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º The story that follows contains descriptions of º
º an EROTIC & BISEXUAL nature about a young boy and º
º other children, teens and adults. It is meant to be º
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º exploration of certain taboo themes without undue º
º sensationalization or exploitation. It is also an º
º experiment to see if more material like this is of º
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º explores theme changes from chapter to chapter. º
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A Bend in the Road
by R. Palme
... a story of a young boy's coming of age...
Introduction
My name is Kyle Spencer and I am a twenty-year-old freshman at university.
I am studying language arts and my life long dream is to be a writer. A
teacher in my private prepatory school once told me that the world's
greatest writers draw best from their own experiences. So, in this first
effort, I am sharing with you a truthful and open account of my memories
of a very different coming of age. You might find it strange, bizzare or
maybe even boring in parts, but it is a true and lengthy account. "Truth
is stranger than fiction."
Chapter One:
Samuel & Bed-wetting
I had always prided myself on being a "precocious" child, ahead of my
years and a bit of a handful for my professional parents. When I turned
nine years old, my parents plotted their revenge. In the late summer of
that year I was promptly shipped off to Shawnigan Lake School for Junior
Boys.
Most adults would understand that that kind of news can be shocking to a
little boy. But think how much more shocking if that boy were a
bedwetter!
Shawnigan Lake was a place where rich parents and divorced women sent
their kids to get rid of them for a while, either to get them out from
underfoot, or to clear the way for unbridled middle-aged sexual
adventures. My step-Dad swears on the bible that they he me to Shawnigan
for a good old-fashioned prepatory education, but I think it was his way
to try to cure me of my bedwetting problem.
On the night after they told me my real Dad died, I was six years old. I
had never wet the bed before. I had a vivid dream that re-occurs
occasionally to this day. In that dream I am at our beach house, along
the West Vancouver coast in British Columbia. My real Dad and I are
swimming in the sunny waters off a private cove beach shared by several
families in the area. Only it's not my real Dad, but he's similar,
strong, gentle and faceless. We are playing together, splashing and
carrying on when I climb into his lap, waist high in the warm water. It's
the warmest, most comfortable feeling in the world. There he begins to
tickle me, and tickle me until, giggling wildly, I can no longer hold my
pee and it spurts out in a warm flow around my swim-suit and into the warm
salt water. I feel so relaxed and happy, and the faceless Dad begins to
focus and smiles and comforts me. But before I can really make out the
face, I wake from the dream in a sweat.
That first morning I rolled over and was shocked awake again by the sudden
cold of my soaking-wet flannel pyjamas. I started to cry. My mother came
in my room and immediately saw the large yellow stain that creeped across
the mattress and sheets. She seemed distressed, but stopped herself from
scolding me because of what happened to my real Dad. She kept quiet and
slowly stripped me out of my wet bed clothes. The housekeeper was told to
draw a hot bath to clean me up.
After that incident I only wet the bed a couple more times until I was
about eight, usually after having that dream. But my Mom got remarried to
some guy "Samuel" from Alberta, who moved in with us after their
honey-moon. That day it happened again. I had the day off from school to
go to the airport with our housekeeper to meet them with a car. The plane
was late and I was very tired and bored of the whole affair. As the car
sped home, rocking gently as cars do, I fell asleep in the back seat. I
dreamed the dream and before I could see the face of the faceless man I
awoke having peed in my pants! I was eight, an almost grown-up boy and it
was humiliating. I tried to hide it but as soon as I stepped out of the
car at home, Samuel noticed it. Right away he turned to my mother and
started yelling. I started crying and ran in the house with the
housekeeper close on my heals.
Samuel must have talked my mother into letting him handle it because she
did not come up after me. Before I could start to pull off my wet pants,
Samuel came into my room and ordered me to leave my wet pants on, to teach
me a lesson. He told me to stay in my room until he came back later. I
heard him tell the housekeeper and my mother that he had a fix for "little
babys" and that they weren't to go in my room. I just cried myself to
sleep on my bed.
Later that afternoon Samuel came back and entered my room with a shopping
bag from Sears. He called me over saying he had a something for me and
with a big grin pulled out a flanelette diaper and a pair of opaque
plastic pants.
"If you want to be a big baby, Kyle, then we're going to start treating
you like one."
"N...n..no, I promise I won't pee my pants again, really, I promise!" I
squealed in protest as he grabbed me and started scooting me by the arm
towards the bathroom. I started crying and my mother looked concerned,
but she just hung back a little, figuring it was the right thing to do.
My face burned with embarrassment and anger at my new "Dad" who really
seemed to be enjoying this. He pushed me first into our large master
bathroom and followed, closing the door behind him.
He stood above me screaming, "What are you?"
"WHAT ARE YOU?!"
"I don't know?" I responded meakly.
"You're a baby and a pants-wetter and do you know what happens to little
boys who wet their pants?"
"I don't know," I said quietly.
"Yes you do. They have to put on a diaper, just like a little baby. Now
tell me what happens or I'll spank you!"
"Th..th...they have to wear a diaper?"
"Say to me, Kyle: 'I'm a little baby who wets his pants and has to wear a
diaper'"
Silence
"SAY IT!" his hand moved ominously towards his belt buckle.
