Date: Sun, 16 Jul 2000 13:24:49 -0400
From: Reiter Mann <reitermann@MailAndNews.com>
Subject: STORY: "Charles" T/b, bond, mast, cons

CHARLES

A Boyhood Memory

by Reiter Mann

Charles was my Senior Patrol Leader in Scouts. I really looked up to him,
admired him, and was jealous of the time that I got to spend with him. Some
time after my adventures with Jimmy had started Charles seemd to become even
more friendly towards me and I basked in his sometime attentions. One night
after our weekly Scout meeting he caught up with me as I walked home. Jimmy
had missed that meeting, so I was walking alone.

There was some small-talk and then he asked me if I might be willing to help
him with a project he was working on. Of course I was eager to do anything at
all for Charles, sometimes called Chuck, and agreed immediately--even before I
knew what his request involved. He explained that he was teaching himself to
draw and wanted to know if I would pose for him. I was tremendously flattered
that he would ask me, of all the boys in the troop, to pose for him. He
further explained that he wanted to draw me as if I were an Indian and that I
would have to wear a sort of costume that he would provide for me. Would that
be all right? Of course, I replied. That was fine with me. We made a date for
the next day after school.

At the appointed time I presented myself at Charles' house. He was apparently
watching for me as he opened the door before I even had a chance to knock or
ring the bell. They lived in a very nice house almost a mile from my home, and
this was the first time I had ever been inside although once his parents had
hosted a barbecue party for the Scouts in their big back yard.

He took me upstairs to his room and then closed the door behind us. It was a
nice big room, L-shaped, with built in desk, closet, and beds at each end. One
of the beds was a bunk bed with sturdy ladders on each end for getting into
the top bunk. The other was a big old double bed. I liked his room very much.
It seemed like a very special place to me.

He showed me what I was to wear. I noticed immediately that it was very
similar to the loincloth that I wore when Jimmy and I played "Tarzan" only
this one was not leather, but a light-weight cotton of an off-white color. He
asked me if I would be embarrassed to wear such a thing and that if I were I
did not have to. He said he would ask someone else in the troop. No way was I
going to allow this! No, I said, I didn't mind at all. He then said that maybe
later, if I like posing for him, I might let him draw me with nothing on at
all. I didn't know what to say to this. The idea didn't repel me, but I wasn't
eager to do it either. Maybe, I said, and we both let the subject drop. There
was something in the air there in that room. I felt it, without knowing what
it was. Something.

He said that "if I was shy" I could change in the little bathroom next to his
room. I didn't want to admit that I would have preferred to do that and
decided to change into his little loincloth right there in his room. I
stripped down to my underpants and then began to wrestle with the loincloth.
He had given me a length of rawhide bootlace to tie it on and I was having
trouble tying the thong while holding the cloth in the right position at the
same time.

"Here, let me help," he said. And knelt in front of me to hold the cloth up
while I tied the thong around my waist. For a brief second, as we fumbled with
the cloth, it slipped away and left me completely exposed to him, his face no
more than ten inches from my crotch. I froze, not knowing what to do.

"Wow," he said. "You're really big for your age."

Did he mean it? I have no idea, but I know that I flushed with ridiculous
pride when he said that. Like most twelve-year-olds I was unsure about my
body, and self-conscious, too. I was still without a single hair save for
those on my head, and while I was privately proud of my slightly broadening
shoulders and the more and more defined muscles of my chest, abdomen, and
thighs, I was more than a little doubtful about the "thing" that hung between
my legs. It was a source of great furtive pleasure for me, and of course there
had been the wonderfully filthy games that Jimmy and I played. But Charles was
only the second person in my life who had made any reference whatsoever to it.
The fact that Charles even noticed it, much less commented on it favorably
sent a strange new tingle down my spine.

"You really think so?" I said.

"Oh, gosh, yes! That's a really nice one for sure!" I may have actually puffed
out my chest, he made me feel so good. I felt some of my shyness and reticence
slip away. But he went further.

"Golly, I'm really glad you agreed to pose for me. You've got a really good
bod, you know?"

