Date: Sat, 16 Feb 2002 11:00:22 -0500
From: XH4M <xhuge4muscl@hotmail.com>
Subject: BIG IS BETTER 03

BIG IS BETTER

By XH4M

This story is a fantasy.  All characters in this story are fictional with
no resemblance to any real persons implied.  Any reader with objections to
graphic descriptions of sexual encounters between males, who may not have
reached the legal age of consent, or whose local, regional, state or
national jurisprudence prohibits such descriptions, should NOT read
further.  Copyright (c) 2000 XH4M.  All rights, implicit or implied, except
for distribution by this archive and personal use by the individual
downloading the file, are reserved.  Inquiries regarding publishing rights
for this story should be directed to: xhuge4muscl@hotmail.com


PART 03 - CUMMING OF AGE

I was equally as naive about puberty.  I had no name for what was happening
to me, let alone if or when it happened to other boys.  Looking back, I
realize I started to sexually mature - and very much to my dismay, please
understand - earlier than most other boys.  By 9 years of age, the little
lump that would become my scrotum was already noticeable to me.  This was
all-too-quickly followed by the appearance of two distinguishable little
bumps inside the thing as well.  I was extremely concerned with my new
discovery, but too afraid to mention this to either of my parents.  And
before I'd even reached my 10th birthday, they had already fallen out of
me, like two... well... 'nuts' I guess.  In fact my very unwanted 9th
birthday present was the discovery of pubic hair, already becoming visible
even then.  And if I really didn't like at all how I looked (very ugly I
thought), then I absolutely detested the gooey little spots of something on
my nightshirt every morning.  It was like I was peeing in my sleep, only I
knew it sure wasn't pee.

These spots too-quickly evolved into a nightly puddle of semen constantly
soaking the crotch area of my nightshirt which, for all practical purposes,
resembled a thin long cotton tank top.  My nuts were now more clearly of
the variety 'walnuts,' too.  All of these physical changes in me were
becoming my own very private nightmare.  I began to routinely visually
check the every-changing status of these rapid physical developments
happening to my body.  I usually performed my inspection while I was seated
in the outhouse.  Both fascinated and yet scared, I observed my 'walnuts'
gradually changing into - err... well.. something resembling more like two
pullet eggs.  Their surrounding bag of skin was definitely getting bigger,
too, but seemed to be lagging behind what was actually needed.  My two
'eggs' continually stretched the skin surrounding them to accommodate their
ever-increasing size.  Understand that I was clearly not at all OK with
what was happening - not one bit.  Once, I even held the two eggs in the
palm of my hand, and lifted them heavenward to offer God a trade-of-sorts:

"If you'd make me taller, you can make these smaller - PLEASE?"

He of course did not on either count.  I wondered if perhaps God was
punishing me for my sin of gluttony - or was it omission?  Too many sins
and I never did understand what most of them were anyway.  But I knew I'd
been rushing through my early morning chores to get to the breakfast table
faster, and part of my strategy was to deliberately 'not see' a good number
of the eggs in the hen house.  I mean, there were so many chickens!  I
wondered if He'd grown these 'eggs' inside of me so I'd be forever reminded
of that.

And I began to secretly change my own sheets.  Thankfully there were always
huge piles of laundry to be done, especially on a farm, and I naively hoped
maybe my mother wouldn't notice.  Certainly by the age of 10, I was awaking
daily in a virtual lake of sticky stuff - so much that it soaked through
into the straw mattress.  Just changing my sheets wasn't very effectively
concealing my problem anymore and I was one very worried boy.  Moreover,
there was this odd ammonia-like odor emanating from the
chronically-dampened mattress.

But God bless my mother.  One morning she came into my bedroom to get me
up, just as she'd always done.  But on this particular morning she paused -
and then sat down on my bed.

 "Peter - deyr ist ein smell in here.  Vaar ist dis coming from?"

The ruse was up.  My eyes started to tear as I tossed back the bedcovers to
show her all of my secrets - my punishments from God.  I was frightened,
frustrated and totally ready to fez up and finally be out with the truth.

"I'm sorry...  I'm SO sorry..." I whimpered.

She unhurriedly took in the entire scene with her eyes - both the obviously
fresh mess I'd created during the previous night as well as my prominent
'new' male anatomy which she could easily see through the drenched crotch
of my thin nightshirt.

"Ooohhh... my..." she said.  " I zee vat ist der problem...."

But to my utter surprise, she only smiled kindly and began to stroke my
head in a soothing manner, and continued:

"Dis ist O.K. mein Peter.  Dis ist OK... You ist yust ein big boy now!"

Reflecting back on that moment in my history, I realize she had a thorough
knowledge of - well - the special nature of the men in her immediate
family, I think - and their 'nocturnal specimens' included, though she
never spoke it aloud.  She simply accepted the facts of the matter just as
they were.  And since she was not a worldly or educated woman herself, she
may well have not even known this was anything unusual or way outside of
'the prevailing norms' - which it definitely was.

I do distinctly remember her words that followed, though....

"You're YUST like your vater AND your bruder, Zechariah!  Always know daat
Gott - He lovz you now - just the vay daat you ist.  For His own reazons,
He made all die menschen in mein family to be... ah, vell... very potent -
zee?  I vill yust change your bed every morgen, yust like I do
Zacariah's...."

"And Peter - you must never, never touch your... your "Little Johann."  To
make yourself do dis ting wit your hands, do you hear me?  It ist against
Gott's law.  Dat you do dis in your sleep, vell, dat ist ein normal ting
for a boy - dat you cannot help yourself.  O.K.?  Do you tink you
oonderstande?"

"Ya, Mama...."

And so ended what was the very first - and very last - of any sex education
I'd ever receive from either of my parents.

"Den Gut, Peter.  I vill make you zome anoder mattress to give dem a chanze
to dry outzide.  Zo you get up now und do your chorz, O.K.?"

"JUST like your father and brother?"

"Very potent...?"

"Zacariah's...?"

Just what was she telling me?  I mulled over those enticing little cryptic
tidbits as I quickly got dressed.  Well at least now I knew my 'thing'
apparently DID have a name - a 'Little Johann' she'd called it.  Mama made
me another mattress and began to change my bedding more regularly
thereafter, just as she'd said she would.  That practice continued right up
until I left home.  Unknown to me, she was already well-accustomed to the
copious amounts of nocturnal emissions which flowed in that house on a
regular nightly basis.  Apparently she'd been doing the same special daily
'chorz' for my older brother, for probably years ...