Date: Sat, 8 Feb 2003 02:17:53 -0500 (EST)
From: Clark Gaybull <ClarkGaybull@webtv.net>
Subject: Mess-Around Buddies #3

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-------------------THE THREE BROTHERS-------------------

Here boys and boys (Hey - shouldn't we direct our attempts at humor
first toward ourselves?) is my recollection of three brothers who lived
across the street from me about six years ago.

In keeping with the promise to change character names, I'll call these
siblings something different than in real life.  I watched a lotta
NASCAR in the final two months of their season, so, being that I need
names for three brothers, Geoff, Brett and Todd comes to mind.

I felt their initial display of sexual kinkiness one summer night when
five of us camped out - in two tents - in the empty lot amongst some
apple trees in back of my former residence.  By five, I mean me, Sean
(who I wrote about in Mess-Around Buddies #2), Geoff, Brett and Todd,
who, at ten, was the youngest.  Brett was eleven.  And Geoff was twelve
- the same age as Sean and me.  (The brothers' mother is an example of a
very busy lady in the 1990s.  She's also a teacher!)

It wasn't late - maybe 10 or 10:30PM.  Prior to using both tents, all
five of us were in Sean's stinky tent.  (It smelled just like the bad
aroma in his house - even with the windows open.)

We had gone around earlier in the day and collected - in a small,
plastic K-Mart bag - discarded cigarette butts.  (Sean's parents - and
the adult neighbors in the other direction - are chain-smokers and
litterbugs.)  We thought it'd be cool to unpeel any remaining tobacco
from those butts, stuff it into Sean's bubble-pipe and smoke it.  (We
didn't have any money to give to somebody to buy a pack for us and Sean
was unsuccessful at stealing any puffs from his folks.)

We all sat cross-legged, lit it, passed it around, and were actually
able to inhale some smoke.  We did our share of coughing.  And our eyes
watered.  Then the smouldering stopped and more grounds were needed.

Sean had worn pajamas from his house.  He arose to cram more into the
pipe but had to spread his legs real wide to minimize his height,
otherwise his head would strike the top of the tent, which was shorter
than he was.  Our big flashlight was behind Sean and, given his posture,
the silhouette of Sean's privates was visible to the brothers.  They
roared with laughter.

"What's so funny?"

"You don't wear underwear under your PJs, do you?" mused detective
Geoff.

Sean realized quickly how Geoff knew this but just chuckled and swiveled
his hips so that you could see the outline of his little pecker move.

"Our mom makes us sleep in our undies.  We don't have any PJs," Geoff
said.  (I guess, because he's oldest, Brett and Todd don't talk much
when they're with Geoff.)

"You don't know what you're missin'", quipped Sean.  "And, watch this,"
as he stuck his dick through a vertical slit in the material.  "It's
easier to pee outta these things than to fidget with your jockeys."

"We sleep in boxers."

"They're okay if your clothes aren't too tight."

"Yeah.  We have jockeys on now."

"Want me to get my other PJs for ya?"

"Okay."

"I don't know if I have THREE more pairs though.  Clark:  undies or
PJs?"

"Actually, nothing.  But, I have SOME PJs somewhere."

"Go get 'em."

"What'll I tell my mom?"

"Tell her the truth - that we're gettin' 'em for these three 'cause
they've never worn pajamas."

"Okay," I responded, tinged with incredulity.

A while later we had both returned - Sean carried two pairs and I had
two and a half:  Couldn't find the top of one set.

"That's enough.  Try 'em on."

(The fourth pair was for me.  I thought we were gonna sleep in our
clothes.)

"Anybody ask what you were doin'?" Sean questioned.

"I told them that I came in to use the bathroom.  They kept watching TV,
not me."

"Mine didn't even speak to me.  They saw me come in but paid no
attention went I went back out."