"I c..c..can't, " I sobbed.
The belt buckle came undone.
I started slowly, sobbing the whole time. My face burned with tears.
"I'm a little baby....."
"Who wets his pants!"
"...who wets his pants...and I have to wear a diaper..."
"There! Now don't you feel better!" Come here now, I'll undo your pants
like a little baby." And with that he undid the button on my jeans and
pulled down the zipper revealing my white cotton underpants now stained
yellow with dried pee. He took one disgusted look and then grabbed and
yanked down my pants and underwear in one swift move, leaving me half
naked in front of him. My humiliation was horrible and it wasn't yet
over. I could tell that from the gleam in his eye.
He told me to turn away from him. I did, slowly, wondering what was next.
I felt so ashamed, standing there cold, smelling like little boy's pee
with my underpants and pants down around my ankles - naked in front of
someone who I hardly knew, an adult I didn't trust. I started to cry
again.
"Shut up and don't cry like a baby!" More sobbing as I stood there for
what seemed an eternity being more and more humiliated, thinking about
being put in baby's diapers. And then without warning, WHAP! I felt a
hard sting at my backside as he landed a first stroke on my bare bottom.
And then another. I started shivering with rage and fear. I tried not to
cry but my face burned where the tears started to streak down across my
cheeks. Then it stopped.
I waited, embarrased and cold, still looking away from him. "That's
enough Kyle, you'll learn your lesson. Now I have to put your diapers
on." Then he took me by the shoulder and pushed me down to lie on the
bathroom floor, facing up. My burning bare bum cooled on the cold tile
floor. He grinned at me and lifted my legs up removed my pants and
underpants with his other hand, throwing them into the corner of the
bathroom by the clothes hamper. He let my legs back down and I was
completely naked from the waist down in front of him. He seemed to linger
his eyes on my hairless groin and I made a move to cover myself with my
hand. Taking the cloth diaper he lifted my legs up again, even higher so
my bum was lifted off the floor, and laid the diaper under me. I could
not resist, or even struggle for fear of another spanking. He took out
another item from his bag, which I recognized as baby powder and began
sprinkling it on my pee pee saying, "All little baby's have to have baby
powder !" After the powder he wrapped the flannelette up between my
little legs and pinned it around my waist. It felt smooth and warm, but
all I wanted was for it to be over so I could go to my room and hide. Next
he brought out the diaper pants and put them over my feet and pulled them
up my legs and over the diaper. "There, now you're just like a little
pants-wetting baby."
I stood and waddled back to my room in the diapers. I wasn't supposed to
come out of my room and the housekeeper brought me dinner on a tray. I
sat at my desk in my diapers feeling embarassed, humiliated and squeemish.
But something about that incident left a lasting impression in a little
boy's mind, because it all seemed sort of erotic to me.
Well that night I had the dream and wet the diaper again. The discovery
the next morning brought another spanking and thoroughly upset Samuel who
thought he had dried me up forever. He changed me into a dry diaper and I
had to spend all day Saturday in it. Sunday morning he came into my room
and pulled my sheets down of me. Without speaking he reached his hand
down into the front of my diaper to feel if I was wet. I didn't wet it
this time and I got to take them off during the day. Sunday night he came
into my bedroom again at bed time and pulled off my pyjamas and put
another diaper on "Just in case." I got to take them off before school on
Monday morning. After that I had the dream a few more times and had wet
nights which were sometimes followed by being put in diapers for the next
night or two. Shortly thereafter Samuel moved us down to California to
live in his house in Santa Barbara.
Chapter-Two:
Shawnigan Lake
Private school was originally my step-Dad's idea. Samuel, as I called
him, had gone there and put the bug in my Mom's ear that I would have a
"unique boy's-life experience," whatever that is. He figured the pressure
of being humiliated as a bedwetter with other boys would soon dry up my
few wetting nights.
It was your typical exclusive, classy, boring, boarding school, full of
stuffy tradition, rules and discipline, located in a rural area of
Vancouver Island. That's off the coast of British Columbia, up in Canada.
My family's headquarters was a large beach bungalow in Santa Barbara,
California. I wasn't really too keen on leaving the radical beach
lifestyle at age ten.
Yet, despite what I thought was a convincing argument to the contrary, I
was forced to trade all my old friends, my own pinball machine, a 21"
colour TV, my own fridge, a three-times-a-week-college-aged-maid (who
possessed an over-endowment of all that makes California girls "the
best"), and a private bedroom with bath overlooking the beach for . . .
(big breath) . . . a row of musty old buildings deep in the woods around a
swampy lake, overseen by Nazi concentration camp guards in hiding, an army
of snotty nosed brats who've probably never even been surfing before, and
a tiny bedroom with no fridge, no TV, and a roommate. Yuch! I was not
impressed, but what can you do?
The school was huddled together like circled wagons awaiting an Indian
attack. The main grouping of low buildings consisted of The Lodge, The
Dorm, and The School Proper. There were two large houses, one for
teachers, the other for the head master and his wife. A rickety old
boathouse extended out on The Pond. Redwoods and Douglas Fir trees were
everywhere, dripping with spagnum moss and a high wrought iron fence and
gate protected the front entrance. I suspected that it was built as much
to keep little boys locked in, as to keep strangers and wild animals out.
