Date: Sat, 27 Sep 2014 15:40:50 +0200
From: Zachary Blake <z.blake@mail.com>
Subject: Tales From the Male Bag: Boy in a Cyclone

TALES FROM THE MALE BAG:
BOY IN A CYLCONE
By Jamal, as told to Zachyboy
M/b, masturbation, cum-eating

The voyeur's paradise I call "Tales from the Male Bag" are true stories
from readers who are generous enough to email me the most intimate memories
of their childhood sexual history. Their stories have been edited for
content and flow, and are adapted here with the original author's full
artistic approval and complete final-say over publication permission. The
story below involves sexual situations between an adult man and an underage
boy. If this material is illegal where you live, or not to your liking,
please leave quietly. The rest of you, please enjoy the hot, humid
aftermath of a French island, a bookish little boy, and the strong, kind
friend who took him in and taught him what it is to be embraced by a man.

Please support the Nifty Archive Alliance.
They make my stories possible, and the stories of my friends.
What we write, and what you read, would not be possible without them.
Return the gift they give you for nothing.
Please, if you can, donate today.
http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

On with the show.

# # # # # # # # # #

I first met Eric when I was 10. He and his sister opened a book shop near
my junior high.

I live on Reunion Island in the Indian Ocean, Southwest of Mauritius and
East of Madagascar. It's a French oversea territory...sort of a French
Hawaii I'd say, famous for its surfing, its volcanologists, and its
Japanese fish poachers. For me, perhaps, it's just famous for love.

I can't say I was interested in sex at age 10. In fact, I've always
considered myself almost emotionally-delayed. At 10, my interests were all
in games for younger children. In my 20's, I had the mindset of a teen. And
now at 35, I feel like I'm 20.

So, I think it's safe to say I was fairly sexually-immature at 10.

I remember being 6 or 7, and reading a science and art book for children
about conception and birth. I call it an art book because there were
beautiful in-utero pics of babies inside. When my eyes fell on a picture
describing intercourse, I felt the start of a very young hard-on...an
anxious spike standing full at attention, begging for investigation, which
of course, I was too naïve to give it.

It wasn't even an X-Rated picture that aroused me. I remember the man and
the woman were in the standard missionary position, with a cross-section
picture showing how his penis would enter her vagina. It excited me. It
made my little dickie hard, but I wasn't sure which gender excited me the
most; the man or the woman. I know it aroused me though. I know it raised
some questions. Even today, I consider myself bisexual, maybe a 70/30 mix,
70% male-attracted, 30% female-attracted.

I never even masturbated at age 10. I was definitely a late bloomer. Eric
was my first mentor in that respect. There were others who came after him,
but Eric was my first.

I had no experiences with my childhood friends. Nothing sexual, nothing
dirty. Eric found me fresh and untouched. I was more interested in
mimicking my anime or comic heroes. Lost in a world of comics and cartoons,
I had no time for my poor, neglected dick. My dick may have been ready, but
I was lost in the Belgian-French adventures of Tintin, Asterix, Thorgall
and others. Or American titles like Spider-Man and X-Men. Big competition
for such a small penis.

I read books, too. History, zoology, archeology, geology. Put "ology" after
it, and that's what I loved. I was a well-read 10-year-old. Frank Herbert's
"Dune" took me away. A mind-blowing discovery. I read every work of
Shakespeare by 10-and-a-half. Didn't understand it all, but a teacher I
loathed bet me I couldn't do it, so I did. And I won. That was me.

I don't know if Eric was attracted to me before I stayed with him. He may
have given me hints, I suppose, but bookish boy that I was, I never saw
them. I was a living cliché. Glasses, geeky, slightly overweight. Skinny
arms and legs but a round little tummy. Black curly hair. Cute
dimples. Smooth skin white but tan.

I liked Eric. I liked him very much for his kindness and his interest and
his tolerance of me. I don't think that was grooming. I think he just
legitimately liked me, the geeky little boy who discovered his shop when it
opened. It became very common for me to stop at his shop on the way home
from school.

