guest

Thanks, Avido, for the support!

Here's the next part. A little short, but at least dramatic. I hope straight readers will like it, too. Even if you don't like it, please comment.

Part 10

"What about your girlfriend?" Ben asked

For a moment, I was confused. Then it all came back. Ben's curiosity. My lie. The girl I had invented.

"Oh, right ... I talked to her", I said and tried to sound as disinterested as possible.

"And ...?"

"I don't know. She's doesn't really ... like me."

"Too bad."

"I know."

"You should show her to me. Maybe she'll like me better. I'm way hotter than you, after all."

I made a skeptical face.

"Come on, you can't deny that!" Ben insisted.

"Okay, you're hotter than me. But I bet she's one of the girls who doesn't like saggers."

"Maybe I'll stop sagging then."

"Oh, will you?"

"If she's really hot ... Might be worth it."

"I'll never stop sagging. I want to be loved for what I really am."

"How romantic ... No wonder you're still a virgin."

"Who said I'm a virgin?"

"So you aren't?"

"I don't kiss and tell."

Ben laughed. "I'd really like to have your imagination ... I hope the hot girl is real, at least."

"She is real."

"What grade is she in?"

"9^th grade."

"Great. I love younger girls."

"You're disgusting."

"And you're boring ... Virgin!"

I knew I couldn't take this much longer.

"Alright, I'll show you the girl", I finally conceded. "Let's go for a walk tomorrow, in the first big break."

"Okay."

Here's the next part. Hopefully, I'll be able to post at least one update every week. Again, comments are much appreciated.

Part 9

It all seemed so unreal once again. A cool sagger liked to talk to me and he even wanted me to meet his friends – what should I think of that? Did he somehow trust me, just because we were both showing off underwear? Was it really so easy to get to know other saggers? And if so, why hadn't I done all this years ago?

But mabye it had just been beginner's luck, and everything would turn out much worse than I expected. Maybe the blond boy and his friends would not like me much when they got to know me better. How could they? They sagged in public much longer than me, after all. And then there was always the problem of me being so incurable gay. I couldn't even detect a hint of sexual interest in girls in me. Not even girls who sagged aroused my curiousity. The shapes of their butts were just not right!

The blond boy had been so confident and at ease with his appearance that I felt he had to be straight. All self-confident people were straight, at least, all I had ever met. So, even if the blond boy and his sagger friends liked me, I would only enter the spiral of guilt once again. It was like deceiving Ben, only worse, because more people were involved. Sure, I would love to check out the sags of friends each day. But straight boys didn't sag to have their asses checked out by gays like me! I felt I would somehow violate them just by my looks.

Perhaps my time would be better spent by looking for a boyfriend, I thought, instead of idolizing straight saggers.

The next day, however, I couldn't help but feel a little thrill of anticipation. Whom would I meet? What would we do? Would I finally find out something about the saggers' club? Even if there was none yet, maybe the blond boy and me could found one ...

I chose my outfit carefully, as you can imagine. I wore a new pair of boxers, one of the two pairs that I had bought during the shopping tour with Ben. The boxers I wore today, were mostly red and black, and the material felt nice and soft, not as cheap as in the underwear by H&M ... I liked the feeling on my skin and I liked the look of the pattern. In the bathroom, I stared at my own sag for minutes ...

I would not be the only one today, who checked me out carefully. It was such a hot thought. Usually, I almost never caught people staring at my underwear – and certainly not other boys. And certainly not people who appreciated what they saw.

Never had I been more afraid to get a boner in front of my mom than this morning! I just couldn't get all the arousing fantasies out of my mind.

In school, time stretched endlessly. Why couldn't we meet right now? Why did I have to wait until 11:15 pm? It was exhausting to be nervous for so long, and I couldn't concentrate very well on the lessons. In a break, Ben came to me. "I liked what you said in class yesterday", he told me.

"Thanks."

"You said it was okay to do what you like as long as nobody got harmed."

"Right."

"So, I intend to act on that."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"Why not? Are you afraid I will go too far?"

"Yeah, I am."

"You're not really communicative today."

"I know."

"What's going on with you?"

"I'm just nervous. But I can't tell you about it."

He grinned. "It's about a girl."

"Kind of."

"Haha. Well ... good luck. I hope she's hot."

"She's even hotter than you." The sounds that formed these words had just somehow left my mouth.

When I realized my mistake, it was too late. ****! I had been so unconcentrated. Now I had failed to censor myself properly. This damn meeting!

Ben looked at me weirdly. "Hotter than me?"

"I mean ... uhm ... from ... from a girl's point of view", I stuttered. And blushed.

Ben smiled vaguely. "Oh, I understand."

"You do?"

"Yes. But I don't think it's possible."

"What?"

"To be hotter than me."

"Right." I grinned uneasily and Ben went away, with light green plaid boxers on display.

And then, it was time. I walked over to the bench where the meeting was supposed to take place. No sagger to be seen yet. I waited and tried to strike what I regarded as a typical sagger pose. Most of all, I tried to act if I was completety unaware of my sag.

Some people looked at me, probably because they had never seen me in this part of the schoolyard. It was kind of for older pupils, and I looked really young. After a minute or two, I saw the blond boy and his friends come toward me. There were two friends. Both of them were tall and looked as if they would graduate soon. They weren't as hot as the blond sagger, however, so I felt a little disappointed at first. Reality once again didn't live up to my fantasyland ...

