Anonan

The driver is an *******, whereas the sagger is gorgeous. Seems like a nice, laid-back guy. I hope he didn't get discouraged by that stupid ass bastard.

Check this one out. Obviously, this guy doesn't normally sag. But hell, he'd be an awesome sagger for sure! We should leave some lines in the comment section to encourage him

 

I was 9 or 10 years old and I've already had a massive fetish for sagging back then. I remember pulling my trousers lower whenever I could around my friends and daring them to do the same. That always gave me a boner which wanted to get jacked off. (I made excuses to go away from them for a while to have a quick w*nk.) As I read many did as well: Humping my bed while sagging was something I often did, too. You could say I was sagging and wanking whenever I had the chance, really, it was crazy.

Where does my fetish for sagging come from? I really don't know... But it was around that time where I began to look at celebrity saggers on TV and the cool sagging guys around me. No idea why it made me so horny... F*ck, I love sagging

Here it is. The next, admittedly rather short part. Again, thanks for your patience and for following the story. I do really appreciate it and I hope you will enjoy reading it. Also, I would recommend you to perhaps re-read the previous part as it is to be considered as one with this seventh part rather than two seperate parts.

 

 

Part Seven

 

 

“Man, you look so…“ Staggering a bit, he slowly approached me taking small steps, “I, I want to…,” Michael stuttered as if he had been hypnotised.

 

I was breathing through my mouth, attentively following all his movements, and didn’t dare to say a word anymore, let alone move even the slightest. I was still supporting myself on my hands against the floor ready to stand up, yet I felt the tightening feeling of paralysis under my sweaty chest. My heart was on a race and I felt my body had begun to shake hardly noticeably for others. The pervading, refreshing cold after my sexual relief vanished completely, which made again way for a dangerous mixture of exciting unease, curiosity and beads of sweat from my armpits running down the side of my body. And the second I quickly glimpsed at the messy crotch of my shorts Michael kneeled down and spread his legs to have mine rest between his, under his low crotch. He was somewhat struggling as his low hanging Levis jeans had resisted the spreading apart of his knees until he clumsily adjusted his sag.  No word was said and I didn’t know anything else to do than to stare at him and try to figure out what he had exactly in mind. He now was on all fours and his staggering body above me made his head seem like it was floating above my crotch; it gave the impression of an alien spaceship exploring the surface of the earth as his head was carefully descending to the crotch of my shorts covered in thick juice. My hands clenched up when he started to lick the c*m off my jeans shorts and boxer-briefs. I was staring with wide eyes in disbelief at his head while he –  trembling a bit with insecurity, I assumed – more and more enjoyed slurping up my milky white, sticky sp*nk. Occasionally, he even looked up at me with his mouth and nose messed up with my c*m maybe to make certain I got a kick out of it as well, but my facial expression simply had frozen into total disbelief as there was no other expression that could have fit the mixed feeling of repulsion, excitement and mere confusion. Confusion about whether I really was so perplexed and hence unable to react or if I was just confounding things and let it happen deliberately; confusion about whether Michael, who still seemed insecure, was sucking up the wet mess on my sag because he was in a state of drunken horniness or because he was even gay and had a secret crush on me all along, which I couldn’t believe at the moment, although it would explain why Nicole and he had never become a couple in spite of the affection that everyone always could sense between them. It would have only been friendship, if that should be the case. However, nothing seemed to make perfect sense. I had witnessed yesterday on the train how he was looking at Nicole, and when we were co-workers he never made a move to flirt with me or anything. Nothing made any sense at all.

 

The smacking, slurping noise he made sounded as obnoxious as hot to me and his head movement resembled a cat unhurriedly grooming itself. This surreal scene kept going like this for a while until his last bottle of beer must have finally kicked in so that he passed out and, to my annoyance, collapsed onto me. At this point, of course, I was glad he had locked the door. What a sight that must be, I thought to myself, Michael lying on top of me, sagging low, with a face full of ejaculate. As much as all this troubled me, I couldn’t choke laughter for a short moment in this ridiculous, unreal situation. It was unwise now to ponder over what had just happened, for now laughing was the medicine I needed to be able to step outside that bathroom door and join the party again. So I gently pushed Michael off me and I stood up still dizzy, then I dragged myself to the sink to splash some cold water onto my face. The mirror’s reflection revealed a distressed face, I sighed and remained in the position leaning my head against the mirror and looking down to the water running out of the tap.

 

 

“You’ve done a great job…,” I said in a resigned, quietly smiling tone to Michael, who was asleep breathing quite heavily, “The stains are almost invisible on my dark Quicksilver shorts… What do you think?” I turned my eyes back to him on the floor, as if I could expect an answer, and continued talking.

 

“Oh man, look at you, look at us. You wouldn’t care now even if there was apocalypse going on outside. It’s not like you to drink so much, we both know that. Look at how you’ve ended up, man. A helpless piece of flesh,” I smiled, squatted down beside him and began to stroke his sag, “One,… one could really do anything to you right now. You’re lucky that it’s me taking care,… ‘cause someone else might-“

 

 

I was interrupted by a twitching I made out under his boxers. A small wet patch appeared there and I paused for a moment staring at it, feeling a pulsating warmth between my legs, my hand rested on his thigh.

 

 

“Mike? Can you hear me?” I shook him softly and looked behind me instinctively. He didn’t react. I turned around and looked back at the passed out sagging guy lying before me.

“I… I’m sorry, but I just have to do this…” I pointlessly looked around again, then quickly let my shorts slide off and took off my boxer-briefs as well. “Let’s get this done,” I whispered to myself conscious of guilt. I proceeded to pull his loose Levis off his legs, then I stripped off his patterned boxers as carefully as possible not to wake him up. He emitted a drunken moan, and I did not waste any time in inspecting his privates. I targeted his boxers, which he had j*zzed into, and took them to my nose then down to my mouth. The guilty pleasure I got out of wetting the tip of my tongue with his j*zz as well as the taste thereof were phenomenal. Apart from smell, taste and look there was the feel of wearing his dirty boxers to be experienced by me. First, however, I turned to Michael in order to put him his Levis back on as he aroused my pity because he must have been cold, which wasn’t too troublesome for me thanks to the time when I was working in an old people’s home instead of compulsory military service, where I have learnt to dress people who could not move properly anymore. However, the patient I had the pleasure to dress now, of course, was both more drunk and handsome, I thought to myself, then I positioned him in stable side position so he would not choke in case he had to vomit while he was still unconscious. Then I finally got to put on his boxers. During the process, some of the still warm c*m dripped out of them onto my legs. The wet, slippery fabric touching my b*ner made me shiver with excitement, even more so at the thought that Mike’s juice would spread all over my private area down there and get stuck in my pubic hair throughout the night, which I will be able to actively enjoy and participate at again, as I now felt. Comforted, I put on my shorts and unlocked the door to step outside.

