Date: Tue, 31 May 2011 17:08:44 -0600
From: rob loveboy <loveboyrob2@gmail.com>
Subject: Jack&Jill-Went-Downhill-1

I am an amateur writer, by no means do I profess otherwise, but unlike other
stories that I have written Jack & Jill holds a special place in my heart. I
hope to make you laugh, I hope to make you cry, but I know I'll get you off!

I toiled over it to a fault, editing chapters over and over again,
relentless in my strive to make it perfect. (Punctuation is my nemesis that
I am working to improve) Well, I'm not perfect and had to finalize chapters
once and for all and never look back, so please forgive the type-o's and
grammar.

I hope you enjoy Jack & Jill as much as I enjoy writing it. Your feedback as
always, most welcome and cherished.

Support Nifty, where would we be without it!

Other stories by loveboyrob2@gmail.com

Incapacitated Jordies Handjob, Young Friends, Oct 13, 2010
Summer With Michael, Adult/Youth - Oct 10, 2010
It Just Happened, Adult/Youth - Sept 19, 2010

Dysfunctional Family, Gay/Incest - Feb 19, 2011

                           +++++++++++++++++++++++++++

My name is Jack. Jack Sprat! Go ahead, recite the nursery rhyme and knock
your socks off! I'm used to it. Well, know the truth I never did get used to
it. My mother, in one of her drug induced states and a warped sense of
humor, perhaps thought it was cute at the time, but I now reflect that it
was probably in retaliation for my capturing the attention of one little
spermie in a school of thousands that happened to be leisurely swimming by
one night! A mistake that I would live to regret. A life long curse!

My full name is Jack Gaylord Sprat, so as you can appreciate, my secondary
given name was no option in assuming another, less provocative title to rid
myself of ridicule and harassment!

My Grandma raised me since the age of six. My mom had other, more important
priorities to nurture and feed other than me, a serious chemical addiction
that inevitably took her life! My father? Who knows where or who he is, but
I'd guess that either he was just a quick fuck for cash or just another
crack dealer taking it out in trade, but I must have inherited his good
looks, dirty blond hair and sky blue eyes, trait's that hadn't revealed
themselves in the family gene pool. Unfortunately, life being cruel and
unfair as it is, I couldn't have my cake and eat it too, I had my mother's
short stature to contend with and was about a head shorter than other boy's
my age!

Grandma was quite elderly and frail. Her indiscretion at a late stage of her
life resulted in the birth of my mother. Perhaps that had some sort of
negative medical effect on mom's mental well being! However, I loved Grandma
dearly and she tried her best to raise a young boy that had suddenly been
dropped on her maternal doorstep.

I wasn't really a problem child, just an incredibly independent boy who
possessed an insatiable sense of adventure and bored easily! I would wake up
some mornings and rather than go to school I would give in to the urge to go
fishing instead. Or, while waiting for the morning school bus I would
impulsively get on a city transit bus and explore the city's alluring down
town district.

I had Grandma wrapped around a finger and she would cover for my frequent
truant behavior with excuse notes and the ever so increasing parent/ teacher
summoned meetings. I could do no wrong in her eyes, it was her opinion that
the education system failed to keep me interested and she laid the blame
squarely on them!

I loathed structure in my life and school had way too much of that! It was
not simply that I did not like school, I fucking hated it! Once, I tried
joining the Boy Scouts, at Grandma's urging, but quickly became bored with
that as well. Their proclamation of "Boyhood Adventure" left a lot to be
desired in my way of thinking!


I was intelligent though, passing my grades year after year. I was a quick
learner and only had to be shown something once, so the curriculum became
redundant and boring spending days on a single component. Maybe the other
kid's needed it repeatedly drilled into their heads, but I had better things
to do with my time!

I met Jillian just shy of his fifteenth birthday. He had moved in across the
street to live with his alcoholic father and step mother after he was
shipped off by his mother. I was 13 1/2, had a few friends but none as close
as Jillian and I soon became, inseparable to a fault.