No, I didn't know. But it felt good to have him say that. I felt in some way
changed, different. We picked up our task again and soon had the loincloth in
place. He got his drawing pad and some pencils and had me stand in the middle
of the room as he sat on his desk chair and started to work on the pad,
looking up at me every few seconds. I felt both embarrassed and exhiliarated
by his studious and intently long looks at me. He had me hold my arms a
certain way, and move my legs and torso into positions he liked, and continued
to scratch on the pad with his pencil. I was enjoying this. You wouldn't think
there would be anything to enjoy in it, but I liked being there, being dressed
like I was, being alone with Charles, and having him make me the center of his
attention as he seemed to be doing. Like many boys that age, I think I was a
little bit of an exhibitionist.

We took a little rest after about fifteen or twenty minutes and he showed me
the drawing he was working on. In it a boy, practically naked, stood as if
looking out into a great distance. His body was muscular, strong. Was that
me?, I asked. Sure is, he answered. "I just wish I could get your muscles
right. You're a lot better looking than this," he said, and I felt my heart
beat faster from the compliment.

Then he wanted to change the pose and do something different. I was to be a
Indian captive brought back from a battle. Right away I felt the same little
thrill-chill that I felt when Jimmy and I played our private games. The
thought that Charles might tie me up was exciting to me, but I hoped that I
would not disgrace myself with the same sort of reaction that usually occurred
when Jimmy tied me up.

"Is it OK?" he asked, "to tie you up, I mean?"

"Yeah, I guess," I said, trying to be as casually noncommital as I could.

"Come over here, then," he said, and I went over to where he sat on his chair.
He reached over and took a length of rope from the rucksack he usually carried
to Scout meetings. "Turn around," he ordered. I did so and faced away from him
and then felt his hands on my arms, at the elbows. He gently tugged my arms
behind me, letting his hands slip easily and smoothly down my forearms to my
wrists. He turned my wrists so that my palms were facing each other and began
to tie me with the rope. I held my hands still to make it easy for him and
tried to stifle the intense excitement I felt as he bound me. I could tell
that he was doing a "real" tie, slowly and carefully rendering me helpless. I
did not even need to try the knots to know that there was no way I would be
able to get them loose.

When he was finished tying me he had me kneel in front of him and, taking a
deep breath, set my chest and belly muscles for the drawing. I felt
wonderfully vulnerable with his eyes darting from the paper to me and back
again.

"You know what would happen to you?" he asked. I wasn't sure what he meant.

"What?" I said, and the way I said it must have tipped him that I hadn't
followed his meaning.

"I mean if you were captured by Indians, like this?" Of course I knew, at
least in theory. After all, this had been one of the themes of the "dirty"
games that Jimmy and I liked so much. But I didn't indicate this and merely
shrugged noncommittally, as if I was disinterested in the question or the
answer. In secret I wanted him to continue, to take this discussion forward a
little more if he would. This was getting very interesting, I thought.

"The Indians liked to torture their prisoners, you know," he said."They were
real experts at it, too. I used to read about it." He paused and I thought I
should at least say something.

"I read some stuff like that, too. I wouldn't like that I don't think," I
said.

"Oh, yeah?" he said, after a pause of a few seconds, while he seemed to be
studying his pad. "I thought you might like stuff like that. Make-believe
only, I mean."

I froze in an icey rush of semi-panic. Why would he think that? Did he know
something about my terrible secret? If he did would he think I was weird or
bad or something like that? I didn't know what to do or say. "Why would I like
that?" was all I could think of to say.

"Oh, I don't know. Seems like most of the guys like to play games sorta like
that. I thought you might, too." He paused. I didn't know what to say or how
to respond. "You and your pal Jimmy, maybe."

Now I felt the panic begin to solidify into something real and palpable.
Jimmy? Clearly, it seemed that Charles knew something. Had Jimmy betrayed our
secret? Betrayed me into Charles' hands, so to speak? Why would he do that? I
was torn between anger and a kind of excitement that I had never felt before.
Added to this was the fact that I was on my knees, in a skimpy loincloth, with
my hands tied securely behind my back. What would happen now? He changed the
subject, or seemed to.

