Date: Sat, 1 Feb 2003 00:50:16 -0500 (EST)
From: Clark Gaybull <ClarkGaybull@webtv.net>
Subject: Mess-Around Buddies  #2

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                                     SEAN

The same person who advised that I use a pseudonym, also suggests that I
stop using the REAL names of the people in these accounts.  I was smart
enough not to mention place, or LAST names, but I didn't think that it'd
hurt to tell actual first names.  However, he says, "No.  All names
should be changed."  Therefore, the characters in my future tales may
have jazzier monickers.  Come to think of it, most of the guys around
here DO have rather plain, old-fashioned, boring names compared to those
in other stories.  So, I promise, the switch will be more imaginative.

Sean was probably the first kid with whom I MUTUALLY messed around.  He
was the same age as me - about ten - and about my height.  We are both
blondies and, more than eight years ago, we could have passed for
brothers; maybe even twins:  you'd have been hard-pressed to guess who
was older.  (Actually, I have about three-and-a-half months on Sean.)

Sean and I used to make-believe a lot.  (Gee - where had I done THAT
before?)  He wasn't my most-frequent playmate.  But he was the one who
initially injected sex into our games.  In fact, Sean was FAR from my
best friend:  Once we were pretending that he was a gangsta who I was
chasing, when he snuck up behind me and hit me on the head with the
handle of a toy gun - real hard. I saw stars.  And cried.  No wonder I
wasn't extremely fond of Sean.  But his house was vary close to mine and
he WAS around a lot.

There came a weekday in early October when I could sleep-in.  I forget
why, but we had no school.  Mom and dad had gone to work.  They often
left me alone 'cause, if I had a problem, my grandparents' house was
only a block away.

I ignored the first sound of the doorbell.  When it made its noise
again, I peeked around the curtains and saw Sean.

Should I bother?  I had jumped out of bed - where I sleep nude - to
determine who was on the stoop.  After deciding to respond, I threw on a
robe, sleepily opened the door, and asked, "Whadda YOU want?"

"Wanna play?"

"I'm not up yet."

"Come on.  It's after ten."

"Okay.  But after breakfast.  Want anything?"

"Nah"

"You can sit at the kitchen table if you want."  In he came and watched
me fumble with some cereal.  "I gotta pee," I said, realizing that I
hadn't done my usual morning bladder-emptying because of my hasty
attention to the doorbell.  I hadda go so bad that I couldn't even start
to eat.

I rushed past him with another typical feature - my morning hard-on -
but I'm sure it wasn't noticeable under my robe.

I returned saying, "That feels better," and gobbled down my now-soggy
Cheerios (after dumping several spoonsful of sugar on them).

Sean said, "You look like one of them alien bad guys.  You know...with
their capes a-flowin'.  How 'bout I chase you and you be one of the
invaders.?"

"Dressed this way?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

So I threw my bowl into the sink, got my plastic swords, and tried to
elude Sean throughout the house and basement.  (I wondered why he
repeatedly crouched beneath the cellar steps as I went up and down them
lookng for him.  And I wonder what he thought when the flailing garment
got caught occasionally as I whooshed past a few pieces of furniture.
The robe would invariably be flung open, exposing my boyhood underneath.
No "big thing," though.  Just close it back up while running to the next
hiding place.)

"That was pretty neat," was Sean's assssment, after we tired of the
routine.  "My mom got me one of those things.  But I hardly ever wear
it.  Maybe next time I'll bring mine and we can hold off the good guys
together."

"Whatever."  I put on more clothes and we subsequently amused ourselves
outside.

I think that the next weekday when we had no school was the Friday after
Thanksgiving.  Mom and dad were again at work and I was lounging in my
birthday suit, watching some mid-morning cartoons on TV.

I ran into my room and put on my robe when I heard the doorbell.

It was Sean.  "'s up?"

"Just watchin' some 'toons.  Come on in."

He removed his jacket, which enabled his own, rolled-up robe to drop
forth.  "Thought the TWO of us could take on those good guys today."

For a few seconds, I wondered how this was gonna work.  Would he stretch
his robe atop his bulky winter clothes?  Not Sean.  He unashmedly peeled
off his sweat-top, T-shirt, jeans and BVDs and put on the robe over his
bare body.  Besides his "cape," only his sneaks were left on.

"Okay then.  Let's go.  Those heroes won't have a chance against us."

As we flitted from room to room, it was a matter of sticking WITH
one-another instead of being on opposing sides and keeping apart like
last time.  We scampered around corners and scurried overtop of cushy
things.  Robes flew open and upwards.  Little boy parts popped
momentarily into view and then were covered again.  It was exciting;
exhilarating.  As much of a thrill for Sean, no doubt, as it was for me.
Totally uninhibiting; free.

