Date: Sat, 26 May 2001 07:57:42
From: guess who? <spunkmachine@hotmail.com>
Subject: Squirts 1: Boners

SQUIRTS

by Bambino


Author's disclaimer: The following a work of fiction.  All characters are
purely fictitious; any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental.
Although this story describes minor boys engaged in sexual activities, it
bears no relation to real events and as a work of literature is protected
under the First Amendment to the Constitution of the United States of
America.

The author retains the copyright on this work.  Distribution or posting of
this work without the author's permission is a violation of that copyright.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


CHAPTER 1: BONERS

When Adam was ten years old he heard his brother Jacob telling jokes to
their cousin Michael.  Several days later, alone with his father in the
carpentry shed, Adam sought to resolve a point that had left him stumped.
All bland innocence, he asked his father to supply the meaning of a term
which remained in his head from the boys' dialogue, and which had aroused
his curiosity.

Frank smiled down at his lathe as he worked and shook his head.  "Where did
you pick up those words?"

Adam, whose perceptions had toned his reflexes, thought quickly.  "I --
heard some boys telling jokes at school."

"Would you mind repeating them to me?"

Adam, embarrassed for reasons he could not clearly define, licked his lips
and reiterated as best as he was able to recall: "It went like this: a
hunter came home with a catch for his family's supper. The next day the
hunter complained to his wife that she hadn't cleaned the game very well,
since he'd been peeing out buckshot pellets since last night.  Then a
little while later the hunter's daughter came out of the bathroom and said,
'Mom, I've been feeling sick to my stomach and I just upchucked a bunch of
buckshot.'  And then the hunter's son came running in, just come from the
barn.  'I didn't mean to do it, I didn't mean to do it!' he cried.  'I was
just jacking off and I accidentally shot the dog!'  That's how it went."

Frank gave an easy chuckle and paused in his work.  He said: "Well, you're
at an age when you should start to learn about stuff like that, since
you'll be doing 'em before long...." And Frank explained a few facts of
life to his young son.

Adam considered the new information for a minute or two, his eyes wide with
curiosity.  "Is it really true that a lot of boys do that?"

"Most of 'em, if not all, make a habit of it.  It's a natural part of being
a boy."

"But -- I'm a boy, and I've never done it."

"I'm not calling you a liar, son, but you will, you will... when you get a
little older."

Adam, a small somber boy, knit the thick black eyebrows that had come as a
legacy from his Sicilian grandfather.  He asked: "Dad, can I go outside and
play with Storm?"

"Go outside and play."

A while later, Adam chased Storm -- the family Golden Retriever -- up the
path which led into the wooded uplands surrounding the Nucci house.  The
household consisted of three male inhabitants and frequent female visitors.
Adam's mother had died when he was still an infant, and he had no memory of
her.  The house itself was a rambling timber lodge, raised from the ground
by Frank Nucci with his own hands, surrounded by perhaps eighty acres of
woodland and scrub.

Adam considered his father an easy-tempered man.  He left Adam to do as he
pleased so long as homework and chores came first.  He did not resemble
other fathers in Adam's experience, such as cousin Mike's father, who
seemed harsh and overly strict.  Certainly Mike's dad would never have
entertained the discussion Adam had lately held with his own father, and
would have been taken aback by the utterance of a gutter-term like 'jacking
off.'  Even if the proper, more polite term were used for it -- Adam had
already forgotten the long word Frank had dropped -- the mere mention of
such a 'dirty' subject would have brought the red into his cheeks.  Adam
felt lucky and glad that he had the father he had.

He reflected on what his father had told him as he cavorted up along the
lane into the pastures of high yellow grass which flanked the borders of
the family property.  It still seemed so strange, although in some way it
also had come as less of a surprise than he had expected -- but to play
with his penis, as dad had described, "till it feels too good to stop," --
this was something he had never thought to do.  What could be meant by
"playing" with it? Even more mysterious was how this related to a joke
about a boy killing a dog by firing buckshot from his penis.  On one level,
Adam had grasped the principles: a boy's penis could grow big and hard
(this much he already knew from experience), and from it a boy could derive
pleasure through stroking or rubbing, which is kept up long enough results
in a wonderful feeling which his father had called a "climax."  If the boy
is old enough, some sort of stuff -- once again the word escaped Adam --
would come out of his penis at this point, something other than urine, and
if the feeling is strong enough, there could be quite a lot of this stuff
and it could spurt out far.  But little Adam, who yet lacked all experience
to which to apply these principles, only vaguely understood the humor of
the joke which had caused the older boys such snickers.