"Hey", the blond boy said, and we greeted each other. I told them my name and tried to memorize theirs. The blond sagger was called Max. His friends' names were Ralph and Tom.

"Let's sit down", I proposed – mainly, because I thought, a little movement would show off our sags better. The others agreed, so we went over to the bench. I had my hands in my pocket, which allowed me to slide down my jeans a little, before I sat sown. Ralph took his seat next to me and I noticed that he didn't sag as low as me. Maybe I had gone too far. I knew that sagging stopped looking good at some point if it was too low, but I couldn't resist the temptation to show off as much of my boxers as possible. Maybe there would be no other meeting like this in my life, ever.

"So", Ralph began. He was the tallest of the three and he wore a striped sweater, dark blue jeans, nothing special. "Max told us about you. You asked him a lot of questions."

"Maybe it was a little weird."

"You seem to be really curious about our ... fashion style."

"Yes, I'm interested in that ... as you can see." I grinned, and the others did, too.

"Are you new at this school?" Ralph continued his interrogation. "I've never seen you before."

"Yes. I'm new. I've been here only since the beginning of the school year."

"What grade are you in?"

"10."

"Oh okay. Max is in 9, we're in 13."

"That's cool. You're not related to Max somehow, are you?"

"Noooo."

"I just thought I'd ask. It's just unusual ..."

"... for us to be friends, I know", Ralph continued my sentence. Others had probably made that observation before me.

"But I think it's really good that people of different ages can be friends, you know."

Everyone was silent and for a moment, I feared that I had said something horribly wrong.

"Max just came to me one day", Tom told me. "And he somehow managed to talk to me about sagging. No one had ever done that. It was just something that boys did, but never talked talked about ... And I was already friends with Ralph, so ..."

I nodded and my admiration for Max grew even more, if that was possible.

"But you seem to have a lot of courage, too", Ralph added.

"Not really", I said. "I just like this ... style so much that I really want to meet other people who feel the same."

"We can understand that."

"Cool."

"They call it sagging in America. This style ..."

"Yeah, I know."

"Good. It helps if you have a word for the thing. We should invent one in German, too. But nobody has any good ideas ... Sagging has just two syllables. That's practical."

We all thought about it for some seconds.

"Do you sag that low all the time?" Tom finally asked. "It looks really low right now, as far as I can see."

The question made my heart beat faster. "It depends on my mood, really", I said. "I really like to show off my boxers. It's just not as much fun without it." I smiled. "But I think various ways of sagging have advantages and disadvantages."

Ralph nodded.

"But there's another thing", I continued. "I would like to ask you something a little ... uhm ... crazy, before the break is over."

"Okay."

"I once saw a group of saggers in the schoolyard. I don't think you were among them, but it made me wonder if there's maybe some club, some kind of meeting-place for all the saggers in this school ... At least, it would be cool if somehting like that existed."

Ralph didn't respond for some seconds. "There actually is a club", he finally said. "Or a clique. Or whatever you want to call it. But we're not a part of that."

"Why not?"

"Oh, well. They don't let everyone in ... And I don't really think I would like to be a member of that ... club" (he pronounced it sarcastically) "right now. I'm just too old for that, I guess. Those guys are mostly 15 or 16."

"Okay", I said, even though I was confused.

"We kind of formed our own club some months ago", Tom continued. "You can tell him about that."

"Yes, tell me."

"Alright. We started a website where we give advice about sagging. There are photos of us on there, so if guys from the school recognize us, they can talk to us ... But it doesn't really seem to work."

"Too bad. I think it's a great idea. The internet should be a place where all the saggers from this school – or maybe even from this town – can connect. The only sagging-related sites I could find are in English. I never understood why. There are so many boys here who sag."

"As I said", Tom replied. "Nobody seems to talk about it."

Finally, the break was over. "What is the adress of your site?" I asked quickly.

Ralph told me and I tried to memorize it. "Do you have internet access at home?" he asked.

"Yes, but it's slow."

"Maybe we can contact each other by e-mail."

"Sure."

We stood up and I yanked up my jeans a little and straightened out my boxers, only too aware of being watched by the other three.

But I wasn't embarrassed. I felt comfortable around them. Mostly, Ralph and Tom, that is. I always got along well with older people. Around Max, I was very nervous, of course, because I feared that I would fall in love with him. He was just so gorgeous.

But when I went back to my classroom, I was even more intrigued by the bad reputation of the saggers' club. Maybe Max would be my key to find out more about that. I needed to know all the rumors, and I needed to know them soon.

Hi. I finally have enough time to write the next parts of my story "The sagging conspiracy". You can check out the beginning in the older thread or you can start reading here and I hope you'll not feel too confused. I started a new thread, because this is kind of a fresh start for me, too.

Please keep commenting! It helps me to keep writing!

In the next few parts (9, 10 and so on), I will try to explore the idea of a saggers' club, so that should be really interesting.

But now these episodes first ... (with a hot ending, by the way).

Part 8

Being an atheist, I had never expected much from religion class. Our teacher was well-meaning, but boring, and in the end, some of us pupils got an A and the rest all Cs. Religion class, in general, wasn't really a lot about religion, but more about philosophy. That didn't make it much more interesting, however. Mostly, we just talked. Some of us talked, that is. So, there was a lot of talking, but not much was said, most of the time. And even if someone made a point occassionally – philosophy just seemed so far removed from my own life and my own issues.