It was quite a ways from town, not too many neighbors, and only one main
road, quite isolated really. However, there was also a senior boy's
school not too far down the road and a girl's school too, but way on the
other side of the lake.
Chapter Three:
Christopher's Eyes
Those eyes. It was his eyes that everyone admired most. The first time I
saw Christopher he was standing at the entrance to the Long Hall, near the
gates to the school's grounds. I had just arrived on the school bus that
picked up a group of us new boys from our parents in town. He was crying,
not out loud but more like sobbing really. I imagined that he had either
been punished by one of the Nazis or was homesick or something. He hadn't
expected someone to come along, and choked back his last sobs, a run of
clear snot still streaking his quivering upper lip. I trudged by with my
luggage dragging low, contemplating the hopelessness of my own prison term
at this death camp. He was a bigger kid and looked tough, which gave me a
perverse thought, "What a baby! Misses his parents already . . . bet he
wets the bed." He stood with his legs parted slightly and I looked at his
jeans. They bulged out a bit, I knew he wasn't a fat boy, he was lean and
muscled for pre-pubescent, but something was funny. And then I had a
funny thought. I'll bet he was wearing diapers. What a humiliation it
would be for a tough kid.
I guess that he could read my thoughts, because as I stole a second glance
at his eyes, I was disarmed by his intense gaze returned. The blueness of
his eyes was striking, very light, robin's egg blue. His lashes were long
and wispy where they hadn't been wet by tears, and they seemed to reach
out and caress everything they surveyed.
His lashes weren't those scary blond eyelashes that look albino. They
were a light brown-ashey colour that suggested softness despite his tough
exterior. I was drawn to him immediately. As I looked on, he scowled
angrily at me and I was truly afraid that he had read my thoughts.
I returned a timid smile, crinkling my nose and brow, in a weak gesture of
appology. Immediately his blue eyes sparkled and grew wide. I felt
suddenly exposed. His eyes probed deeply into mine, freezing me in my
tracks for almost a minute. It was as if he wanted me to see inside him,
past the tough exterior, to a lonely little boy inside.
In those eyes I could see a world of pain and laughter and sadness all
expressed at once, so that if one were to put their hand up and block out
the view of his lips and nose, they wouldn't be able to tell if he was
smiling, crying, or angry. What you could feel within the pupils of those
two orbs was fathomless, really a kind of emptiness.
I had to think to breathe again and I suddenly got a giddy feeling in my
stomach and privates that made me need to go to the bathroom right away.
Catching my breath nervously, I turned away embarrased, continuing on
quickly to the dorm to find the bathrooms. That's all I needed was to pee
my pants on the first day. Those eyes. He had that much effect on me,
and it made a lasting impression.
A Bend in the Road
by R. Palme
... a story of a young boy's coming of age...
Introduction Revisited
My name is Kyle Spencer and I am a twenty-year-old freshman
at university. I am studying language arts and my life long
dream is to be a writer. A teacher in my private preparatory
school once told me that the world's greatest writers draw
best from their own experiences. So, in this first effort, I
am sharing with you a truthful and open account of my
memories of a very different coming of age. You might find
it strange, familiar or maybe even bizarre in parts, but it
is a true and lengthy account. "Truth is stranger than
fiction."
Now please enjoy ... A Bend in the Road, Part 2
Chapter Four:
A Boy's Life
Life at the school was not really as bad as I had imagined it
would be. I was only ten, probably the shortest kid there.
A star pupil prematurely accelerated into a world of eleven
year olds. Having always been self-motivated and
resourceful, I knew how to loosely adhere to "rules and
regulations" without being a "teacher's pet," so I got along
ok. The food was mostly tolerable and the teachers mostly
stupid or blind and not too heavy on discipline.
There was a "rich" mix of rich boys from different countries
all over the world at our school. In my class I counted
three Japanese, two East Indian, six from Europe and one
black from Ghiana, Timothy Mbutu, who later became my friend.
The rest from U.S. and Canada. They were sons of diplomats,
bank presidents, doctors, lawyers . . . and one local
barber's son in the Sixth Grade who was teased endlessly; we
called him "Lotto Boy" because his father had won the lottery
and he really wasn't one of us.
Each morning before showers we had to stand in our underwear,
in front of our rooms during inspection. In our uniforms, we
all looked united, members of a group. In our underwear we
were reduced to our individual selves, naked, shivering and
masked only by the minimal cloth we chose to sleep in.
"Pyjamas were for babies," we had all decided the first
Friday night at a dorm get-together. It was the suggestion
of an older floor monitor, who I now suspect had wanted more
of an eyeful during the morning inspections.
It was funny to see the regional difference in choice of
undergarment. Timothy wore the thickest, cleanest white
cotton underwear I have ever seen. They stood out smartly
against his little dark-black body and I wondered if his
parents had thought he was being shipped to Alaska to go to
school. The french boys, Pierre and Robert wore these loose
cotton undies with a wide panel in front and no fly. Gunter
from Germany wore nylon bikinis in all different colours that
looked almost like bathing suits. Stripes seemed his
favourite and one pair that had holes worn on the sides that
let you see a bit more smooth pink flesh. Christopher stood
out because he was much taller than the rest of us and the
off-white pouch of his Jockey's was a little bit fuller,
showing early signs of puberty.