 

 

“What took you so long?”

- “Woah! Nicole! You scared me.”

“Oh, sorry. Ahm,… I didn’t mean to do that. I just thought I’d check on you.”

- “Erm… uh… All fine here, I guess,” I put on a stupidly smiling face.

“Do you know where Mike is? Is he in there?”

- “Uh, no, erm…”

“Cause I’ve sent him to look in on you.”

- “I mean, uh, yeah, he is.” How was I going to explain this, I thought nervously.

“Oh, really?” She gave me a suspicious look.

- “Yeah, I mean… he…” I hesitated, “he came and…”

“He came?”

- “Ye- uh, no, no… I mean, he came to check and… and he was drunk and…”

“Oh, is he alright? Let me have a look.” Nicole tried to edge me aside to get into the bathroom. Not at any price could I let her in and see him, not now.

- “No! Don’t! He’s… uh, he’s fine!” I yelled at her. She stepped back and glanced at my “new” underwear.

“Oh, erm, are you sure?”

- “Yeah, he… he’s sleeping in there. We,… I mean, he can be left to himself, don’t worry!” Nicole looked at me doubtfully, then her face relaxed.

“Ha, what a reliable guy! Is sent to check on you and now he’s the one being checked on. Oh boy.” I affected a laugh to keep a low profile.

 

Hey guys,

I am sorry I haven't posted the next part yet, also I am very thankful for your patience. So, as an appetizer to the next part, I would like to provide a picture of how one might imagine David, the main character, to look like. Thanks to all who comment, criticise and follow the story.

Greets, Anonan

 

Thanks a lot for your comments! I really appreciate them. I hope you enjoy this next part.

 

Part Six

 

 

Nicole turned around and suddenly became less enthusiastic, maybe because she had realised there was no way we could hold a conversation now and there also would have been no need to talk, I thought to myself, as the invisible sparkling attraction between us said more than a thousand words could express. The strong erotic tension that suddenly built up between the two of us took away almost all my nervousness within a few seconds. I had been at the party only for a few minutes and I felt like I had gone through the whole spectrum of human feelings already, like a ride on the rollercoaster. She, standing closely in front of me, was moving her relaxed body along with the rhythm of the music. Her swinging little butt was continuously brushing my genital that was separated from her bum only by the thin fabric of my boxer-briefs, her long wavy brown hair and her very short Japanese schoolgirl style skirt; her movement had caused both my T-shirt and her skirt to ride further up. I laid my left arm around her neck and pushed her head tenderly to my shoulder, she didn’t protest against it and let my fingers comb her hair to the side, which gave off the subtle powdery breeze that my fantasy had acquainted me with in the orange light of yesterday’s evening. Although the girl who was leaning on me had already surrendered in devotion to her stronger sexual counterpart I was pressing my bulge for her to feel between her butt cheeks to fully triumph over her like a warrior raising a flag in a strangely respectful manner, and in order to prevent it from slipping out, my hips moved along with hers in a circling way. My shorts were gradually sliding lower so that after some time skin was showing between my boxer-briefs and shorts. I felt Nicole’s hands were reaching back and touched the narrow stripe of skin that was showing. She was holding on to my thigh, moaning inaudibly. We were dancing like this for quite some time, but we certainly weren’t thinking about time in this moment.

 

Then someone’s hand touched my shoulder, tearing me out of this state of dizziness.

“Oh, ahm, it’s you…,” I swallowed and released Nicole out of my arm. She was trying to regain full consciousness and rubbed her eyes, I did the same.

- “What’s up? Nice to see you again, man,” Michael, the other former colleague I met yesterday, said. He seemed a bit drunk, his regular fitted light blue Levis jeans were sitting loosely under his ass and colourfully patterned boxers were visible. Furthermore, he was holding up his trousers at the front, which seemed especially hot to me, with a bottle of beer in his other hand. My d*ck won’t be given a chance tonight to completely turn soft again, my inner voice mumbled, I didn’t make any effort to pull my shorts up to their initial level though, mainly because I hadn’t realised in my confusion they were so low at the time, but also because maybe I was... well, proud of my bulge popping out. I wanted everyone around me to acknowledge I was a real sagger, and now, after the second glass of vodka, alcohol was playing its part as well, of course. To me, there was simply no necessity at that moment to adjust my sag, it would’ve felt wrong to do that now. There was nothing to lose.

- “So yeah, I see you two are getting along pretty well there, haha,” Michael commented our sight.

“Well, yeah, what can I say,” I answered with a silly smile. His comment made me feel a bit like an idiot, but he had a point. I shared intense intimacy with a girl I hadn’t had any contact with for a long time until a day ago. Nicole was still mentally absent, lit another cigarette blinking at me, and walked away to get herself a drink. From the corner of my eye I could see Michael was checking out my sag as his gaze went down on me.

“So, are you here with someone?” I asked Michael. He quickly looked up again and took a sip from his beer.

- “Nah, I’ve come here right after work. Helped Nicki prepare the drinks and food. Hella lot of stuff to carry around, I tell ya.” I wondered how that must have looked like if he had to hold his Levis most of the time. A shame I hadn’t arrived just a bit too early.

“Haha, that’s exactly why I don’t put up with parties at my own place, man. Not to mention the tidying up and all that sh*t.”

- “True that, Dave. Good thing is, though, you can feel yourself at home, you can smoke, dress the way you want and stuff. I mean, look at you. Not possible in a club.” I scratched my eyebrow out of insecurity. Had he somehow noticed I’d never been sagging this low before? If so, why didn’t he say anything when we were walking home yesterday? I really feared now this strange power had left me and made him notice the unusual as a result. I was content right now with things being the way they were. Yes, there wasn’t an explanation for the things that had happened, and the ambition to find one was far beyond my universe, my mood at the moment. Please don’t ruin it, I begged, I am finally enjoying myself after such a long time of unbearable routine.

