Date: Tue, 30 Mar 2010 15:03:20 -0700 (PDT)
From: Brad Healey <bradhealey@rocketmail.com>
Subject: Growing Up Denying Gay (Chapter 4) Jake and the Telescope

Readers: This story is longer than many, and you may want to print it out
for easier reading. Originally published elsewhere in two parts, It tells
the full story of my adolescent affection with my slightly younger, smaller
and very cute blonde neighbor, Jake, starting from when we were ten or
eleven, and going past high school.  These are warm, fond but confusing
memories of my early adolescence. I hope Jake was OK with our relationship;
we never discussed it even though as good Catholic boys we shared forbidden
affection for several years.

Each of the chapters of "Growing Up Gay and In Denial" was originally
published elsewhere as a short story, yet when laid end to end, they tell
the very complete and very honest tale of my deep confusion, growing up gay
but wanting to be straight.


You may contact me if you wish at bradhealey@rocketmail.com


****



Jake and I were nice Catholic boys, Sunday school classmates, co-altar boys
and good friends. From the first time I saw him, before the moving truck
had even pulled away, I was smitten with him. Jake had moved to my
neighborhood when he was nine or so, and we shared many boyhood interests,
like a love of football, collecting baseball cards, riding bicycles and
playing music as well. He was rather small in stature, slightly barrel-
chested but slim and fair, with sparking aqua blue eyes.  He was a quiet
little fellow and always agreeable to whatever the group wanted to do. In
short, he was easy to be around, and everybody liked him. His hair was the
color of corn silk, cut thick and like a bowl so that when he tossed his
head his hair parted and shifted, moving so you could see many different
and darker shades of blond layered beneath. In the front, his bangs
curiously grew so they flipped up and they would bob up and down when he
walked.
 Jake's father was a music teacher and Jake could play three instruments by
the time he was ten. I was amazed as he'd sit at the baby grand piano in
his living room and play complex music with his small hands, his feet
barely reaching the floor to push the shiny silver pedals with his dusty
and worn blue Keds. He could seemingly play anything, even if he had never
seen the music for it, and this was an awesome accomplishment in my
eyes. "Play the song from the Flintstones!" I would cry out randomly, and a
moment later he'd be playing the Flintstones Theme for me, at full speed
and with both hands flying back and forth on the keyboard. "Play the Bugs
Bunny song!" I'd call out, and within a second or two, the Loony Tunes
music would come magically pouring from his fingertips, translated through
the piano's keyboard and spilling out into the room.

I loved his blond hair that his mother cut each month in his kitchen,
sometimes while I watched. She simply trimmed it around like a bowl, and it
shined in thick layers of different shades of gold as he tossed his head. I
looked longingly at the blond locks that fell onto the floor, wishing that
I could have blond hair too. I'd sometimes pick some of it up from the
floor and play with it between my fingers, holding it near my face as I
enjoyed its softness and clean smell. Jake's bare legs would peek out from
under the cloak his mother had put around him, and I loved the way his
little feet shod in those worn-out blue sneakers hung down and wiggled back
and forth and didn't even touch the kitchen floor.

We were having neighborhood foot races one warm afternoon when he was about
11, and Jake was a fast runner. All the other boys wanted to race him to
see if they could win. So as a result, Jake ran and ran, participating in
nearly every race all afternoon. When the game ended, he sat next to me on
the front lawn, wincing with exhaustion because his legs hurt from the way
they had been abused that day. "Let me rub them", I suggested. He didn't
refuse, and leaned back, resting on his elbows and I began to rub his legs
starting above the knees, one muscle at a time. The other boys had all gone
home, as I recall, and it was just Jake and I left alone on the lawn. He
shifted his position and lay down on his back and I continued, carefully
and deliberately rubbing each leg, moving higher and higher on each as I
did, till my fingers were rubbing the tops of his inner thighs right next
to his crotch. I could actually feel the tight cable-like tendon that
attached
 his thigh to his groin muscles and the thought that I was touching him
there was very exciting to me. I certainly knew that no one else had ever
touched me in that spot on my body!

"Does that feel better?" I asked Jake, my voice quivering a little, and
with eyes closed he nodded his head yes. He didn't ask me to stop, and so I
continued gently rubbing. When I had first started this task, I was glad
only for the chance to feel Jake's fair skin. By twelve I was aware that I
felt an intoxicating rush whenever I thought about being near and touching
certain boys, and it was a feeling I enjoyed, even craved. Jake was one of
those boys. I had no deep comprehension of sex yet and felt no guilt or
shame about my attraction to him. But just now when I had started rubbing
him on a lark I had no intention of going this far!

My rubbing fingers massaged right up to the top of each thigh, traveling
first above and then daringly underneath the edge of his short shorts, and
then innocently I brushed ever so slightly against Jake's soft crotch. I
continued like this for several minutes, just allowing my fingers to
occasionally brush that spot in passing, seeing if he would object, but he
didn't. So, I allowed my brushes to grow longer and more deliberate, till I
had to admit that there was no way he wasn't fully aware of what I was
doing. Looking around to make sure no one was nearby or watching, with
heart pounding I boldly felt gently between his legs with one hand while I
continued to massage his thighs with the other. I touched tenderly, finding
his small soft sex parts warm and springy to my touch. I didn't want to
hurt his balls by squeezing them as I explored his boyhood, but I wanted to
experience all of him and wanted to make sure that this happening wasn't
some sort of
 accidental, misguided, unrepeatable dream.

I stopped rubbing, aware that my own cock had grown unbelievably stiff in
my shorts. "Does that feel good, Jake?" I asked. Overtly, I was asking him
if his legs felt better, I guess, but what I really wanted to know was what
he thought of my touching his private area like I had.

"Yeah, I guess better", Jake answered.

