Date: Sat, 26 May 2001 07:57:42
From: guess who? <spunkmachine@hotmail.com>
Subject: Squrts 2: Measuring Up

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 2: MEASURING UP

Adam tossed sleeplessly in his bed.  He flipped over on his belly,
instinctively working his hips in and out.  The weight of his body against
the mattress underpinned his pajamas, and his erect penis slid back and
forth in his underwear.  It was pleasant, this rhythmic friction, and he
sighed softly as he half-dreamed.  In his imagination he envisioned a
spotlit but otherwise dark stage.  A series of figures moved into view,
lingered a moment, moved off to the other side into darkness.  There was
Frank, his father, nose buried in a newspaper.  He looked up, showed a
flickering smile and returned his eyes to his newspaper before drifting
away at an angle.  Jake appeared, springing up from nowhere like a brigand
from ambush.  He gyrated in an extremely goofy Elvis impersonation, pushing
out his lower lip, black brows furrowing together as he grabbed a handful
of crotch.  Bucking his hips forcefully, he propelled himself sliding this
way and that across the stage floor until he sailed off the stage
spread-eagled.  Next came Mike, big and burly and already showing a dusting
of dark hair on his chest and belly (he was ever boasting these traits).
Mike flexed a doughty arm, slowly turning Adam his crooked, scurrilous
grin, then faded silently from view.  In and out of Adam's mind floated
these images until at last he slept, and it seemed that his visions and
fancies drifted seamlessly into dreaming.

Adam dreamt himself to be the protagonist of a fairy-tale adventure.  He
was a sailor-boy, faring the seas in his smart little dinghy, but
misfortune had appeared at the horizon: pirates! Adam was taken, tied to a
mast; unless mercy prevailed, he might be made to walk the plank, or yet
worse, he might be keelhauled.  He didn't know what it meant to be
keelhauled, but he knew it was worse than walking the plank.

The pirates were a motley lot, but one of them reminded Adam of a boon
companion of old, and presently recognition came: with only a flicker of
eye contact a secret pact was sealed.  The lad was remarkable young for a
pirate, but already comported himself with the confidence of a veteran
swashbuckler, outfitted in the Spanish mode, with a leather eye-patch,
scimitar swinging at belt and dagger gleaming in hand, his unruly black
locks caught in a red-white-black kerchief tied around his head.  Adam
could hardly restrain his wonder to see Jake bedizened in such rakish
fashion, but he dared not show his recognition lest he sabotage their
secret allegiance! But there were differences from the Jake he knew: this
Jake appeared somehow rougher, stronger, more rugged and seasoned, bigger
at the shoulder and arms, or perhaps this was just the effect of his
sleeveless leather vest, which swung open to the waist, revealing the taut
ripples of his torso.  Adam could trace out the form of Jake's half-foot
penis swaying and tumbling beneath his knee-length breeches as he hopped
about the deck and climbed, dagger clenched between his white teeth, high
into the crow's nest.  But he dared not let his eyes linger!

In the end Jake rescued him, of course, slashing the throats of the
remaining crew in a tour-de-force of mutinous chivalry (without blood of
course), and taking Adam in his arms, swung away on a rig before letting
go; they dropped with breathtaking slowness into Adam's dinghy while the
pirate galleon (which Jake, with unprecedented foresight, had doused with
rum and set aflame like a gigantic Crepe Suzette), burned to the waterline
as Jake, muscular arms pumping, rowed them away to safety....

Adam awoke suddenly in the dead still of night, feeling an odd gripping tug
at his heartstrings.  He had what Jake called a "raging hard-on;" he
groggily recalled his plans to measure it.  Though it was utterly dark in
the room (Adam had done away with his ancient night-light a year before),
he could hardly risk awakening his father by turning on a lamp.  Adam
tiptoed surreptitiously across the carpeted floor, and in the blind
darkness, groping with care, managed to find his school notebook.
Withdrawing the little plastic ruler from the pencil-pouch, he slipped it
into his sock and crept to the bathroom.

Nobody came to disturb him as he pushed his pajamas and underwear down to
his ankles and held his taut, hairless young penis against the cool plastic
of the ruler, pressing down on the arch to flatten the organ to its full
length.

Adam's puffy, light-shy eyes bulged.  Four-and-a-quarter inches! Perhaps he
was misreading the ruler, he told himself.  Was he measuring centimeters?
But sure enough, the tip just barely grazed the halfway line.  Never would
he have guessed it to be so big! It was only an inch-and-a-half short of
Jake's, if his brother's boastings could be trusted.

Taken by sudden impulse, Adam picked up a hand-mirror from the sink, the
one Jake used to style the back of his hair.  He held it down between his
smooth thighs.  It had never occurred before to look at himself this way,
but upon spying the little mirror the idea had just jumped into his head by
itself.

Boys look kind of weird down there, he thought to himself.  All red and
wrinkly and leathery like an apricot just before it starts to turn.  His
balls did in fact look like some sort of overripe fruit, like a fallen
crabapple or a freestone peach with almost all the blush gone from it.
There was a faint ridge or a line, perfectly straight down the middle of
the scrotum, which traversed the bag from between the balls from the firm
knot of muscle right between his legs to the plump base of his penis.  This
feature, which he had never noticed before, reminded him of the two halves
of a plastic model ship glued together along the keel.  The idea struck a
familiar chord: his unusual dream of tonight.  What a silly dream: Jake
cast as Peter Pan!

