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It was 1953, and everyone was talking about teenagers. Adults were complaining about us, saying we were nothing but trouble, and young kids couldn't wait to become us. The news bulletins blamed us for everything that was wrong about the world, and the advertisers said we were the most fantastic people alive on the planet.

All I knew was that I was confused, unsatisfied, wanted sex and was scared to death of it. I didn't know what was going on in my life, so how come everyone else did?

Anyway, I listened to all the music, I went to all the beach and Elvis movies (which were often the same thing), and dreamed of being 'cool'. There was one guy in the senior class who was cool. He wore a leather jacket, and had some sort of grease in his hair that lifted up the sides like wings, and gleamed for what seemed like miles away. He was on the football team, and had broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and every girl in the school drooling over him. And one guy.

I would stand there in my room, naked in front of the mirror, and pretend to comb my hair like his (although I just used water, as my parents would kill me if I used what he did. It was bad enough that I had given up the buzz cut and let my hair grow 'long'. It wasn't nearly long enough to make me in any way cool, but every fortnight I let the barber take some off the back and sides, but I wouldn't let him touch the top.)

Sometimes my fringe fell down in front of my eyes, and I thought how wonderful it would be to stand against the wall, feeling the tight jeans squeeze my dick, and slide a comb through my hair while an audience gathered to admire me. But I was just an average kid, and I would have to settle for an average life. I would give up jerking off (yeah, right) and especially not while I was thinking about him. I tried to ask my friends about getting hard over another guy, but the way they looked at me made me laugh it off and change the subject.

One Saturday afternoon, after another session of hanging out and doing nothing, I'm walking home alone to another family evening of watching another Ed Sullivan show, when He pulls up beside me in his car. I stopped and felt massive butterflies begin a cancan in my stomach. He leans over, and his pompadour is combed so high, it rubs against the vinyl on the roof. One lock has fallen forward, and hangs in a curl on his forehead. His leather jacket gleams like his hair, and his white T-shirt is pulled tight over his chest, revealing hard curves and solid nipples.

He says I look down, and would I like to come cruising with him. The way he says cruising is as if it means something special, and I say why not, and slide in beside him. I think that maybe this is some sort of practical joke, where he sets me up for all his friends to laugh at me or something, but I'm not going to miss a chance to ride along next to him for awhile. All right, so I give up jerking off next week. What's a few extra days gonna hurt, right?

We're driving along, and I'm drinking in this smell of leather and vinyl and hair grease and male sweat, and he starts asking me questions about how I feel, and what I think about growing up. Then he starts telling ME about his fears, and how confused and worried HE gets. I was thrown. I mean, at school, he comes across like he knows all the answers, nothing scares him, and he could take on the world. Then here we are, driving around town while he talks about being scared and not fitting in. Then we head up to this spot he knows, where we can look down at the town. He stops the car in this empty place, and it's almost like we can see forever. Down there is my town, the place I had spent my entire life, and then suddenly from up here it looks so small, like a collection of toys. I felt scared, thinking how lonely I was, and how fragile all my security was from up here. I turned to say something, but the way he was looking at me made me stop. Then he reaches out and finger combs my fringe out of my eyes. I start to go really hard, and hope he doesn't notice, but I just sit there like I can't move. He starts rubbing his fingers through the rest of my hair, and I can sort of feel the roughness of his fingers as they slide through. Then he leans close, and I can feel his breath on my face, and he says, 'you have great hair', and then he gets even closer, and kisses me! I was shocked. I had sort of fantasized about this, but at that moment, I was just thrown for a loop. It was only his lips on mine (I knew nothing about opening my mouth, just what I had seen on the big screen) but it was enough to make those butterflies get on their motorbikes and do wheelies through my intestines. All I could concentrate on was this one lock of hair fallen down over his forehead, and wonder did he do it on purpose, or did it just fall down like that on its own?

He leaned back a little, and I must have blushed, 'cause he asked if I was all right. I said yeah, but I wasn't sure if I believed it or not. Then he said it was okay if we stopped, and I said no (very quickly and very loudly, which made him sort of smile). Then I opened up to him about how I felt, and how I had always been attracted by guys, and how come he knew, and a hundred other things. He just talked gently, and with one hand on the back of the seat he played with the short hairs on the back of my neck, and with the other hand he was stroking the inside of my thigh until I thought I would come right there in my pants, and how would I explain that to Mom?

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After a while he kissed me again, and we spent a half hour or more with me learning the fundamentals of oral interaction. I just let myself go with the moment, until some other car came up the road, so we stopped and he said he had better take me home. I just agreed, and felt such a let down, as if all the butterflies had just got food poisoning and were seriously ill.

As he dropped me off near my house, he asked what I was doing tomorrow, and if I would like to come on another drive. I was desperate to go, but explained I would have to go to church first, but he could pick me up near there at eleven. I'd just tell my parents I was going to hang out with friends. I don't know why, but I felt like hiding what we were doing. I don't think it was guilt, it was more like what we had shared was special, and I didn't want anyone else to spoil it.