“What do you mean, man?” Instead of playing it cool I looked around, nervously awaiting his answer that could make me want to disappear in shame again.

- “D- Don’t get me wrong, man, but…,” He was stuttering a bit, most likely due to alcohol influence, and drank some more of the beer.

“But what?” I wanted to violently shake the answer out of his mouth. I started to breathe faster and more heavily, not knowing what I would be confronted with. He, however, simply seemed to be drunk and disoriented finding his own words. I wished I could swap bodies with someone.

- “But that s-… oh, f*ck!“

Shrill screaming noise erupted.

“No! Sh*t, man! A- Are you okay!?”

- “Oh, f*ck, ouch! Where is this little motherf**ker!?” Michael turned around in rage and casted a vicious gaze upon the concerned girls who had screamed out.

“Forget about him, man! That guy wouldn’t even understand what you’re saying judging by the looks of him! Get back here!” I grabbed his arm in order to pull him back to me, “Nothing even happened! You’ve just poured some beer on my shirt, that’s all! Now get back!”

- “My f*cking forehead is bleeding, let me go!” Michael shouted at me.

“So let me check it!”

- “No, I’ll show that b*stard how to say sorry!” A God sent drunk stranger had heavily bumped into Michael just when he was about to answer, and caused him to hit his head on a cupboard next to us. The drunk guy quickly stumbled back into the crowd around us.

“You know you will regret that tomorrow morning. So get back here now!” When has he become so extrovert, I wondered.

- “Wrong! That d*ck sucker will regret it!” I was pulling his arm until he finally gave in when he saw that the people standing around us had lost interest in a possible upcoming fight as well. Also, it wasn’t like Michael to become offended so easily. Especially if it was an accident he would be refreshingly forgiving in comparison to many other people and just shrug it off as if nothing had happened. I had got to know him as a person like that and he didn’t disappoint me this time either, even though he had good reason to be angry. Frowning, he turned to me again and grabbed his crotch again to hold up his jeans that had fallen lower during that chaos.

“Let’s have a look at that mess,” I said in a comforting tone to calm Michael down. He looked ashamed of his emotional outbreak and I also felt bad for him. I had to admit to myself that I was secretly thankful the drunken guy interrupted the unpleasant situation I had found myself in.
I took a paper towel out of a drawer and started to gently tap the blood off his face, we were standing closely face to face, while his eyes were looking down. They rested on my sag.

“It’s looking worse than it is. Just a lil’ scratch there, no stitches needed,” I winked.

- “Tha- Thanks, man…”

“Erm,… well yeah, I should probably get rid of my mess as well,” I pointed at the wet patch on my T-shirt, “Will you be fine?”

- “Uhm, sure, man,” He still seemed to be ashamed.

“Okay, if you won’t start a World War III here I’m gonna head to the bathroom. You know where that is?”

 

He nodded and pointed upstairs. I weaved through the packed room to get to the stairs, and I was aware that people stared at my red boxer-briefs while I was somewhat struggling to set one foot in front of the other, because the crotch of my shorts was hanging low hindering me a bit from lifting my legs, and I wasn’t able to avoid holding my shorts at their waistband anymore. By walking up more slowly than usual I made sure my sag would please the people’s greedy stares sufficiently as well as my desire for this folding sound of the jeans material as my shorts seemed to sway up and down. Tickling drops of warm beer were rolling down from my belly into my underwear when I opened the door to the bathroom. I moistened the towel that was hanging next to the sink and began rubbing it against the patch of beer on my T-shirt, then I patted it as dry as possible with the other end of the towel. The rollercoaster is heading downwards, I said to myself, as some kind of weakness caught me. The sensual experience with Nicole, Michael’s little emotional outburst, the nearly unstoppable horniness I struggle to surpress… it all was wearing me out. The towel dropped onto the floor, leaning on the wall, I did so as well until I felt the cold of the tiles getting through my Pull-ins and came to rest there. I dropped my gaze and felt the urge to touch my sag, although I knew too well that would make me hard again, anyhow I couldn’t resist to grab my manhood and jerk it while massaging my balls and sag in turns. And given the latently boiling arousal throughout out that night it didn’t take long until I exploded in long pounding shots. The thick c*m splattered all over my sag and boxer-briefs, and my right hand looked like it had dipped into a bucket of paste. I exhaled heavily, slowly becoming clear only now. The mess on my c*m-covered shorts I created was way bigger than the small wet patch on my T-shirt, I sighed, and wanted to stand up.

 

“Hey Dave, are you al…“ F*cking hell! I let the door unlocked, I screamed inside my mind and collapsed back on the floor.

Michael and I were staring at each other with our mouths wide open, yet nobody said a word. With a racing heart and red like a tomato I attempted to stand up again, trying to make no noise, and I didn’t know why.

“Don’t move. Stay right there.” Michael said in a weird monotonous way. He locked the door and came closer to me, his eyes were wildly jumping up and down on me.

- “Wh- What are you doin’, man?” My voice trembled.

Part Five

 

 

With a cigarette in my hand I was leaning on the wall outside on my little balcony, slowly bouncing back and forth, in the hope this would shake my raging thoughts into the place they belonged. David was a relatively common name where I lived, so it was likely the phone’s owner was called that as well. It wouldn’t be such a great coincidence, I tried to calm down. On the other hand however, I had the uncomfortable feeling that the messages were addressed to me, considering the question about the exciting evening. Also, the tone and choice of words in the second message could imply that the sender somehow was sure that the recipient, whether that was me or someone else, read the message but didn’t reply for some reason. The more often I read the message, the more uneasy I became. You would rather write “You there, mate?” if there came no answer for a longer period of time. “You may reply” seemed to be a pretty weird choice of words to me. Having reached the second cigarette by now, I was even considering the possibility of someone stalking me. No, no, it was really very unlikely. I wasn’t the person somebody falls in love with at first sight. No, I wasn’t the person that would get stalked after somebody had developed a massive crush on them. Not to mention that this way of stalking somebody would be a whole new level of creepiness. Man, what was I thinking? Someone had lost their phone, that was all. Give it a rest, Dave, I told myself, and enjoyed the warm light of evening shining on my low hanging jeans, that had become heavier and more elastic because of the heat and sweat, which had been affecting them throughout the day. My arms were hanging down weakly and it seemed as if the cigarette’s smoke took advantage of this position, I thought, as I saw the smoke elegantly dancing around my plaid red boxer-briefs, slowly crawling down to my jeans to incorporate its dirty smell into them. I hadn’t stopped bouncing back and forth, the rubbing weight of the phone in my back pocket triggered the too arousing fantasy of me humping a sagger guy or maybe a girl like Nicole at a nasty place in just this sagging gear, with my jeans constantly moving, rubbing, always tightening and loosening in harmony with my leg and hip movements, and hi-tops full of the diverse juices of the human body and the dirt of the street. My ecstatic imagination wanted me to suck in the tasty drops of sweat between Nicole’s breasts and ruin their flawless powdery scent by massaging them with my hands which had completely taken on the naughty, masculine smell of my sag. I felt my p*nis was hardening again, but I didn’t want to play that game now. I just wanted to let myself fall into bed and sleep, since this day had turned out so strange and awkward, so full of challenges, yet it had made me find my interest, my love for sagging again as well as the confidence to sag, and I was glad about it even though there wasn’t any explanation neither for the behaviour of Michael, Nicole or my parents, nor for my trousers not moving over my bum, nor for the circumstances around this phone. I’ll reply tomorrow, I said to myself, put on grey track pants and finally fell asleep.