I wanted more affirmation, I guess, so I asked again: "Was it OK the way I
rubbed you? Did you like how it felt?" I asked posing both a very innocent
and highly sexual question in the same breath.

"Sure, uh-huh," he answered.

I was elated and aroused. There was no way that my suggestive rubbing first
close to and then directly on his private area could have been ignored or
taken for a casual mistake. I knew intuitively that I should stop for now,
both to keep my brain from advancing into overload, and to give my actions
time to register in Jake's mind. This was all new to me; I had no
experience with this sort of thing before, but I knew I was treading on
unfamiliar ground, and that boys normally didn't touch other
boys... especially not there.

I had actually just discovered masturbation myself only a few months
before, and I often found my mind wandering, filled with fantasies about
Jake while I rubbed myself dutifully to orgasm in bed every night before I
slept. But now, after this event, I found that if I concentrated hard
enough, I could recall input from all my senses from my afternoon with Jake
on the lawn and how erotic it all felt to me. Along with the expected
visual memories, watching my fingers in my mind's eye as they explored
between his legs through his pants, I found I could clearly remember the
sounds of Jake's breathing, the soft feeling of his naked skin of his
thighs and the rougher touch of the cotton fabric of his denim shorts that
covered his warm soft crotch. So close to him, I loved the way his body
smelled, clean and like baby shampoo mixed with a touch of freshly mown
onion grass that was the scent of his preadolescent sweat. I loved the feel
of his perspiration, and
 seeing the salty dampness of his flushed pink face as he had lain next to
me, eyes closed peacefully on the lawn, and how lovingly I had examined his
thick blond hair from close range, just wanting so much to touch it and run
my fingers through its many layers.

One hot summer morning I awoke early and went outside on my lawn. I saw
Jake out as well, and I invited him over to my house to watch TV since the
day was growing uncomfortably warm. We had just gotten air conditioning in
our house and he didn't have it at his, and as lay on the bed watching
mindless shows like "The Price Is Right" and "Hollywood Squares", I again
let my fingers wander in his direction, touching the sparse blond fuzz that
grew on his shins and forearms, feeling the small muscles in his shoulders
and shyly touching his little hands. How surprised I was when he allowed me
to take his hand in mine, and then to hold it as we watched television
together. I noticed with delight that before long he slightly gripped my
hand in return; far more satisfying than simply allowing me to touch his
limp fingers. I carefully examined his short fingers with their closely
cropped nails as we sat so close to one another, marveling that somehow
these small
 fingers could play music on the piano so fast and so amazingly well. I
liked to stare at the side of his face during the commercials, marveling at
his tiny nose that was so slightly pointed, his clear blue eyes, his
fair-complexioned skin, and especially that thick beautiful hair that I
sometimes now couldn't resist and reached out to run my fingers through,
which didn't seem to bother him at all. Finally, with daring trepidation I
allowed my hands to wander below his stomach and to brush against the front
of his shorts where, if I imagined hard enough, I thought I could feel just
the outline of his boyish bulge. I allowed my hands to explore further, and
before an hour had passed, I was lightly but deliberately feeling him
between his legs. There was no question that he could have missed what I
was up to.

We were totally alone during these moments, and the newfound sexual rush I
got from this secret intimate contact with another boy I adored was more
than I could endure. I remember having to excuse myself from this idyllic
scene several times during a period of only a couple hours, as I went into
the next room, closed the door and quickly unzipped my trousers to expose
my throbbing soldier, rubbing it to an almost instantaneous orgasm that
wouldn't wait, then newly sated, returning to lay beside Jake on the bed to
hold him some more.

He never resisted or objected to my affections. But it's important for me
to note that other than holding my hand in return, he didn't reciprocate by
touching me in any way. He seemed passively accepting of my unguarded
obsession with him, and I was satisfied with the way our relationship
sat. When I invited him over to "play" as we'd euphemistically call it, he
always accepted, and "play" I would, happily feeling his body all over as
he surrendered to my affection. I surmised if he objected to my attentions
he would have avoided me and not continued to willingly spend time alone
with me when he had the choice.

**********************************

I had always felt very much at ease being close with Jake. A couple of
years prior, when we were both in junior high, me thirteen and him eleven,
I had learned that the little guy didn't seem to have any inhibitions about
having his body explored by me. We'd sit in the basement rec room at my
house on the threadbare sofa, watching mindless cartoons or reruns of the
Six Million Dollar Man on TV. Jake might sleepily lean against me and I
could feel him breathing and I sometimes held his hand. One day as he
cuddled near me, I began to casually feel his legs, then after a while
slipped my hand under his t-shirt to feel his tummy. Jake didn't complain a
bit, and kept his eyes focused on the TV screen across the room. Slipping
my hand down the outside of the front of his pants, I allowed my fingers to
come to rest lightly on his crotch where I silently felt his small soft
bulge. Still he said nothing.

Partly to make sure he wasn't sleeping I whispered, "Move your leg a
little", and he complied immediately, parting his knees so my fingers had
better access and could travel down below to feel his soft balls through
the cloth, and then touch that sensitive secret area below.

Wow! I reeled. This was cool- and really surprising too. I always liked the
sensation of Jake snuggled up close to me, and holding his hand made me
feel really happy, though I wouldn't have wanted the other guys to know I
did it. And now I had learned that he didn't seem to have any hang ups
about me touching the rest of him, including his private parts, at least
through his clothes.

One TV show ended and another began, and Jake made no effort to
leave. Heart beating a little faster, I pulled a thick afghan blanket that
my grandmother had knitted from the back of the couch towards us. In one
motion I threw the blanket over Jake and watched him wiggle his toes as it
settled over his feet. Reaching under the blanket, with one hand I worked
the button on his pants, fully expecting him to stop me at any moment, but
he did not. Buttons undone I began to push down his zipper, and I could
feel his body warmth rising through his jockey shorts. He was decidedly
immature, and his bulge was soft and small. Finally, reaching under the
elastic and inside his underpants I felt his soft warm penis for the first
time. He made no objections as I pushed my hand deeper, even shifting
slightly and making room for my hand as it cupped his tiny balls.