This was actually Christopher's second year at Shawnigan, he
was twelve and still in the Fifth Grade. The only reason he
was still at Shawnigan at all was because of his mother, a
fashion model. Where most of the kids' parents had either
money or influence, she must have had a bit of both.
I shared a room with James, a fat kid who was fanatic about
collecting hockey cards. The wall on his side of the room
was plastered with sets of the Vancouver Canucks, colourful
because of their ever-changing uniforms. His family lived in
the New Hampshire and put him in Shawnigan "until he learns
to behave like a gentleman," which is probably still a long
time coming.
Most of the kids were jealous of my home life, though they
shouldn't really have been, except for the beach, of course.
This was because I went home on the bus and then a plane from
the city of Victoria one weekend of every month. After the
first four months at Shawnigan, I settled in pretty much and
would ask to stay there with my friends some of those
weekends. Anything to stay away from Samuel.
By the start the new year, I was only going home on
obligatory holidays and school breaks.
Chapter Five:
Chris & Me
Some days, I would look at him from my desk by the windows,
not really contemplating the work, just admiring the way
Christopher teased the girls and gave smart answers to the
math teacher and sparkled his eyes. It never really occured
to me that it might be considered so inappropriate to adore
another boy so much.
Christopher was a mischeivous tough boy, often forgiven
because he was very beautiful really. He made us all call
him "Chris," because "Christopher" was what his mother and
the teachers called him. His light brown hair was always
tussled and long. He had fair skin but was nicely tanned
from the previous summer. He seemed to like the sun,
removing his shirt whenever he could. I wondered whether he
too was originally from California, or whether he just liked
to show off his body. He was slim and muscular for an
almost-twelve year old, not too skinny and a fast runner.
Whereas most of us just giggled a lot when someone said "bum"
or "fart" or "pee," Chris swore using adult words and taught
the rest of us to say "fuck" and "cunt" and "frig" under our
breaths. He didn't really fit in with the old-world money
crowd.
One time I came up behind him in art class, to look at his
drawings. While I stood over his desk, I sneaked a close
look at his neck, exposed above a cotton school shirt. His
skin seemed so smooth and soft, covered very lightly by a
boy's velvety fine hairs. I started to put my hand on his
shoulder but got scared and drew it away. The assignment had
been to draw a vase of flowers. His drawing was of a Harley-
Davidson motorcycle with flowers coming our of the handles.
He drew it perfectly from memory. Chris was a true rebel and
I admired that too.
I didn't think about my own appearance much in those days,
but I guess I was a normal cute nine-and-a-half-year old with
dark brown hair parted at the side and dark brown eyes, and
ears that stuck out too far from my head. My skin was
smooth, with a few freckles, and I had the faintest hint of
hair growth on my arms.
Of course I had already begun to learn about sex and growing
up through reading books. I even went so far as to inspect
my hairless groin daily for the first sign of puberty. I was
NOT looking forward to it. I had a large "attitude", being
rather smart for my age, and was a bit of a loner. The other
kids sometimes picked on me, calling me "perfessor" or
"teacher's pet." Some teachers did take a special interest in
me, as I would work quietly and usually finish first. This
left me lots of time for thinking, scheming and dreaming. It
also left me enough time to get up to other bits of boyhood
mischief.
That first fall, dreams of Chris as my "special friend"
filled my head constantly and it got so bad that I had filled
the pages of my personal scrap book with drawings of him and
me; as best friends, walking together, building a tree fort,
wrestling together on the grass . . . sitting on a stone
fence by the pond fishing. Those eyes of his.
Chapter Six:
First Awakenings
As I said, I knew a little bit about sex, but I hadn't really
done much of anything serious. I had just played innocent
games like most children who are curious about sex.
There was a time when I was eight. A little girl from a
nearby beach house, Susie, let me see her underwear while we
played "house" on an old mattress stored in her parents'
garage. She lifted her pretty dress over her head coyly. I
still remember the soft cotton-flannel material, double-thick
at the crotch, with pink roses in a pattern and a discreet
lace-like elastic around the each leg and the waist. I was
allowed to get on my knees and inspect closer, but had to
keep my hands behind my back. The cloth covering her young
pud was smooth and thick, steeped in a damp body warmness
that helped carry her "sweet pea" aroma. She wouldn't let me
touch it. I was only allowed to look and she giggled loudly
when I tried to smell. We didn't do it very long for fear
that her mom might be lurking nearby.
For some reason, the details of this experience made quite an
impression on me. Afterwards Susie made me give her my
favourite horse figure in payment. I enjoyed the thrill of
doing something illicit, sneaky, and erotic. We both knew
our parents wouldn't approve. But it was nothing serious,
really, just child's play.
At age eight-and-a-half I had a friend Terry, same age, who
would stay at our house afterschool until his mother, my
mother's best friend, came by on her way home from work. We
were left quite alone to do what we pleased since both my
parents also worked. I was an only child and our
housekeeper, Erma, was usually too intent on soap operas and
afternoon game shows. From 3:30pm to 5:00pm, when my father
returned home, we pretty much had the run of the house.