He and his sister were very friendly with children and often allowed me to
stay and read comics, books or magazines. My overprotective mother started
to become inquisitive on my frequent lateness and finally found out that I
spent my afternoons living my written passion instead of heading right to
home and doing homework.

But friendly as he was, Eric soon became a friend of my mother and was
quickly adopted by most of the family. I spent so much time there that the
owners finally set a stool behind the counter for me, and somehow I became
a mascot.

Was I attracted to him? I don't know. As a whole, not really. To me he was
just one friendly adult among many others. I remember being fascinated by
his hairy torso though. And I wondered if later I'd have the same.

We talked about comics and cartoons and schoolwork. He told me of his
passionate politics, of his deep regret for his inability to have kids.

He loved drawing and painting. He was fascinated with birds and he often
trekked into the mountains to take pictures of them. He tried to teach me
Indian mythology, but there were too many gods to catch my attention.

Strong, kind, beautiful Eric. He was my mentor in so many ways. He was the
first man I sucked. He was the first man who fucked me. He popped my cherry
on the night of August 2nd of my 14th year, two years after this story
takes place. But all of that happened later. This happened first. A moment
of pure magic to me. An opening door to a new world of feelings. An
epiphany. My sensual Big Bang.

Sometimes life on a tropical island can be hazardous.

In my 12th summer, a very strong cyclone occurred and devastated the
southern part of the island. A part of the roof of our home was torn apart
and my parents, my siblings and I had to take shelter in the bathroom for
several hours. When the cyclone was over, my mother decided to dispatch her
children to safe places while the roof was being repaired.

Some of our friend's parents would host us. My sister went to her best
friend's house in another suburb, while my young brother was on the other
side of the island at his best's friend place. But my best friend and his
family went back to the mainland until their house was repaired.

So, I ended up at Eric's place. It wasn't a big house, but it was
surprisingly preserved considering it was only six streets away from ours.

And there I was! A 12-year-old boy ready to take a holiday with a friend he
admired! All the schools were closed for weeks and it felt like a
vacation. And there was Eric, that big, larger-than-life, rock solid, black
man. He was beautiful and strong and 38-years-old. He never compelled or
hurt me. He was my guide on the path of sex, but he never demanded
anything. He'd show me the direction toward new experiences, but I was the
one to decide to walk or not walk on the path. And I thank him for
that. That makes him a good man in my eyes. A kind man. A man who cared for
me and respected me. All these years later, I still masturbate remembering
the touch of Eric back then.

Meeting Eric for the first time, you'd never think we was a book shop
owner. Everything about him was big. He was probably the tallest man in the
neighborhood. He had a broad chest, thighs that looked like stumps, and
arms as thick as clubs. He had a neck like a bull. I later learned he used
to practice a lot of boxing but had to give it up after a serious wound.

Being of mixed blood, his Indian lineage appeared in his hairy arms, legs
and chest. He usually wore a thick mustache like Tom Selleck's in "Magnum
P.I."; a mustache he would sometimes frame with a beard. As manly as he
appeared, Eric was pure kindness. He was always caring, always nice and
helpful to others, in spite of his raspy voice. To sum it up, he was a
gentle brute.

My mother gave me a sleeping bag, enough clothes to last a year and so many
warnings I could have written a book before she dropped me at Eric's house.

Now, if you've ever lived through a cyclone aftermath, you're certainly
aware that the air remains unflowing for few days after it passes. Add that
to an impressive heat and dampness in the air and you can imagine how
quickly unpleasant it can be when you walk in the streets or in the open.

I spent most of my time looking for shadows, a fan, or, even better, air
conditioning. On these days, I would accompany Eric to his book shop, or
remain at his place depending on how lazy I was feeling. At his house, I
would only wear shorts the whole day or night, sticky skin feeling sweaty
and naked, balls pressed tight against my skinny little legs. The smell of
myself. The smell of hot boy.

On the third night, I rolled and turned, wide awake for what seemed like
hours until I really couldn't stand the heat and the maddening feel of my
over-warm sleeping bag anymore, and I finally headed to the fridge to get
some cold water. Sweaty, hot, loud and half naked, clumsy as I am, I
managed to wake my host when I knocked over a chair and made some noise.

