Date: Fri, 12 Dec 2003 10:27:45 -0500
From: David Waugh
Subject: Looking for Sex 3

Copyright c 2003 by David Waugh.  All rights, except those
expressly transferred by the author, are strictly reserved
to the author alone.  No part of this work may be
reproduced, except for single copies of the work and
excerpts used by a reviewer, by any means whatsoever, unless
a written permission is provided by David Waugh.
This is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to actual
people, whether living or dead, is strictly coincidental and
unintended.  The story contains material directed to an
adult audience and involves gay relationships, including
sex, between adults and minors.  It is not intended to
promote or otherwise condone such relationships, only to
describe them as they may exist in reality.
If this kind of literature offends you, or if you live in a
state which places age limits on your right to access this
type of material, please read no further.

Looking-for-Sex-3


     When I started school (at age seven) I got sick an
awful lot.  Doctors recommended tonsillectomy (cutting out
tonsils).  I was not thrilled at the prospect of having my
first surgery - that was pretty scary stuff - but nobody
asked my opinion.  My parents trusted doctors and usually
followed their advice.  So, toward the end of May, when my
school year was over, I was taken to the hospital.
     Back then, insurance was not as bitchy as it is now,
and I was scheduled to stay in the hospital for up to one
week.  Being only 7, I was placed in the children's wing.
At the time, however, the hospital was undergoing a
renovation, and some of the Young Adult patients had been
transferred to the children's wing.  That is how I found
myself sharing a room with Eugene, age 18.
     Gene was a nice boy.  He was intensely intellectual, a
good mathematician and an avid amateur astronomer.  He wowed
me the very first minute we met by asking what was greater,
2/3s or _s.  I had no idea, but took a guess:  I chose 2/3s
(I was wrong!  As Gene explained it to me, 67%(2/3s) is less
than 75%(3/4s).  The explanation stayed with me for life.)
     Once his intellectual superiority had been established,
Gene turned out to be very nice.  He was of medium height,
very thin and pale, with dark mousy hair and brown eyes that
seemed larger than they actually were because of thick
glasses.  His face and hands were delicate.  I don't know
why he was hospitalized, but it had to be something serious
because he was there when I arrived and he was still there
when I left.  I think he was undergoing a battery of tests,
but since he didn't explain anything, I decided not to ask.
     The morning of my surgery Gene was constantly at my
bedside telling me there was nothing to fear.  As it often
happens, the more he tried the more scared I was.  I went to
surgery stiff with fright which was mistaken for stoicism.
At least that's what the surgeon later told my parents, that
I was a brick and never cried.  I sure didn't, I was
paralyzed with fear and forgot even to cry.
     When I was brought back, Gene fed me ice cream to which
every person undergoing tonsillectomy was entitled and sat
with me half through the night telling me all kinds of tales
to keep my mind off the pain.  (Actually, there was very
little pain.)  I was not listening, but the monotonous
mumbling of his voice acted as a soporific, and I soon fell
asleep.
     The following day was very busy:  my parents came to
visit, a friendly nurse (a friend of a friend) appeared out
of nowhere, and then of course I was taken to see the
surgeon. By the end of the day I was totally exhausted.
     Before going to bed I realized that I had to pee, but I
was afraid to go to the bathroom by myself because my head
was still spinning.  I could have asked a nurse, but nurses
were women, and I didn't like the idea. So I asked Gene
instead.
     Gene was very accommodating.  Right away he got out of
bed, and walked me to the bathroom.  Since I was afraid to
stand without support, I asked him to hold me while I took a
leak.  He did, looking on as I fumbled with the fly of my
pajamas looking for my small pee-pee.  When I fished out my
penis through the opening and peed, Gene watched it with
lively interest, or so it seemed to me.
     When I was done, he said, "My turn."  Still holding me
with his left arm, he fished out his penis with his right
hand.  It was about three times longer than mine, but it was
rather thin.
     I looked at him. He turned red.
     "Are you embarrassed?" I asked.  He nodded, so I
repeated Uncle Gray's motto, "What is natural is not
shameful."
     "It is not shameful," he said.  "I am just not used to
having a small kid watch me while I pee."
     "You watched me," I said.  And then, inspired, I asked
him, "Would you like to hold it?"
     He didn't answer, but simply put his hand inside my
pajamas and touched my penis.  It stood up right away.  As
Gene stood holding my penis, I put my hand inside his pajama
pants and touched his pubic hair.  It was wiry, more so than
head hair, and curly, even though Gene's head hair was
straight.
     "Gene," I asked him, "when am I going to grow hair down
there?"
     "When you turn 12," he said.
     "Five more years!" I exclaimed.  It sounded like an
eternity.  To me it seemed like almost my entire life.
     "We better finish," suddenly said Gene and flashed the
toilet.  I did not protest.  Needless to say, I wanted to
touch his everything, but all of a sudden I felt bashful.
But from that moment on I could think of nothing else.
     Next morning, after breakfast, Gene borrowed a portable
chess set from the hospital library and offered to teach me
how to play chess.  I already knew how to, my father was an
avid player, but that was precisely why I wasn't.  However,
as we started playing, with Gene lying on my bed, on top of
my blanket, I wormed my hand inside his pants and got hold
of the head of his penis.  It immediately surprised me and
started to grow increasing to catastrophic proportions.  I
could not believe it!  It was not the same penis that I had
been holding in my hand a couple of minutes before!
     Once again, Gene turned red.  But this time he didn't
touch me.  He just let me explore his long, and now thick
"tail."  I was so pleased, I closed my eyes and purred.  It
was the first penis other than my own that I touched in my
life.  And it was an adult penis at that (because a man of
18 was an adult for me)!
     I held on to its head.  Then I wrapped my tiny hand
around the shaft of his organ and felt it grow thicker and
stronger.  I ran my fingers along the shaft until I came
across his pubic bush.  I squeezed at the base of his
manhood eliciting a dreamy "M-m-m" from him.  But Gene was
nervous.  At every sound coming from the corridor he
shuddered and looked back.  Finally he said, "That's enough.
I don't want us to be caught."
     I didn't either.  But I was so taken that at night,
once again, I asked him to help me to the bathroom.  This
time, however, we made sure to lock the door and only then
pulled down our pants.  While Gene was fondling my little
pricklet, I slid my fingers under his and cupped his balls.
They were small, disappointingly so.  But I found it
pleasurable to roll them in my hand; then I grabbed his dick
again.
     Meanwhile, he never stopped fondling me.  Still with
one hand, he slid his hand down my side and grabbed my
behind.
     "What a silky ass you have," he whispered feeling my
small but firm globes.
     I pinched his ass.  It also seemed incredibly silky and
white.  For a short while, we stood holding on to each
other's behind.  Then we heard someone opening the door to
our room, and the nurse's voice said, "Are you there?"
     Gene made a sign, "keep quiet."  But I realized,
instinctively, that it was a wrong approach.
     "Yes," I said.  "We are here.  I had to pee and didn't
feel well, so I asked Gene to help me out."
     "Oh, that's fine," said the nurse.   She clearly did
not suspect anything.  "I brought you your nightly medicine.
I will leave it on your night table."
     "Thank you," I said.  And as Gene and I were fully
dressed now, I opened the door.  But the nurse was gone by
then.
     The next day I was released from the hospital.  I had
never imagined I would feel so sad to go.  Or rather leaving
Gene.  I hoped I would have at least one more chance to
grope him, but I didn't.  But I still remember you , Gene,
your "pencil prick," and small balls, and the wiry hair down
there, because you were the first adult to let me touch him.

                            * * *