Terry was quite curious about sex and nakedness and such. He
kept wanting to play hide and seek where the object of the
person who was "it" was to pull down the pants of the other.
He was most often "it" and I got "de-pantsed" regularily.
Amongst our many other nasty games and rituals, the most
exciting was "Doctor". The patient would be slowly stripped
to his underwear and examined closely, one layer at a time.
Once, while playing Doctor, we found a box of my mother's
sanitary napkins. Terry convinced me that they were to
absorb a girl's pee, and that they were like a more grown-up
sort of diaper. He wanted to test this theory out, so we
discretely took two and wore them in our underpants for the
afternoon. We excitedly drank quantities of cold juice
trying to reach the point where we could no longer hold our
bladders. The dry pad felt good as it rubbed against my
little dick, but I felt oddly peculiar about what we were
doing to my mother's private things.
There we were, both standing in the bathroom with our pants
around our ankles, holding up our shirts and big bulges of
padding in the front of our briefs. It was difficult to try
peeing with my penis standing up out of excitement. We tried
to relax a bit and concentrate on "letting go" but before
either of us could really pee more than a dribble, I heard my
father pulling up in the driveway. We quickly flushed the
evidence down the toilet and tried very hard not to look
guilty the rest of that afternoon.
When his mother came, Terry raced out to the car. I supposed
he was very anxious to get home because he had not yet gone
to the bathroom. For days I was scared my mother would
discover the absence of two pads. Either she didn't notice
or thought the housekeeper took them.
The exhilaration and danger of discovery plus the sharing of
such intimate secret activities made Terry and I good
friends. In the hopes of pursuing our favourite activities,
we decided to form the Fun Club.
Chapter Seven:
The Fun Club
The activities of the Fun Club were fairly innocent and
limited to showing each other our underwear and collecting
pictures of girl's and women's lingerie from the Sears
catalogue, sharing stories, and the very occasional flash of
our privates. On one hot August night Terry, my girl cousin
Joline and another young friend Frank Stiller, were staying
overnight. We all got to talking dirty and Terry let slip
about the club. Of course Joline and Frank wanted to join
the Fun Club too.
My parents went out for dinner that night, leaving us alone
with Erma. All through our dinner, hamburgers and fries, we
just giggled excitedly and bugged each other nervously. Erma
must have thought we were crazy. Afterwards she went to her
room and concentrated on an episode of 60 Minutes. We locked
ourselves in the rec room, the basement of the beach house,
and turned the tv set up to mask our true intentions.
Terry wanted to come up with an appropriate initiation feat
for everyone to do. Fascinated by girls, he kept suggesting
we play "post office" or "spin the bottle" with Joline. She
protested that it wasn't fair since she was the only girl.
Surprisingly, her suggestion for a game was, "Why don't we
play strip poker." Supposedly her older brother and some of
his friends had talked her into playing once.
Being a girl, Joline was like an unknown animal to me. I was
curious but she could be dangerous. So I hesitated, not sure
if we should go through with it or not. Frank and Terry
pleaded with me to play, but we didn't have any cards in the
basement.
Frank was nosing around in a closet when he pulled out the
game Twister. He started spreading out that plastic cloth
with the coloured circles on it and suggested that we invent
a variation of the poker game. By this point my heart was
racing and I was thoroughly caught up in the anticipation of
actually getting to see a live naked girl. I had already
begun sneaking looks at my father's Playboys, hidden in the
back of his underwear drawer, so I had a good idea what it
was all about, but I really wanted to compare with a girl
around my age.
We sat down together in a circle on top of the plastic cloth,
much like we were having a picnic in the middle of the room.
Each of us selected our own personal colour; Red, Blue,
Green, and Yellow. With an initial spin of the Twister dial,
the person whose colour came up had to take off one piece of
their clothing. We then proceeded like stip poker. Terry
was the first to lose his shoe. Joline lost both her shoes
and a sock. I lost a shoe. It went like this until Frank
was the first to have to pull off his pants. Joline giggled
incessantly and we thought we'd get caught. Once Joline was
down to her underwear we started kidding around and going in
slow motion. Joline was a bit mad, saying "Go, go, go!"
Terry was the first to have to undress completely. He had
lost three rounds in a row. He stood up in his Superman
UnderRoos and slowly inched them down, revealing himself
directly to Joline. She scowled and giggled. Beingthe loser
we told him to run naked around the basement so we could all
get a good look. His little hairless pee-pee swung to and
fro. It was cold in the basement. His little wrinkled balls
were tight against his smooth boy's body. Terry declared
that it was unfair that he was exposed first and didn't get
to look at everyone else, so we decided to keep playing until
the last person was completely undressed. The next to lose
was Joline, then Frank and then myself until we were all
naked in the circle.
Mostly we gawked at Joline and she took her time sizing each
of us up (or down) too. She was ten, the oldest. But unlike
the women in my father's dirty magazines, Joline had no hair
above her "quim" (that was the word we sometimes used). She
was ten years old. I wasn't sure I liked older girls' hairy
pussies, since they seemed dirty or something. There was
something about Joline that was clean and fresh. I think she
boasted that her breasts were beginning to grow but they
didn't show that much.