.
I don't recall what drew us together, he, sitting on his front porch, me on
mine, but like a magnetic pull we literally met in the middle of the street.
Once again, another nursery rhyme theme plagued my already tarnished
self-image, "Jack and Jill!" He however exploited its friendship connotation
and it became our epigram to anyone who knew us.

To say that Jillian shared my adventurous enthusiasm would be an
understatement. He was down right dare devilish, conniving and manipulative
by nature. Trouble hung over his head like a dark cloud. Even my Grandma who
was oblivious to most of life's realities warned me of the foreboding danger
of our friendship the very first day she met him.

"That boy is the work of the devil ... I feel it in my bones!" she warned me.
"Do us both a favor and stay away from him!" I didn't heed Grandma's words.

Other boy's in the neighborhood and school instantly feared Jillian. He was
not overly big of frame, quite average actually, but he had a threatening
tone of voice and a quick, violent temper flogging any boy who dared
challenge him.

Or authoritative figure's for that matter! The final irrevocable reason for
expulsion from his last school. A male gym teacher made sexual advances
toward him. Well, that's what he claimed was the reason for plummeting the
man but apparently nobody else bought into his version of events, after all,
he was the one thrown out of the school! He never elaborated as to exactly
what the sexual advances were, and yuck! -- I didn't want to know.

It wasn't long before we were regularly sleeping over at each other's house.
Well, mostly my house as I had a nice room, styled in boyish decor and a
double bed. What constituted his own bedroom was a storage room cluttered
with old boxes and other paraphernalia to which his father and step mother
so lovingly re-arranged enough space to adorn with a mattress tossed on the
floor. A clear indication to his welcomed presence.

Even on school nights, with no parental consent ever being obtained, we
slept together. School night was a very loose term anyway; dependent on if
school was on our agenda for the following day!

It was our fourth or fifth consecutive sleep over that he announced he was
horny and wanted to jerk off, suggesting that I join him! "All guys do it,
its normal! So why try and hide the fact and deny ourselves the pleasure
just because we happen to be spending the night in the same bed!" he
reasoned. "After all, we're buddies dude!"

I could not argue his logic and I was tired of doing it in the bathroom, so
under the privacy of a blanket, underwear pulled over balls, we did the deed
together along with a strange request that I tell him when I was ready to
cum, "We can blow our load's at the same time, together!" he suggested with
a grin.


It always took me a long time to reach climax. I would play out the fantasy
of ravaging Kimberly Allen, a girl at school who wouldn't give me the time
of day and seemed oblivious to my existence! Regardless, she remained my
"Leading Lady" in the X-rated script of my lengthy jack-off sessions!


Jill didn't seem to have as long a fuse as I did. After about 5 minutes, he
was asking what the hold up was. The covers over his midsection would
frequently cease to billow and the harsh squeaking tempo of bed springs
lessened as he patiently held off orgasm.

About 30 minutes later, my testicles surrendered to self-abuse and released
my coveted boyhood "piece de resistance." Afterwards, mopping up with a
crusty hand towel stiff with my own historical relevance, which oddly, he
didn't mention, his only comment was, "Dude ... ya gotta find a hotter fantasy
than that Kimberly Allen bitch!" he said with abhorrence.


What we did not seem to share was an interest in girls. At every mention of
that gender, he would abruptly change the subject or go into a fit of
rhetoric's of how manipulative, egotistical and selfish they were.

I never entertained the thought that maybe he was gay. Just a late bloomer,
not yet in the phase when a boy notices the female virtue! Nor did it occur
to me then that his loathing hostility toward women had anything to do with
the horrible stories he confided of when he was13 and spent 6 months in a
Reform School run by abusive nuns! He claimed that they would apply
punishment by caning the bare upper thighs and buttocks, often striking a
testicle or two in the process! Or the ice cold showers endured for minor
violations! He never expounded on the details of why he had been
incarcerated.