Modesty has never been an issue with most of my friends.  The sternest
lecture I ever received was after my shirt got stuck over my face and
upstretched arms as I was attempting to remove it prior to wading in the
backyard pool which several kids from the neighborhood were using.  My
mother was supervising and - when I ran, unclothed from the waist-down,
to enlist her help - she informed me that it wasn't proper to be naked
in front of girls.  So I thought that it was okay to be nude if only
boys were present.  I don't know why Sean is such an exhibitionist.
Maybe he loses all inhibitions when his only sibling - an older sister -
isn't around.  And the three brothers...well, they're the only kids.
So, I guess it's natural to show themselves to each other.

Anyway, the four of us were not at all hesitant to shed our clothes in
deferance to the whispy pajamas.  I think that there was more of a rush
to get into the different duds than to focus on crotches.  Once in them,
however, it was another story.  Everybody wanted to stand in front of
the flashlight and produce an outline of his genitals.  Eventually, we
learned how to make ourselves appear bigger than we were (and we all
wanted that.)  It was all in the making of the shadow.  Poor Todd,
though.  His was so little that it cast no silhouette.

Later that same night - it must have been around 3AM - Geoff and I in my
tent were awakened by Sean, Brett and Todd, who had come over from
theirs.

"Let's go for a walk," Sean coaxed.

"What time is it?"

"I don't know.  Who cares?  Come on."

I looked at Geoff.  He looked at me.  We were both deciding whether to
return to sleeping or become more awake, which is what happened because
the longer we kept our eyes opened, the awaker we felt.

"Where we goin?" I asked.

"Let's go to the school."

The school was close - on the edge of town.  In back of the school is a
paved playground, a large athletic field, then a forest begins.

I suppose it could happen only in the backwoods town that we live in,
but, the three-block walk to and from the school was undetected, even
though it was summertime and windows were open.  We sure weren't quiet.

When we got behind the school, we were home free.  The three brothers
started trotting around like ostriches on the run.  First Geoff, then
Brett, then Todd unbuttoned their tops and held their shirts' waistlines
in their hands as if they were wings.  Next they shucked their bottoms
and ran around bare-assed, simulating flutes playing The Mountain King.
(Could I make this up?  Could you ever forget this?)

They flitted around, their little peters stiffening.  And soon all five
of us were participating in this frenzy.  (I plead temporary insanity.)

Another sweltering day that same summer, Todd and I had my house to
ourselves.  We complained about how hot it was.  (We had no
air-conditioning.) Too hot, we concluded, for our Little League game
that evening.

"No matter how hot it gets, it's always hotter in my attic," I
philosophized.  (Even then I guess, I wanted to believe that things
could always be worse.)

"Really?  Let's go see!"  (Yes.  He DOES talk away from Brett and
Geoff.)

Our house then had stairs to a third-floor attic, with no insulation
beneath an old slate roof.

"Wow! It really IS hot up here!  Let's play naked tag!"

Now, I can certainly understand the lack of clothes in the stifling
attic.  But why would anybody want to be up here, let alone do anything
strenuous?  Why do we do some of the things we do?  "Okay.  If you
really want to."

So, naked tag commenced.  On that day, I stopped thinking that we don't
sweat very much when we're twelve or ten.  We certainly glistened a very
few minutes later. Coupled with the dustiness of the stuff that we were
running around and climbing over, we soon sported smudges and dirt was
sticking to us.  I don't know why, but this eventually felt good.  And
my penis began to rise.

"I see you LIKE this," Todd panted.

"It gets like that sometimes.  Like yours is, too."

"Let's wrestle."

"On the dirty floor?"

"Isn't there something we could put down?"

"I don't know what's up here."  Then I saw a rolled-up old straw porch
rug.  "We could try THAT."

Bad idea.  After it was flat on the floor, the first take-down occurred.
While the inter-personal contact was very pleasant, the resultant rug
abrasions were not.  And a cloud of dust came up through the straw rug
when we fell on it, making us even dirtier.

"Enough.  Let's roll this thing back up and get outta here."

It was probably 95-degrees at the bottom of the attic steps.  But THAT
was a relief compared to up above.

"I can't go home like this."

"There's the bathtub."  (Man - was Todd dirty!)  I wanted to get clean,
too, so, in with him I flopped, which made our dicks get hard again.
The slipperiness of our soapy, wet bodies rubbing together felt even
better.  We probably stopped short of orgasming when I said, "This is a
shower, too, you know."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You didn't ask."  (Didn't you know how that was gonna go?)