With no hurry, I explored him from head to toe in silent ecstasy for the
next hour or so, sometimes pausing to smell his hair and to quietly kiss
the top of his blond head. I felt his ribs through his chest and traced his
concave nipples and then his stomach, still covered with its thin layer of
prepubescent baby fat. I explored his underarms and found them damp, smooth
and soft. He was velvet from head to toe. A couple of times I peeked under
the blanket just to see his tiny, sleepy penis as it rested on his abdomen,
all wrinkly and pink. He was beautiful to me.

Finally my mother called down the stairs that it was dinnertime. Jake
casually straightened up his clothes, tucked in his shirt and got ready to
go home. He acted as though having one's body explored nakedly all over by
a friend was perfectly normal and wholly expected and he showed no remorse
or concern as he gathered up his things. "Bye Jake." I said. "See you
later?"

" 'K, later" said Jake. And he went ahead of me, up the basement stairs and
through the kitchen. I head my mother say "Hello Jake. It is good to see
you!" I was so excited that only then did I notice the bulge in my own
pants and how electrically wonderful it felt to me as I rubbed against
it. At thirteen I was aroused seemingly all the time, and I remember going
into the nearby bathroom to wash up for dinner and instead masturbating to
a quick and overdue sticky climax--which took less than a minute. I washed
up and went to the dinner table in a sort of a daze, drunk with what had
just happened.


**** Later that summer, Jake came with me to our seashore beach house to
stay for a week, and I have to admit looking back in time through the fog
of my growing feelings for him that all did not go well. My confusing and
lustful attraction for him grew compulsive, and every moment I could get
him alone during that week I sequestered him, touching him and feeling him
and cuddling him till he grew quite tired of my constant affection. As far
as I knew, Jake didn't masturbate, and I didn't try to teach him. There
were no orgasms, only touching, and my interest in his body far eclipsed
any interest he might have had in mine. One afternoon after we returned
home earlier than the others, wet and sandy from the beach, I boldly
stepped under the outside shower with him, reaching inside his suit and
washing his smooth body all over with the warm water, then pulling his suit
down and watching the water falling from the showerhead above spout off of
his little penis
 like a tiny fountain. When we were done I wrapped a towel around him and
one around me as my own more mature penis started to become erect in
anticipation. I led him up to my bedroom where I unwrapped the towel from
him and lay him back nakedly on the bed.

"Enough! No more cuddling!" Jake suddenly objected, pushing me away.

"Not now?" I asked with great disappointment.

"Not now, and no more!"

"Forever??" I asked, my heart sinking suddenly to my feet.

"I don't know, maybe!" he replied "But stop now, please!"

I was very sad. I was suddenly sure if I had bided my time more, had taken
it easy and not been so aggressive in my hungry lust for him, this fallout
wouldn't have happened. Maybe if I had only been able to resist my carnal
urges just one or two of the many times we were alone, he'd still be OK
with me and let me love him. But now it was too late and I was completely
to blame.

"I'm sorry, Jake", I said, realizing that this confrontation was the only
time we had ever spoken about the nature of our relationship at all.

***

Sex wasn't the only thing I liked about Jake, so our neighborhood boyhood
friendship continued. I made a valiant and successful effort to keep my
hands to myself the rest of that summer and fall. But I admit I still
longed to touch him and dreamed of kissing his blond hair again, and I
cursed myself for my weak, shameful even compulsive behavior that had
driven him away.

Jake and I were both accepted into a competitive and prestigious orchestra
for high-school age teenagers that autumn, even though we were technically
far too young to belong. But both of us were good enough musicians to be
included, and we looked forward with some trepidation to attending
rehearsals with mostly high school students who would surely ignore us at
best, maybe tease us meanly at worst. Because the practices were held each
week one evening in another town, Jake's and my parents joined a carpool to
drive us there.

Twenty minutes away by car, it would always be dark by the time the carpool
pulled up in front of my house. I'd slide into the back seat, shy because
of the older kids who were often already in the car, and would usually end
up next to Jake where we would ride hip to hip for the whole journey. This
close contact with Jake stirred feelings I still nursed inside myself about
the younger boy, often giving me an erection. Eventually after a few weeks
of this I allowed my hand to touch his leg in the darkness, advancing ever
so slowly as time went by so I'd be touching his thigh, and then finally
holding his hand in his lap. As from the time long before, Jake didn't
object, and I was so happy that he again seemingly was willing to accept my
renewed affection for him. I vowed not to screw up this time.

Eventually, as the weeks went by holding his hand in his lap led to
caressing his private parts in his lap. Interesting to me, they always
remained soft to my touch, even as I eventually unzipped him with one hand,
reached inside and felt him through his white underpants. I was delighted
that I could feel that he had grown there, as his penis and testicles were
decidedly larger, and feeling carefully though the cloth I could tell some
coarse hair had grown there as well. Eventually, I pushed his underpants
aside and felt him nakedly right amongst the others in the car. He left his
jacket over his lap, concealing my hand as I explored him.

We didn't have long to play like this, since the car ride was short. He
didn't resist my touches, and finally one week when I had exposed him,
nakedly caressing him underneath the jacket in the darkness, I whispered
into his ear so only he could hear.

"Jake, can you make it hard?"