I learned at the onset of our relationship not to delve to deep into
querying Jill`s life. Most always, he was evasive and only later, when he
felt the need or perhaps, comfort and trust in me, would he divulge personal
information.

On another occasion when he had the urge to reflect, he was 8 year's old his
own drunkard mother, for no apparent reason, other than morbid
entertainment, and the amusement of mixed adult company, had pulled down his
pajama bottoms and singed the end of his penis with a cigarette. Some
derogatory reference to his birth father's manhood and legacy symbolic to
"burning in hell," he remembered hearing. I later saw the little scar to
prove it.


I had no reason to disbelieve him when he occasionally became melancholy,
sometimes teary eyed. It made me feel all the more loving of him in a close
friend sort of way. Life hadn't been easy for him, quite the opposite.

The following night he wanted to watch a Stanley Cup Hockey final playoff
game on my bedroom TV After a futile effort of trying to capture the signal
with bunny ears, aluminum foil, standing on one foot with an arm in the air
holding a wire! Any possible tactic to appease him, snow still obscured the
picture. Grandma didn't

 believe that cable TV was a necessity. Her afternoon soaps came in just
fine on the living room RCA Victor that Noah, stoned at the time, must have
stumbled upon, and thinking that her VCR system was its mate, took then
aboard the Arc!

Anyways, Jill, thoroughly pissed off, contemplated the dilemma of the day.
His tongue would protrude ever so slightly, like pouting when he was deep in
thought, staring at nothing in particular. An idiosyncrasy trait that I
picked up on after a while when he was up to no good!

He returned after about 15 minutes from his own home armed with a roll of
electrical tape, a pair of pliers, wire cutters, flashlight and a small reel
of cable wire, it's origin I didn't know. He next procured my neighbor, Mr.
Figsby

's aluminum, extension ladder that was mounted on hooks to his backyard
fence.

We lived in a very old, blue collar neighborhood. Brown weather treated
telephone poles were haphazardly planted appearing like a burnt out forest.
>From an aerial perspective I was sure that the electrical, phone and cable
wires along with backyard clothes lines, all strung in every which
direction, would appear like a giant spider web.

Under the cover of night fall, tools in his pockets and one end of the cable
wire secured to a belt loop, he ascended the ladder.

I was instructed to unravel the reel of cable fifty or so feet to my bedroom
window and attach the wire to the TV receptacle. After about 45 minutes and
numerous near misses of clear picture, then snow, and hollers of
communication in the darkness between my window and somewhere atop the top
the pole, my colored Panasonic TV as old as I was, came to a brilliant,
crystal clear rebirth to the likes never seen before!

He had pirated the cable company

's signal by splicing into a live feed. I just hoped that the rest of the
neighborhood still had their cable! I watched a cable guy up a pole
once,"he explained with pride of his handiwork,
"only took him five minutes, so I knew it couldn't be that difficult to
figure out!"

I was elated to finally have cable TV -- in my own bedroom to boot,
nonetheless! We watched the Toronto Maple Leafs do battle with the Chicago
Black Hawks in living color. That

's my Jillian for ya, clever and industrious when he had to be.

The cable wire hung low , strung from the telephone pole to Grandma's clothe
line post mounted on the rear porch, then looped into my bedroom window.
Something he said he would figure out later before the old lady
unsuspectingly got caught up in and strangled herself as she stepped out of
the back door.

That night, we jerked off again. Suddenly, he kicked down the blankets
exposing both our nude bodies illuminated by the glow of the TV. Intimidated
with the fact that no one had ever seen me naked, let alone with a hard on,
I was perplexed, mortified as I tried to retrieve some modesty by hauling up
my underwear!

So strong were my inhibitions that I got Grandma to write a note excusing me
from taking the mandatory, communal shower after gym class. Actually, I
wrote it myself explaining that I had some sort of contagious rash that
would flare up when exposed to hot water. She signed it under the guise that
it was a permission slip for a field trip, presented to her when she didn't
have her reading glasses handy. It worked and I didn't have to get naked in
front of anyone!