Well, I had some questions concerning morality, but I doubted that our religion teacher Mr Sander (or any grown-up, for that matter) could give me the definite answer to: "Is sagging good or evil?"

So, as I said, I didn't expect much. And on religion class this Tuesday I was unattentive and unmotivated as usual. Mr Sander was intent on discussing "goals in life". We started with a brainstorming session (how exciting!). What could one possibly want in life? Hm. I knew what I wanted, but I couldn't talk about most of that in public ... Others seemed to have less dark desires. Or maybe they were just hypocrites when they enumerated the usual things:

• having a good job
  
• starting a familiy
  
• getting rich
  
• becoming famous
  

And so on. You can imagine the rest for yourself. After our brainstorming session, Mr Sander tried hard to get another lame discussion started. What's more important? Material goals or ... let's say ... spiritual ones?

Well, we were in Religion class, weren't we? So the right answer should be very clear, I thought. And indeed, a girl raised her hand and reminded us of the fact that money just doesn't make you happy. I wasn't sure where she had learned that, but she seemed to be very sure of it ... I tried to imagine her poor and starving, in a slum of Calcutta ...

But I had to admit, somehow, the topic had gotten to me. I felt the sudden urge to participate myself, to make my voice heard, my very own concept of the good life ... Finally, I raised my hand, still unsure what it was that I wanted to say.

Mr Sander looked surprised. He probably had forgotten about me already. Or at least, he couldn't remember my name. So he just pointed right at me, like God had once pointed at Adam, at least in a painting.

"Yes?"

"I think money is not the most important ingredient for happiness", I said.

"Go on."

"What really counts is that you act on your desires."

Suddenly, most boys around me were silent. Mr Sander frowned.

"Acting on your desires ... on all of them?"

"Depends. Nobody else should get seriously harmed, of course ... But apart from that. You should just do it, before it's too late. I mean", I added. "We all probably have some things that we would like to do, but ... we ... we worry too much what others will think. What's the harm", I concluded lamely, "as long as nobody gets harmed?"

"That's an interesting position", Mr Sander said. "So, class, what do you think of that?

Silence.

"Well, don't be shy", Mr Sander's encouraged us. Finally, a boy raised his hand. It was Ben.

"I think, he's right", Ben said. "We should really do what we wanna do, most of the time. At least as long as we're young."

"Alright", Mr Sander mumbled. "And do you think that you yourself really act according to this philosophy?"

"My philosophy?" Ben echoed sarcastically. "Yeah, I really try to act like that."

"But what about risky behaviour?" Mr Sander objected. "Maybe sometimes it's wise not to do something even if it appears attrative at the time."

"Maybe", Ben said. "But then you'll just have to live with the consequences."

"Okay." Mr Sander nodded slowly and suddenly smiled as if a great idea had popped up in his mind. I became uneasy when he adressed me again instead of Ben.

"Since it was your idea, can you give us an example of you acting on your desires?" he asked.

"Yes, sure. I had the desire to participate in this discussion and I did it." That sounded lame, so I quickly added: "The way I dress, as well."

"What about that?"

"I like to wear my jeans really low, and I just do it, even if it's not generally accepted."

"Ah, I understand ... I never understood why boys wear their jeans like that. It looks kind of stupid. But I guess fashion really doens't harm anyone. At least not physically." Mr Sander chuckled.

My heart raced. We were actually discussing sagging in class!

"But what about more extreme desires", Mr Sander continued. "What if you suddenly had the urge to ... say ... get naked right here, right now? Would you act on that, too?"

Laughter all around me. I couldn't believe Mr Sander had just said that. He was a religion teacher, not a pervert! I kind of expected him to be a monk.

"Come. Let's see you strip!" some boy shouted.

"I guess I would not do that", I finally said. "But I've never really had that desire."

"But I suppose everyone has some desires that are inappropriate."

Do you? I wanted to ask, but didn't dare.

"Alright", I conceded. "You can't act out everything. But you should do at least some of the things. And that will make you feel better."

"But where do you draw the line?"

"I don't know. Whereever you feel comfortable ..."

"But what about other people and their feelings?"

"I don't know."

"Well, let's leave it at that for today ... Any other opinions? Speak now or be forever silent."

***

After class, I suddenly felt strangely liberated. As if I was free to do anything right now.

And that could only mean one thing – I had to meet other saggers, potential members of the mysterious club.

I rushed across the hall. The first boy in my field of vision who was showing off undies would be my new friend. That was my desire, wasn't it? I just had to seize the moment. Now or never. Philosophy was my excuse.

Finally, I found a boy. He wasn't alone, and that should have discouraged me, but it didn't.

"Hey", I said and stopped abruptly. There were two boys: a blond boy and his taller, brown-haired friend. Both were sagging, but the blond boy was much more daring, his shiny light blue satin boxers clearly on display. I had never seen such sagging in real life before.

But I had to keep focused ... and start talking. Suddenly, I felt inspired: "You know, we're doing this project in religion class about fashion", I said. "And we ... my friends and I ... we have to do a presentation on boys' fashion styles. Uhm ... We're looking for people to use as examples right now. Boys who represent a certain style." I looked at the blond one. "Would you be interessted in helping us?"

"Right now?"

"No, later. In a couple of days."

"Why me?" The boy looked confused.

"I just saw you, and you're such a great example for this special style."