Out toward the eastern fringe of the Nucci property, a little creek ran
along the lane for some length, then darted off to the left and disappeared
underground, only to emerge at the basin of a little ravine a thirty-foot
scramble below.  Here, at the embankment, Adam liked to sit with Storm,
scratching patterns into the sandy grit of the path, tossing pebbles into
the creek and trying to make them ricochet.  Jake had demonstrated how to
do this on several occasions, but Adam had trouble recalling the precise
knack of the trick to make it succeed.

At last he gave up his attempts and sat scratching the lonely place between
Storm's ears.  He brought forth a pack of granola bars he had taken from
the house, when he heard the voice of Jake, his older brother.

Adam looked up.  Down the lane sauntered Jake, who had passed the weekend
with their older cousin Mike, presumably in the legendary treehouse the
boys had built high in the crotch of a massive oak beside Mike's house,
with both tools and a hand or two borrowed from Frank.  For reasons never
made clear to Adam (but which he suspected had much to do with topics
favored for discussion by the older boys on which he had little to say), he
was forbidden to enter the treehouse.  Adam had protested this seemingly
unfair exclusion on only one occasion, but his tears had seemed, as always,
only to excite the boys' antagonism all the more.

"But why won't you let me come in the treehouse?" Adam had pleaded.

"Not today," said Jake.

"When, then?"

"When you grow dick-hair you can come in," had been the jeering response,
and Adam had bawled anew, digging his nails into the roots of the old tree
for sheer impotent rage.

For a period Adam had put the treehouse out of mind, with the help of
Frank's balancing the checkerboard by thenceforth barring Jake from the
carpentry shed (a serious loss for the tinkering Jake), but the decision to
preserve the exclusive secrecy of the treehouse had held sway, apparently
enforced by voices stronger than that of Jake -- most probably that of
Mike, which carried the most weight of all in the matter, since the tree
grew on his family's property.  And so, by gradual degrees, the issue of
the treehouse had lapsed from Adam's attention, until perhaps a month ago,
when a rumor began to circulate to the effect that Mike's father had
discovered Playboy magazines stashed therein.  From what had reached Adam's
ears, Mike had escaped a beating, but only because his chum Nate had
confessed to having supplied the contraband literature.

Adam thought to hear Mike's big four-wheeler haul away as Jake approached.
Jake, bearing a strong resemblance to both father and brother, was thin and
dark-haired, with keen strong features in constant agitation.  His
almond-shaped eyes glittered, blinked, peered, screwed up, rolled right and
left; his impudent nose twitched; he grinned, grimaced, sneered, showed his
teeth, licked his lips, guffawed when a chuckle would have sufficed; he
scratched his nose, under his arms, rubbed his ears, made swaggering,
violent gestures.  To some extent Jake also resembled their cousin Mike,
who was likewise dark and fox-faced, although Mike was a head taller,
broader at the shoulder by an arm's width and where Jake was slim and
half-fledged, Mike was stocky and muscular, with meaty legs and a powerful
chest.

"Come on, squirt," said Jake.  "You hafta help me rake the back patio."

Adam looked up sharply to this affront.  "Who says I hafta?"

"I say, or else dad finds out about the broken curtain rod.... What's that
you're eating?"

"Granola bars."

"Gimme some.... I haven't eaten anything today except toast for breakfast.
Except now I gotta take a piss first."