My reaction didn't escape Jill's attention, telling me that I shouldn't be
ashamed or embarrassed about my body. He went on to profess that best
friends should never hide anything from each other and in his personal
opinion, clothing was a way of hiding something. Erections, jerking off and
ejaculation in front of each other were paramount in demonstrating complete
trust and friendship, "No secrets; no lies: no shame," he proclaimed to be
the catalyst element to a continued relationship among guys.


That being said, he turned on the bedside lamp, stripped off his underwear
and tossed them across the room for effect, then stretched out displaying
himself to me with a huge smile to match his huge cock.


With a great deal of hesitance but the rationalization that he had already
seen me in my glory, I followed his lead., not wanting to portray myself as
a chicken shit prude. His persuasive philosophies or ideals would always
prevail over my naivety, values and self perception hence forward.

His cock was about an inch or so longer than my own, cut 5 1/2 inches and
much thicker. His excess skin would fold up over his palm like an accordion
and gather at his fat, circumcised mushroom head as he slowly manipulated
himself.

Where my own scrotum seemed to shrivel up tight into my groin during
erection, his hung low and heavy. I was fascinated with his genitals for
some unexplainable reason! I wasn't gay to my knowledge, oh what a thought!
However, I had to admit to myself that seeing his junk and watching him do
himself added to my own masturbatory excitement!


Once again, he asked that I tell him when I was ready to cum, which
astonishingly enough I declared in less than ten minutes! He ejaculated as
if on queue, with six long, copious gobs of cum. The first one landed on his
neck, the balance easing in intensity, trailed down his chest and belly, and
finally dribbled into his pubic hair.

I followed with a mere four shots. The first splattered my right nipple,
trickling down the side of it, my belly button captured the rest other than
the usual aftermath that looses its projectile, gathers on my thumb and
eventually gives into gravity.

"Fucking awesome dude!" he said with an overly excited tone. I wasn't sure
if he was referring to my ejaculate or our weird, joint erotic endeavour,
maybe both but I concurred in a gratified, quiet voice, as I mopped myself
with the crusty towel and passed it to him! The pungent, musky odour of our
semen hung in the air.

"Ya must have changed your fantasy!" he said slyly, bringing me to the
shocking realization that I hadn't even fantasize about Kimberly Allen! The
live visual erotica and sexual stimulation of what we had engaged in
substituted any previous fantasy of her! I had just jerked off, complete
with orgasm, in record time at the sight of another guy's naked body while
watching him do the nasty! That thought kind of scared me.

Our itinerary the next day took precedent over school! I had previously
introduced him to my passion for fishing and he quickly became quite the
enthusiast. He wanted his own rod, and gear rather than taking turns with
mine, so off to a major hardware chain store we went on a mission to outfit
him.


As we made our way into the sporting goods department, he asked what the
best rod and reel would be and I showed him the famous *Mitchell* brand. I
jokingly caressed the assembled unit in a loving, exaggerated manner then
planted a loving kiss to the reel, telling him that one day I would afford
my own.

Jill always had money at hand and I never questioned its source when he
would unselfishly treat me, buying fast food, movie theatre admission,
arcade coin and such, but when he told me to grab two of the
*Mitchell*units, one for each of us, I was flabbergasted and wondered
how he could
afford it! I didn't even question his financial resources when he picked out
a plastic tackle box and told me to fill it with whatever accessories,
hooks, sinkers, lures and such that I thought would need.

He held the tackle box and I carried the rods as I followed him curiously to
the rear of the store and into the cookware department. His sudden interest
in pots and pans baffled me but I held any inquiry, engrossed in my soon to
be new equipment and the anticipation of using it that day.