 

Saturday. Thank God there are no plans for today. No people to meet except for my parents. With that in mind I stood up, and when I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror to wash my face, I noticed the unusual feeling of my track pants under my butt. However, I felt at peace with it. I now knew it was only a matter of time until my sagging felt like a perfectly normal thing to do for me, and I couldn’t hold back the smile at that moment. I was in a safe zone here, I assured myself. Right after I had finished my morning bathroom routine, I checked the stranger’s phone for any messages. There were none, fortunately. Instead, I had received a message on my own phone from Nicole, the former colleague I had met in the train.

 

"Hey Dave! We’ve been cut off too soon last night. Party tonight at 8 p.m. at my place. Please come or my hamster dies. – See ya, Nicki.”

There goes my safe zone, I sighed. Nothing had been going according to plan since my embarrassing situation on the platform bench, so this message didn’t completely catch me off my guard. I was gradually beginning to expect the unexpected. Nevertheless, it was unusual in this part of the world to invite somebody over just because you’d met him in the train after a long time. In such situations, people here used to politely engage in a trivial conversation and then, after their ways had parted again, try to avoid each other. What I found myself in, however, was like some American film where it seemed to be popular to invite people you had only just met, or you had met after quite some time, to your next big party. Beside the fact that they never said Goodbye to each other on the phone in American films, this was another thing I had always been wondering about. My sag really must have had an effect on her, otherwise she wouldn’t have taken such a, for my taste, radical step. Of course I’ll come, I thought. There was no reason anymore why I shouldn’t go there. Yesterday she had seen me blushed and soaked in sweat like never before, trembling and sagging low like never before and for whatever reason she hadn’t taken notice of it, but rather had been attracted to the misery that was me. And I also wasn’t afraid anymore that someone else I knew would see me sagging there, since not even my parents had made any remark about it – again, for whatever reason. I was a sagger now and I could do nothing but get used to it, and a party was the perfect occasion to do just that. I was spending the whole day playing video games and smoking way too much, because the tingly feeling caused by the fact that I was going to pull off such a low sag at the party didn’t allow my hands to stay still. Finally however, it was 7 p.m. and I could look through my wardrobe for the stuff to wear for the party. I definitely wanted to wear a snapback cap tonight that went well with my medium length dark brown hair. As if someone had placed it there for that exact purpose, there was one last dark green NY cap hiding in the depths of my wardrobe and I quickly grabbed it. I decided to wear the green cap with a tight shirt of the same green colour and, for the contrast, keep the red Pull-in boxer-briefs. And because this was going to be a very warm, humid night, I chose dark blue Quicksilver jeans shorts held by a black leather belt at a comfortable level below my d*ck and bum to wear above my boxer-briefs and black DC sneakers on my feet. The green T-shirt was long enough to cover my sag when standing straight, but short enough to reveal the most of my bottom when sitting or bending over only slightly. One could really say I jumped into cold water, still I was calm and much more confident than yesterday evening. As soon as I was fully dressed I had a look in the mirror. It looked more colourful than I had expected it to be, but it was too late now to change anything, so I went downstairs to ask my dad, who was watching “Who wants to be a millionaire”, to drive me to Nicole’s house.

“You’re like Obelix, Dave. Except you fell into paint,” He answered.

- “Ha-ha. Very funny, dad. Complicated times, remember?”

”Alright, alright. Got it. Well, yeah, ain’t got anything to do here anyway. I’ll get the keys,” My dad agreed.

 

It had been a twenty minute ride into town until he dropped me off at Nicole’s house. I could already hear loud music, talking and laughter thundering out of the house as I was walking towards the front door, which I opened without ringing the bell as there wouldn’t have been any use to that due to the high volume of the music inside, which most definitely was of alternative genre. I stepped inside and let my eyes glide through Nicole’s rather huge living room that was apparently packed with people I had never met before, so I headed towards what looked like to be the kitchen and got myself a glass of vodka mixed with some apple juice. When I had to stand there looking for somebody I knew and wait, I instinctively put my left hand into the left front pocket of my jeans shorts. This time however, I could barely reach it, because the shorts were hanging so low. So it was only my fingertips that were hidden inside the pocket, my other hand was holding the glass of vodka, from which I sipped every once in a while. After about five minutes of waiting there that felt like an eternity, I was trying to get the stranger’s phone out of my right back pocket, that I had brought with me to show Nicole. I thought that maybe she would have an idea what to do with it. But before I could get it out, she had thrown her arms around me to welcome me.

“Hey Dave! You got a sag for me?” She yelled loudly because of the noise around us.

- “Wha- What?”

“You got a CIG for me?” She yelled even more loudly.

- “Ah, oh, a cig. Yeah, sure. Erm… Here you go!” I blushed, tried to conceal the shock of this false alert by laughing stupidly and lighting her cigarette quickly. Her décolleté was even more inviting this night, I had a hard time averting my eyes from it.

Thank you a lot for all your positive feedback! Please feel free to criticise and comment as much as you like. And I am sorry you've had to wait so long for this next part. Also, I forgot to mention that not all is fiction, of course. Enjoy.