"You think?"

"Yeah. Like ... wearing your jeans low and showing off your underwear. That's what I mean."

Both boys smiled. I had broken the taboo. I had mentioned that you actually could see their boxers.

"That is your style, isn't it?"

"Yes, kind of ... And yours too, it seems?"

"Sure. Mine too."

"And you really want to present that in religion class?" the brown-haired boy asked.

"Why not? Our teacher is cool with that."

"Why don't you just use yourself as an example?"

"We need people to just stand there while we do the talking. And we're supposed to ask people who are not from our class ... So, would you be willing to do it?"

"I don't know", the blond sagger answered. "It's probably very weird to stand in front of the class and get stared at."

"I understand that." I tried to look disappointed. "Can I at leat ask you some quesions?"

"Okay."

"How long is this your style?"

"I've been dressing like that for a year or so."

"And why did you start? What influenced you?"

"I gotta go", the brown-haired boy said. He probably thought that I was too weird or my questions were too boring. I don't know.

"A friend influenced me", the blond sagger said. "He dressed like that and I copied it."

"Ah, okay. And what did you like about the look? Why did you copy it?"

"No idea. It looks daring, I guess. My parents hate it." He smiled. "Basically, it just feels comfortable."

I nodded and decided to push my inbelievable luck. "Some boys wear their jeans low, but they use T-shirts or hoodies to cover their boxer shorts", I said. "I noticed that you don't do that. So, you could say it's part of your style that people can see your boxers?"

The blond boy grinned. "Yes. I like it that way. It's more daring. But you're boxers are visible, too, right now."

"Oh. Are they?"

"Yes, right there."

"How embarrassing! Okay. I confess. I like that, too."

"You know what I'm talking about, then."

"I do ... Do people comment on your underwear, sometimes?"

"No, not really ... sometimes ... why do you ask?"

"I just thought, they might. We will be talking about the reaction to other people's fashion style in our presentation, too ... Disparaging comments, you know."

"Some people don't like it, I guess. But that's not really a problem for me. I have some cool friends."

I nodded. "Maybe you should get to know them, too."

"Me?"

"Yes, if you like. If you're really so into this fashion style."

"I guess I am."

"But they don't like everybody, you know. Maybe they'll talk to you only once."

"I could live with that."

"Okay. Let's meet tommorrow at a quarter past 11. Is that okay?"

"Yes. Where?"

"At the bench, next to the smokers' corner?"

I nodded. "Until tommorrow then." I checked out my sag with my hand and saw that the blond sagger watched me and we both looked at each other like conspirators before we went our separate ways.

I won't be able to write the next part soon. Sorry. I just don't have enough time.

If you didn't read part 1 to 6, feel free to start here. You shoud be able to understand most of it.

I had some trouble writing this part, but I hope you'll like it anyway.

Part 7

On Monday, I was determined to get to know other saggers. I would befriend them and finally they would tell me about their little club, which I would join, and we would all live happily ever after ...

But wait ... had I gone mad? Could you really just speak to another boy whose sag you liked? What if the legendary club didn't exist? What if it was all in my head?

Somehow, I needed to get proof that the club was real, before I made my move.

But how?

I waited some days for a good idea. None occurred to me.

There was only way. I had to ask the right people and take the risk of being humiliated.

Straight boys had to do bring themselves to talk to girls, if they wanted to get laid, and I had to talk to other saggers if I wanted a shot at the things that I desired.

Humiliation is bad, but it doesn't kill anyone, I told myself, and added some other good clichés to my pep talk as well.

Finally, the next day came and during break time, I left the classroom quickly to get away from all the people I knew. I needed to be alone to hunt saggers.

They were elusive prey, however. Five minutes passed, and I found nobody who showed off boxers. Finally, I found one real cool boy, but he was talking to his friends (who were not sagging).

Yes, it was just like in those teen movies, where girls were never alone, always in groups, and giggling as well. I understood now why it was so hard for straight boys to ask a girl out ...

In the end, I gave up and returned to the classroom.

"Where have you been?" Ben asked .

"Just wandering around."

"Alone?"

"Had to piss."

"Oh, me, too. I didn't see you."

"Aw ... did you miss me?"

"Idiot."

"I used the other toilet, on the first floor [restroom]."

"Whatever."

I spent the next 15 minutes of break time with Ben and his friends, instead of stalking saggers ...

In the end, another day had passed - and been wasted by me.

The next morning, I took the tram to school as usual, but was unusually lucky. There he was, the boy whom I had watched once before. He was standing some metres away from me, showing off his red boxers. And he seemed to be alone, not accompanied by any friends or classmates. This was my chance! I rose from my seat and went a couple of steps towards the exit (and towards the sagger) as if I wanted to get off the tram at the next station.

In the end, I stood right behind the boy and looked at his boxers.

I hoped he would turn around and meet my glance.

But that didn't happen.

The other boy didn't notice me until the tram stopped in front of the school.

I was desperate now, and I did something stupid. When we get off the tram, I was still behind the other boy and followed him for a short while. "Hey", I said then. "Pull your trousers up!" No reaction. "Pull your trousers up." Now, the other boy stopped and turned around. I had his attention, but everything was wrong ... I blushed.

"Just kidding", I said quickly and smiled awkwardly.

The other boy looked at me confused. I noticed that some of the other kids who passed us by gave me weird looks, too.

