FROTTAGE: AN UNBELIVABLY TRUE STORY

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Here’s a story that, like every one of my posts, is true. I hope you believe me. If you doubt me, I guess that’s okay, too. I mean, there’s nothing I can do about it, and I hope that you’ll still at least like the story. But again; this is 100% true.

1984. I was wearing my black parachute pants, and I was hanging out with my girlfriend Karen, her friend Jennifer, and Jennifer’s boy friend Corey. Yes. I’ll admit it; I had a huge crush on Corey. A very mixed up foursome. This night in particular, Corey was wearing Nike basketball pants that looked like they were satin, and a t-shirt tucked in. He had longish blond hair that just covered his ears. He was cool, also, because he had an actual earring in his left ear. One of those tough guy, pretty boys. I bet that if any guy challenged Corey to a fight, his tough image would crumble like the Berlin wall. But I thought that was charming, and kinda sexy.

The four of us had just seen the first “Police Academy” movie. I swear it. I didn’t pick the movie, and I seemed to be the only one who didn’t think it was a laugh riot. Anyway…it was Saturday night, and after the movie we took the bus back to Karen’s house. We went into her furnished basement and both of us started “making out” with our girlfriends. I was facing Corey, and even though I was into making out with my girlfriend, I found myself opening my eyes and watching Corey make out with Jennifer. He was way ahead of me that night and seemed to want to go farther. So we decided to open the sofa bed. Karen and I were both a bit nervous, as we really hadn’t gone much further than second base. And even then, I would run back to first nervously. But that night seemed to promise more, and the four of us layed down on the bed. From left to right it was Jennifer, Corey, me, then Karen. So, Corey and I had our backs to each other. No blankets or sheets to cover us up.

While I was making out with Karen, pretty heavily, I was constantly aware of Corey right behind me making out with his girlfriend. Suddenly, I felt a quick, (too quick,) brush of his ass against mine. Because I was wearing my nylon parachutes, and he was wearing shiny, slick basketball pants, the quick contact was slippery. I’d never felt such a rush of pure adrenaline and excitement as my bulge began to grow in my pants. I knew that Karen had no idea why I seemed more excited, except that it was due to making out with her. Her tongue and mine were moving around in our lip lock.

While I was afraid to push things by rubbing my ass against him, I couldn’t stand the waiting any more, and went ahead. I brushed my ass against his. I actually did it. I was waiting for some kind of “Stop that! What, are you gay?”, or him just changing places with Jennifer. But nothing happened. My dick at this point was rock hard at the beautiful feeling of two silky fabrics rubbing against each other. And the thought of two boys’ asses!

Needless to say, the frottage continued, and while he seemed to be getting further with Jennifer, the contact with me became increasingly hotter. Now, our asses were always up against the other’s. It felt so intense, and I’ll never forget the feeling. Or, what was going through my mind. I thought, maybe Corey is like me. Maybe he likes guys, too. MAYBE…he likes ME! But at that moment, I was mainly thinking about our asses, slickly, smoothly touching, and moving around each other.

The makeout session was ended abruptly when Karen’s mom called downstairs, “Karen! I think it’s time the boys left! Good night, Ryan. Goodnight, Corey.” I sadly and frustratingly got up, straightened my cock, and buttoned up my shirt. I rolled the sleeves up just past my elbow and tucked it in. Corey straightened himself out quickly, too.

We both left Karen’s house with a quick “‘night” to her mother. I walked out with Corey. He was going to the train station, and I was walking home. The same direction. Corey and I joked and talked as we walked. I wasn’t going to bring up what was going on in my head during our time on the couch, and Corey wasn’t talking either.

We got to the train station, and said our goodbyes. Corey walked away. I watched him go. I visually took in his satiny warm-up pants, his gray high-tops, his t-shirt and his cute now-mussed hair. Yes, I wished I had asked him to spend the night at my house. But I chickened out. We never mentioned that night again, and I lost touch a long time ago.

Yet, I’ll never forget his touch. Never.

THANK YOU, BUGLE BOY COUNTDOWN PARACHUTE PANTS (and thank you, Kevin H.!)

image The fad started when I was in eighth grade, and continued through the entirety of Freshman year at the all-boys prep school I went to. It stopped abruptly a year or so later. This story, though, takes place at the fad’s peak.