We stood up; washed each other clean; (it was more difficult to get all
of the dirt out of the tub) dried off; and stuffed our woodies in our
pants (i. e., got dressed).

One night, the following summer, another neighbor kid, Steve, asked
Brett and me to "sleep over" in his tent.  This was to be my first
venture into mutual masturbation.

Steve was asleep.  Brett and I were trying to sleep.  Finally, he
whispered, "Clark.  You awake?"

"I can't sleep."

"Me either."

"Wha' d'ya wanna do?"

"Beat off."

"Want to?"

"Let's.  It feels good.  But Geoff's the only one who juices yet."

"I juice."

"Really?  Show me."

We then began jerking beneath our respective sleeping bags.

Just then, the tent flaps flew open and Steve's father and uncle shone a
flashlight into our eyes.

"What's goin' on in there?"

"Just trying to get to sleep," I lied.

"Do you always sleep naked?"

"I'm not naked.  I'm sleeping in my bathing suit.  See."  And I pulled
down my sleeping bag to show what I had managed to put back over my
privates.  (For once I was not sleeping in my birthday suit.)

"Well...goodnight."  And we watched them walk through the back doorway
to Steve's house.

"I wonder how much they heard?" worried Brett.

"Don't know.  Don't care.  They're gone now.  Back to relaxing."  And
the stroking resumed, this time atop the sleeping bags.

"Here. Let me," volunteered Brett.

My hand fell to the ground and was soon replaced by Brett's.  I had seen
- and been seen by - countless others in the raw before - even aroused.
But this was the first time that I had been touched "there" and was
returning the favor, because my dropped hand found its way to Brett's
groin.  I tried to make him feel as good as he was making me feel.  But
he seemed to be succeeding more than me.  Maybe because I was a
thirteen-year-old cum-producer and he was a semenless twelve-year- old,
I could, therefore, enjoy the sensations more.  Maybe he was so intent
on what I was gonna do that he was desensitized to his own feelings.  In
any event, I thought that I was doing something wrong.  But that was
secondary to the pleasure at my pecker.

I couldn't hold back any longer and three or four spurts of jizz flew
from my piss slit.

The tent flaps were still open, allowing considerable moonlight to come
in, which, combined with improving night vision, permitted a pretty good
view of what was taking place.

"Sorry, Brett.  But I just don't seem to be doing you any good."

"That's okay.  I've got no spunk anyway."

So, I merely rubbed the goo into my belly and went to sleep.

Next summer, Geoff and I are fourteen; Brett's thirteen; and Todd is
twelve.  They invite me to go with their family to a nearby beach on a
river.  Their dad has a small outboard motorboat which is steered by
sitting in the back of the craft and levering the motor to the left or
right.

Brett and Todd don't like to fish.  But Geoff, his dad and I did for a
couple of hours.  Then, his dad motored the boat back to the launching
area, saying that he had to build a fire on which to cook hamburgers and
hot dogs.

After eats, Geoff wanted his dad to go back out in the boat.  But his
dad didn't want to.  The paternal response, however, included a gesture
that surprised us all.  He said that Geoff could captain the boat
without the dad.  "Just be back by eight.  We want to leave before dark.
And be sure to wear your life vests."

Hot damn.  We had almost ninety minutes on the river and, all of a
sudden, Brett and Todd were no longer land-lubbers.  Fortunately, there
were enough life jackets.

Up and down the river we went.  But, to take a break from sailing, we
decided to explore an island in the river which we had passed several
times.  It showed evidence of a few campfires but no inhabitants
currently.

Just before 7:30PM, we decided to head back to the boat.  Todd said,
"Wait a minute.  I gotta pee."

"Me too," agreed Brett.

"Might as well join them," Geoff chimed in.

And I emptied my kidneys as well.