The next morning, the butterflies had recovered and were back with a vengeance. I had to wear a tie, but it was too hot for a jacket. I begged Dad to let me use some of his hair oil, just to slick my hair down. I wanted to pile it up high to impress my (date?) but Mum saw to it that my part was as sharp as a knife, and the fringe was slicked down so that a hurricane couldn't move it.

During the service, I kept thinking about what was going to happen, what I'd say, what he'd say, and what was a twenty minute sermon seemed to go on for an eternity. Then it was over, and I was handing Mum my tie and watching all the people go off to their normal lives, while I had a secret that had changed the world. He stopped in front of me, the same car and leather jacket, a clean shirt, and this time every curl was combed up strictly off his forehead. I jumped in with a quick hello, and we set off for who cared where. We actually drove for over an hour, while we shared some uncomfortable small talk. The we pulled up off the road, and walked through some trees until we came to a secluded gully, with a deep pool at one end and large granite boulders all around. He explained that it was his private place, and people seldom came there. He took off his clothes and plunged straight into the water. I caught a quick glimpse of his cock hanging between his legs, but not enough to do a complete comparison. I was embarassed about stripping in front of him, but I had come this far, and so I took everything off and gingerly walked into the water. I thought he would make some comment, but instead he proceeded to try and drown me, and in a few minutes we were wrestling and splashing madly about, yelling at the top of our lungs. I had never been this close to a naked man before, let alone rubbing against one with my own bare skin, but it all felt so free and natural. We laughed and swam, and he looked so young with his long fringe now waterlogged and hanging in his eyes. The oil in my hair seemed to repel the water, and it mainly stayed in place, except when he would swim up behind me and push my head under the surface.

Finally we emerged from the pool, and lay down on the warm rocks. I could see his cock clearly now, but it was still small and shriveled from the cold water. However, as I was watching, it seemed to grow before my eyes, and I was just thinking that the Sun must be thawing it when I realized that he was looking at me, and his dick was only echoing the emerging growth between my legs. I blushed, he laughed, and then he came over to my rock. He sat down next to me, and laid his arm across my shoulders. He leaned in close again, but this time I was prepared, and we met in the middle for a long lingering kiss. Then he said to hold on a minute, and he ducked over to where he had dropped his clothes. He came back with his comb, and started to detangle my hair. I don't know whether my dick doubled in size under his grooming, but it sure felt like it. I could feel him running the comb through my wet and oily hair, sweeping it back behind the ears, and then up at the front. I couldn't help it, and reached out to stroke s hard cock. As I gently moved my hand up and down his solid shaft, he continued combing and curling, and had me turn my head so he could get at the back and sides. He finally sat back and said that now I looked human. I laughed, grabbed the comb, and said that now it was my turn.

At first it was a little difficult getting some of the tangles out without hurting him, but then I really got into it. At first I parted it in the center, and then plastered it down on both sides like some French waiter, and suggested I should leave it like that, 'cause it made him look 'cute'. Then he grabbed MY cock, and started squeezing it in a delightfully painful way. No guy had ever touched my dick before, and I was more turned on than I had ever been, and then he said he wasn't going to let go until I did his hair properly.

I decided that as much as I would like to go through life with this guy's hand firmly holding my dick, I also wanted to get back to his hair. The water hadn't removed the grease, and it was easy to style it up. I don't think I got the front as high as he usually did, but I think that was because it was still slightly damp. Then, as a finishing touch, I brought that stray lock down once more so that it lay lightly across his forehead. I smiled at my handiwork, and then looked into his eyes. The rest of the afternoon was spent 'in the throes of passion'. I knew nothing of how two men would make love, but I discovered quite a few things on that rock. The most amazing feeling was having his throbbing dick deep in my mouth, while my hair rubbed against the muscles of his stomach. He reached over and spent time massaging my back, rubbing his finger deep in my butt, and groaning as if I were killing him. Then all too soon it was over. He said he had best get me back, and then we 'retouched' each other's hair. We put our clothes back on, and headed back to the car. As I sat in the front seat and waited for him to get his boots on and join me, I looked in the mirror, and for the first time got a look at what he had been seeing all afternoon. He had lifted my hair up, and though it wasn't long, it looked like smooth ebony on my head. I hardly recognized myself, and couldn't help but rub my hand lightly over the shiny curve over my forehead. I felt my cock rising again in my pants, but decided that if I stroked it one more time it might fall off, so I left it alone.

He got into the car, and saw me gazing in the mirror, and smiled. He pulled the mirror over, and grudgingly said I hadn't done a bad job. Then he said he needed to do just one more thing to make it perfect. He leaned over and pulled one curled lock from the cliff that was once my fringe, and let it fall lightly down to just brush the bridge of my nose.

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