"Sweat," he said.

"What?"

"Sweat. I need some sweat. That would be good for the drawing. Maybe I could
see and draw your muscles better that way." He put his drawing book down and
left the room, leaving me kneeling there with my hands tied. In a few seconds
he was back, a bottle in his hand. I saw the label. Mineral oil. He knelt on
the floor beside me.

"Is it OK? I mean do you mind if I put some of this on you?" he asked. I
didn't trust myself to do more than nod my head up and down to tell him it
would be OK with me. But would it? I was very familiar with being rubbed down
with baby oil by Jimmy and these massage sessions always ended with me having
a boner and Jimmy having a handfull of it. I was afraid that the association
alone would be enough to push me over the edge. But I was almost at the point
of not caring. It seemed to be clear to me that Charles knew something, and if
Jimmy had told him about our secret games then there was hardly any point in
my "playing hard to get" so to speak. I really didn't know what to do, and in
the spirit of the situation I found myself in I guess that by default I just
slipped into a mental state that made me receptive to whatever Charles cared
to do.

He rubbed the oil slowly into my chest and stomach and thighs. Very gently he
pushed me back so that I was lying on my folded legs, chest up, shoulders
against the floor. He took quite a long time, it seemed to me, rubbing me
slowly and carefully with the oil, adding more from the bottle from time to
time. It began to feel very good to me and I felt myself becoming indifferent
to whether or not Charles saw the lump that I was certain was plain to see
under the thin material of the loin cloth. Charles had good hands, maybe even
better than Jimmy's, and he was paying particular attention to my stomach
muscles, which I was alternately clinching and relaxing as his slippery hands
drifted and stroked over them so pleasurably.

I was an average sized kid for twelve. Summer beach pictures of me at that age
show a pretty good looking lad with nicely proportioned legs and slightly
broadening shoulders. A definite little cleft-line shows between my pecs and
the nipples are small and medium brown. A trim, flat tummy shows the
beginnings of a "six pack."

"You've got really nice muscles," Charles said, very softly, as he gently
swirled his hands and fingers in the oil that covered my torso. I could tell
he especially liked my hard belly.

"Thanks," I said.

"You like this, don't you?" he asked.

"What?" I said, playing dumb.

"This. Me doing this. And being tied up, too. You like it don't you?" I just
shrugged, as if to say that I didn't care one way or another. I was not yet to
the point where I could admit to my strange yearnings. "I know you do. I can
tell" he said, ignoring my reticence. He stopped massaging my belly and wiped
his hands on a cloth he had brought with the bottle of oil. Then, without
saying a word or even making eye contact with me, he began to undo the thong
that held the loincloth around my waist. I did not protest or struggle, but
simply waited there to see what would happen next.

"Is it OK?" he asked when he had the thong undone. I didn't say anything, but
just nodded my head. My eyes were closed now.

He pulled the cloth away from me and I felt a little tickle of air brush
across my erect penis. Somehow I felt no embarrassment at all.

"Jesus!" I heard Charles mutter. I opened my eyes and raised my head just
enough to be able to see down across my glistening chest and belly. Charles
was squatting next to me, his hands on his thighs, looking down at my hard
penis. Was something wrong with it I wondered? Was it weird or something?

"Wow, that is one great boner!" he said and I felt a rush of relief and a
tingle of pride from his words of praise. After all, he was fifteen and I was
a lowly twelve. I have a battered 3x5 card from that time, on which I wrote my
measurements at that time. Down at the bottom of the card is a note that says
"hard 4 1/2."

"You're like me," he said. "I'm circumsized, too." Then he moved so that he
was knee to knee with me. He pushed my legs apart and scooted forward so that
his knees pressed against my inner thighs. I was lying in a basically
uncomfortable position, lying back over my lower legs, hands tied, legs now
spread widely apart. What he did next surprised me, but in retrospect I don't
know why it should have.