With probing fingers, Adam felt the rigid shaft.  The swollen central stem,
which was the hardest part, continued way down under the skin, a good
distance between his balls, like the root of a tree.  Adam stood up, held
the mirror between bowed legs.  How funny his butt looked, like a pair of
little pink balloons pressed together between his legs.  From this angle,
the inner root of his erection showed distinctly prominent under his balls.
It was as if a metal bar went right through his penis down to his asshole!
With his free hand he touched this spot again.  It felt oddly satisfying
and pleasant to jab his fingers into the hard cock-root with his
fingertips; it made his entire cock and balls tighten and throb.

Four-and-a-quarter inches!

Before tonight, Adam had never even thought of his penis in terms of inches
-- until Jake had bragged about his six.  It had been a discovery, this
clandestine midnight excursion to the bathroom, or even several
discoveries.  Adam found his genitals -- especially the underside, which a
boy seldom gets to see -- a source of new fascination.  The angle of the
mirror, which put his dick in foremost perspective (it appeared the most
massive object in view), afforded him a bold new world of self-awareness,
even self-pride.  The smooth cloven head, like a squashed heart-shape, the
faint red ring encircling the shaft about an inch below, the shaft itself
curving up from the balls like a peeled ripe banana -- four-and-a-quarter
inches of proud boyhood!

Adam recalled what dad had said about jacking off.  He had sort of glazed
over the description of what exactly the activity was, mumbling something
about "rubbing the penis, back and forth, over and over again...."  Adam
set the mirror on the counter, planted his bare buttocks on the toilet seat
lid, and taking hold of his erection at the base, began to jerk his wrist
rapidly this way and that, so that his penis flopped and bounced right to
left, slapped against his stomach and down between his legs, setting his
plump red boy-balls to jiggling.

The process didn't seem to be doing much for him, and even hurt a little.
He wondered: how soon till it starts to feel good? Perhaps he was doing it
wrong, or else -- and this seemed somehow to make more sense -- his little
body was not yet grown enough to produce the good feelings.

A sound from the hallway, a door opening!

Adam sprang to his feet, whirled about, flushed the toilet.  In a panic he
hauled up his underpants, his pajamas.  Footsteps in the hallway -- the
ruler! Adam grabbed it just in time, tucked it into his right sock and
covered it with the leg of his pajamas.

Jake, muttering epithets to himself, to the effect that nature tended to
call at the damnedest times, felt a rise to his crankiness upon opening the
bathroom door, to discover Adam at the sink washing his hands at one in the
morning.  He had noticed the light leaking from under the door, and had
hoped to find the bathroom vacant so that he might rouse the culprit from
the peace of slumber and berate him for the oversight.  But he was to be
denied this pleasure, as he now discovered upon throwing open the door.
Adam looked up in bland innocence.  Jake peered in, squinting at the glare,
his face puffy with sleep.

"Haul ass," said Jake, "I got a piss hard-on."

Adam said sheepishly: "I have to finish washing my hands."

Still half-dozing, his eyes barely parted, Jake edged into the bathroom and
shut the door behind him.  Immediately a warm sweet redolence, the smell of
sleep, filled the air of the little room, as if Jake had brought with him
the air under his bedcovers.  It was by no means an unpleasant smell, but
rather an intoxicating melange of shampooed hair, flannel infused with
fabric softener, and a boy's natural clean essence, which Jake exuded.
"Aw," he mumbled, "who gives a shit."

Rubbing his already immaculate hands under the running water, Adam watched
his brother sidelong from the corner of his eye, hoping that his furtive
surveillance would escape attention.  Jake, if he noticed at all, seemed
not to care, and flipped up the toilet lid, then the seat.  He leaned
forward over the bowl, almost straddling it, supporting himself with his
left forearm pressed against the tiled wall, craning out his neck and
hanging his tousled head in the crook of his elbow.  Standing on the balls
of his feet, Jake shoved down his boxers with his right hand sufficiently
low to expose his erect penis, which sprang into view like a big wild furry
jungle beast.  With his thumb and forefinger Jake forced his stiff cock
down toward the bowl.  The piss did not come as a stream; instead, Jake
forced it out in a series of pressurized squirts, grunting softly and
flexing his buttock-muscles with each forceful splash against the
porcelain.

Adam struggled to keep his eyes at a surreptitious periphery.  There was
simply too much to take in at once.  The unexpected sight of Jake's hard-on
came as a shock.  What a thing big boys had between their legs! It looked a
lot bigger than just an inch over his own; it looked HUGE! So thick, so
veiny and lurid, the head an angry purple knob.  Adam looked a little
further down, and considered his own balls.  Compared to Jake's fuzzy
monsters, they were pea-sized!

At last Jake's bladder was drained, spurt by agonized spurt.  He stood back
and shook out the last few drops, bouncing up and down on his tip-toes, and
slowly seemed to become aware of his younger close beside him, watching.

Watching.

"You like what you see, fag? Told you it was big."  And without waiting for
Adam to retort, Jake started to moan in a drowsy chant:

       "You can squeeze it, you can shake it,
       You can bang it on the wall,
       But you have to zip your pants
       For the last drop to fall...."

Jake snapped his boxer shorts back up around his waist, catching his
erection in them.  He heaved a sigh, then said with lewd relish: "Ahhh,
there it goes.... Whatever you were doin' in here, squirt, you can get back
to it now, but don't leave the friggin' light on or the water either, or
I'll wait an hour and then come gitchya up."  Halfway through his remarks,
Jake had lowered his voice into a mere whisper, and when he reached the end
of them he turned aside, shuffled from the bathroom, giving the door a
gentle kick so that it swung almost shut but remained ajar.

Fearing that Jake's threat had been real, Adam felt disinclined to carry
his adventures in the bathroom any further for the night.  Presently he
returned to his own bedroom, having remembered to turn off both water and
light, and also to flush the toilet after Jake, who had forgotten to do so.