He came to me quickly and asked, "Are you all right? Did you get hurt?"

"I'm okay, Eric. I'm sorry," I said. "I just wanted to a glass of
water. It's too hot and I can't sleep."

He looked at my tiny frame. Shirtless body. Sweaty skin. Face flushed. Hair
matted to my forehead. He smiled and flicked a lock from my eyebrow.

"Poor boy," he whispered. "Let's cool you down, okay?"

He fetched me a glass and filled it with some cold water. While I drank he
told me, "You know, maybe you could come into my bed. I'll open the window
and you can sleep near it. It's not much, but maybe there will be a night
breeze."

"We can try," I replied. "It can't be worse than my sleeping bag."

So, we headed toward his room. It was tiny. Barely enough room for a bed
and a wardrobe. He opened the window while I sat on the bed, and only then
did I notice he was wearing nothing but his briefs. Before that, I'd never
seen him wear anything shorter than a Bermuda.

It's a surprise for me, and even more so when I noticed the fabric seams
were barely enough to hold back what was inside: a cock so thick, it almost
made my heart stop. I don't understand why the sight of this manly figure
rose such an intense feeling of delight in me, but it did, and I couldn't
take my eyes away. I was riveted. I was hard. The picture in the sex book
that turned me on and thrilled me at 7 was nothing like this. This was real
man. Real cock. This was big. This was real.

Nothing happened that night. In the stories, he would have instantly
ravaged me. But this wasn't a story, and Eric was kind. I think he intended
to always be a gentleman. Always be appropriate. Later it became something
we both needed to happen, but that first night sleeping with him, all we
did was sleep. I felt safe and comfortable sleeping with Eric. His presence
was a lullaby. Even his smell was peaceful and soothing.

The next day when he came back at home, I discovered he had bought an
electric fan and offered to let me sleep with him until my departure, so we
could both benefit from the electric breeze. Needless to say, I never used
the sleeping bag anymore for the remainder of my stay. For him, the
temptation of me, perhaps. For me, the temptation of a fan. Simple as that.

The next night, we were both at home enjoying a dim, candlelit dinner
(there were still some intermittent power outages), and as I was wondering
if the power would come back on so we could have the electric fan that
night, he told me, "We could rub ourselves with cold water just before
going to sleep. It wouldn't last, but at least we could have some fresh
feeling."

It seemed like a great idea, but in the bathroom I realized the water was
off too.

I told that to Eric, who said, "No problem, we'll shower with bottled
water. We should save as much as possible, but we can bathe together and
clean each other, if you're okay with that."

"Okay," I shrugged. I was embarrassed, but since it was Eric's idea, it
seemed like a good alternative, and I'd feel odd rejecting his
solution. And plus, there was something else. And enticement and a promise
in bathing with him that I didn't quite understand yet. I certainly
couldn't articulate it, but I know I wanted it to happen.

Even in the dim light of the bathroom, he had an impressive frame. In the
bathtub, he sprayed the water over me and soaped me. He was efficient,
purposeful, yet he remained gentle as if were afraid to break me. I've
often wondered about that night. Where did his nobility run out and his
manhood take over? When did he go from just washing and cooling me to
wanting me sexually? Men have needs. I know that now. I didn't back
then. But at some point, showering with a naked 12-year-old in your arms,
hands running down his soapy-smooth skin, at a certain point, something has
to happen. A man has needs.

Under his ministrations, my little dick started to get hard. I felt a blush
coming to my cheeks, but he continued as if nothing was happening. When his
big hands came to my cock I didn't knew what to do or say. But the line had
been crossed. And now it was time.

He touched my penis. Slowly at first, and then with purpose. He wrapped his
arms around it and I shuddered. Slowly, with a gentleness that suprirsed
me, he started to jerk me off. Tiny movements, growing bolder and
stronger. My reaction was...amazement. Quiet, incomprehensible
amazement. My body shuddered. I shivered at his sweet touch.

"Shhh," he whispered. "Are you okay, little one?"