I didn't know what to say.

In the end, the other boy just walked away.

I had never felt worse ...

I couldn't concentrate on anything during the first two lessons of this day. I reran my conversation with the hot sagger endlessly in my mind, and felt more stupid each time.

Now, one of the coolest saggers in this school thought I was an idiot ...

I had to fight the desire to bang my head against the wall.

There was only one way to cheer me up, so, during break time I went to a quiet corner and adjusted my sag. I was sagging almost below the ass now and very low in the front, too.

The next lesson was chemistry, so I went to the lab, determined not to pull my trousers up till the end of the day. The teacher announced that we could carry out some simple experiments today.

So we formed groups. I was in one with Ben and another boy and we stood around our desk.

My boxers were clearly visible to everyone in the room now, including the teacher.

I caught some girls and even one boy looking at them.

Ben was sagging almost as low as me, and he even slapped his bum playfully once. When I saw that, I almost couldn't believe my eyes. Maybe I was dreaming again ... In any case, my **** got half-hard and I hoped that nobody noticed it.

While I was still embarrassed about my arousal, the teacher came to us to watch how we were doing. We had to measure the pH-Value of acetic acid in several ways and compare the results afterwards.

The teacher watched us silenty and critically.

"Well", she finally said, "that actually looks quite good."

"You sound surprised", Ben said.

"I am surprised, considering the way you're dressed. Wearing your trousers below your bum is usually not a sign of intelligence."

It seemed like everyone was giggling now and looking at my boxers, too, and only my nervousness prevented me from getting a boner. I wanted to vanish from the earth.

"Don't judge a book by its cover", Ben replied cheekily.

"Well, Ben, at your age you might have noticed that people are not books ..."

"So, it's okay if you judge people just by their looks?"

I was afraid that Ben was pushing his luck.

But the teacher didn't rise to the challenge. She just said: "Finish your experiment. Results are what I care about most."

Then she went away to look at the next group's work.

After the lesson, I left the lab with Ben.

"That was fun", he said.

"Deffo."

I joined in the laughter, but silently, I kept wondered if sagging really made me look dumb ...

Being smart had always been a major source of self-confidence for me in the past.

I remembered, too, that I had still not made any progress on the saggers' club front. The remembrance of my foolish action this morning returned ... I had to put things right. And I definitely had to find out how strong my sense of reality still was. I wasnt' dreaming now, was I?

Everything looked normal.

If this was real, than I had actually just stood in my underwear in front of my classmates and a teacher, and I couldn't take that back. They would remember it and so would I.

"Hey." Ben was talking to me.

"Yes. What?"

"Wanna go shopping?"

"With you?"

"Are you retarded? Yes, with me. I got some money from my granny, and I need a new jacket."

"Okay."

In the afternoon, I went shopping with Ben. We were sagging all the time ... I was watching Ben, he was watching me and lots of people were watching the both of us. I was euphoric.

"Don't you want to buy anything?" Ben asked.

"Ehm ... I need new boxers." I smiled sheepishly. I couldn't belive that I had actually said that. "And a new hoodie, mabye", I added quickly.

"Okay. Where do you wanna go?"

In the end, we went to the skate shop, where I had already bought a new pair of jeans before school had started. They sold colourful boxers, too. I bought two pairs. Ben, too. I still wasn't sure, how I should explain that to my mom, but I didn't worry too much about that now.

This was the best second half of any day in my whole life, and who cared what came after that?

***

As usual, I felt more sober after I had jerked off at home. The more involved I became with Ben, the more likely it was that he would find out about my sexual orientation. And how would he react then? I had cheated him. There was no denying that. And we would still be in the same class for at least a year, so I couldn't avoid him ...

And what if the chemistry teacher told my parents about my sagging?

Or mabye my classmates would tell their parents who would tell my parents ...

Large parts of this day had just been too good to be true, and I saw now what was wrong with it.

Finally, I fell asleep, and I had, once again, a familiar dream. I dreamt about the one thing that could save me from my troubles. The one place where I could be the person that I had always wanted to be.

The saggers' club.

Previously on "The Sagging Conspiracy":

The protagonist, a teenage boy, has admired saggers for some time, but was too shy to show off his boxers in public. But then his parents move and he starts sagging at his new school. Due to this, he makes a new friend, Ben, who is a skater. He also watches some other saggers in the schoolyard who seem to form some kind of saggers' club.

Here's part 5, in which the hero makes some enemies.

Part 5

The next morning, I wanted to sag right after waking up. So I jumped out of bed and put on my clothes, a new pair of jeans, slightly oversized, with no belt. Then I went to the bathroom, and after I had showered, to the kitchen, still barefoot, as if I had been too lazy to dress completety. Not only had I „forgotten“ socks, but my belt, too ...

My mum was already sitting at the table and reading the newspaper, when I arrived, so she didn't pay much attention to me. I took a bowl from the cupboard and started to prepare my cereal. Finally, I sat down and ate. I had lost most of my appetite, however, because I was so nervous. But my mother really didn't care about sagging. At least not in the morning. I had learned that now.

***

On the way to school I thought about the fact that nobody had made fun of me until now. So my classmates seemed to be okay with sagging. Or so I thought. I was just about to meet the first wave of resistance, however.

It was Marie, the girl next to me, who complained first. I had just sat down and bent forward to rummage through the stuff in my backpack when I heard her voice. Did she talk to ME?