He complied instantly, and I marveled as his erection grew in my hand, his
penis growing stiff and long for the first time in my experience. I stroked
it gently, feeling down to his fuzzy pubic hair that grew sparsely at its
base, touching his soft balls as gently as I could as they nestled between
his legs. One night, both lost in our own world, the car pulled up far too
soon at Jake's house to let him off while he was fully erect and exposed as
I explored his nakedness beneath the thin jacket on his lap. Alarmed that
we had arrived home unawares and before we were ready, my heart was in my
mouth as the bright dome light came on inside the car as the boy sitting
beside the door pushed it open. I knew Jake's hard penis was still jutting
nakedly out from his unzipped trousers under his jacket, and I knew Jake
must have been scared out of hits wits too, as he slid across the seat and
out of the car, holding his instrument case over his lap as he stepped
 into the street, then walked towards his front door as the driver waited
for him to go safely inside. I half expected to see his pants fall, but he
kept his instrument case and jacket clasped to his waist as he walked,
avoiding the horrifying exposure that would have come from a single
misstep. I hoped beyond hope that he was able to straighten himself before
he got inside so he wouldn't have to explain to his mother why he had
arrived home partially unclothed. We were much more careful after that
night.


I was solely determined not to overdo it with my affection for Jake this
time. I was fifteen by then, and had grown quite aware that my attraction
to other boys was a confusing, hard to explain riddle that I both
loved--yet thoroughly hated at the same time. It was a set of feelings that
I had no desire to discuss with anybody, instead, I hoped I could learn
about how others felt about the concept of one boy loving another by simply
watching and observing the everyday comments, reactions and behavior of
others. I hoped if I could keep my raging hormones under control, I could
avoid frightening Jake away again and I could also learn without us ever
speaking a single word if he might be coaxed to secretly love me in
return. I suppose this is all really not so much different than the way
boys and girls of this age group interact in their newfound heterosexual
relationships as well, as much of their overt contact is usual physical,
and deep conversations
 about emotions and feelings are kept inside, usually wholly undiscussed.
****

It was the summer for me before tenth grade started.  I still nursed my
curious affection for him, a warm happy feeling that I'd now describe as
puppy love. I liked to be near him alone whenever I could. We would run a
lot and sometimes wrestle (though I was somewhat bigger), play kickball,
football and baseball and other semi-roughhousing sports. When we would
finally rest, Jake would be flushed and damp and rosy-cheeked. His sweat
smelled sweet and just a little musky, and he didn't seem to mind my
closeness as we rested next to each other on the grass, and still didn't
even seem to mind if I occasionally held his hand as long as this was done
discretely out of view.

The summer was new, and Jake had sprouted a little taller and his muscles
had started to appear, but only if you were looking closely like I
was. After our roughhousing exercise a little sweat would bead up on his
upper lip, trapped by the blond peach fuzz that was newly growing
there. Jake's cheeks were still smooth and fair, and flushed easily. His
voice had grown just a bit husky but it had not dropped an octave yet. Few
people would have noticed these signs of puberty, but I did and it was
satisfying for me to watch him grow and to be close to him when we were
together.

Jake had a telescope, and he was very interested in the moon and the
stars. He was always reading things like Popular Science and talking about
the constellations and the phases of the moon. Walking past his house at
sunset, just down the street from mine, summer evenings would often find
him setting up his telescope in his side yard waiting for the darkness to
fall. I didn't have much interest in standing around looking at the stars,
but Jake's interest in them made me curious, too. Walking past him one
evening on my way through the neighborhood he saw me and cried out "Hey
come over! Want to look at the moon? It's going to be a full moon tonight!"
I stopped and chatted a bit. I was on my way somewhere else, but I was
always glad to see my cheerful friend.

"I am busy now", I said. "But if you are still out later I might stop by"

"Neat!" he said, and he smiled. "It's going to be a good night to look at
the stars!"

I continued on my way, but made a mental note to pass back this way on my
way home later to see if Jake was still out.

It was probably close to ten o'clock when I headed home. This was the best
time of my life; summer was unhurried and relaxed. I was a good boy and my
parents trusted me, and so as long as I was home by eleven, everything was
OK. As I walked past Jake's house I saw him, still there and silhouetted in
the moonlight in a secluded spot beside his house, intently peering into
the telescope. I approached him quietly, and as he turned and saw me, his
face broke into an immediate smile.

"You came back! Hey, look at this!" He stepped aside, motioning to the
telescope. I looked into the eyepiece and saw an awesome sight--the moon
lit up in amazing color and clear detail like I had never seen it before.

"Wow!" I breathed in awe. "That is so cool."

Jake beamed with pride. He had saved his money for a long time to buy the
instrument and was glad to have another appreciate his passion.

"It has a motor drive too." He chirped. "You can set it so that it follows
the moon as it moves in the sky". The moon moves? I had never thought of
that! As I looked back into the eyepiece I noticed that in just a few
minutes' time the moon had indeed moved so that it now only half filled the
view in the eyepiece.

"How does that work?" I asked

"I don't exactly know", he admitted, "But I have the book here and we can
try to figure it out."

Jake had a flashlight and we looked at the technical instructions that were
filled with tables and charts with complicated degree markings. This didn't
look like much fun at all to me, but Jake was excited by the idea, so I
agreed to help him try to make it work. He took the book and held the
flashlight and read me the steps as I crouched in front of him.

"Loosen the knurled knob so that the degree scale is able to move freely"
he read. I did as he instructed. "Now, look through the eyepiece and set
the indicator marking to the zero point, and retighten the knurled knob." I
did this too.

He read me line after line and I squinted in the darkness trying to follow
his instructions. At one pause, I sat down and looked up at him, just to
drink him in. He was standing so close to me, peering intently at the
book. He was wearing pale blue and well-worn cutoff Levis as shorts, and
some of the loose strings hung down on his legs. I glanced at his legs, and
I was so close that I could see the tiny fuzzy blond hairs on them, from
his knees to the tops of his striped athletic socks. I reached out to touch
his legs and caressed them gently and found them smooth and soft. He didn't
seem to notice or mind at all. Looking up I could see his face, intent with
concentration as he tried to understand the complex book.