"Yes," I nodded, but my voice came out high and shaky.

The feeling was so new to me and it was incredible. I'd never felt this
before. Ever.

He rubbed my dickie up and down. Slowly, no rush, he rubbed it gently. I
reached out and placed a tiny hand on his giant chest for support. My
breathing quickened. So did his pace.

"Oh Eric," I whispered. "It's shaking me. It's shaking."

I didn't fully understand what was happening to me.

"Shhh, little one, let it go. Let it go," he whispered.

"Unngh, nnngh, nnngggh!!!" I moaned, and my body exploded with tingles. It
was amazing! Incredible! I'd never felt anything like it in my life. I was
gasping. I was trembling.

Quivering, shaking, wide-eyed in his arms. I must have looked shocked. I
still didn't know what it was. He laughed and he held me.

"You came, Jamal. That was your dry cum."

I looked puzzled, but relieved.

Relieved I hadn't broken anything.

"So, good?" he smiled at me.

I nodded. I had no speech yet.

"Uh-huh," I finally whispered through gaspy-deep boy breath. "Really
good. Thank you, Eric."

He smiled at my politeness. Went back to washing me.

I was still recovering from the experience when I felt fresh water dropped
on my head and Eric's hand applying a careful rinse.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked with his raspy voice.

"It was my first time."

"I know," he smiled. "I could tell."

I nodded. He smiled gently. Seemed to understand the importance of
it. Importance he had probably not quite grasped until I said that. I was
his first. I told him, and he understood. There would be no other first
time in my life that a man would make me cum. Even in that moment, naked
and cooling in the drops of a gentle water bottle, I think he knew how
special it was. How first-time forever. And how he had been the man.

But his cock was hard. And I think he knew there was only one way I could
help him now. It had gone way beyond a quiet goodnight glance and a cuddle
in the window wind. Tonight he needed me that way, too. In a special
way. In a big boy way.

He smiled at me. Nodded. Looked down at his own hard dick. Silence was my
only reply. I was still trying to understand what had happened to me. Not
yet quite conceiving what he wanted me to do to him.

"It's your turn to wash me," he nodded kindly.

He sat on a plastic stool in the bathtub, took another bottle and let the
water flow on his hairy torso. I mimicked his moves, soaping his chest and
tummy.  If I thought his arms were hard as stone, the feeling of his hair
under my skin was another new sensation that sent waves of excitement
through my young, naked body. I had goosebumps on top of goosebumps
touching him. Lathering him. Watching his cock grow even thicker in the
suds of the evening.

I washed his muscled back too, slowly going down its slippery length. I was
completely uncertain of what I should do. Breathless, excited, nervous and
naked. He must have felt my indecision because he turned and faced me. He
remained silent, but his smile was an invitation.

I remember I was trembling from hesitation and eagerness, the two opposites
running a sweet dichotomy of heat through my body and soul. He gently took
my hand and guided me to his cock. So hard and so thick. My eyes kept going
from his face to his dick, face to his dick, friendly, hard, loving,
hard. My throat was dry. My heart was pounding. I hoped I could do it
right. I hoped I could do this for him. Wanted to do this.

Thick, hard cock, and my hand could barely contain it. Unlike the rest of
his body, his cock wasn't long, but what lacked in length it more than made
up for in width. My 12-year-old hand could barely wrap itself around his
girth. This was a man's cock, enormous and proud.

Eric showed me how to jerk him and I did, slowly at first, and then with
more purpose. At that point, I had given up free will and was in
auto-pilot. My mind was dancing with a million things. My eyes were glued
to the thickness of his dick, and the sticky-clear drop that was oozing
from the tip. I touched it. Tasted it. He moaned. His eyes closed.

My own dick was getting hard again, just watching his. I watched my own
hand. Marveled at the smallness of it compared to what I was holding. The
night smelled like Eric. Like man. Like hot, burning cock. His breath came
in gasps. My hand flailed him steadily. My dickie was hurting, and
clenching, and hard. I could feel him tense up. I could feel him bucking
against my tiny grasp.

"Oh, baby...oh, baby..." he said with a moan.