He poured some more oil into his palm and took my very, very hard penis into
his fist and began to pump it very slowly up and done. He varied the pressure
of his hand, now very soft, now very hard. The slippery pleasure was enormous.
He did not tease me. He simply gave me a scrumptious, slow, very good
hand-job. Jimmy could never resist the temptation to tease and torture me with
the pleasure (and the pleasure withheld) from a hand-job. Charles just worked
away at jerking me off slowly, but directly.  I lay there unable to think
about anything but how wonderful it was. In a few minutes I began to squirm
and wiggle and groan as I drew closer to my orgasm. Charles continued to work
on me.

"Come!" he said. "Go on and shoot! I want to see you come!" Oh, those words
were probably the most exciting I had ever heard. I wanted to impress him, but
I knew my few thin drops would seem ridiculously childish to a
fifteen-year-old. But I was beyond the point of caring, and Charles'
relentless hand was carrying me along. He reached forward and touched me with
his other hand for the first time, lightly running his fingers under and along
my tightly-tucked and hairless balls. The pleasure from those fluttering
fingers did the trick and I was suddenly heaved into a powerful, violent
climax that caused me to moan out a long, guttural "Unnhhhhhhhhh!" as I
sprinkled my tummy and chest with a sudden burst of my thin seed.

It was too quickly over. I sank back breathing heavily like a long-distance
runner.

"Oh, man! That was fun!" I heard Charles say and opened my eyes to see his
smile, genuine, with no hint of teasing or sarcasm in it.

"Yeah," was all I could muster in my breathlessness. He reached forward and
took me by my shoulders. I could feel the oil on his right hand slip at first
until he got a firm grip on me, his fingers down in behind my bicep. He pulled
me up so that I was upright, slipped both arms around my back and brought me
close up against him. The top of my head was about level with his chin. I felt
his left hand come up from behind and tangle itself in my unruly hair and then
the slightly painful tug of it as he pulled backwards, dragging my head back
so that I was looking straight up at the ceiling. Then his own face came down
until his lips were against mine! He kissed me! His lips hard against mine and
then his tongue in my mouth, pushing and probing. I was so surprised that I
had no idea what to do, and then I realized that my prick was suddenly steely
hard again--oh, youth!-- thrusting up between my tightened thighs, hard and
throbbing almost instantly and I knew that it had happened because of the
kiss, the weird, awful, hideous, wonderful kiss!

Later--very much later-- I would realize that what had happened was my first
instance of love-making. Charles had made love to me, taken me as a lover
takes a lover. Of course, he had raped me: tied me up and taken me as a
conquering warrior takes a helpless captive, or as a high-born lord might have
a bound slave delivered up for his pleasure. But he had not taken me against
my will. He had taken me without my will, but not without my silent
permission, my silent but enthusiastic acquiescence in what he did. The kiss
was something else. Strange. Yucky. Beyond my ability to comprehend. I only
knew that it had felt good, and that it had seemed to make me instantly hard
again, immediately after a spectacularly breathtaking orgasm. It was a
mystery, but a strangely pleasant one.

I suppose in retrospect I was a very sexual boy. By six I was an almost daily
masturbator and by eight I was indulging in marathon self-pleasuring sessions.
The games that Jimmy had begun to play a year or so earlier had become very
important to me, but they were also games or so we disguised our randiness and
the sensuality of what we did together. We were certainly not "making love" or
anything like it: we were playing "torture games" intended to pit the
ingenuity and patience of the captor against the courage and endurance of the
prisoner. Of course, they also felt good and were good, dirty fun for both of
us. What had happened with Charles was different.

"Do you want me to untie you?" he asked, his hands flat on my tensed and still
slippery thighs.

"Do you want to?" I evaded answering him directly.

He smiled. "No," he said, "I think I'll just keep you like this. No one will
know where you are. You'll be my slave or something and I can do that to you
all the time. Would you like that?"  He drew two fingers lightly over my still
distended glans and I shivered a little from his touch. I could tell that he
was teasing me now, and I liked it.