I was remembering this earlier innocent, satisfyingly romantic contact as I
crouched next to Jake and his telescope that summer night. Examining his
legs so close to me, I reached out and with my fingertips to caress the
blond hairs on his calves and shins, finding them soft and downy. Then,
moving my hand upwards, I let my fingertips brush against the softness of
his crotch, which was situated right next to my eyes where I sat. Jake's
eyes never moved away from his book. He made no move to stop me, as my
fingertips continued seemingly of their own will, cautiously probing the
softness of his crotch through the thin fabric of his well-worn Levis. I
could feel that he had grown there; that the tiny package I had explored
under the blanket a couple of summers before had filled out and grown
decidedly larger.

Jake made no move to resist as I slipped my hand up underneath his loose
T-shirt from below. I felt his shallow belly button and noted that while
his chest was still smooth and hairless, the layer of baby fat had
disappeared. He smelled softly musky as my arm moved the night air through
the folds of his t-shirt. Looking up at his face it seemed he was still
intent on the book, though I imagined he had moved his arms almost
imperceptibly so I could have better access to his bare skin.

I moved my hands back down his torso to his crotch and felt his soft bulge
again. He shifted his weight and parted his legs just slightly where he
stood. Boldly unbuttoning his beltless shorts, I lowered his zipper and
allowed his pants to drop freely to the ground. Right before my face was
his handsome boy crotch shining in its white cotton package before me in
the moonlight. Without hesitation, I reached inside at the waistband and
pulled downwards until his beautiful penis popped free inches from my face.

He was so beautiful. I looked up at him, and while he still held the book
in front of him, his eyes were now closed. I returned my gaze to his cock
and was excited to see it nestled in a bed of wispy blond hair. It was soft
and relaxed, and Jake made no move to stop me as I explored. He smelled
slightly spicy and wonderful. I pushed my face against his genitals, and
buried my nose in his golden curls. I tasted him just a little.... I was in
heaven as I sucked him deeply into my mouth- but only for a moment. He
tasted clean and fresh, but remained decidedly soft, just like that time
watching TV years before.

"Jake, can you make it hard?" I asked quietly, really afraid that I'd break
the mood and he'd put a stop to this activity right away. Instead, I
suppose he was waiting for my permission or instructions on what to do
next, because almost immediately I felt the change starting to happen. He
began to grow stiffer and longer with each throbbing heartbeat. From an
inch or two away I gazed at his beautiful boyish penis as it slowly
thickened and lengthened under my gentle touch and before my eyes.

I kneeled and leaned back on the ground with my legs folded beneath me. I
wanted to see every moment of this and remember it forever. His flushed
cock jutted stiffly out from his body, hardly five inches long but as stiff
as a ten-penny nail. I began to slowly fondle it from tip to base, feeling
him jerk just a little each time my fingers danced over the head. I looked
up again and saw that his mouth had fallen slightly open as his breath came
from there in soft quiet gasps.

My own cock ached in my pants. I had certainly not planned this side
activity for my trip home, but now in the midst of it I felt like I was in
heaven and didn't ever want to stop.

I continued my rhythmic stroking, pausing only to reach in inside my
trousers to rearrange my own throbbing boyhood as it pressed uncomfortably
and stiffly against my leg. I would have liked to give it relief, but my
full attention was on Jake now. He was my gentle friend and for this moment
he was mine to love. My stroking continued and Jake began to twitch. I was
startled as something bumped sharply against my back and fell noisily onto
the ground beside me. Looking over I realized that Jake had dropped the
telescope book he was holding from his grasp, and was now completely lost
in his pleasure as his hands quivered at his sides.

Filled with affection for him and lost in fantasy of my own, I kneeled
inches from his nakedly exposed most private parts, and intently watched
how his body responded to my touch. Jake had innocently surrendered to me
and was prepared to let me control his immediate destiny. He was going to
let me make him come.  Driven entirely by lust, I leaned forward and sucked
his stiffening dick deep into my mouth, tasting him for the first time. He
was not so big, maybe five inches at most, and I could get all of it into
my mouth, all the way to the base, with ease.  He tasted so fresh and
natural with just a hint of musk. I wondered if his cock had ever been in
anyone's mouth before, and I guessed that I was his first.

Sucking from base to tip, I pulled my mouth off him leaving him glistening
wet. I continued my gentle but purposeful rubbing while staring intently at
him in the moonlight. The telescope stood forgotten in front of us and I
heard Jake groan--just a little, then he made three little intakes of
breath, his knees buckled for just a moment, his cock jerked in my hand and
suddenly I was flooded with his boy cum, soft silent gushes coming one
after another. Jake wasn't a shooter, so his sweet cum soaked my hand and
wrist while some of it fell on the ground.

"Ooooooh" he moaned softly. He stood silently with his hard wet penis
jutting before him, spasming and jerking uncontrollably. Though we never
talked about our personal sex experiences before, I assume that as a 13
year old he must have masturbated before and that this wasn't his first
time to come, nevertheless I was surprised at the amount of sperm that had
come from him.

"Gosh Jake!" I said in a soft whisper, wanting to break the tension. "You
sure came a lot! That was really cool!!" Still kneeling in front of him,
his jutting penis dripped with sperm just an inch from my face. Without so
much as thinking, my brain buzzing with lust, I opened my mouth and leaned
forward taking his wet penis in my mouth again. I had never tasted another
boy's cum before and I was surprised at the sort of tangy, salty taste it
left on my tongue. I guess I felt privileged and special, being permitted
to make Jake come and then having him allow me to taste his spunk.  I
sucked for a while on his softening member, happy beyond words that my
neighbor friend allowed me to be so close and intimate with him. Finally I
leaned back.  "I better go home now", I said.