So. Freshman year. I had, I think, six different pairs of parachute pants. I wore them Saturdays and Sundays, no matter what. During the week? At school? I slowed it down a bit, and wore them maybe twice a week. If I felt okay, I’d push it to three. Even though I had six or seven different pairs (One pair I had was red with black zippers that showed the black nylon underneath. They were my most…elaborate pair.) I had my favorites, or most-worn pairs. They were the black/black pair, and a blue pair with lighter blue zippers. Those two pairs were the foremost in my rotation. My sister used to tease me. “Nice ‘chutes, Ry.” One time I laughed because she said “Hey, nice clothes, Ryan. I’ve got an idea! Have you ever heard of Parachute Pants?”  Yeah, she could be funny sometimes.

At that time, at that age, I knew I liked girls. My girlfriend and I (the makeup girlfriend) were still going out. But I knew that guys held a certain allure for me. I didn’t freak out, or get depressed or confused. It was like, Oh, okay. I like boys, too. No big deal, though I did keep this secret to myself, and one at-the-time girl who was a “friend.” Turns out she wasn’t keeping my secret amongst her friends. Found that out years later. Anyway…

There was a boy in my home room class, and my math class, named Kevin H. (I guess I shouldn’t tell his last name.)  Well, he wore parachute pants every damn day! He wasn’t one of the break dancer guys who’d show off their skills in the hallways during lunch periods. No, I don’t think Kevin was a break dancer. He was a little more masculine than me, he even had the thin mustache that 13 year old boys can get if they’re of a certain nationality. But there was also something soft about him. He had beautiful olive skin and a stunning smile. Unfortunately, though we were both aware of each other, we never became friends, or even conversed with each other. Kevin wore his PPs fitted, like I did. And he had that body that could carry it off, too. Certainly, I know that while I got teased by preppy kids for wearing PPs, they liked Kevin, and left him alone. I can’t figure out why, except that Kevin was more popular than I.

In home room, he was seated across the room from me, so I couldn’t really talk with him at all. Since it was the second period of the day, I’d always check him out to see which of his ‘chutes he was wearing that day. My favorite of his was a white pair, with gray zippers that were placed in slightly different places than the usual Bugle Boys. He effin’ rocked those pants! (?) since they were tight, they totally showed off his (larger than mine) package.

I’ll never forget math class that year. I was seated one row away from him, in the last seats. I would bow my head and out of my peripheral vision I could see his nylon-covered package when he was seated. It always looked like he had an erection, but that wasn’t true. I knew because it always looked that way, and when he got called to do a problem at the blackboard, he wasn’t at all stereotypically hunched over to hide his boner. No, he was just blessed with a perfect bulge. When Kevin was at the front of the class, his back turned to the room, I would gaze at his perfect ass. It was gorgeous. Perfect. (Naturally, the fact that his lower body was covered with nylon was the obsession here.)

Good god! If I didn’t know I also liked guys, Kevin H. certainly proved to me and my raging hormones that like it or not: I liked guys. And girls. But if I had to say which sex I leaned towards or preferred; I would have to admit (as if you can’t tell by my posts) that I found myself fantasizing about boys rather than girls. And even all these years later, I still picture Kevin H in my head. The way his long, thin legs looked walking in parachute pants. The way his bulge looked when seated at his school desk. And his nylon clad legs when at the chalkboard. But even though he had a bigger collection of PPs than I did (at the time), the white, with gray zippers, are the pants I’ll never forget. It’s been many years, and I haven’t yet.

If you’re out there somewhere: Thank You, Kevin. You have no idea what you did for me. And more importantly, did to me.

GIRLS LIKE BOYS WHO LOOK LIKE GIRLS

imageAm I crazy? When I was in 8th grade, and started going out with girls; I recall that a lot of girls liked guys who were “fem”. No “emo” back then. My girlfriend at the time used to want to put makeup on me before we’d go out. Not just powder, but eyeliner, mascara, blush, the whole bit. I, of course, really liked it. I’d play it off as though I thought it was funny, but I know that really, I enjoyed looking “girlish.” And when I would be made up for a party or something, I had girls all over me. (Look, I’m talking about when I was 13 or thereabouts. It’s not bragging. Today, I have lost all the “pretty” I had.)

One night, I went to my GF’s house so her 17 year old sister could drive us to a party. I was a little apprehensive because I wasn’t really the “party” type. But, I walked over to her house one mile away, wearing purple (No kidding! Purple! Officially, it was a color called “Plum”.) parachute pants. Not ridiculously tight, but they did show off the package. My shirt was a gift from my GF that she got from The Oak Tree in the local mall. When I walked into her room as she was putting her makeup on, she looked at me and said, “You look cute. But take off your sunglasses and tuck in your shirt.” I did as she asked. Who am I to argue? I was only a tad self-conscious about how my dick looked, whether you could see the bulge or not. Since she didn’t mention it, I assumed it looked fine after I tucked in my shirt tails. [God. Bulges? The things we were concerned about when we were young. sunglasses at night. Cool. But now I’m NEVER concernedhow my package looks. Nope. Never.]img_4500

She walked over and turned the collar up (ugh), and unbuttoned one more button, making the top two undone. I wasn’t  really comfortable like that because she had given me a gold necklace that I thought was too short. So when I had two buttons undone, you could see the gold chain. I suppose that’s why she unbuttoned it, so I’d show off her jewelry gift.