Terry and I caught each other staring at Frank who was
uncircumsized. His parents were vegetarians and they
probably thought it was more natural or something. Anyways,
it looked cool, but different from our own. As we sat there
looking, we all grew warm and uncomfortable, with Joline
giggling again.
We weren't sure what to do next. Someone suggested that we
actually play the game of Twister in the nude. Before we
could make a move, however, Erma was banging on the basement
door saying, "What you chill'uns up to, anyways?"
A Bend in the Road : Part 3
by R. Palme
... a story of a young boy's coming of age...
Introduction Revisited
My name is Kyle Spencer and I am a twenty-year-old freshman at university. I
am studying language arts and my life long dream is to be a writer. A teacher
in my private prepatory school once told me that the world's greatest writers
draw best from their own experiences. So, in this first effort, I am sharing
with you a truthful and open account of my memories of a very different coming
of age. You might find it strange, familiar or maybe even bizzare in parts,
but it is a true and lengthy account. "Truth is stranger than fiction."
Now please enjoy ... A Bend in the Road, Part 3
Chapter Eight:
Show and Tell
I began to read a lot in the school library and from my encyclopedia
set. I also had an old copy of Dr. Spock's best-selling child care book that
I snuck out of our house. I knew about things like circumcision, genitals,
the importance of toilet training, what to tell your children about sex . . .
but I hadn't begun to initiate anything beyond looking. Nothing physically
sexual, anyways. With others or myself. I guess I didn't understand the
mechanics.
My first hint came just before I was sent to Shawnigan, I was playing
with a girl my age in her bedroom when she suddenly pulled me down on top of
her, on her bed. We were both fully clothed but her dress had ridden up so
her undies were exposed and that excited me. I was embarrassed so I tried to
get up and she promptly pulled me down on her again. I tried again and she
pulled again. I began to get a funny feeling where my little penis rubbed
against my underpants and her groin. As we kept this up I got more and more
excited until I was suddenly tingling over my whole body and my penis seemed
to be pushed hard against my pants. Overwhelmed and a bit scared, I slumped
down on top of her, breathing fast, trying to stop the motion from going any
further. I stayed that way until she was ready to push me off.
I had read about masturbation. I tried to rub my penis with my hand
once, but nothing much happened. Maybe I didn't do it properly. At the very
least, I wasn't much interested, being mostly caught up in the new school
experience. Not interested, that is, until I met Chris. His presence seemed
to spark something in me, like a match to gasoline. I guess you could say
that he exuded a budding sexuality, an aura of "experience" beyond all the
other boys in our class and grade. And I was truly intrigued.
It happened that one day after class and before supper, I was hiking by
myself in the bush near the school. We weren't really supposed to venture
from the school grounds, but everybody did anyways. I liked being alone out
in the woods. It exilerated me and my imagination soared out there. I was an
explorer and "cour de bois" making my northwest passage to the China Sea.
Along the way I collected dry twigs and bits of wood to make a fire for my
imaginary meal of beaver and skunk cabbage.
As I rounded a bend in the road that leads to the pond, I saw
Christopher alone by the bridge. He didn't see me so I ducked into the bushes
at the side. My adventure instantly became that of an international spy,
collecting evidence for counter-intelligence. He seemed to be fishing, his
rod propped against the side of the bridge. He was standing awkwardly near
this end of the bridge looking up and down the road. The air was suddenly
very still and warm. He looked around one last time and then walked into the
bush on the same side of the road as I was. My detective sense picked up that
something was going to happen. The wind picked up a bit and the leaves
rustled noisly. Being a good investigator and a cub scout, I decided to make
my way carefully towards him. The sound of the wind in the trees would mask
my approach. I also wanted to spy on him since he intrigued me so. Perhaps I
would learn how to make him like me.
I came up on him slowly, watching his figure in sections as he moved
past the many trees. He had moved deeper into the bush, about 10 yards from
the road when he stopped. The last few feet I crawled on my hands and knees,
being ever so careful not to make a sound. I was close enough I could see
everything, but I had to keep my head down, for fear of discovery.
Chris stopped and turned first one way and then the next as if he sensed
something. I kept my head down, trying not to make a sound. He seemed to
shrug it off. Next he reached down to the front of his pants. Slowly, almost
timidly, he undid his top button then zipper. He pulled his pants down a bit
in front exposing his worn underwear. I thought it was odd that he had to
take his pants down to pee. I had pretty much mastered peeing through my fly,
and was quite proud of it. I still prefered to take my pants right down,
though.
But instead of letting out a golden flow of urine into the bushes in
front, he sighed and began slowly rubbing the front of his cotton underwear
with his hand. I breathed nervously, somehow realizing the illicitness of
what I was about to see. Chris stopped again to listen to the air, obviously
he was just as nervous about being caught doing it. He still didn't see me
and resumed an up and down motion on the cotton front of his white underwear.
First with his fingers, then with his open palm and then with the knuckles of
his closed fist. It was slow at first and his cheeks became flushed and the
front of his pouch pushed out and up. My own face was flushed and my heart
beat a thousand times a minute.