„Could you please pull up your jeans? I really don't want to see your boxer shorts.“

I sat straight up again and looked at her, guiltily. My guilt stemmed mostly from the fact that I had called her Acne Girl in my thoughts until now.

On the other hand, this was just the complaint I had hoped for. It was part of the fun of sagging, after all, to challenge the rules, and that inevitably annnoyed SOME people.

„Why don't you just look elsewhere?“, I answererd.

„Why don't you just wear your trousers like you're supposed to?“

„I don't wanna.“

„And I don't want to look elsewhere all the time.“

„Why is it so horrible if you can see my boxers? Who cares?“

Actually, I cared. But of course, I had to pretend that I didn't.

„I just don't understand why you have to do it. It doesn't make any sense to wear your jeans that low.“

„It's fashion. I think it looks cool. That's all.“

„It DOESN'T look cool. It makes you look like a clown.“

Others had picked up by now on what was going on. I was scared by all the attention. Another girl, Anna, adressed me now.

Anna: I mean, it's okay to wear your jeans a little low, but if you can see most of the other person's underwear ... that's just too much.

Me: It's a free country, so you can wear our jeans however you want.

Anna (sighs): Sure, if you don't want to have a girlfriend ... ever.

I didn't want to have girlfriend, ever, but I could'nt say THAT either.

I suppose, nowadays, every boy has to have his jeans-below-the-bum phase. You can only hope that it passes quickly.

Me: It's not a phase for me. I will always wear my jeans like that.

Anna: Even if you're at work?

Me: Maybe not at work. But I have some years left until then ... There's no law against it. And a I said, you can just look elsewhere if you don't like it.

Marie: And it doesn't bother you at everyone can see your underwear?

Me: No. Why?

Anna: It's embarrassing. And your boxers are ugly, by the way.

Me: I like them.

Anna: You could buy at least prettier ones if you're so keen on showing them off.

Everyone was laughing now. This discussion had turned into a nightmare.

Ben: Hey. Let him in peace.

Anna: You should pull up your trousers, too, Ben.

Ben: We'll wear our jeans even lower if you keep harrassing us like that.

Anna: Well, then I have a suggestion for you. You could just put on your jeans first and your boxer shorts above them. That way, we could see them all the time and you could still wear your trousers like normal people.

Me: Funny ... really funny.

Ben: You can make fun of it, but you can't stop us.

Marie: Teachers can.

Me: Temporarily, maybe. But not forever.

Anna: We'll see.

The argument was fading out and the spectators lost interest. I was happy to be no longer the center of attention. In previous years, almost everyone had kind of liked me. But sagging had isolated me in this class. I realized that now.

Why found people sagging so annoying?

Maybe on some level, they understood that it was form of exhibitionism, and openly sexual behaviour by males made girls feel threatened.

Or maybe some peolpe just liked rules and wanted to enforce them.

I wasn't sure, but in any case, the whole matter had definitely affected my new-found confidence. I needed support. Ben had helped me, at least, and I admired him for that, but together we were still a small minority.

In the end, my cowardice got the best of me and I decided to give in to the girls just a little. From now on, I would expose my boxers a little less. Maybe it would even look better that way.

Ben, however, went in the opposite direction. He walked around the classroom with his jeans under his bum.

He didn't pull them up when the teacher arrived. On the contrary, he pulled them down even more below his table. Most of his boxers had to be exposed now. I thought it was crazy (it looked as if Ben jerked off in class), but the teacher seemed not to notice it.

***

„Have you seen it?“ Ben asked me later.

„Of course.“

„You should've done it, too.“

„I don't know.“

„Mr. Meyer doesn't notice anything. I think he's half-blind or something.“

„Maybe next time.“

„Come on. Don't be shy. Let's do some crazy stuff. We're teenage boys. They think we're animals anyway. “

I tried to laugh it off, but Ben was serious.

„They'll never accept sagging if we act that way“, I said.

„Too bad. I''ll just do it. I don't care if they like it or not.“

„It really doesn't look good if the jeans are too low.“

„Maybe. But then it's not about looking good. It's about rebellion.“

We were silent for some time.

To be continued ...

I am working on part 3, but it's not that easy to write stories in a foreign language (I'm German.)

A sagging novel would be fun to read, but I'm afraid I'm just not the one to write it. A movie would be even better, because you can't describe a sag well. Or at least a short film. There are lots of possibilities.

Thanks for the comments. I'm glad some people like the story and I tried to write the second part as fast as I could. But the next parts will take more time.

Part 2

Changing schools had lots of disadvantages, but there was an upside, too. Fate had given me a chance to reinvent myself. I just had to show up on the first day sagging and act as if I always dressed like that.

But I still had doubts. Should I really pretend to be someone I wasn't? "Just be yourself." That was the usual advice. The other boys at my new school would definitely find out that I was a poser and laugh and make jokes behind my back.

But on the other hand I knew I would go crazy if I didn't start sagging in public soon. I just had to try it. Maybe I would gradually lose interest in it then and it would cease to be such an obesession.

I went exploring in my new town right after we had moved there. The town centre wasn't big, but there was at least a local skate shop. I went in there ... looking for new clothes and hot skaterboys. I bought a new, slightly oversized pair of jeans, and a new belt with a big buckle.

