Shawn glowered at the the decor his mom had bought for him for college.

“Mom, I told you to buy the Pink Floyd poster, what the fuck is this?”

His mom brushed him off, laughing “Oh, I saw that Pink Floyd poster, but I thought this one was so much cooler! I mean, Kramer is the Fonz of the 90s!”

“Who the fuck is the Fonz?”

“Kids these days. See you at Thanksgiving! Have fun with Kramer!”

Fun? thought Shawn, puzzled at her choice of words. After all, Kramer was merely a poster. How much fun could he have with a poster that wasn’t Marilyn Monroe’s Playboy centerfold? His mom closed the door behind her, and as she did, Shawn threw his back against his pillow and opened his laptop. He browsed around for a while, opened PornHub, and queued up his favorite video, a large black gentleman named Andre being fellated by a small-titted young woman by the name of Gracie. Shawn’s hand found its way to his zipper, and soon, he found himself in the throes of autoerotic pleasure. Suddenly, he heard moans a full octave below his own (he was going through puberty extremely late, so he was still an alto). His delicate feminine neck swiveled around the room, looking for potential intruders. But all that surrounded him were his unopened box of condoms, his daily vitamin, and the Kramer – wait a second…

“Well I don’t want to sit here naked all by myself!”

Shawn was stunned. He swiveled his head towards the Kramer, and to Shawn’s shock, Kramer was stroking his genitals over his corduroy pants and smiling that crooked Kramer smile. Shawn started to speak, but ol’ Cosmo beat him to the punch: “Happy Festivus, schmuck.”

Shawn was at a loss for words. He managed a stuttered “What?” Kramer oozed out of the poster, his pants around his ankles and his jacket inexplicably pressed.

“Got any snacks?”

He lumbered over to Shawn’s mini-fridge and grabbed a lemon snapple, careful to not cover the label with his hand.

“I’ve been in that poster for 15 years, you have no idea how thirsty I am,” he said as he continued to stroke his shockingly curved piece of man-meat. Shawn couldn’t decide what to stare at, Kramer’s sudden animism or his throbbing member. Kramer’s throbbing member, that is – Shawn’s pubescent body did not yet have the hormones for sustaining an erection.

As Kramer’s penis pulsated, Shawn slowly became infatuated with the idea of being fucked by a 90s TV personality. After several false starts, he worked up the nerve to ask Kramer to fuck him.

“What makes you think I’m a top?” Kramer asked, looking bewildered.

“I mean, you just seemed like a dom; you always took food from Jerry,” Shawn retorted.

“Nevertheless.”

“Was it that big of a jump?”

“YES!”

“Ok, ok, I’m sorry. I promise I’ll never think of you as a dom again.”

“Giggity.”

Kramer then maneuvered Shawn into a receptive position.

Shawn said “Wait, I thought you were decidedly not a dom!”

“I’m a switch! I just don’t like to be pigeonholed. Now bend over and let me put my pastrami in you.”

Kramer placed his hands on Shawn’s hipbones, and began to plunge himself inside. His hands made their way down Shawn’s body, cradling his skinny chicken legs. Shawn reached back and entangled his hands in that blessed Jew-Fro.

“Oh Cosmo, I never knew that you were such a tender lover.”

“I can be as rough or tender as you want,” replied Kramer.

Shawn’s dick twitched, an experience heretofore unknown to him, in anticipation of what Kramer might do next.

“I see you’re excited. Let me transport you to new dimensions of pleasure.”

Kramer slowly took Shawn’s manhood into his mouth, and suddenly all of puberty hit Shawn like a train. His member grew three sizes that day, as he was embraced by Cosmo’s trembling lips.

As his masculinity increased, Shawn’s libido reached new heights. Shawn’s utterings soon turned into pained, puppy-like pleas for pleasure. Kramer double fisted his new toy, deepthroating it like many a stolen sub from Jerry’s fridge. He flicked his tongue masterfully, with Shawn in heretofore believed impossible levels of bliss. As he began to climax, he wove his hands into Cosmo’s chest hair and stroked it softly.

“No-”

“Yes-” Kramer continued.

“Yes?”

“Yes.” Shawn’s eyes glazed over.

“YES SOUP FOR YOU.” Shawn cried, filling Kramer’s mouth with liquid adoration.