down, the briny, tart taste had piquancy new to Conrad. He smacked his lips, stood, commenced to don his clothes, and said to himself something Tremont could barely make out about ‘new data.’

He opened the door where stood Xavier, Marek and Coach Wright.

“That’s was good. Let’s go.”

“Have you harmed my athlete?” Coach Wright demanded as he rushed to quivering Tremont.

“No, just took a few samples.”

* * *

Telephones rang or beeped all over town from dinnertime until late. Messages for Xavier and Marek accrued until there was room for no others. The two had secreted themselves with freshly-stripped Conrad in his little room where, with door locked, they intended to ply him gorge-deep, taking turns repeatedly.

“You got your reward. Now give us ours,” Xavier took the lead, knocking his erection to either side of Conrad’s nose. Wisps of scrotal exudation stirred desire. Meekness as before? Xavier sensed a change. He looked at wrinkled nose, flaring nares.

The voice was confident, “You should drink more sweet milk and less bad coffee.”

Disbelieving eyes did not deceive. Nor did ears. Conrad – assertive?

“And you should do some long-distance running instead of lifting weights. Your crotch would be more enticing – unless, of course, you want my nose and tongue in your exercised armpits.”

That was it. Xavier’s cock jammed Conrad’s sassy mouth balls deep. The noises of gagging reached levels bordering the unendurable before Xavier stepped away and his place was taken as forcefully by Marek. Immediate convulsions of throat about the man’s cockhead ripped an orgasm of ferocious abruptness that dazzled Marek. He reeled back.

Recovering for a chance to dominate the little cocksucker, Xavier aimed his yet-slimy cock into the oral breach. Another opportunity to thrust overruled any danger. Thumb on top, fingers below stiff weapon, he would not be taken by storm as Marek had.

But, in the half-second he dawdled with the idea, Conrad’s mouth widened for breadth and canted forward to consume length. It drew on the huge cock’s fibers of feeling with vacuum force, tongue in full play, craw throttling with vengeance, and wrestled another instantaneous orgasm into its maelstrom of demand.

Zippering his pants, big, butch Xavier tottered.

“You two need some rest. Go home. Take your stinky garments with you and launder them.” Conrad’s voice had no strain.

Neither opted to speak, their post-orgasmic situations having deflated intentions.

Marek stumbled to unlock the door. When he opened it, Coach Wright was about to knock.

“Is Conrad all right? You haven’t harmed him, have you?”

“See for yourself.”

Wright noticed Xavier gathering underwear into a soiled pillow case before he saw the object of his inquiry, Conrad standing nakedly with arms crossed before his spindly chest.

“Listen up, you guys. Tremont told all his classmates, even a couple of his teachers. You know, about what you, Conrad, did for him. Now parents have heard and everybody’s up in arms, wanting Conrad, one father in particular.”

“Huh?”

“Mister Burt Tremont, that’s who. Conrad, put on some clothes. You’re coming with me. Move it!”

* * *

Xavier and Marek exchanged nasty comments as they left. The sight of Coach Wright driving away with ‘that little shrimp’ bugged them.

* * *

Adrenaline’s flow fed Conrad’s arteries and veins until they hummed. There, before him and in welcoming mode, were son and dad, splendid in physical form, smiles on their similar faces.

Coach Wright was waved off. He drove down the cypress-lined, circular driveway, leaving behind the Tremont family’s white Colonial mansion and thinking, if all went well, about the future of his athletes.

“Conrad, this is my father,” young Tremont said. “I’ve told him how marvelous you were with me. You took me to the top of the world with your mouth.”

The elder Tremont hoisted scrawny Conrad to look at his eyes and said, “My son’s had an epiphany, thanks to you.”

“What’s that?”

Burt Tremont, Sr. kissed the boy’s temple. “An illuminating discovery essential to great understanding – did you know that?”

“No, but I know, or my nose knows about essences. From your face alone there are traces in the air of something your son has. Let me down, please. I must know more – if I’m to understand what’s happened to us both. I’m not the same I was before.”

“Dad, put him down. Let him smell you. It’ll be a treat you won’t believe. Well, you will believe. What a difference it’s made to me. I’m a believer. I’m changed. Oh god, I’m changed.”

Conrad wanted to confess more than he had – about no longer being narrowly closeted in his tiny room, about how bashful he had been, about how crude his tormenters were, about how big dicks clogged his throat and prevented his air flow, about the joy he so recently knew. This was not the time.