 

 

 

Part Four

 

 

 

My mother noticed my dangerously low sag and was behaving as if it was nothing unusual by any means. Of course that took a heavy load off my baffled mind but I immediately had to wonder whether I should question my mother’s mental health or at least her ability of paying attention to her loved ones. Anyway, I thought, I would find out when my father is here at the latest, when we have dinner together. They just have to say something when they see me parading around the kitchen with my dark slim-fit jeans below my privates and tight boxer-briefs covering my firm butt cheeks, which would every once in a while slightly touch the kitchen counter or brush the table daringly. At this point I was determined to intentionally draw attention to my sag for the sake of finding out what fate on God’s great earth it was I had been chosen to cope with. For that purpose I browsed through my wardrobe to find one of the few colourfully patterned boxer-briefs that were left. And soon, tight plaid red boxer-briefs by Pull-in fell into my hand, which glowed like a very ripe, red apple, and this resemblance, I thought with an evil smirk on my lips, would become even more striking when I have them on. I quickly grabbed them, let my jeans slide off my legs as well as the stinky white boxer-briefs and put on the Pull-ins. For the last time now I tried to pull my jeans over my underwear, unsuccessfully. So I just had to let them rest below my bum and genital where they were sitting before. Sighing, I stepped in front of the mirror again to have a close look at my appearance. Again, I was stroking my bottom, passing my hips and crotch, moving towards my still a bit sweaty belly. Then I moved my hand near my nose to let it catch the sweet, delicate scent I had imagined to be the boy’s smell next to me on the bench, and my tongue was not able to resist to rob my fingers of the sweat, all while my eyes were closed. Though, after some time I had been licking my fingers while my other hand had been running up and down between the cheeks of my butt, I really had to force myself away from this wet pleasure, not only because I was afraid of a certain swelling to show itself in my underwear, but also because I had to head downstairs to the kitchen for dinner, where my father probably now was waiting for me to come, too. “Well then, good luck, Dave,” I wished myself, ready to beard the lion in his den, when I suddenly felt a vibration in the right back pocket of my jeans.

 

A message. Not on my phone, but on the other one. I was staring at it. I was staring at it as if it was a strange tool from Stone Age times. I considered myself a well-mannered young man who had been taught to return lost things to their rightful owner, and during the time the lost object would be in my possession, nothing should damage it. Oh, wasn’t I a good boy. And if the lost object was a phone I would also respect the owner’s privacy,… I had always been thinking that way. However, I admitted, the circumstances of this phone ending up where it is now had been rather weird. I opened my eyes and it was just lying on my low crotch. Maybe a blind person had accidently placed it there while I had been daydreaming? They could use phones as well, after all! By now my eyes were stuck to the ceiling while I was thinking about whether to check the message for any hints or traces that might lead to the phone’s owner or to just hand it to the lost-property office, which I didn’t trust so much, because, well, in my opinion it was much safer if I checked the phone and then could be sure the rightful owner would get it back instead of leaving the matter to some bad-tempered officer that would hand it to any lucky guy who could guess the phone’s brand right. Perhaps it was just my curiosity, but somehow I really persuaded myself to handle the matter my way, even if it should be less honourable. So I proceeded to unlock the phone, that surprisingly wasn’t protected by a password, and opened the message without further ado.

 

“Had an exciting evening?”

Well, my evening had been quite exciting so far, if you want, and the true owner of the phone was supposed to have the same, it seemed, however, I was sure, not the way I was having it. I was not sure, though, if the owner would have been so happy about this message since it said the sender was “unknown”.

 

“Dinner’s ready, Dave!” My mother finally shouted from downstairs. I hesitated to put the phone back into the pocket, because the “unknown sender” had drawn even more of my attention to inspecting the phone more thoroughly. This evening had turned out to be much too strange. On the one hand, I was longing for all these odd occurrences to end, on the other hand although, the mere strangeness of this evening all in all seemed to more and more swallow me, like a conspiracy you were about to uncover. Eventually, I put the phone back into the pocket.

“Coming, mom!” And let’s see now if you all have gone crazy, I said to myself silently, I might have to cart you all off into the nuthouse and happily sag my way alone through life, I laughed. Right before I left my room, I had slipped off my shirt to exaggerate my look even more. I had to make sure they noticed my rebellious sag I couldn’t do anything against.

 

“Hey dad, hey mum,” I greeted them.

- “Hey strong man. You usin’ the hot weather as an excuse to show off your abs now?” Dad said jokingly.

“Haha, erm, nah, it’s just really hot today. Sweating like a pig here…” I answered and scratched my belly to pull his attention towards my sag.

- “True that, Dave. And by the way, you don’t have any abs. Sorry to disappoint.”

“I’m workin’ on it at least. There see, you can learn something from your son.”

- “I was a Hulk at your age, now get your red ass on the chair and have some beef and potatoes.”

I blushed immediately. He noticed my red Pull-in boxer-briefs. Had I gone too far? I feared he did really “see” my low sag now. I sat down without saying a word and began to eat.

- “You know,” My father continued, “back in my days, we just put on what we found. A shirt, white ugly boxers and washed out jeans. Why has everything become so complicated nowadays? You are a poor generation to meet all these fashion ideals.” He laughed heartily.

“Haha, yeah, erm, you’re right there, I guess,” I answered insecurely.

- “Well, I think it’s nice and it fits him!” Mum exclaimed.

“It does, it does. Just sayin’ people are crazy,” My dad added.

- “Erm,… That might sound strange, but I got a question there, hm, erm… Do you think there’s something different about me today? Mum, dad?” I just couldn’t bear this uncertainty anymore. Finally, I wrapped myself around asking straight forward. My inner voice begged them to say my jeans were hanging so low it was outrageous.

“Well, if you wanna know. Stand up and we’ll see,” Dad demanded. Now I was eager to show off this low sag and put it right in their faces. My jeans slid a bit lower as I was standing up.

“Messy hair, no abs, still red, complicated underwear and jeans below your bum. Nope, I’m afraid you’re still looking like a wannabe rapper. Everything’s as usual,” He said and laughed out loud.

