Ethan ran upstairs to his bedroom to get dressed. He put on a pair of boxer shorts. His thing was not as hard as before, but it hung out the left leg of his shorts. He put on his jeans and looked at himself in the mirror. His thing clearly stood out against his left leg. He sighed and took the jeans off.
Somewhere in his dresser was a pair of jockey shorts he no longer wore. He found them buried in the bottom drawer. He took off the boxers, put on the jockeys, and put the boxers back on over them.
Immediately, he was uncomfortable. The jockeys were too tight. His penis grew even harder, straining against the underwear. He looked at himself in the mirror again. At least he couldn't see the outline of it against his leg. It was terribly uncomfortable, but nobody would laugh.
He put on his jeans and shoes and a shirt and went downstairs. Mom and Mrs. Thorn were still in the kitchen, having tea. He went out to the garage and turned on the light. The car was waiting patiently for him. He stood back to look at it for a few seconds. It was a 1966 GTO, his grandfather's. On the workbench, by the repair manual, were three two-barrel carburetors. It took him two weeks to strip them down, clean and reassemble them. Today was as good a day as any to put them back on.
He raised the hood. The engine lurked beneath like a wild animal restrained by a cage. At the top, the three holes in the manifold were covered with masking tape. Ethan removed the tape from the rear hole, picked up the carb marked for that spot, and placed it carefully over the four mounting studs.
In his mind, he saw the cheerleaders going through their routines. They had slender waists and smooth legs and their chests jiggled and bounced. He grew stiff again. He stopped tightening the bolts on the carburetor to adjust his penis in his shorts. The harder it grew, the more uncomfortable it got. Shifting it in his shorts only made it harder. His penis finally slipped through the leg of the jockeys. He shook his legs a few times until it was hanging down his jeans against his left leg. That was better, but the band of the jockeys was too tight, cutting into his thing.
He heard a footstep and turned around quickly, taking his hands away from his groin. Mrs. Thorn's eyebrows arched up. She was looking down at his groin.
"Uncomfortable, Ethan?" she said.
Ethan blushed and stared at the floor. "Just ... a little tight."
Mrs. Thorn smirked. "I'll bet."