Conrad gazed at neatly fastened trousers. His mouth watered at the first whiff his nose had of the handsome man. Distant, delicate, but definite were perspiration free of impurities and subtle emanations of manly glands. The tincture he first recognized in the son tickled its way into prominence as Conrad filtered the complexity of elements comprising Tremont, Sr.’s scent.

Sensing permission by proximity, Conrad thought ahead. “Will you remove your shoes and socks?”

“And my trousers?”

“Everything.”

“Then let’s go to the comfort of my bedroom – just up those stairs and to our right. Burt, Jr. will show you the way. I’ll follow. Son, if you please?”

* * *

The Tremonts’ simple acts of disrobement revealed more resemblances. Their bodies, while alike, were not congruent. A twenty-something-year difference in ages accounted for that. They moved similarly, smiled guilelessly the same and, to Conrad, looked as much like brothers as like a son and his father.

A paired source for nasal research and analysis!

Conrad followed suit by removing his own clothes.

Burt, Jr. picked them from the floor, made a moue, looked at his dad, faced their guest, and advised a shower. “You want to smell good for us, don’t you?”

Attention paid by the two to Conrad’s unpraiseworthy anatomy – under streaming warm water and sudsy, floral-tinged shampoo for hair and corpus – undid the boy. His efforts to speak in protest of such goodwill were shushed.

Hands caressingly tender on his little privates almost overtook Conrad’s capacity to understand. No one had ever been so considerate. Embarrassment made him seem punch-drunk, giddy to the point of needing support. Nearest to his hands were penises, two which he reached for and clung to, to sounds of happy laughter. He had never felt so silly, nor so important, so honored. Close to unaccustomed tears, he was embraced as the shower was turned off and towels produced to wipe the trio dry. He sniffled a bit and blew his nose on some toilet tissue.

A new day for the knowledge seeker dawned. Beautiful guys fresh from scrub-downs, no matter how well-intentioned their on-bed sprawl, had little to offer Conrad’s nose. The lack of human scent was noted.

“Wait a sec,” Burt, Sr. said, “You’ve never had the chance to imbibe anyone’s secretions when they first exude them, have you?”

And just like that, the Tremonts’ bedroom became the site for the rapid combinations of push-ups, sit-ups, and squats. After each set of ten combos, Conrad nosed in for intakes of perspiration’s output. He reveled indulgently like a saturnalian Roman as man-and-boy aromatics accrued to his olfactory feast.

Banquet-style courses later, Conrad’s dessert was served into his mouth by Burt, Jr. and into his throat by Burt, Sr. – gobbets of sweet-and-pure, body-warm, whistle-clean cum.

* * *

For months, life with the Tremonts was idyllic. Living conditions far exceeded Junior College dorm conditions. The sex was great. Conrad, his needs met generously, was in earthly heaven. There was evidence.

All the windowsills in the mansion’s upstairs displayed a wide range of potted African violets - singles, doubles, semi-doubles, star-shaped, fringed or ruffled in colors ranging from blue to purple, lavender, pink, red-violet, blue-violet, lavender-pink and white.

Too heavenly?

Conrad had moments of forthright reflection. His abuse at the merciless hands of Xavier and Marek had been so…exciting. They stole from him his innocence when involving his nose and tongue tip with Marek’s savory jock strap. Yet from that time of subservience to wonder-filled horror had evolved the phenomenon of his nose as omnivorous and omniscient arbiter.

On its authority, athletic scholarships from colleges and universities had been awarded – with Coach Wright benefiting professionally and, from illegal kick-backs termed ‘finder’s fees,’ financially.

The longing to graze again with his nose ‘for the better good’ combusted in Conrad. He was inflamed by desire to help others in the world beyond where he lived so stably. To his voiced frustration, commendably, the Tremonts conceived, produced, and marketed Conrad’s instructional series of videos designed to encourage and to promote the development among nature-enabled young of sensitively inhalant noses, virtuosic mobile tongues, gourmet taste buds, and easy-entry throats.

Cutting to the on-rush of ending: Restrictive religious beliefs were eclipsed under the impact of the subsequent movement’s spread of its beneficent contagion. A run-away success in reformatory release programs, halfway houses, juvenile centers, and among teenagers at home and abroad!

Thus was created what social historians eventually and grandly termed The Golden Age of Conradian Orality.