Chris picked up speed with his rubbing. He started to breathe more
heavily, moving his hips slowly. His head tilted slightly back which brought
his chest forward and his hips back in a boyish arch. His round bum stuck out
more than usual and his knees were slightly bent. Those wonderful eyes took
on a far away gaze, blinking closed now and again as if he were thinking
deeply about something. His rubbing slowed and after another quick look
around, he slowly pushed the front of his briefs down with one hand revealing
his penis.
It wasn't huge at all but still bigger than mine. It wasn't even a
third as big as my father's which I had seen once while changing for the
beach. His balls seemed a bit larger than mine and hung a little further
down. I could feel my balls were now tight against my shivering body. It
also facinated me that he had the tiniest bit of hair just above the base of
his penis. It looked odd, his thin prick standing up tight against the smooth
whiteness of his belly. But I recognized it as something to admire. I had an
odd amount of respect for this unusual display of what I felt was maturity.
Chris clasped his hand around his little penis and began to jerk it up
and down. It looked like as if it might hurt, but he seemed to be enjoying it
something intense. Up and down, up and down, faster. I tried hard to swallow
but my throat was dry. I couldn't stop myself from coughing.
Chris' head whirled around and I ducked low in the bush. He was quickly
pulling up his pants, fearing that an adult had caught on to this little game.
Staying low, I tried to scramble further into the bush. But just as I broke
into a little grassy clearing, I felt his hand clasp my ankle which sent me
tumbling head first onto the ground.
A heavy weight was upon me, pushing my head into the dirt. The tall
grass made it impossible to see anything and I struggled and squirmed hard. I
could tell by the hard breathing that Chris was angry, and I was really
scared.
"What are you lookin' at?" he said as he turned me over, still sitting
on my legs.
"I didn't see nothing. You're hurting my legs." I thought it best to
play dumb.
"Why are you always spying on me then, Spencer?"
"Get off me. I wasn't spying!" I squeaked back.
"Not until we're even. I want a look at yours." He said this rather
mischeviously. He began fumbling roughly with my pants.
Chris managed to undo my belt, my pant's top button and started with the
fly. He was trying to pull down on the front of my pants with the other hand.
I was trying hard to keep them from going down but he was much stronger. He
held my legs down with his own weight and my arm down with one hand. I was
embarrassed by this but slightly flushed and excited, putting up only token
resistance. I knew I was caught and thought if I resisted, I'd probably get
beaten up.
"I wanna see what's in your pants," he said excitedly, still out of
breath. Just as he was reaching to pull the waistband of my briefs down, I
lifted up with my hips, taking him off balance a bit. I struggled harder
trying to squirm back around and we wrestled around a bit in the grass.
We struggled a while, rolling close together, but he was strong so I
yelled, "OK, OK. I'll show you, just get off me.
He stood up and took a step back. We were both covered in dead grass
and leaves. Given any other circumstances I would have laughed. Standing
towards him I pushed my already undone pants down to the knees. My underwear
was slightly stained yellow in front as the excitement had made me dribble a
bit. I had to take a leak badly. I put my small two hands to the waist band
of my white underwear not sure if I should make a break for it or what.
I half expected him to laugh, but his eyes seemed to lose that familiar
sparkle and became deep, dark and fathomless. He said slowly, "You don't have
to take them down."
"I wouldn't have told anyone," I returned defensively. I stood there in
my underwear, wondering what he was going to do next.
"I like you Spencer, I don't know why but we could be friends." It
struck me like a ton of bricks, Chris wanted to be my friend.
"I'm Kyle," I returned as I began pulling my pants back up.
"Ok, Kyle. If you wanna be friends, we should do it properly. A fair
play of show and tell to cement our friendship?" I didn't know what he meant,
but I nodded "yes" anyways.
Taking a quick look around he pulled down his own pants and then his
underwear to just below his hips, exposing his penis again. "Wanna touch it?"
I was still out of breath but mesmerized and excited by our activity. I
reached out to touch it with one finger and he pulled back away. "No, not
like that. Let me touch yours at the same time," he said. Slowly I undid my
pants once again and pulled down my underwear, exposing my little member.
Chris stepped closer and grabbed my hand. He moved my hand onto his penis and
then took hold of mine in his. We stood there examining each other for a
while and Chris' dick began growing in my hand! He laughed nervously.
"How does it do that?" I questioned.
"Simple, I get a stiffy when I think about girls and stuff. And I can
make it cum sometimes too." He said this matter-of-factly.
I had to go pee badly and told him so. Chris asked to watch me. I was
a bit ashamed but watered the bushes in front of us and Chris seemed to enjoy
this. It was now getting quite late, I was afraid we'd be missed.
"Look, maybe we could come out here again sometime, Spencer"
"I'd like to. Maybe we can go fishing too. Oh, I prefer Kyle."
"OK, Kyle. Friends?"
"Friends."
And so we walked together back to the school. As we walked we talked
about girls and sex and stuff. He knew a lot more than me. Deep down I was
still curious about that first day. Did he wet the bed sometimes like me? We
didn't talk about that or what we had done but we agreed not to tell another
soul about that afternoon.
Chapter Nine:
The Dream
After that incident we sort of became friends and he paid a little more
attention to me. Once, he chose me first for his team in soccer, even though
I'm not the most coordinated athlete. I helped him with his homework
sometimes, intent on being the one to recognize his potential. But I still
wasn't allowed to be completely friendly with him at all times, maybe it was
because of my age. He usually kept his distance unless we were alone or he
was interested in what I was doing.
