Date: Tue, 14 Dec 2004 10:16:28 EST
From: PixaJax@aol.com
Subject: Sons and Lovers Part 1

[The following may be fantasy but there is a fundamental element in it
that most of us men will recognise if we just think back for a moment to
when we first became sexually aware. Women reading this might like to
tell me that it's a load of ballocks, but believe me, ladies, I've been
there, and it's a load of truth, albeit dramatised to keep my male
readers hard at it. <weg>]

[Linguistic  note:  BritEng "mummy" AmEng "mommy". Do a "find and
replace" to insert your preferred word]



Mother was worried. Well, more upset than worried. No, more angry than
upset or worried. Spunk stains on his sheets, on his underpants, on his
jimjams (when he could be persuaded to wear any), even puddles of spunk
on the floor by the window that overlooked the recreation ground beyond.
Goodness knows what he was looking at out there that made him - the word
froze in her throat - be so dirty. For heaven's sake, the boy was only 12
and already he's spunking up! Wait till his father hears about this!

And off she went, indignant, determined that no son of hers was going to
end up a pervert, using all his natural energies in unnatural activities.
All right, the experts say that it is normal for boys to - go on, say the
word! - masturbate, but surely it shouldn't become a habit, an obsession?
And where would it lead? Wait till his father hears about this!

Every boy has the experience of finding out that his mother KNOWS about
his furtive tossing off. She might catch him at it, in which case he has
to bear the painful confrontation and that awful sinking feeling and that
guilt that he has let his darling mother down. She thinks he is dirty,
and he hates that. It only makes him dirtier, of c course, but she's not
to know that.  Or she might simply make some barely-veiled comment about
stains on the sheets, leaving him in an agony of doubt as to whether she
REALLY knows. Do mothers know about spunking up?

Yes, mothers know about spunking up. They know, though they can't always
prove it, that their husbands masturbate, goodness knows why (All you
married guys reading this know why, right?!), but it always comes as a
shock to find that their precious boy, their son, their INNOCENT little
darling is pumping away at his erection and spurting that gooey stuff all
over everywhere. Sometimes, in a little corner of her mind, buried away
so deep that she refuses to recognise it, is a feeling of pride that her
son can get a hard on and do that thing. Buried even deeper there might
even be a twinge of lust, a wicked image of taking her son into her,
feeling his hard young cock invading her vagina. But all that comes out
of her discovery of his masturbatory habit is indignation. Wait till his
father hears about this.....

"You've got to talk to Stephen."

"What the hell for? He's a boy. He's growing up. He's wanking. All boys
do it."

"It's not natural."

"Rubbish, Linda. It's perfectly natural. He's pumping hormones, he's got
testosterone coming out of his ears. What do you expect?"

"That's right, defend him! It's disgusting. And anyway, it's not you that
has to clean up after him. You've got to talk to him!"

"And say what? Tell him not to? He'll do it anyway."

"You men, you're all the same! Pigs."

Father softened a little.

"Listen, hun, I know it's annoying having to clean up his cum after
him..."

Mother pulled a face at the mention of that horrid word.

"...but...."

"But what?"

Father took a breath.

"But I think it would be better coming from you. After all, he takes more
notice of his mother than he does of me."

"Fuck you."

"That's settled, then."

And father went back to his paper.



Meanwhile, the subject of their conversation was staring out of the
window, his cock in his hand, waiting for someone to come into view who
might feed his fantasies. There was a bed under the window along the
length of the wall, and he was kneeling, his chest against the edge of
the bed and his cock, below, throbbing till he thought it would burst. He
had only discovered the delights of masturbation - or "tossing off" as
the boys in his group called it - when an older boy, a pale lanky
cock-obsessed youth with the unlikely name of Richard (Dicky) Bone - had
introduced him to it. In fact, although Bone (in those days, boys were
only known by their surnames) was aware of  the expression "tossing off"
too, he had an affected way of speaking which led him to refer to it as
"the noble art of self-abuse". You could laugh at Richard Bone, but there
were two things to admire about him: he had a way with words, and he had
the most spectacular cock, an awesome object of great length, girth and
beauty that he delighted in waving at younger boys who strayed too close
to him. Stephen had strayed too close and quickly learned about tossing
off.

He liked it. What's the saying "he took to it like a duck to water"? Nah,
he took to it like a boy to cock. He became as cock-obsessed as his
mentor. Masturbation was his magnificent obsession. And the fact that it
was disapproved of, naughty, wicked, sinful, forbidden (We are talking
about a Catholic schooling here), only made it more exciting. If Father
Tom only realised that his hellfire warnings about the awful consequences
of self-abuse actually increased the output of spunk amongst his darling
boys, he might have re-considered his confessional techniques. But he
didn't so he didn't and boys like Stephen went on wanking wickedly and
spunking up copiously.

But Stephen hated the idea of upsetting his mother. And he knew that she
knew. She hadn't said anything. Well, only the one thing "What on earth
are these stains on your jimjams, Stephen? It looks like miilk." He had
blushed to the roots of his curly black hair and his heart had sunk into
his boots. After that, he was much more careful, but he never dreamt that
his mother would find his spunk puddles under the bed by the window.....


Scene: the kitchen

Time: Saturday after breakfast.

Plot: Dad has gone out. Mother is sitting watching her darling boy eating
his cereal. Her mind is in a turmoil. What to say?


Mother thought back to a time when her little boy - he couldn't have been
more than six - was lying in bed, waiting for his goodnight kiss. Poor
mite, he was very tired. And when you are tired, guys, sometimes your
dick gets hard, right? And our little hero had a stiffy. Of course he had
no idea why it was stiff, and was even a little panicky. When mother came
in, he showed it to her.

"Mummy, my peepee's all stiff. Look. I don't like it."

Mother looked, swallowed hard. Oh god! Why couldn't she have had a girl?
She knew about girls.

"It's all right, dear. It will go down soon."

Stephen took his stiffy in his fingers and tried to bend it in half. No
chance.

"Don't do that, darling, it will be all right, I promise."

"Make it go down, mummy!. Please"

His voice was tearful. Maternal instinct took over. Mother reached over
and took the erect little penis between thumb and forefinger. She felt
hot. Something tingled deep inside her. She looked at it. The darling,
his first erection. My boy! My clever boy! She leant closer. Closer.

"Close your eyes, darling. Relax. It's going to be all right."

Closer. Her lips were millimetres from his penis. It looked SO delicious,
so tempting......

Mother never forgot that moment of madness, although she suppressed it so
deep in her mind that it was as good as denied.

Stephen never forgot it either, young as he was. A warm loving mouth
sliding over your erection and gently tonguing, exploring under your
prepuce, wet and warm...... no, that's something you never forget.

And now, here he was, 12 years old, and Mother had to reprimand her son
for masturbating, and Stephen had to find a way to live with the conflict
between pleasing his mummy and satisfying his insatiable hunger for what
Richard Bone had called "the noble art of self-abuse".

What happened next seared itself into both their memories, what the
explorers call "the point of no return".



[To be continued. Comments to pixajax@aol.com or
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/spuncup]