"Sure!" I said. "You can do that to me any time you want!" And then I was
suddenly a little taken aback by what I said. It seemed that I had alowed
myself to commit to something without really meaning to. My careful reserve
was breaking down.

"You liked it, didn't you? Was it good? Was I any good at it?"

"Oh, yeah! It was great. And you're really, really good, too!" I said, meaning
every word and suddenly unconcerned about being careful and reticence. Perhaps
his almost shy lack of confidence was what had tipped the scales for me. I
rushed on.

"Would you... I mean... Do you want me to...You know...do... something for
you?" I stammered. He thought for a moment or two before he replied and when
he did it was without words. He stood and reached down and helped me to my
feet. I was a little wobbly because of the position I had been lying in for
some time. There was a small, very shabby couch in one corner of his room and
he half shoved and half carried me over to it. He pushed me down on the center
of the couch. Quickly he produced two short lengths of rope, knelt on the
floor in front of me and looped one piece of rope onto each of my ankles. Then
he pulled one leg over to the right side of the couch and tied off the rope to
the couch leg. He did the same for the other leg and I was now sitting on the
couch, leaning back against my still bound arms, with my legs almost painfully
spread widely apart and tied to the front legs of the couch. I was not afraid.
His actions had caused my erection to become even harder. The position in
which I was tied seemed very sexy and pleasurable, despite the tension on my
strained muscles.

I had become almost addicted to the amazingly intense feeling of being
pleasured while helplessly bound. There was something about it that magnified
the feelings of physical, sexual pleasure to an almost unbearable degree. But
I was about to be taken to another level.

Still kneeling on the floor between my widely spread and tensed legs, Charles
inched up closer to the couch, his hands on my tensed thighs. Then he leaned
forward and I watched the top of his head as he began to lightly flick at my
right nipple with his tongue. The surprise caused me to suck in my breath and
hold it, pushing my chest even more tightly into his tongue. The sensations of
his feathery tongue flicking were causing a fluttery feeling in my chest and
groin. He paused and I saw him pull his lips away from his teeth and lean into
me again. He took the little nub of my nipple, slightly distended now from his
tonguing, between his teeth and slowly and carefully bit down on it. The pain
was gradual, sweet, and intense. He bit and released, bit and released, held
it tightly and pulled it away and then held it while he flicked his tongue
back and forth across it. The combination of pleasure and pain was
intoxicating to me and I threw my head back on the couch and moaned out a long
helpless groan. He turned his attention to my other nipple and repeated the
delightful, agonizing process. And then he pulled away from me, dropped his
head, and in one unexpected, sudden downward movement took my twitching cock
completely into his mouth!

For the next few minutes he sucked, seemed to chew lightly and carefully, slid
his mouth up and down--sometimes very slowly and sometimes very quickly--and
played with my penis, both shaft and head, with his tongue. The warmth,
slipperiness, and suction of his mouth was almost overwhelmingly pleasurable.
Meanwhile one hand was holding my balls and cock at the base, very tightly,
while the other lightly teased and tickled my hairless balls and sack. I came
again, more quickly than I had wanted to. I don't think I had anything left to
squirt into his mouth, but it was another excruciatingly good orgasm.

Suddenly Charles seemed almost frantic. He stood up and pulled off his shirt,
then undid his jeans and dropped them. His underpants followed and for the
first time I saw his penis. Erect, circumsized, measured by me later in our
relationship at just slightly under six inches. A light-colored bush of fine
hair spread across the top of his penis where it met his belly. He knelt again
and untied my legs. He pulled me off the couch and put me face down on the
floor. He got the oil bottle and poured some of it on my tied hands. Then he
mounted me from behind and placed his boner into my oiled hands. I understood
immediately and took him into my hands, kneading and pulling and stroking his
thrusting cock. He moaned against me, thrusting faster and faster into my
hands. When he came, after only a few seconds, I felt the light licking
strokes of his shots on my back and even as high up as my neck. Then he
collapsed onto my back, his lips against my neck, and I felt his total weight
pushing down on me there on the floor. It had probably taken no more than
fifteen seconds, maybe less. Despite the weight of him on me I felt
wonderfully fulfilled to have given him pleasure.

