Date: Mon, 17 Jul 2006 11:20:36 -0700 (PDT)
From: Scott Wilson <talesofyouth@yahoo.com>
Subject: Discrete Transactions Part 1     GM/YF

Although the following is based on true events, all characters and
locations are purely fictional. If you are under 18 or this type of writing
is illegal in your local, please stop reading now.

*****************************************************************************
     The first part of this story serves as an introduction to the main
characters and offers a glimpse of whats to come in later parts.
*****************************************************************************

     Discrete Transactions, Part One

     My summer in 1980 began not with a bang, but with an alarm clock going
off. It was the early hour of seven-thirty A.M. and while most of my
friends were probably still in bed dreaming of plans for thier carefree
days, I was getting up to go to work cutting grass for my neighbors.

     By the end of the summer I'd be in an entirely different line of work.

     Before I get too carried away I should introduce myself. My name is
Scott Wilson, and I grew up in a medium sized North Carolina suburb called
Blackville. That summer I was ten going on eleven and had just finished
fifth grade, a year to proved to be full of changes: Changing classes
instead of having the same teacher all day, changing friends, and scariest
of all, changing for PE.

     All in all I was a typical kid. I was about five-foot-six, somewhat
tall for my age, with brown eyes, dark red hair that was kept in a
perpetual buzz cut and more freckles than I could count. In the summer I
didn't tan, I just sprouted new freckles! I was athletic and in good shape,
the result of Little League, riding my bike everywhere, and my job cutting
grass with a manual reel mower.

     I lived with my mother in a small salt box style house that had once
belonged to my grandparents and had been given to Mom after my
grandmother's passing a few years earlier. My grandfather couldn't stand
living there so he moved to Florida to be closer to his son, my Uncle
Jimmy. My parents had divorced when I was seven-Dad had been a long
distance truck driver whose business was ruined by the energy crisis of the
'70's, and the strain that placed on their marraige doomed it. He had moved
to Arizona to work for his brother who owned a very successful electronics
store and had just opened up a thriving sporting goods store that my father
managed. Uncle Paul had given him a second chance but he had also taken my
Dad from me.

     Back then getting a divorce was still somewhat scandalous, and in my
conservative hometown I was made aware of that on a regular basis. I
remember being uninvited from a close friend's birthday party solely
because I was the son of divorced parents, and on another accasion when I
was soliciting lawn work I overheard a wife say to her husband, "His Dad
must not be paying child support!"  Comments like that just killed me.

     I was lucky though, because my parents splitting up had actually
improved my life in a number of ways. Dad wasn't around that much anyway
beforehand because he was always on the road, so it wasn't anything
new. Now at least he lived in one place, and we kept in touch on a regular
basis. Our relationship actually was better than before. Every two weeks he
would send a package my way, and I never knew what would be inside each
time. Sometimes it would be an electronic component that a customer dropped
off to be fixed but never picked up, other times it was the latest in Nike
and Adidas clothing. He never sent me money though, his theory being that
money should be earned not given.

     Probably the luckiest thing about my life was the house I lived in. In
the summer after Uncle Jimmy graduated from high school my grandparents had
converted the basement of thier house into a private apartment so that he
could live there while he attended college, and after he graduated it could
be rented out for extra income. A new exterior entrance had been created
for the basement, and the interior stairs had been removed out to give more
room and to allow an upstairs laundry room.

     After the divorce my mother had gone to nursing school and was now
working at her first job on the night shift, so to make things easier for
her while she slept during the day I was given the basement apartment as my
room. I easily had the coolest room of all my friends, and it was complete
with a fridge, stove, and my own tv...I even had my own bathroom! The
basement was split in two sections by a concrete block wall that had an
archway that led to the bedroom that had a small dry bar that took the
place of a dining set. The walls had been sound- proofed so that Uncle
Jimmy's taste in music wouldn't bother my grandparents, and now that came
in useful in preventing me from waking up my Mom.

     Ok, now that you know my background let's get back to the story.

     I work up at what most of my friends would have called a ridiculous
hour and looked at the clock with a groan. I pulled myself out of bed and
stepped into the bathroom and then slipped my three inch erection out of my
tighty whities and waited for it to soften so I could pee. To me my worning
wood was something of a mystery, I mean why would it get hard like that
when you REALLY had to pee? It never got hard other than in the mornings,
although little did I know that would soon change.

     I sat at the bar wearing only my undies (I never wore a shirt to bed,
or anywhere for that matter unless I had to) and gobbled down a breakfast
of toast with peanut butter and washed it down with a glass of orange
juice. I then went and threw on a pair of black nylon nut shorts that had a
zippered inside pocket to hold money that my Mom had sewn in, and
reluctantly put on a sleeveless white t-shirt and an old pair of thrashed
Nike high tops. Before I walked out the door I threw on one of my many
baseball caps that my Dad had sent me and grabbed a water bottle from the
fridge.