 

I, for my part, couldn’t quite laugh, I rather mimed it to play along. Not because he called me a wannabe rapper of course, but because he’d said everything was as usual about me. My sag was almost mid-thigh and still they didn’t perceive it as something extraordinary, as something I had never done before, as if they had naturally accepted it a long time ago, which wouldn’t be possible if this evening had followed the laws of physics and rational thinking. Oh man, I thought, this can’t be possible, this is just f*cked up. Anyway, I had to take it as it were now and led the topic away from me so that I could enjoy the fan’s cold air gently blowing around the naked top of my butt crack undisturbed as I was sitting there. Another sensation, another thrilling perk of sagging I hadn’t been feeling for a very long time. Combined with the sticky feeling of the sweat soaked waistband of the boxer-briefs on my hip bones as well as the sticky waistband of the jeans on my upper legs, it brings back the memories of my first summer trip to Italy with my friends when I was seventeen and used to sag quite low in company of my friends. I remembered we were standing at the beach sagging our board shorts very low, playing beach volleyball with a lot of boxers, boxer-briefs and butt cracks showing. Sand and drops of water were constantly running down from our chests and backs into and onto our sags, with the help of alcohol adding to our indescribable horniness.

 

I was lying on my bed now again, satisfying myself, after I had finished the meal and gone back inside my room. Relieving myself of a load was the only way I could regain a comparably clear mind. And now that I was back on the ground, I again realised I wasn’t in such a bad situation after all. My parents were, though inexplicably, very fine with my sagging. The next thing to find out was how my daily life would be to handle with such a low sag, if my friends would react in any way, though I already doubted it due to the events of this evening. I would have to buy new clothes to match the ideal of a sagger I had, and the most important thing was finding out what had caused my trousers to withstand me pulling them up. To do that, I knew I had to get into contact with other saggers. I rolled on the side and watched myself in the mirror when the phone in my back pocket vibrated once again.

 

“You may reply, David.”

The Phone

 

Part One

 

 

 

Tired and wearily I took a seat in the hall of the main station of a small Swiss town to wait for my train home. Well, it was big enough to have a university in which I was enrolled as a student, and it wasn’t just this day that I was tortured with such overall tiredness, generally, these days I tended to reflect on my life in a constant and thorough fashion, however these thoughts were not heading to some kind of solution for the things I was unhappy about, they rather added more and more things to the list of discontent, one of which for example was my relationship towards my fashion style, which consisted mainly of simple basic shirts, unspectacular boxer-briefs, skinny to regular fitted jeans and sneakers of any brand. Not too boring or uncool but also not eye-catching. As I only used to pull my jeans down for comfort now when taking a seat, my mind had wandered to the topic of sagging. So, I was sitting there waiting for my train to finally arrive, pondering over one thing on mentioned list: my dissatisfying on-and-off relationship with sagging – something which I loved the feeling, the appearance, the touch and yes, even the smell and the sound of since I had been ten years old! “You’re 21 years old now and only dare to wear your trousers low when sitting down. Man, you’ve really come a long way,” I mocked myself in this self-irony I needed now. Also ironically, you could say I was quite an expert on the matter of sagging, yet I was not able to unwrap myself from my friends’ and family’s disapproval. Every aspect, every side of it had once been subject to my greatest interest, and strangely, other saggers as I had noticed,… they couldn’t get a grip of what I meant by sound and smell of sagging. When talking about the sound I thought of the noise the crotch of a sagging guy’s jeans makes while walking, similar to the sound of jeans that are being spread out in order to iron them, for example. So, disapproval but other saggers’ lack of understanding for my passion as well seemed to be the cause of me giving up sagging for most of the time. And this was pretty grave to me since, in my opinion, fashion was a considerable part of someone’s self-expression that, sure, I should just express but somehow couldn’t. Even more painful so, sagging was of course not only some style but my fetish as well, again a fetish that would be allowed to be shown publicly without any big problems involved, still I was frustrated that I didn’t do just that for said, stupid reasons.

 

 

By this time, my head had leant backwards, my eyes had closed and the back pockets of my jeans were hanging just above the knees. That way I could use my crotch as a shelf where I had comfortably deposited my cigarettes and my phone before leaning back. After some time had passed, I could hear, out of all the chatting and running around me, somebody sitting down next to me, who at first did not catch enough of my attention to open my eyes. However, when that boy, around my age I estimated, was sighing heavily, yes almost moaning while he got into the same position as mine, I felt pressured to have a quick look at him. Immediately I realised, had I known what kind of guy had sit down beside me I certainly would have checked him out much earlier. Frankly, he was a sagger of the finest kind. From head to toes I inspected the bloke in very few seconds. He was wearing a red Nike snapback, dark blue Volcom jeans below his p**is, under which one could get a sneak peek of his colourfully patterned Pull-in boxer-briefs, and under his black T-shirt an athletic body became apparent. His unshaven face was manly in a handsome boy-next-door  way and definitely much more attractive than mine. During the time I couldn’t avert my eyes from him, he seemed to take no notice of me at all. Instead he seemed to be snoozing, so I then quickly and disappointedly forced my gaze away from him and if I couldn’t engage him in conversation I wanted to at least make him part of my deliriously wild fantasy, in which I was able to be and open up to all the things my reality lacked, sagging being one important part of them. Still some time had to go by until my train would arrive, so I took advantage of that and imagined the most obscene scenes, some people would say, with the man sagging and snoozing right next to me. I fantasised me slowly creeping up on his sneakers and his low slung jeans while my nose would furiously suck in their scent, their scent of the street, of car gases, their smell of his home and the slight smell of his hands that I was sure pulled them up regularly and not least, the smell of his sweaty feet and private areas. Maybe also his girlfriend touches his sag when they mess around with each other, I thought among other needy things.

 

 

“Attention please, platform 4!” the loudspeakers tore me out of my dreams, “the train scheduled to depart at 18:35 is soon arriving! Please be careful!”