On the first day of school I woke up much earlier than I had to. Being the new kid was scary enough, but today would be even harder. Half-asleep I already thought about the right kind of boxers to wear. As if THAT was important! As if my social success really depended on THAT! But at least it was fun to think about it. What pair should I wear? Nothing childish, but nothing plain white and boring either. I wanted to make a statement. So in the end, I decided on my dark red boxers. The thought of showing them off gave me morning wood for the second time ...

Later, I was eating breakfast with my mom (You should have guessed by now that I was an only child.). She said: „You look ill“. I said: „No, I'm okay.“ Then we stopped talking and listened to the radio and I tried to calm down and think of boring things, like ... dust.

Dust, dust, dust, I thought and took my backpack and left the house.

I had to walk five minutes to the tram stop. After two minutes, I stopped and hid behind a corner. It was ridiculous.

I looked around to see if someone ws watching. Then I opened my belt and pulled my jeans lower. And still lower. And a little up again. In the end, they were half-way down my ass. That felt right. Now I had to straighten out my red boxers again. When reached with my hands in my jeans I saw a man looking at me from the other side of the street ... I pretended not to notice him.

There was no mirror so I had to feel the sag with my hands. Was it okay like that? Don't know. Probably. I tightened my belt. I had to go.

When I came near the tram stop, the tram was already arriving, so I jogged the last metres. Running and sagging, that was nice! My jeans slid a little lower, but not much. (I checked with my hands.) You still could'nt see much of my boxers, just the belt.

There was no free place to sit in the tram. Some adults were standing in the aisle. Some younger kids, too. I decided they should be my first audience so I reached for one of the handles on the ceiling. Now my boxers were definitely exposed. I caught one of the younger boys looking at me. What did he think of me? Did I look cool in his eyes? I couldn't tell. And I knew I had to stop caring about that. Marc (see part one of this story) was still my role model.

The tram stopped in front of the school and I followed the crowd. The others seemed to feel at home. Only I didn't know exactly where to go. But at least there were lots of people around me. After a hundred metres, I stopped and bowed down to tie my shoelaces. The cheap old sagger trick! Marc would've never done that. He was above such shenanigans. But ... to hell with pride. My boxers were on display and I was drunk on excitement.

All these people had seen me and seen me sagging and I had to live up to that image now.

Finally, I found the room number I needed to know and then the classroom. I went inside and said „Hi“ to everybode and nobody in particular. Only half of the pupils (= students) were already there. They ignored me. I chose a place near the door and sat down. The desks were placed next to each other, in the shape of the letter u. I sat with my back to the door and I knew that my boxers were visible again.

Not for the other people in the room, but for everyone who came in through the door.

„Who's that?“

Oh, the new boy.

And he's wearing red boxers ...

First impressions are important, aren't they?

I only had one desk neighbour, on my left side, and I hoped for someone like me to sit down there, someone I could be friends with. Maybe even another sagger, which would be distracting, but really cool.

My hopes were shattered, however. The seat beside me stayed free until the last one of my classmates arrived. It was a girl with acne.

I introduced myself and asked for her name. „Marie“, she said, bored.

Maybe she didn't want to talk to me because I was a boy. Or maybe she had seen my sag and did'nt like it. Many girls didn't like saggers, for mysterious reasons. Or maybe they DID like us, secretly, but did'nt want to admit it. I wasn't sure.

Finally, a teacher came. When he introduced me to the class, I had to stand up and make a friendly face while everyone was staring at me. That was usually the most awkward moment on a first day. But I began to like attention and the situation did'nt feel so bad this time.

After two periods came the first big break, fifteen minutes long. Everyone would meet his or her friends – except me, of course. I wandered around for a while and pretended I had to go somewhere.

Suddenly, I heard someone talking to me from behind. I turned around. It was a teacher.

„What are you doing here?“ he asked.

„Nothing, sir. I'm new in this school.“

„Ah ... Well. Be careful.“

„Why?“

The teacher's gaze wandered down.

„Your jeans look as if they could fall to the ground any moment now. And you don't want that to happen on your first day, do you?“

I smiled and said nothing and did'nt pull my trousers up.

The teacher smiled too, sarcastically.

„Come on. Pull them up, will you?“

This time, I obeyed reluctantly.

My sag was ruined, but I was happy. This was just the kind of conversation I had often fantasized about.

I already started to feel like a real sagger. And the day wasn't over yet ... In fact, it would become really weird soon.

Hi. I finally started writing a sagging story. I think it will be a long story and the pace will be slow. If you don't like that, then don't read this story. It's not autobiographical, by the way. Here's the first part.

Part 1

There was this one boy in my class who sagged every day and didn't seem to care about it. He was very tall, and because of his height, Marc (that was his name) had a good excuse to wear shirts that were too short. As a result his boxers were exposed not only in the back, but in the front too. It seemed more daring to me than coming to school shirtless. It had given me a jolt the first time I had seen it, one and a half years earlier (I changed schools a lot.)

Marc wore boxers, boxer-briefs were not cool at all at our school and at that time. His boxers were unexceptional, white plaid ones from H&M. Many of you will find this boring, but I kind of liked it (like anything else Marc did). Sagging often seemed like a cry for attention, but white boxers were a contrast to that, an understatement. Marc did'nt wear his jeans extremely low either. He did'nt aspire to the macho pride of wearing them lower then everyone else.