"I need to go inside too before I get in trouble for being out too late",
he said.

Coming out of my trance and looking around us for the first time, I
realized how exposed we were to the neighbors in the bright moonlight that
bathed us. Oblivious to the world in our irresponsible boyish passion, I
wonder if anyone had seen us there in the yard doing what we had
done. Almost euphoric with my daring, I helped Jake pull up his pants,
whispered a hasty "Bye!" and sprinted the few houses back to my door.

Going straight to the bathroom I blinked in the blinding brightness of the
indoor lights. I think I loved Jake and I wondered what he was feeling
about me right now. I hoped he was as happy inside as I was feeling, and I
looked at my right hand, still coated wetly with his fresh sperm. It was
thick and shiny, bubbly and white. As I spread apart my fingers it clung
and made gooey webs between them. Without thinking, I gave into my passion
and slowly licked some of it off, enjoying its forbidden salty but slightly
fishy fresh taste. Then, grasping my own newly exposed erection with my
same wet hand, I jerked it until I came, only seconds later, mixing my
creamy sperm with Jake's all over.

****

Jake had a heavy reel-to-reel tape recorder that back then, in that
pre-computer era was an amazing piece of technology. It would allow us to
do all sorts of things that we never imagined, like slowing down or
speeding up our talking so we sounded like the Chipmunks, or allowed us to
reverse the tape and hear ourselves speaking backwards! A few of us would
gather and we'd spend hours in my basement bedroom playing with Jake's
machine, recording phrases then playing them backwards. Next, we would try
our hardest to learn how to mimic and pronounce the backwards phrases
exactly as they were played, and then we would play THESE backwards as
well, which resulted in hearing ourselves speak English in distorted,
tongue twisting dialects. We would howl with laughter as many of the things
we tried to say played back sounding NOTHING like we had intended, while
other phrases sounded hilarious coming out of the speakers in our own
voices but almost like we were
 stroke survivors or tongue tied foreigners with marbles packed in our
mouths.

Jake and I were more interested in this game by far compared to the other
boys, continuing on with it long after the others lost interest and had
gone home. We played on for another hour or so till we too had had enough,
and tired; we sat quietly beside each other.

He was so nice and I loved him so dearly, and as the lull continued,
without a thought I reached around him and hugged him tight. He sighed just
a little and almost imperceptibly leaned towards me welcoming my affection,
I perceived. I nuzzled his cheek, slightly fuzzy with fine blond hair that
had not yet become whiskers, and ran my fingers through his darkening blond
locks. We held each other like this for several minutes, before I laid him
back on my bed, rubbed his bare thighs then unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned
his shorts and unzipped them. This time he didn't need any instructions,
and his penis began to swell and harden as I played with it inside his
shorts without a single command being given.

Urging him to raise his bottom up off the bed just a bit, I stripped his
pants and underwear down his legs as one, seeing his naked boyhood exposed
in the bright lights of my bedroom. I eagerly used my fingers and my tongue
to explore him all over, so excited at the clean but musky way he
smelled. Lifting his legs up onto the bed, I unlaced his sneakers and
pulled them off, then unrolled his socks to see his naked feet. Jake had
fine blond hair growing on his legs and I marveled at seeing it dusted as
it was from the tops of his feet all the way up to his thighs. He was a
very fair boy, and so his balls were a deep pinkish-red, wrinkled and
hanging loose, covered with fine, fair hairs. His hard cock was very pale
and even when stiff not so long, maybe five inches at most, but it was
straight and stiff and dark pink with a reddish head as it stood erect,
nestled in its bed of medium blond curls. Jake lay back with his eyes
closed, and while examining him
 at ultra-close range, I felt his dick with one hand while I unbuttoned my
own trousers, freed myself and rubbed my own throbbing penis with the
other.

Jake opened his eyes just a little, glanced over and smiled slightly as he
watched me rub my bigger, darker cock. Again, he passively lay back and
didn't touch me in return, but that was OK with me as I rubbed both of us
in an identically perfect rhythm. Jake then began to moan a little,
squirmed restlessly on the bed and he finally spoke:

"Oh my God I'm going to come so quick! Please stop Brad", he begged,
panting and grasping hard at my wrist so I'd stop my stimulation of his
most sensitive parts. "Let's go in the bathroom to finish", he suggested.

"OK," I agreed.

I was so ignited by this simple exchange of words. The silence had been
broken-- it was the first time that Jake had actually voiced that he liked
what I was doing and what he wanted me to do to him next. He wanted to go
into the bathroom where we'd have certain privacy and where he could let go
his inhibitions allowing his imminent orgasm to explode as I rubbed him to
climax in the expert way that only another boy could.

We both got up from my bed and holding our unbuttoned trousers up in front
of us as we walked trance-like, we made our way to the hall
bathroom. Entering and closing the door, I turned immediately to him and
pushed his trousers down around his knees and sat on the closed toilet lid
to face him. I resumed rubbing him and for the first time, he suddenly
turned to me and suggested, "Brad, Let me do you, too!" I stood and we
faced each other and grasping each other's jutting cocks, yanking them
gently towards each other. Jake's eyes closed and he moaned softly, his
cheeks flushed and pink. His rubbing hand felt so unfamiliar but so welcome
on my sensitive cock, but soon his strokes grew erratic as trembling and
suddenly weak-kneed he approached his own point of no return, so I relieved
him from rubbing me and again kneeled in front of him.

 but I stopped rubbing him with my hand and started to suck on his cock
like it was a lollipop. He was clearly unaccustomed to this sort of
feeling, and quickly began to go out of his mind, feeling sensations that
he had probably never experienced before. He thrust forward and back like a
compact machine, squirming with violent pleasure at what was happening
between us, an animal lust that can't be properly explained or understood
unless you have felt it yourself. Normally so gentle and tame, Jake had
become suddenly wild.  Grasping the back of my head and pulling forward he
groaned and started to come, pressing my nose hard against his abdomen,
exploding deep in my mouth, filling my mouth with his thick sweet cum
. Kneeling so close to him, I withdrew and rubbed his wet cock on my face
covering it with his spunk as I once again I tasted that wonderful flavor
as it bathed my tongue, a taste that for all the world reminded me of the
heady aroma of
 freshly cut grass.