 

Upset about the unpleasant voice but above all about the sudden end of my dreams, I rubbed my eyes and looked all around me. People with annoyed facial expressions were standing up from the benches getting ready to hop on a packed train, a lamenting mother had to hold back her little daughter from the edge of the platform and a beggar was contributing to the people’s bad mood by bothering them in the most pushy way. I don’t have to mention I quickly had enough of this and so I turned my head to the seat beside me to brighten up this day, this week or even these months of boring routine with the enjoyment of the sagger’s look. But he wasn’t there anymore to my great disappointment. “No, he’s gone, he vanished, where the hell is he?” I screamed out of some sort of astonishment. One last time my eyes desperately ran through the whole place in the hope of spotting the boy, but he was nowhere to be found. I wanted to follow him, try to take the seat next to him in the train, ask him about the book he was reading or whatever. Or “accidently” bump into him, apologise and so on… Whenever I met a sagging guy like him I never had the intention to get him into something sexual with me. My goal had always been a simple friendship with a friend who sagged or ideally shared the passion for this way of dressing so I could build up the confidence that I longed for so badly. Why would it never work out? Sure, I thought, maybe I had got all worked up about this, since there was no interaction whatsoever. Maybe I hadn’t been meant to get to know this guy and due to my overall frustration I was just over-sensitive right now. Keeping that in mind, I tried to calm down when I suddenly noticed something lying on my “shelf”. Somebody had obviously placed another phone there. Again, I looked around in order to maybe see someone who seemed like they were looking for something. Just a few second later however, I noticed the train had already arrived and opened the doors now. In all of my surprise, I must have completely blocked that out. In all the hustle, I put the cigarettes, my and the other phone in the pockets of my trousers very quickly to get ready for the train. Before I fully stood up from the bench though I had to, of course, pull up my jeans that were completely off my butt.

 

 

I pulled but they didn’t go up. “Oh, come on now!” I shouted in my head angrily. So I pulled more forcefully this time. They didn’t move a single inch again. “What on earth is happening!?” I stood up, stretched my whole body and pulled up the below ass sagging jeans as violently as I could. People began to stare at me trying to get my jeans up, but they wouldn’t move even the slightest. I looked up, all the blood flowing inside my body seemed to shoot inside me head. Stood there, being stared at, red like a tomato with jeans sagging so low way too much of my white boxer-briefs showed, and I couldn’t do anything about it.

 

 

 

 

Part Two

 

 

 

After a few and short questioning looks, people went on inside the train to find their seats. As soon as they all had hopped on, I pulled my basic black shirt down as far as I could to cover some of my white boxer-briefs, however to my misery, I did not realise at that time that my backpack would cause my shirt to ride up and reveal most of my bottom while entering the train and looking for a seat. The attractive guy, my fantasies about him, the pondering about life, routine, style and the aspects of sagging – all had become so marginal given the seemingly small fact that I was not able to pull my trousers above my bum. So I pushed myself through the packed coach with my now sweaty bum in the hope of finding a somewhat remote place to stand or sit, when suddenly a voice hit my ear from the right hand side.

 

“Hey, David!” the enthusiastic voice called out. I quickly turned my red head around to make out these words’ origin. My heart was racing like an athlete in the Olympics.

 

“Come on here! We’ve saved you a place, come on here now!” For a second I looked bashfully at the ground but I knew there was no way out. The voice belonged to a girl my age, who was a former colleague from the part-time job I had quitted approximately a month ago. But why ‘we’? Who was with her? All these shameful circumstances didn’t seem to end and I only got more and more nervous in this otherwise completely ordinary situation. That I only had to pass two stations was probably the only relief. Very professionally already I looked down on myself to check my low sag. I only noticed now that my bum was for all to see and at the front my jeans were sitting right on my p**is. The only thing I could do was pull down my T-shirt again to cover at least a bit of my underwear, although I knew it would be on full display again when I would sit down. I then fought my way to the girl and with a quirkily helpless smile sat down next to her company – a boy called Michael also around my age, who as well was a former colleague. I remembered they always stuck together, got along with each other pretty well, and you could sense a lot of attraction between the two, yet for some reason they never became an official couple. The girl named Nicole sat opposite me and first I did not dare to let my eyes meet hers, instead they were torn to check my jeans that were, as expected, very low again so that my underwear was visible again more than I wanted.

 

“So,… thanks for saving the seat, guys,” I managed to say quietly.

 

- “No problem, Dave. We saw you waiting on the platform and we didn’t want you to choke in here, so yeah, haha,” Nicole said. At the thought of them seeing me in my embarrassing struggle on the platform I was sinking into the seat. Also, it wasn’t like her to laugh so light-heartedly about such trivial things or funny statements coming from herself. I really feared she must have noticed my unusually low sag. If she has, I was afraid, she is the kind of person that will mention it, without much delay. I was already thinking about some flimsy explanation she wouldn’t accept but which would silence her about the matter, however, it would only add to my embarrassment. And while my thoughts were raging and rampaging, I dared to lay my gaze on her. And oh, how beautiful she was. With her long, slightly wavy brown hair, tight black tops with an inviting décolleté, her red, always too short skirts over her little bum cheeks, that were situated so high they almost seemed like the ones of a boy, she represented the typical French schoolgirl, however, because of the snapbacks and DC shoes she wore every now and then, a touch of skater girl also wasn’t missing. Michael, the boy sitting next to me, apparently enjoyed her sight as well, especially her petite figure, I could tell, while he was talking to Nicole. And as her fashion style might suggest, her personality was all in all very relaxed and laid-back compared to other girls of her age. Certainly, she was “a classy b**ch”, as I used to call her as a joke; she did not like to make a fuss out of nothing, yet could exhibit some arrogant behaviour but without losing classiness or her relaxed reputation. That did not make me less nervous about my appearance at this time however. Where’s her remark? Instead of crashing out with some stupid comment about my low hanging jeans she just seemed to look at me. Listening to Michael but watching me.

 

“Is there something different about you, Dave?” she suddenly interrupted Michael.

 

- “Erm,… w-what do you mean?” I stuttered.

 

 

 

 

Part Three

 

 

 

 “I don’t quite know. But you look different tonight. You tell me?” Nicole insisted.

 

- “Ah, erm, hm,…” Thank God her face didn’t give the impression as if she already knew the answer but wanted to force it out of my mouth for her pleasure or some kind of ego boost. It was a real, authentic question. My chance to play the unaware and surprised, however which would be difficult to do now since one simply could not overlook, or “oversmell”, my clothes, especially my boxer-briefs, that had become so soaked in sweat as a result of all the stress they were sticking very strongly on my body, showing the outlines of my genital.

 

-“Hm, maybe it’s my hair? I had a haircut recently,” You fool, I said to myself.