I could tell that Charles was a little embarrassed and in the post-sex letdown
was trying to deal inside himself with what had happened. I suspected that he
felt a little bit guilty. I just lay there, feeling his breathing and touching
the flat of his heaving belly with my bound hands. After a few moments he
pushed himself up off of me and reached down to untie me.

"I thought you were going to keep me," I teased. He didn't say anything in
response. "I won't tell anyone," I said. "Not ever." Something made me say
that, told me that it was the right time to say it.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked.

"No!" I said, with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. "I really liked it!
It was terrific, really."

"I probably shouldn't have done that," he said, and I could tell that he was
feeling guilty and a little shamed, now that his lust had been slaked a little
by a good climax.

"I'm glad you did," I said. "Do you think we could do it again sometime?"

"Would you like to?" he asked, as if he didn't quite believe me. "Really?"

"For sure!" I said. He was through untying me now and I turned over and sat on
the floor while I rubbed my wrists where the ropes had made little criss-cross
marks. He dressed while I sat there, still naked. After he was dressed I got
up and found my clothes and started to slip into my underpants. Charles said
that I probably should take a shower to get the oil off of me and showed me
how to work the shower in the bathroom next to his room. When I came back into
his room he was sitting on his bed, as if waiting for me.

"Look," he said, "I don't know why I did that. The...uh...kissing stuff, I
mean. And the other, too. I just..."

"I didn't mind," I said. Even though it was the first time I had ever been
kissed like that I felt that I almost had to play the part of the experienced
one, and reassure him that what we had done was OK, at least as far as I was
concerned. "It was kinda fun, actually." And I added, "Like I said, I won't
ever tell anyone!"

He just nodded slightly in reply. "Had you...you know, ever
done...that...before?" he asked.

"No," I said. "Never. I was surprised at first, but it sure made my dick
harder!" I saw him blush quickly at my remark. "I didn't think I would at
first," I continued, "but I liked it. It felt...good, you know. Real sexy,
too."

"Yeah," he said, very quietly. "I liked it, too." I continued to get dressed,
only my shirt to go now. "Thanks for saying you wouldn't tell anybody."

"That's OK. Why would I tell anybody? That would be stupid." There was a pause
and then I took a chance. "How did you... I mean, did Jimmy say anything to
you. I mean, like..."

"No," he said. "Remember the Camporee three or four  weekends ago? You guys
were in the last tent down by the pond?"

"Yeah?"

"Well..." he blushed some more. "I sneaked down there after lights out and
I... heard stuff. That's all."

"You heard us messing around?"

"Yeah."

"That's OK. I just thought that maybe Jimmy had told you stuff, that's all."

"I won't tell either," he said.

"Thanks," I said. "You want me to pose for you some more sometime?"

"That would be great! Would you?" he seemed gratefully eager that I would
offer to pose again.

"Sure," I said. "It was fun. I'd like to do it again." And then I teased him
again. "As long as I get to be tied up," I added, grinning. He smiled back, a
little shyly and nodded OK.

"Listen, " he said. "How about coming over for a sleepover this weekend. I
could tell my folks it was something for Scouts. It would be OK with them, I
know. What do you think?"

"Great!" I said. "That would be fun. Which bed would I get?" I asked, nodding
at the selection of beds in the room.

"Well, whichever you want," he said. 'But maybe...I don't know...if you wanted
to, maybe we could, you know, like...share a bed? The big one, I mean. You
think? Maybe? Maybe we could be friends, too."  He was blushing again and
avoided making eye contact with me.

"Yeah," I said. "That would be great!" My careful weighing of words seemed a
thing of the past.

And so we made our plans for our sleepover. But that's another story
altogether and this one is already much, much too long. I read back over it
and even though this all happened a long time ago I think I have done pretty
well with the details and the dialogue. No one could possibly remember the
exact words spoken so long ago, but I really feel that I have succeeded in
capturing the essential truth of what happened and what was said. I hope I
haven't bored anyone.