Jake stepped up to overlook the embankment, unceremoniously zipped down the
fly of his overalls, inserted his entire hand and seemed to fumble around
in search of something, made a catch which he then drew out through the
fly.  He aimed his handful skyward and liberated a noble sparkling stream
high into the air with an exaggerated show of relief, grimacing, puffing
out his cheeks, jogging his head and sighing forcefully, whistling between
his teeth and dropping his jaw so that his tongue lolled limp.  In the
diffuse light of the southern afternoon the urine formed a glittering arc
which cascaded down the embankment, splashed on the rocks below, mingling
with the brackish little creek.  Adam, watching his brother wring himself
dry, was once again reminded of his talk with dad, and Jake's ribald joke
that had been the start of it.  Jake bounced up and down on his tip-toes --
a family mannerism that Adam, too, employed when trying to shake free the
last few drops.  The older boy glanced suspiciously sidelong.  "Whatchya
lookin' at, fag?"

Adam gave a snort of derision, flicking his gaze to the bottom of the
ravine.  "Nothing."

"Nothin', huh?" Jake turned forward, to face Adam, and leering down with
eyes wickedly agleam, lip curled in a contemptuous smirk, knees bent apart,
hips thrust forward, he grasped his still exposed penis, brandished it,
flourished it, whirled it about with randy pride.  The big flaccid teenaged
penis flopped about like a rubber snake, and Jake seemed to take an obscene
relish in shocking his little brother.  "Nothin', eh? You call this
nothin'? Six inches of nothin', that's what you're lookin' at, boy!"

"Is not six inches!" blurted Adam.

"Is too!" brayed Jake, packing himself away in his overalls.  "When it's
boned up it is too six inches -- I measured it! You wouldn't even know
which end of the ruler starts with the number one."  He shot Adam a
defensive glower as he zipped up his fly.

Adam started to mumble a retort, but thought better of it and was silent.

The two set off along the lane toward the rambling house, Jake munching
granola and pointedly keeping distance between himself and his insufferably
naive little brother.  Adam kept his eyes on Jake as he trundled and hopped
through the reeds a few yards ahead: an active dark cat in baggy overalls.
Through long experience, Adam was well-trained to read Jake's many moods.
In such as that evinced so far by Jake's behavior today, Adam must be
prepared for all sorts of malicious pranks.  Most likely Jake had met with
differences with mike; the two often clashed, but always Jake was the first
to defer to the older, bigger and more experienced cousin.

Despite the taunts at the embankment, and whatever his mood, Jake today
seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts as he cut through the high grass
with a dead branch.  Alongside came Storm, panting and wagging his tail.
Adam's mind was a whirlwind of thought.  Was Jake telling the truth? Adam
had known about "boners" for years -- often, and with increasing frequency
lately, he woke awoke in the morning with his own penis stiff and taut --
but SIX INCHES! The idea of having a penis half the length of a ruler
seemed enormous, impossible! Adam considered his own penis.  Surely it was
nothing close to six inches, when it was hard, that is.  But just how big
was it? When he got his next boner, he would measure it.

Jake seemed to be reading his brother's thoughts.  Across the meadow he
cavorted, prancing to the steps of a parodied jig and caroling, "I's gots a
big one, I's gots a big one!" clutching a handful of fabric and flesh at
his crotch.

Adam's mind once more returned to the conversation with dad.  One phrase in
particular stood out stark in his memory: "Most boys do it, if not all.
It's a natural part of being a boy...."

Adam wondered: did Jake do it -- did his big brother 'jack off'? And if so
-- if Jake toyed with his self-confessed six-inch boner, rubbed it and
stroked it until he reached a 'climax,' and maybe even, if he was old
enough yet, made the mysterious juice that dad had said boys' balls start
to make when they got to be a certain age -- if Jake 'jacked off' -- did
dad know about it?

Adam eyes his big brother in light of this new suspicion, his
flesh-and-blood brother, a hopping, untame creature, moody and
unpredictable and given to freakish jokes, and a frequent source of fear
and anxiety -- as well as irresistible admiration and envy -- for the young
Adam.  He tried to picture Jake stealing away alone to some private place,
where he could be by himself and jack off.  Jake, with nobody around to
disturb him, pleasuring his six-inch boner, compelled by the mysterious
urges that, as dad had explained, make jacking off so irresistible to all
growing boys.  The idea brought a strange new emotion to Adam's mind, a
queer hot-cold embarrassed flush that was not completely unpleasant.