(Plum-Colored Bugle Boy Parachute Pants. Exactly what I was wearing.)

Then, What had become routine began: she had me sit and she did my eyeliner and subtle other makeup touches. Again, I thought the red lipstick was too much, but she assured me that “no one can tell,” because she had blotted most of it off. And over the lipstick she added a ton (to me) of lipgloss! But she thought it was sexy. So, all done, we got her sister and left for the party. [Her older sister insisted on taking a picture of us together, like we were going to the damn prom! I still have it. I don’t look as queer as I remember, but my head is hanging way down in the Polaroid, as if I was afraid she’d say “Are you wearing makeup?” and totally humiliate me. But…she didn’t.]

At the party, I was amazed! Girls were flirting with me! It seemed like for the first time ever I was attractive to cute girls. In retrospect, I guess I fell into the “Pretty boy” category. I don’t see too many around now. There seems, to me, to be a percentage of girls who like(d) softer, prettier boys. The tough kids had their “chicks,” but the look of hatred mixed with jealousy over “that fag” who had all the girls’ attention was frightening. Making me more shy. The shyness making me more attractive.

At the end of the night, me a little drunk, her sister picks us up and Karen and I are alone in the backseat. Karen takes out a tissue or something and wipes off all my makeup before I walked in my front door. We kissed a little, the lipgloss now gone, and said our goodbyes.

God, I loved that party.

HAREM PANTS ARE NOT PARACHUTE PANTS!

www.parachute-pants.com
http://www.parachute-pants.com

As I’m browsing blogs, I keep coming across people writing about parachute pants. Naturally, I want to read about them. But every time, I’m slammed with some other writer who thinks MC Hammer, and Justin Bieber (to name the only two) wear parachute pants. They don’t. They aren’t. What they’re wearing is called “Harem Pants.” It was not a fad. Now, Parachute Pants were a fad.

If you’re reading my blog, dollars to donuts says YOU know the difference.

Parachute Pants belong to a very specific, and short, time in the mid 80s when guys (mostly) wore fitted, high-waisted 100% nylon pants, which had exactly eight zippers, not including the fly. Generally, you only saw them on boys 10-18. They were made in all colors, and different styles, but the one thing Parachute Pants had in common was: They were made of 100% nylon! The harem pants most people mistakenly call PP are not made of nylon. Sure; they look balloon-like, and I assume people think they look like a parachute, hence the confusion.

But I’m right. If you, like me, were in your pre-teen, or a teenager; you either know somebody who wore them, or you wore them. OR, you and your buddies all had a pair. …or two. …or more.

So please stop calling ridiculous looking “harem pants”, Parachute Pants. 

To see what real parachute pants look like, www.parachute-pants.com is a perfect site to check out.

THE NYLON OBSESSION BEGINNINGS

First off, I’m a guy. I’m 39. I’m straight…….ish. But Of course, everyone is welcome here. Except haters.

When I was ten, I helped out at the neighborhood video store.

One day, this guy walks in wearing the first pair of heavy nylon shorts I’d ever seen. They were red. I couldn’t figure out what was so cool about this dude’s shorts. He was exactly my age, and had nice tan legs. His shorts, to me at the time, looked like they were made out of plastic. They were very stiff and the guy had to keep flattening them down after crouching to look at the lower shelfs. I was completely transfixed.

Yes, I looked like a dork staring at this guy. But he came up and actually introduced himself to me. “Hi. My name’s Christian.” We talked a bit. He was, in fact, my age. He had just moved here, etc. I kept sneaking looks at his shorts. Eventually he said goodbye and left. I brought up the subject to my coworkers. “Hey, did you see that guy?” No one seemed to have noticed. Mark said, “The guy who you were talking to?” Well, I really didn’t want everyone to think I was gay, so I laughed and related our boring conversation. After, I casually said, “Did you see his shorts?! They were, like, made out of plastic or something.” By this point, my friends were starting to get annoyed that I was still talking about this guy’s shorts. At this point I didn’t yet know what NYLON was. At this point, my obsession began. But, not too far away, would come the world’s most amazing fashion fad.

.This Is Not Me.