His gaze seemed to linger on two large swinging doors about 10 feet away on
the rear wall. He motioned for me to follow and suddenly he pushed through
the doors and we entered what was obviously the warehouse. I was dumbfounded
as to why he would want to explore that area, the door sign clearly, in bold
lettering read, "STAFF ONLY DO NOT ENTER!"

Our pace increased forward and unchallenged as we came upon a rear exit.
Before I knew it we were outside and running in a back alley! The
realization of what had just transpired struck me and I began to tremble
uncontrollably in fear as I kept foot pace with Jill for what felt like
forever. He finally slowed, looking over his shoulder constantly as he
laughed! "Warehouse staff's lunch hour! The best time to escape out the rear
of a store!" I was enlightened. I had just unwittingly been introduced to my
first of many to follow shoplifting excursions!

Once I knew we were out of danger I found the experience exhilarating,
totally daring and revelled in excitement as we spent the rest of the day
leisurely fishing and testing out my newly procured equipment!


That night we replayed our exhibitionist style of getting off when suddenly
he reached over, took my cock from my hand, and began to slowly stroke. His
hand felt great wrapped around my shaft and after a brief quandary of
emotional turmoil, I reciprocated in kind. His cock felt wonderfully warm,
soft and squishy, like *Play-Dough*!


We fondled each for a time. He unnervingly explored my tightly held balls
giving me the courage to curiously toy with his satiny, *Jell-O *like sack
of acorn-sized testicles. Both of us noticeably increasing our excited state
with heavy breathing and the odd gasp of pleasure. In animalistic frenzy, we
pumped each other, both our asses lifted off the bed and crashed back down,
the bed springs clamorous objection was only vaguely noticed.

I came with unprecedented orgasmic ecstasy only seconds after him. No verbal
confirmation was necessary, each intuitive to the other's state of sexual
bliss!
.
An overwhelming sense of shame and guilt suddenly came over me in the
aftermath of our abnormal sexual behaviour. I just gave another guy a hand
job! I could have and should have politely warded off his advances! It was
an act of homosexuality, however minor in the general significance, I
deduced in my mind trying to make some sort of sense and to mentally down
play the implications.
.
As if reading my mind he blurted out with nonchalance, "just two buddies
helping each other out, dude! No big deal, right? Like, why shouldn't
buddies make each other feel nice? It's like scratching an unreachable itch
for one another!"

Jill's words lifted my spirits somewhat. and put things into a more
acceptable perspective. A much needed, but perhaps lame excuse to appease my
confused state of right and wrong! As far as the "itch" metaphor went, well
... I could easily have scratched my own itch, but in all honesty, not quite
as good as he did!
.
The next morning he tried to initiate an encore performance. I awoke with a
start to find him in a toe to head position pumping my pee hard cock. His
own erection uncomfortably close to my face as he masturbated himself.

Noticing that I was awake, he smiled deviously with obvious expectation that
I would reciprocate. My shameful memories of the previous night's encounter
flooded my senses. The provocative position we were in only added to my
self-reproach, a brief thought that perhaps oral sex was on his mind and
imminent. Startled, I pulled away and sat at the edge of the bed telling him
that I didn't want to do that shit anymore. "Let's just forget about what we
did, okay? We just got carried away for whatever reason!"
.
"His face was contorted in venomous contempt. His fingers knotted into
fists. I had seen that unpleasant demeanour plenty of times before and it
certainly appeared that I was in for a taste of it. "Are you trying to tell
me that you didn't like what we did last night? Sure as fuck seemed like ya
enjoyed it to me, fuck head!" he yelled angrily, "Fucking pussy loving
moron!"
.
In fear, I was just about to submit to his desire that I hoped was only
another hand job when as quick as his rage surfaced, it dissipated as he
gathered self-control and searched out his clothes. I felt bad, guilty that
I let him down when he made one final scathing retort under his breath and
barely audible. "Fucking cock teasing bitch!" It's meaning clearly
significant, equating that I was no better than his loathing, low opinion of
women!

...to be continued