One day during class, a rumour spread that Chris was going to choose one
friend to accompany him home that weekend, it was his birthday. This would be
an especially significant honor since his mother lived in Vancouver, on the
mainland and it would mean a trip on the ferry. Even contemplating the
possibility of a trip with Chris got me very excited.
That night I had a dream that Chris and I were taking the night ferry
across the straight and had to share an old fashioned steamer bed, the kind
that is like a shallow box with sides and a drape that you pull across for
privacy. Of course night ferries and sleepers don't exist on this line (too
many islands in the water . . . besides, they're large modern car ferries) . .
. but this was a dream.
In the dream Chris and I sat in the bunk facing each other with legs
crossed. The boat rocked gently back and forth and there was a constant humm
of the motors. Chris began by removing his shirt. He still had a young boy's
soft clear skin, but was beginning to develop a hint of firmer muscle in his
arms and chest. Chris reached out and pulled the curtains closed for privacy,
plunging us into darkness.
By sound and motion, I tried to mirror each move of his wishing I could
actually see his body in the deep darkness. Next came the socks and finally
the pants so we were both naked except for our underwear.
In this dream I remembered wanting to fall and accidently put my head in
Chris's lap, drinking in the distinctively sweet smell of his boyhood groin.
It was still very dark, the way it is inside a box. You can only make out
pinholes of light breaking through at the corners. I felt him lift the covers
and we both scooted in, keeping as much apart as we could in the small bed.
We both lay on our backs, contemplating in the darkness of the
compartment. I felt Chris shift his weight and turn over. He must have been
falling asleep. He put his leg over mine and his arm on my chest and I felt
the softness of his underwear brush against my leg. The proximity of Chris
and the gentle rocking of the boat made me flushed and excited. Back and
forth.
The flush turned to warmness against my leg where Chris was touching me,
and that warmness spread slowly down and around my leg and between my thighs.
My excitement was mounting and my breath came in short excited bursts, afraid
as I was, to awaken Chris. Instead of pressing out sharply against my
underwear, my dick seemed to just swell a little, feeling tickly and funny. I
didn't really want to get hard in this situation, but I knew there was little
I could do to stop it.
Scared to have Chris discover my boner, I turned over. The warmness
that covered my thighs turned cold and wet! I awoke in a start to find that
I was very much alone in my own bed and had wet the sheets. It was the first
time at Shawnigan, and the first time that I could remember in over a year.
I was horrified at the thought of discovery and wanted to avoid an
embarassing jeering by my peers at all costs. Being caught would surely mean
having to wear diapers to bed the next night. Luckily it was the middle of
the night and my roommate was fast asleep. I stood and lifted the top cover
and comforter back, which were not very wet at all, revealing the yellow stain
where I had let go in my sleep. I tugged off the white sheet and hurried out
the door, still in my sopping wet undies. I sneaked down the hall to the
laundry shoot, where I stuffed the smelly sheet, and pulled a fresh one from
the linen closet. I stuffed my wet underpants into the garbage shoot outside
the bathroom on the way back.
It was a close call, but my accident would remain unnoticed!
Chapter Ten:
Chris's Birthday Party (excerpt)
After the dream, I spent my morning avoiding Chris like the plague.
Somehow I thought he might have had the same dream. Or maybe he could see
right through me and know what I was thinking. Of course this was just
paranoid embarassment, but the rituals of childhood are strong magic.
In math class I kept my head down, hard at work on the principles of
some word problem that envolved apples and hungry animals. In english I had
to deliver a passage from our reader while standing in front of the class. It
took great skill not to meet Chris' gaze from his seat in the back of the
room. Afterwards I scooted back to my seat, sitting low and avoiding any
further attention.
----------------
...I stood there shivering a bit, knowing I could no longer hold it in.
I hated myself for not asking to go back to the bathroom right then. No one
would have cared. I was just a little boy. Boys ask to go to the loo all the
time. But I couldn't. I didn't have any time left, anyways. No matter how
embarrassing, I had to let it go in front of all the other kids.
The little group stood in back of a pumper, listening as a tall
firefighter explained what this hose or that ladder was. I stood a bit back
from the group, being the last to follow everyone around. Chris spied me from
his position up front, nodding to have me come up with him but I just shook my
head no as if I was content with where I stood. He turned back to the action.
The other firefighters had had enough of our group and were probably hiding in
front of the tv up stairs.
Looking around I saw a square iron grating not a foot from me, like the
kind over storm sewers. It was a drain for when the fire trucks came back wet
and dripping. I moved myself quickly over the drain and just had to let go.
Slowly at first and then all at once the warm liquid flowed against my leg,
soaking the front of my briefs and spreading like a warm wet cloth over my
crotch and belly. A stream formed down the inside of my leg and I stood with
my little legs a bit apart so the golden stream came out my pant leg and
expertly bounced off my dress shoe into the grate. It didn't make any sound
above the many noises of the station. I pretended to watch the fireman, but
was concentrating on my pee pee. All at once the station alarm rang out, so
deafeningly loud that it scared the little girls in the group...and I caught
CHris looking straight at me, his face was flushed red!
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