"I've been hit," he grimaced, as he dove onto and skidded off of a bed,
disappearing onto the floor on the other side.

"Don't worry.  I'll get 'em," I reassured, as I backed to where the
casualty was, firing invisible lasers from my outstretched plastic
weapon.  I ducked next to him behind the bedside and said, "I think I
can hold 'em off."

The unseen enemy must have retreated to regroup because, for the first
time, I was able to look down at my wounded comrade.

Sean was on his side, completely uncovered, the garment being entirely
behind him.  "I'm gonna need fixin'.  Put your finger where they got
me," he instructed, totally immodestly.

"Where DID they get you?"

"Here," as he rolled onto his back, pointing to the left side of his
childlike belly.  "Down to here," he said, sliding his hand to his right
pelvis.

This afforded me an unobstructed display of his tiny member, which stood
straight up while he showed me where his wounds were.  Besides mine,
Sean's penis was the first I'd seen belonging to somebody my age.

After hesitating only slightly, I promised, "Okay.  I'll fix you up,"
and slid my index finger from his stomach to his hip.

"Uh.  That's better."  He sat up and retied the terrycloth.

"I think they're comin' back." So we darted out of that room and ran to
the basement.

I figured that it was my turn to get shot (or maybe I wanted to get in
on the "fixin'").  Therefore, as we approached a downstairs couch with
me in the lead - "oooo" - onto the sofa I twirled, having been "lanced"
from my left shoulder to my right side.

My fellow warrior fought off the attackers and now it was my turn to get
"fixed up."  My robe had swirled to the back of the divan, no longer
covering my stiff private.

"Where'd they get ya?"

I motioned, certain to assure that my left nipple was in the "from - to"
line.  It was unquestionably pleasant when that repairing was occurring,
especially when he pressed on my perky boob.

You know where this is going...Do I hafta tell ya what was in the line
of all future surgeries?  I'll say that it was unforgettable, flattening
his erect little peter and watching it spring back up when that area was
finished "getting fixed."  Amazing that all future inujuries were to the
midsection.

The best part of the procedure was when the pressure was on your tool
and you hoped that the "doctor" would never leave go.  I think that we
had identical desires so we lingered longer and longer when that part of
the anatomy "was being made better."

There wasn't much difference between us two ten- year-olds.  We were
much too young to have produced any droplets.  But it marked an
indelibly auspicious start.

Like I say, the proximity of Sean's house assured that he was frequently
involved in our messing around.  But his other major role came when I
invited Sean to join mom, dad and me at an in- ground pool party, hosted
by a family which was friendly with the Gaybulls.

Sean and I were probably approaching twelve, still having all of the
attributes of two pre-pubescent boys.  It was a late Sunday afternoon.
Burgers and dogs were cookin' on the grills.  Sean and I had been
swimming since lunchtime on this beautiful July day.  But we thought
that we would swim no more that evening and we didn't want to be wet to
eat.  So, we decided to put on our dry shorts after walking the fifty
yards to the basement bathroom that these poeple used as their home's
changing room.

Sean and I had commonly been naked around - and intimate with - each
other.  Therefore, there were no pauses as swimsuits were pulled off.
On the contrary, there seemed to be a delay of both of us putting any
clothes on.  I pretended to be drying my already-dried self.  I was
actually playing with my cock and THAT caused it to swell.  As I'm
strokng my phallus, I ask Sean, "Ever give yourself a pink dick?"

"What the fuck is that?"

"Watch." And I reached for the bar of soap on the sink, lathering my
crotch, being certain to make my shaft extremely slippery.  Then I began
tugging my dork slowly.  Slow tugging became a little faster.  And
faster.  And faster.

Sean broke my concentration when he announced, "That's jerking off."

"I call it a pink dick 'cause your dick-head gets all pink.  It's
better, though, when you're on a bed."

Sean said, "I never did it standing up.  Don't know if I could.  And
wouldn't it burn if you'd get soap in your hole?"

"That never happened to me.  And I'm gonna finish what I started."  My
statement preceeded resumed flogging.

"Me too, then.  Gimme that soap."  While he slickened his groin, his
meat lengthened to its full four inches.

He pounded while watching me and I pounded while watching him.  I'm
positive that THAT speeded things along.

Sean finished by becoming tippy-toed, exhaling an audible grunt,
grabbing the sink to aid his balance and producing a very visible
shit-eating grin.   His intensity, no doubt, exceeded mine 'cause all I
needed was a wall to lean against to steady me.

There was no jizz to contend with.  But that was less than a year away.