     In the garage was my pride and joy, a black ten speed Schwinn road
bike that I had saved for almost 6 months to buy. On that bike I had
freedom under my tires, and I practically lived to ride it. I attached a
cart Uncle Jimmy had made for me that held my reel mower, a foldable rake,
and the other supplies I needed for my grass cutting job. Just like a paper
route, I planned out the order of my customers so that I would start
closest to home and move on until I reached the final stop, and then I
could just cruise back home.

     In the second week of June at eight A.M. it was already in the mid
80's out, and I was starting to break a sweat by the time I reached my
first stop. Today I had 5 stops to do, and each one took anywhere from
forty-five minutes to an hour to do, including raking and bagging. For
small lawns I made two dollars, and for larger ones I insisted on three...I
know that may not seem like a lot of money today, but back then that was a
hour at a minimum wage job. I did good work, and probably would have done
more yards but my Mom made me cap it at five a day, and looking back on it
I'm glad she did that. Because I was using a reel motor I didn't have to
shell out money for gas and oil, and in the long run I was ahead of the
game.

     By noon I had finished up my third lawn, and the shirt I had started
out wearing had been peeled off as the tempeture reached the low 90's. It
had been a good day so far, three large yards had put nine dollars in my
pocket but I wasn't looking foreward to my next stop of the day.

     That lawn was where another boy my age, John Conway, lived. John and I
had known each other for a while thanks to Little League, but there was
something about us where we just didn't quite get along. John was a fat kid
who always had this particular smell about him, and he talked with a funny
accent. He wasn't at all popular but he always had the best grades, and the
teachers loved him. It also bothered me that I was cutting the grass at the
house of a boy who was perfectly capable of doing it himself, and while I
was glad to take the money it still got to me.

     The Conway's yard was relatively small, but I charged three dollars
anyway- I guess that made me feel better about doing someone elses
chores. I always felt creepy cutting the grass there, it was like I felt I
was being watched all the time. There were a few times when I saw someone
watching me, but I just figured it was John's Mom keeping an eye on me.

     With my customers it was customary to leave the money in a secret spot
somewhere on the porch so I wouldn't have to disturb them or worry about
being paid if they weren't home, but the Conway's insisted on me ringing
the doorbell when I was done for payment. It wasn't all that weird but to
me having to possibly deal with John wasn't something to anticipate with
joy.

     Although I usually put a shirt on when I was done with a yard, today
it was too hot for that and I rang the doorbell not only shirtless and
dripping with sweat but in an urgent need to pee. I could have easily done
it behind the bushes but to me that would have been too rude, and the fear
of being caught was enough to discourge me.

     The door opened and to my dismay John answered and said, "Hey Scott!"

     "Hey John", I casually replied.

     "You're all done?"

     "Yeah. Hey, can I use your bathroom?" I asked reluctantly.

     "Sure, come on in. Here's your three bucks" he said as he handed me
the money, and I thanked him. The bathroom was right next to the kitchen,
and I went in, closed to door and pulled down my shorts and undies in one
tug and let loose into the bowl. While my shorts were down I slipped the
three dollars into the zippered pocket and pulled them back up. When I left
the bathroom John was standing there just looking at me funny, and I caught
a whiff of him. I thanked him again and left, not before noticing that he
was wearing a pair of jeans and a long sleeved shirt. All I could think was
what a weirdo wearing that when it was 90 plus degrees out!

     My last job of the day was also the furthest from where I lived. It
was the house of my friend from Little League, Mike Thompson, and he had
helped me get the job after he had severely injured his foot at the start
of that years season and could barely walk much less cut grass. After he
had recovered they kept me on because they liked the work I did, so I
really didn't mind it. Mike lived in Carolton which was an up and coming
wealthy suburb and went to a different school system,so we never saw each
other outside of grass cutting or baseball.

     Mike lived in a four bedroom Colonial style house with a huge front
and back yard and a pool, and whenever I cut thier grass I was always
allowed to go for a dip when I was done. This happened so often that I left
a pair of swim trunks at thier house so I wouldn't have to worry about
forgetting them.

     After I was done cutting the grass I rang the doorbell, and Mike
invited me in. He gave the the money and then had me go upstairs with him
to his bedroom to change. This wasn't really weird, he kept my trunks in
his room so they wouldn't get misplaced and we'd changed together a number
of times, although we never looked at each other.

     I was soon totally naked, and from the noises I heard Mike was too. I
was about to put on my trunks, then I heard Mike say to me, "Want to see
something really cool?"

     "I guess so?", I answered back.

