Starting with each foot, Todd unrolled the stocking, following the curve of the arch, the sharp angle of the heel, upward over the little speedbump of his stretched calf, petering out mid-thigh, where the stocking fastened to the garter’s hanging straps.
Todd’s legs sported the merest dusting of hair, as if his body had appropriated all follicles for the mass of dark curls on his head. The few hairs that peeked through the stockings’ netting validated his manhood—barely. More would have tipped the scale into farce, like Bing Crosby in drag inWhite Christmas.
Matt’s cock roared to life. He folded his hands in his lap to hide it. He might have succeeded in concealing his arousal had Todd not added the black stiletto-heeled Mary Jane pumps. That was just cruel.
“Matty, baby,” Jake cooed. He stared at Matt’s crotch. “What gave you that boner? Sight of my ass? Or Todd’s saloon slut getup?”
Matt felt a hot blush bloom on his cheeks.
Todd laughed, then looked over at Matt’s lap, searching for the boner.
“Never hide your candle,” Todd scolded playfully. “How’s that children’s song go? You know, the one about not hiding your candle under a bushel?”
Jake started singing, holding up a finger to signify a candle.
This little light of mine,
I’m going to let it shine.
Oh, this little light of mine,
I’m going to let it shine.
“That’s it!” Todd enthused. He held up his own finger candle, joined Jake in singing.
Hide it under a bushel? No!
I’m going to let it shine.
Hide it under a bushel? No!
I’m going to let it shine.
Jake and Todd continued singing, repeating the part about not hiding the light, pointing suggestively at Matt’s crotch.
The song reminded Matt of his childhood Sunday school classes, choruses of kids holding their finger candles aloft. There was a certain sacrilege hearingthe song sung by two guys, one in fishnet stockings, the other wearing cutoff jeans that barely covered his ass cheeks. Never mind that Jake and Todd were conflating dicks and candles. Matt just hoped they wouldn’t sing the line “Let it shine ‘til Jesus comes…”
William ignored the first three iterations of the song, his eyes glued to the flickering TV. Finally, he turned to Matt. “Dahling, they’re not going to stop until you follow the song’s advice.”
Matt stood shyly. He unsnapped his shorts and pushed them and his boxer briefs down to his thighs, letting his boner spring free, certain that, had he not already sealed his eternal damnation, this would guarantee it. Hopefully, this would end the singing.
Todd and Jake smiled at sight of Matt’s cock.
“One more time!” Jake said. “Everyone sing! ‘This lit—‘”
William held up a hand. “Dahlings, being Methodist, I was thankfully spared from learning this ditty. It explains so much about your denomination. If you insist on singing it, at least tweak the lyrics. They assume not only that all candles are little, but that little is a good thing. You, of all people, know better than that!”
Matt, Jake, and Todd snickered.
“Let’s review our candle sizes,” William said. “There are birthday candles, which, sadly, are little—and don’t do much to light the fire.” He held up a pinky finger by way of illustration.
“Tapers are next,” he continued. “Basically, long birthday candles. Same low-wattage light-wise. The only girth is at the base.”
“Then come pillar candles. Those have varying girths, and range in height from five to seven inches tall. This—” William pointed to Matt’s cock—“is no birthday candle or taper. This is a fine pillar of a candle, at the high end—excuse the pun—of the spectrum.”
Jake jumped in. “And it certainly lit my fire!”
“I wouldn’t know about that,” said Todd petulantly.