Marc's belt weren't flashy either. He used only two, as fas as I knew. Clearly, he did'nt spend that much money on clothes. Maybe he considered his minimalistic style just percect and felt no need for variation. I was happy with Marc staying the same, too. I wanted to see him in certain outfits again ... hundreds of times, if possible, so that I could study every nuance of his looks and movements and memorize it.

The greatest moments were when Marc sat down or bowed down in front of me. He had to know that I stared at his boxers. He wanted us – me – to watch them, watch his ass. That was the fun of sagging; even for Marc, who always pretented not to care.

Equally great, but rare, was the sight of Marc writing on the blackboard. It could only happen in math. He was standing there, and everyone felt free to stared at him, stare at his boxers, undetected. On some occassions Marc would reach up and expose more of his underwear. The teacher pretended not to notice (he was young and of the laisser-faire type). Some girls made disgusted faces – or smiled. But no one said anything. So you could get away with sagging like that. That was what I learned in this lessons - instead of math.

Marc did'nt have a girl friend as far as I knew but no one suspected him of being gay. Almost all of us boys were geeky middle-class kids and insecure about sexuality, so we did'nt really talk about who was gay and who wasn't. I liked boys, of course, but still had some hope at the time that it would go away. After all, I was more interested in sagging than in sex. I did'nt want something in my ass. That really had to hurt!

I sometimes had the urge to touch Marc or strip him of his shirt or something like that but I could suppress that. I just avoided talking to him or interacting with him in any way. It was hard enough to watch other boys secretly, but I couldn't stopd doing that. I needed these mental pictures of Marc to geht through my day: Tall, blond and slender, he was walking smoothly down the hall with just the right amount of his boxers showing ... Not too much. Just perfect.

Okay., I tend to exaggerate. It wasn't perfect and Marc was no teen god, not even the most popular kid in my class. He wasn't funny and he did'nt get good grades, partly becauce you were expected to talk a lot in class and Marc did'nt talk much to anyone. I liked that because it gave me the feeling that I didn't have to change my personality to become like him, to become him. I just had to dress differently and that was'nt so hard, at least for others. Teenagers were supposed to try out crazy fashion styles. However, I coulndn't overcome my fear of being laughed at. I was no skaterboy and would never be one. But Marc was'nt either and he could get away with sagging. But I thought that it would be awkward too, if I just copied his style. Everyone would notice that.

Si I continued sagging in secret. The style didn't come natural to me. I was small and my shirt covered my boxers if I did'nt raise my arms or tied my shoelaces. I wanted my boxers on display the whole time. But in order to achieve that I had to wear my jeans below my ass and to wear them that low felt really uncomfortable – clownish, not stylish (You might not agree, but that was my impression at the time).

Apart from my body there was also the problem of grown-ups, parents especially. I could'nt imagine to sag in front of my teachers. I was a nice kid, wasn't I? Not a budding exhibitionist. I knew I could never sag in front of my parents. I could'nt explain to my mom why my clothes had to be a certain way to sag well. And even if I sagged only in school, my mom would somehow find out about my double life. And what then? Were there any legitimate, reasonable reasons to be an underwear show-off? I barely even confessed to myself that all the true reasons were sexual. Sagging was a guilty pleasure. Something that I would never talk about in public, ever. Or so I thought.

Marc was unashamed about sagging at school, and I figured he wouldn't pull up his pants at home either. Maybe he had very liberal parents or he had convinced them too – like the rest of us – that sagging was just an integral part of him.

But even he had been a rookie someday. Why had he turned himself into a sagger? And if sagging was sexual for him, too, how did he manage to appear so calm? Exposing my boxers gave me a boner and made me nervous. I could think only about my sag (and my ****) in those situations, even if I was sagging in my own room and knew that nobody was watching.

Maybe the road to sagging expertise was like learning an instrument: you had to start at an early age to master the art completely. I imagined Marc habing a sagging teacher, or a role model at least, an older brother maybe. Pull down your pants and become a man, like me. Or something like that.

Of course, in my fantasy world, Marc had a full-size mirror in his room now where he practiced sagging and watched himself every morning trying to see himself as we would see him later.

Then he would leave the house for another day on display.

Sometimes I fantasized about Marc as my sagging mentor. We would go shopping together and try out new clothes at Marc's home where we were alone. We did'nt talk much, because Marc did'nt like that. But it was fun nonetheless. Later, we would play video games and I would let my jeans slide down and sit on my boxers which felt so great. Then I would get up, with an extreme sag and a smirk on my face. I got a boner. Marc did'nt care. Realism was'nt always my strong suit.

Another one of my fantasies was the the school where every boy was forced by peer pressure to show off his underwear. (Maybe girls, too, but I didn't think care about that.) Would sagging lose its appeal if everyone did it? I was'nt sure. But at least it would take some time. Until then I imagined it to be paradise. A game of football (soccer) with lots of teenage saggers. Jeans sliding down continually. Girls watching and giggling and commenting to each other about the boys' underwear.

And fighting saggers, too, giving each other wedgies from time to time ... Or smoking saggers. You name it. It's there.

All that fantasizing was bad for me, of course. It would be pathetic to spend the rest of my life like that. It was time to do deal with the real world. The more saggers there were, the better. The style had to survive if I wanted to have something to watch. So I finally convinced myself to start sagging in school.

But it was too late to impress Marc because I had to change schools again. We were moving to another city. My dad had found a new job. One Friday I saw Marc for the last time and I still remeber the boxers he was wearing that day ...