"Oh Jesus Christ Brad!" Jake gasped as his knees half buckled and he
collapsed forward, leaning on the top of my head with both of his hands. I
held him tightly around his waist with one arm while I blindly rubbed
myself to climax using the other, shooting my own hot, thick sperm all over
his knees, shins and feet as he stood there in front of me.

We had a lot of cleaning up to do, and it's a good thing we were in the
bathroom. He shamelessly stood there half naked while I washed the dripping
spunk off his swollen red cock, finally drying it with a handy towel. I had
expertly caught most of Jake's sperm in my mouth, but a few thick globs of
it had escaped and had fallen heavily on the bathmat, and wiping my jizz
off his legs we laughed uncomfortably a bit at the unbelievable mess we had
made together.

As a close to our act, he stood perfectly and passively still while I
re-dressed him, pulling up his clothes for him, fastening the buttons and
buckling his belt, then I straightened my own clothes and we checked each
over carefully for evidence before I slowly opened the door to the
hall. Luckily, nobody was nearby, so we went back into my room where we
packed up the tape machine. "I have to go!" said Jake worriedly. "I'm late
and I am going to get in trouble!" he said. I helped him pack up and put
the tape recorder into his red wagon that he had brought it in.

"Bye Jake," I said lovingly. "See you again?" I could still taste and smell
him all over me, and it was a warm, welcome feeling.

"Sure", said Jake as he disappeared into the darkness down the driveway
with the laden wagon rattling behind him.  *** I was beginning to cultivate
a secret life. My ongoing romantic affection for Jake should have been
ample evidence that I wasn't very straight at all, but I never questioned
the need to keep this part of my life segmented and walled off from the
rest of the world.  I saw him again just a couple of days later, and we
both acted as though nothing had happened at all. He displayed no signs of
embarrassment or avoidance, and I had long since stopped being worried that
he would tell anyone what we did together. As we did most other days, we
interacted completely normally as we played Frisbee with the other boys. I
proudly noted that when we weren't making love, no one observing us would
ever have been able to tell we were involved with each other in such a
secret, taboo and forbidden way.

This same scene played out on many other occasions as High School
progressed, often in almost identical circumstances; Jake would linger
behind after all the other boys had gone home, as he seemingly had no
curfew, and we would end the evening by making love together with me as the
initiator every time. My anticipation would build as the other boys went
home, one by one, and I always wondered if Jake would stay
behind. Seemingly always, he would be the last one left, he and I alone
watching movies or listening to music. Trembling with sexual excitement I'd
approach him where he sat, wrapping my arms about him, smelling his blond
hair and putting my cheek against his; my hands began to wander, raising
his shirt to expose his smooth chest and stomach, feeling and licking his
nipples and belly button as he just surrendered to my advances and melted
into my arms.  *** Sometimes in the midst of the undressing, and as he
surrendered what was about to happen, he would ask me if anyone was home,
to make sure the door was shut, if I thought we should go somewhere more
private, or asked me if I had a Penthouse he could look at (I did, and I
would give him one, but the thought of him needing to look at naked women
while I jacked him off made me feel a sharp knife of sadness). As time went
by, I also began to jerk off myself with my free hand at the same time as I
did him, and he sometimes asked me if I wanted to be rubbed by him. "What
about you?" he'd ask quietly. I agreed, and while I enjoyed the touch of
his strange, warm hand on my cock, I could tell by his lack of rhythm and
enthusiasm that he wasn't into it the way I was. I always relieved him and
finished the job myself.

One night we did it in the soft grass behind the shed in the backyard,
another time we did it right on my bed while my parents were home in the
living room nearby. But usually we'd end up together in the bathroom in a
near total repeat of that time with the tape machine.

I guess I preferred being in control, because though he often offered to
rub me, saying breathlessly in his husky voice when he was already highly
aroused, "Brad how about you? Do you want me to 'do' you too?" I'd always
let him feel me and clumsily rub me, but then always stopped him so I could
focus my full attention on making him climax with all his might while I
watched, then often used his copiously and deliciously spilled thick white
sperm as a slick lubricant to coax myself to my own powerful orgasm just
seconds after his had subsided. I now wish that I had slowed down just a
little, even once, to have schooled him into rubbing me to orgasm. With
other boys, I usually liked to ask them to rub me "just the way you do
yourself" so I could experience myself the illicit thrill how it must have
felt for them to masturbate themselves when they were alone. But oddly I
never did this with Jake.

As he grew, Jake's blond hair darkened through his teenaged years till no
traces of his layered bowl-cut remained. We still participated in some of
the same group activities, and I was always secretly pleased as the hour
grew late and the others went home, Jake would often choose to linger
behind till it was just he and I left together. If we were in a private
place, this was my chance to go over to where he was, put my arms around
him and silently hold him close, to which he never objected.