He groaned. He grunted.

"Oh yes!!!" he cried.

And his cock exploded like fireworks. Like joy. Like a rush of white
milkiness.

He cupped his right hand as his semen shot out. A gasp. A gulp. He caught
it in his hand. His semen. His seed, creamy-wild thick. He tilted my
chin. He raised his cum-filled hand to my mouth.

"Drink it, baby," he whispered in his raspy voice. "Drinking an older man's
juice will make you stronger."

I knew he was lying, but I didn't care. My mind was on fire. My little
dickie was hard and ready to go again. I knew he was lying. I was
bookish. I read. I knew semen was only for making babies. But, it was so
hot, so exciting, to hear him say "drink it baby," at that moment I was
ready to believe everything he wanted me to. I licked his palm and fingers,
my own cock throbbing. I licked his palm and fingers with great care. Every
drop. Every atom. Every molecule of his dick juice I gladly ate up. I
gladly swallowed down.

"Good boy. Good," he moaned as he watched me. "You're going to be big and
strong someday. My big strong boy." He took my hand and he kissed it to his
lips. His smile could melt an ice field.

He carefully dried me with a towel and he led me to the bedroom. He dried
my cock. My ass. My balls. My shiny chest. My shell-shocked face. He held
me to him. I smelled his chest, all soapy warm man. I swallowed and still
felt his cum in my throat.

I can't say I liked or disliked the taste of his cum that first time. It
was new for sure. I was more accustomed to sweets, and this was
different. It was not unpleasant, but it felt strange for sure, hot and
strong like a burning echo in the back of my throat. But it belonged there,
this taste, this flavor, this presence, this sensation. Like a picture or a
painting. If you remove something small, it no longer feels
balanced. Something is off to the observer's close eye. And that's how it
was with his cum that night. It needed to be there, in the back of my
throat, gently numbing me, gently burning as he led me to his bed. Not bad,
not good, just right.

And I would do it again. And he would do it to me. In bed. In his arms. As
we gently sucked each other and rocked through the sticky night.

This wasn't the last time Eric and I would be together this way. Touching,
feeling, sucking in joy. And finally, two years later, on the night he
truly made me his boy, I opened my heart and ass to him, and let him fill
me with the fullness of his love. It was the after-storm of my life. Our
cyclone season.

But not on this first night in the heat and the damp and the open-windowed
moonlight. There were many more to come, but this was just our first. Naked
boy, sleepy in his arms, with a newness, new life, new existance, new
everything.

Thank you, Eric. Thank you for making me new.

That first night, he just spooned me tightly, even though I didn't know the
meaning of the word. Spooning, loveliness. The heart of a child wrapped in
the impossibly powerful arms of a man. There's no real word for that
strong, safe embrace. Spooning they call it. But it barely does it justice.

I didn't sleep, but it wasn't the heat that prevented my journey to dreams.

It was Eric's breath on my neck, his hand half-circling my chest, his thick
cock on the back of my skinny young thigh, his big leg intertwined with
mine.

Me at 12, in his furry cocoon. I delight in the memory of that
life-changing night.

# # # # # # # # # #

Tales From the Male Bag stories are welcome at:
z.blake@mail.com

And share your feedback with Jamal, the author of this story, at:
moagult@yahoo.fr

Peace friends,
Zachyboy

------- My Stories on Nifty (thanks for asking!) -------------------------
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/bisexual/young-friends/a-rather-horny-childhood
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/banging-the-boys-of-camp-starlander
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/best-little-handjobs-in-texas
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/bisexual/incest/boy-flavor-girl-flavor
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/close-your-eyes
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/doggie-sniffers
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/everybody-meet/
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/giving-me-lip
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/james-at-nine
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/giving-ryan-a-drink
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/i-finally-danced
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/i-got-jaked
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/it-started-with-his-undies/
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/bisexual/young-friends/lets-have-a-playdate
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/please-mike-just-try
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/riding-daddys-roller-coaster
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/swallowed-and-loved
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/tales-from-the-male-bag/
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/the-mighty-water-dolphins
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/tims-jar-of-cum