 

“Oh, really? That might be it, now that you bring it up,” she said in still a questioning tone, however I was able to lead the topic to her own hair and outfit quickly. After all, she was a girl and I knew she got certain pleasure out of sharing her experiences with different hairdressers, online-shops, and so on. I only could listen to her with one ear though, because her answer only provoked the next question: How didn’t she notice my low, sweaty sag? My blushed face, my trembling? And in general, what on earth is happening?
Fortunately, Michael, the former colleague sitting next to me, had joined the conversation, so me and all my questions could almost without interruption or other insistent questions fight in mental solitude while I was watching her unusually lascivious gestures. I wasn’t the only one who looked or acted different tonight, I was sure. Her overall behaviour, her slow, ambiguous arm and leg movements, the deeper pitch in her voice. I perceived all this to be highly extraordinary for her, and most notably… sexy. Again, she was listening to Michael but watching me, so that our eyes had met and I couldn’t help but notice she was gently biting her lower lip, with the immediate effect that some of the blood in my head gradually flowed into my c*ck, causing it to slightly harden. But this time I stayed calm for once, pulled myself together and just placed my arms above it and pretended as if nothing was abnormal about her, me, about this whole evening.

 

 

“Next stop…” an automated voice announced my station. Coolness was rushing through my body. Finally, I thought, let’s get out of here. I felt more relaxed now after I had got off so lightly. My p**is also turned soft again and I didn’t bother anymore to pull my T-shirt down so stubbornly, because in a few seconds, I would quickly exit the train and Nicole or anyone else wouldn’t have a chance to make a comment about my sag. The inexplicable situations I was going through drew out all my energy that was left for this day. Already tasting the beautiful relief that was awaiting me outside, Michael, who usually sagged half-ass, and I, whose jeans slid even lower in the process, stood up, said bye to Nicole, who had to go a station further and seemed to be very tired now as well, and finally left the train.
Although I had chosen to sleep at my parents’ house tonight and Michael, who had to walk into the same direction as mine, could ask uncomfortable questions on our way home, I felt more and more unburdened, maybe due to my tiredness, maybe because Nicole really didn’t seem to notice anything, I did not quite know why I felt at peace at this moment, when in fact my parents would come home later this night and see their son sagging so low. They just had to notice it. They had been knowing me all my life, how wouldn’t my sag catch their eyes? However, there was no energy left now to drive myself insane about how I was going to sort out all my trouble or even figure out the physics of my jeans not going over my bum. The first great shock just must be over now, I told myself, while Michael and I were trudging down the street, with my trousers hanging below my c*ck now. The fresh breeze that wafted my boxer-briefs and what was under them was not only drying the sweat but was also balm for my soul. This feeling of freedom my sag gave me was something I had not experienced for a long time, as well as the gentle rubbing of my jeans while swinging one leg in front of the other. It was as if within the moments in the train the sag took all possession of me, whereas now my sag was just lightly caressing me, almost sliding away from me, yet becoming one with me.

 

 

“You know, Nicole was right,” Michael suddenly said, “about you looking different. But I don’t think it’s your hair, man.”

 

- “What is it then?” I acted naively and didn’t want to be thrown out of my dream-like state.

 

“Can’t tell, man. But you look good the way you are, I guess,” he finished as suddenly as he brought up the topic and he turned his head away from me, which was the sign for me it was obviously bothering him, also it didn’t surprise me anymore he didn’t seem to notice the obvious after what had happened in the train. As I looked down on him I saw he was wearing his slim-fit, dark grey DC jeans a bit lower than before. It could’ve been because of the walking if I hadn’t made the experience years ago that a guy tends to unconsciously sag lower under certain circumstances, one of which would be in the presence of another sagger, like me in this particular case.

 

 

After some time, I reached home and said bye to Michael. Inside I dropped my heavy backpack on the floor and went on upstairs to my room just to have a look in the mirror and check how I looked like with such a low sag. Right away I was shocked about how much of my white boxer-briefs showed, but on the other hand, I found myself to be a pretty hot sight. My T-shirt and sag revealed the shape of my ass perfectly, that I started to touch in a hypnotising, circling motion. At this point, the world of feelings inside me was chaos. I did not know whether to feel aroused, proud, simply happy or ashamed and terrified in the face of uncertainty. My jeans would fall lower but not go above my little bum cheeks, and there was no way I could allow this to be a permanent state, but how would it end? I had absolutely no idea what might have caused it, so where would I even start? For now, my fate was to incorporate sagging into all aspects of my life. I had to be the sagging son, the sagging brother, the sagging university student, the sagger friend, the sagging kid buying toilet paper and toothpaste, who would maybe go out at night and have a drink or two, sagging low. I was already picturing myself standing outside smoking during a break from a lesson, with my right hand holding the cigarette and my left hand barely reaching the pockets of my jeans. Everything I would do would have to happen with sagging trousers from now on.

 

 

“Hey, Dave, do you know wh-“

 

- “Woah! What the…”

 

“…hell are you doing here, you mean? I should rather ask you that question. Are you getting ready for something?”

 

- “Ah, oh! No! Have just arrived home. Sorry, Mum!” I yelled in confusion.

 

“Good, ‘cause I’m gonna make dinner. So, do you know where your Dad left the ham?” My mother asked.

 

- “Oh, erm,… on the table maybe?”

 

“That smartass will never learn where the fridge is. Anyway, I see you in about ten minutes.”

 

- “Ah, uh, okay, alright…” I mumbled.

 

I added ‘confused’ to my list of chaotic feelings. She did not say a thing about my sag. The woman had been knowing me all my life and didn’t take notice of this quite radical change of style at all! Sure, I could somehow explain why Nicole and Michael didn’t lose a word about it, but my Mum? I have to admit she was pretty much the cool mother everybody would like to have and she would not mind me sagging if I really wanted to. But she had her own way to express her disapproval about this style. Namely, she would constantly joke about it as I could often witness when she spotted a sagger on the streets. Not in a dismissive way, but she would dig out one joke after another and by that express her disapproval and fill me with great insecurity. Hence home had been the place where I had given up sagging first. Now, of course, I didn’t have a choice. By an unknown power I was forced to sag and the only thing I could do was hope nobody would ‘see’ it. So far, my hope had apparently not been disappointed.

 

 

The door was being opened again.

 

“Oh, and…” Mum added.

 

- “Uh, yes?” I answered a bit annoyed.

 

“Is this the underwear I brought you from the shop the other day?”

 

- “Erm, uh, which one?”

 

“The one you are wearing right now I mean. Didn’t like it when I was buying it, but I see it fits you pretty well.”

 

I stood there, speechless, and didn’t understand anything anymore.

Confused