     "Ok then, turn around!" and when I did Mike was totally nude in front
of me holding up a Playboy centerfold of some blonde babe. I felt a charge
go through my body as my penis stiffened and curved up toward my belly
button, and I couldn't help but notice that Mike's was sticking straight
out.

     "Oh my gawd, where'd you get that?"

     "From a friend. He showed me this cool trick too."

     "What kind of trick?", I questioned, having no idea what to expect
next.

     "I'll show you, turn your trunks inside out and put them on the edge
of the bed and then sit on them" he commanded.

     I did what he told me, later realizing that he didn't want me to leave
skidmarks on the comforter. He sat right next to me and put the centerfold
on the floor, and then said, "Put your thumb on top of your dick and then
put the other fingers on the bottom side and move them back and forth".

     I followed his instructions and the feeling was awesome, but it felt
weird doing this. Although I was almost mesmerized by the centerfold, I
couldn't help looking at Mike's dick. It was about three inches long, with
a head that was really pointy and the skin seemed to just move a little
bit, mine was the same lenght but the head was a lot fatter and there was
lots of skin to move back and forth. The warmth of his body radiated over
to me, and after a few minutes Mike asked me if I wanted to feel something
even better and I said "Sure!". He stood up and started to slowly bounce up
and down while he continued to rub himself and then he motioned for me to
do the same thing.

     While it felt good sitting down, this was way better. Mike and I faced
each other, and I got a good look as his naked body which had a decent
amount of baby fat mainly from being inactive during his foot injury, and
as he bobbed up and down his belly and small boobs bounced. Although we had
started looking at the centerfold we now just seemed to focus on each
other.

     We had probably been rubbing ourselves for ten minutes or so when the
pleasurable sensations I felt seemed to intensify, but my hand was getting
tired too. I was almost ready to stop when I saw Mike close his eyes and
start to moan and then he let out a big groan and all of a sudden his body
stiffened and his dick starting to bounce up and down, and he stopped
rubbing and sat down on the edge of his bed. I couldn't help noticing how
his dick was shrunken in size and had become limp like a noodle.

     "Wow, that was amazing dude...did you get the feeling yet?" he said.

     "No", I replied and he told me to keep at it.

     "My hands getting tired, I gotta stop!" I said.

     "No, don't stop you're almost there",he said and then pushed himself
back on the bed and spread his legs and put my trunks in front of
him. "Here, sit down, and I'll help you".

     This was already weird enough but I felt like I had to do what he told
me to find out what this "feeling" was all about. I sat in front of him and
he put his hands on my shoulders and started to rub them, which felt
totally amazing. He then told me to try rubbing with my left hand, and soon
the same feeling satarted up again.

     As Mike rubbed my shoulder I noticed that I was breathing hard and my
hand was moving faster and faster, and all of a sudden I felt like I had to
pee and then my dick was doing the same shaking thing as Mike's had. It was
like the muscles you used when you were peeing and had to stop midstream
were having a seizure, but after that passed I felt really relaxed and
kinda tired.

     "What happened?" I asked and then Mike said, "You had the feeling you
get when you fuck a girl and the juice squirts out. Wasn't that great?"

     "When the juice squirts out?", I asked and then felt like a total
dumbass. Mike just looked at me and laughed and said, "Nevermind. I bet you
have to pee now?"

     "Yeah. How'd you know that?"

     "I have to after each time I do this. I have no idea why?" he said.

     Mike walked completely naked into the bathroom and I followed, and we
both peed into the bowl at the same time. His stream was really narrow and
seems to just zip out, while mine was thicker and slower. I'd peed in the
boys' room before at school surrounded by other boys, but this was the
first time I had actually looked at another dick peeing. I felt weird but
at the same time excited.

     We went back into Mikes room, but suddenly I didn't feel like swimming
anymore. We both started to get dressed, and then Mike looked and me and
said, "You gotta promise not to tell anyone about this! I mean it!"

     "Hey, don't worry, I never will!"

     After I was dressed I left, but for the whole bike ride home I
couldn't help but think about what I had just done and felt. I kept
thinking how wrong what we did was, but something out it felt okay to me. I
went home and took a shower, and as the water washed over me I noticed how
red my dick was. After I dried off, I felt my dick and it was kinda sore so
I just stayed naked and layed down on my bed. The coldness of the sheets
felt amazing, and then I started thinking about the blonde in the
centerfold I had just seen and my dick stiffened once again.

     I tried to rub it but the soreness stopped me. I remembered how I had
put hand cream on my hands sometimes when they were sore after using a rake
for a long time and then squirted some of the lotion into my hand and
rubbed it on my dick. The feeling was totally out of this world. I twisted
my hand out my dick the same way that I would turn a doorknob and withing a
few minutes I had that feeling again, this time it was even faster and
stronger.

     For the rest of the day I didn't do much else, but what would happen
the next day would change my life.