As my High School years drew to a close for me, Jake had acquired a pretty
girlfriend, and grew his now dark-blond hair rather long. His skin wasn't
as clear as it once had been, gaining a reddish teenage blotchiness, and
his upper lip was adorned with an unimpressively thin and cheesy teenage
moustache. While I didn't normally like boys who grew these wimpy
testaments to their manhood for all to see, I made an exception and liked
Jake's because I realized that he had just never, ever shaved in his life,
and I had watched it grow from nearly invisible blond fuzz till what it was
today without interruption. When asked, Jake would talk openly with us
other boys about sex he had with his girlfriend, and shocked us by
informing us that they had boldly gone to a clinic together so she could
get birth control so they could have regular intercourse without fear of
pregnancy.

I was a freshman in college and Jake was a High School senior the last time
we made love together. We had just completed a musical performance together
as a part of the same orchestra, and afterwards he and I traveled home
together, alone. I had a steady girlfriend and so did he, but I asked him
into my empty house when he dropped me off on the way home and he quickly
agreed. We sat and talked, and I remember confessing outright to him that I
was very afraid that I wouldn't be able to have a successful relationship
with a girl because of my "issues"... never saying any words that were more
stark than that, but clearly referring to my desire for guys in general,
him specifically. He shrugged off my suggestion, implying that he didn't
know what I meant or why I thought I had a problem.

We listened to some music on the stereo and as I leaned over him and began
to caress the muscles of his chest and arms, he closed his eyes peacefully
and surrendered to me as he always had, allowing me to undress him for what
was one final time, stripping off his clothes, allowing me to kiss his
newly slightly hairy chest and stomach, massaging his stiff tool till he
groaned and soon shot his thick juice all over his belly and mine, my own
orgasm exploding seconds later. I held him close to me, smelling musky
scents that let me know he, too had become a man, and unembarrassed,
allowed our thick milky sperm to mingle and mix together on our bellies as
they touched.

Our sexual relationship ended after that night. As did I, he went on to
marry, and he had a difficult relationship that I heard ended in an angry
divorce. I am told he has since remarried, and is a schoolteacher in a
nearby town. Though we haven't spoken in many years. I'd love to see him
again.

***************************

After re-reading this story, I am compelled to pause and ask myself a few
difficult and introspective questions. I wonder if I always remember things
the exact way they happened, or I remember them slightly twisted or blurred
through a lens in a way I want to remember them. Said quite simply, I
wonder if Jake were reading this story today if he would nod in agreement
that I truthfully represented the facts as they happened, or if he'd have a
very different slant in his recollection of these events of nearly 30 years
ago.

Why? Well, there was that time that the French exchange student was staying
at my house and Jake was over to visit and chose for once to leave to go
home early that night. I followed him to his bicycle, begging him to please
stay a little longer, but he declined. Then placing my hand on his shoulder
I remember trying to guide him anyway to the hidden spot behind the shed
where I longed to make love to him. He resisted at first that night,
stiffening his legs and putting on his 'brakes' and pushing back against my
guiding hand on his shoulder, clearly wanting to go home, so without
speaking a word I pushed a little more firmly, and finally after just a few
steps he stopped resisting, and then walked willingly the rest of the way
with me to our private spot. Then, as always, we lay beside each other, me
pushing both our pants down to our knees as I focused my loving attention
on his cock as usual. I remember clearly that he asked if he could rub mine
too
 that night, and we both climaxed in the moonlight before he returned to
his bike and pedaled home. I remember that night because I was gone longer
than my parents had expected, leaving my guest alone. And when I returned
to the house, my sister wanted to know why so much dried grass was on the
back of my shirt and pants if I had simply walked Jake home as I had
claimed I did.

Earlier, I didn't include this scene and I didn't tell the part about the
shove in the back I gave him because it didn't fit in with my view of the
perfect story of the ideal time that I remembered. But I sometimes wonder
if Jake really enjoyed my attention all those years, or if he simply
endured it: confused, conflicted or even angered by my constant fascination
with him that sometimes appeared to border on obsession with his body. I so
much want to think I was a good person who would never have taken advantage
of another, but that firm push I delivered into the middle of his back that
night three decades ago still haunts me today. Why did I need to have my
way with him the way I did? If he had resisted more strenuously in that
instance, would I have been even more insistent, or would I have realized
that I was getting a "no", and as most of us have been schooled, in sex,
"no means no", and let him go home?

Looking back, I don't think Jake was gay at all, not even slightly. Rather,
I think he was a quiet, somewhat lonely boy who really craved my company
and companionship. While growing up he was highly unsupervised and coming
from a large family with constantly preoccupied parents, perhaps didn't
have too much parental guidance or love at home, and when I began to come
on to him, curiosity, neediness and horniness may have gotten the best of
him. I believe that like most teenaged boys, Jake almost addictively craved
the feeling of orgasms and the euphoric but short-lived highs that they
provided, and maybe he liked the exciting feeling of having another person
want him so much and touch his private areas in ways that felt so good. He
knew I wouldn't ever hurt him, and certainly knew I wasn't going to rat him
out so that our secret was safe with me. It hurts to think so, but
sometimes I have really wonder if he simply tolerated the sex that happened
5% of
 the time for the trade off of being my regular friend the other 95% of the
time. I wonder if I deliberately misread his lack of resistance for desire,
when in fact he was simply powerlessly surrendering to something he felt he
must endure to stay friends with me.

To this day I am not sure how he felt about my private displays of
affection for him. Maybe he was lonely, maybe he was attracted to me, and
maybe he just had no hang-ups about sex at all. I suspect he liked me and
trusted me, and decided that if I wanted to make love to him that it would
just be a part of our relationship and he didn't mind. At least that's how
I hope he felt. He made himself available to me, but I was always the
initiator.  Through all the years together, we never talked about the
nature of our relationship at all. I wonder sometimes today if he might
have sometimes hated me inside. But because I really did care for him, I
hope with all my heart that this isn't so. It was just as well we never
discussed our relationship, of course. Jake would have just been in my way
as I continued my impossibly blind quest of becoming a straight, normal
man, a goal I would not be denied by anyone.