We were far enough apart so that nobody could piss on anybody else.  But
we all aimed at somebody.  From my vantage point, I could see that -
like myself - they had all grown pubes.  They were all brunettes, so,
even Todd's crotch appeared older than my blond fuzz.  Despite a
two-year age span, they now appeared so similar.  I guessed that the
youngest one was growing fastest and the oldest one was growing slowest.

When Brett began running out of pee, and Todd began popping a boner,
Todd said, "Let's see who can shoot farthest."

"Yeah, let's," agreed Brett.

"Okay."  And Geoff was in.

Looking around, we saw no one else on the river, so, the competition
began.

"No fair.  You're hard already," Brett complained to Todd.

"I'm not gonna wait for you.  Anyway, I said farthest, not fastest"

Meanwhile, Geoff and I were trying to get going.

Now it was Todd's turn to yell, "No fair.  Nobody touches anybody else."

So much for Geoff and I helping each other.

We must have been a sight:  side-by-side, flailng furiously.

"Don't anybody turn and hit me with their second or third shot," Geoff
warned.

"He's got a notion somebody's close," I thought.  Facts were that they
all had very serious faces, more-frequent leg-stiffening, changed
breathing (grunts at times).  This is one challenge that they're each
going all-out to win.  The "loser" probably had to "put up with" the
other two for a few days.  The "winner" probably gloated for a like
amount of time.

Here's how this turned out.  Don't know if these techniques have
anything to do with the results.  But Brett jerked continuously with one
hand and played with himself with the other, cupping his balls, pinching
his nipples, rubbing his pubes.  He shot first.  We all knew that he was
there.  But he must have felt obliged to announce, "Here goes."
Followed by four strings of cum jetting to the knee-deep river which we
were standing in.

Todd's pumps were just as fast but more intermittant.  And the hand that
wasn't working was raised, bent at the elbow, and behind his head,
showing his distinct lack of pit bush.  His hips thrust forward and
backward violently when he stroked, as if to help him shoot farher.  His
liquid was least but spurted the most distance.  So Todd "won."  "Uhhh,"
he grunted, each time his three volleys of jizz flew out.

Geoff got off last;  but most:  perhaps five or six gobs.  His motions
were much slower, with more hand-alternation.  He, too, pinched his
nipples, cupped his balls and rubbed his pubes with the hand that wasn't
wanking.  He also gave verbal forewarning of his explosion.  "I'm
cumming.  Feels so good."

I was so avidly watching this contest that my own release was delayed.
My llood followed Geoff's - least intense of all, not spouting very far,
but fairly plentiful.  Typically satisfying, though.

"It's always like that," Geoff said.  "If it's Todd's idea, it's always
'farthest.'  If it's Brett's idea, it's 'who cums first.'  I always say
'most.'"

We returned to - and started - the motorboat, propelled down the river
to the launching area, and removed the craft from the water in plenty of
time.  From then-on, we referred to that spot as "jerk-off island."

There's one other recollection of Geoff from a few weeks later four
summers ago:  We were on my bed, watching cartoons.  Another mid-morning
weekday, so, mom and dad are at work.

"Beat off today?"

"No."  (I'm surprised that so many other writers treat sex with such
taboo.  In my town, most of the kids are so casual about it.)

"Let's do it."

"Okay."

So, while Scooby Doo coped with today's antagonist, we worked each other
up.  I knew that Geoff liked other areas stimulated while he jacked
himself off, so, I palmed his developing pecs, squeezed his pointy
nipples and twirled the patch of hair above his tool.

Instead of simultaneous masturbation, I hoped that he would reciprocate
later.  He stretched his near arm above his head to encourage me to
tickle his pit.  This seemed to be working because he was really
squrming beneath my touch as he pounded, arching his back as if to say,
"Feel me harder."

With his pleasure increasing, his middle stayed convex.  His leg muscles
stayed flexed.  His cock thickened and...splash...the whitish-clear
substance pulsed out from his dickhead, over his hand and onto his
torso.  "mmmm...mmmm...mmmm.... mmmm," with each gush.  "I'm all outta
breath.  That was fantastic."

My room was next to the bathroom, so, I quickly got a washcloth and
absorbed the puddles.  Sitting beside him on the bed, I was almost
finished when he pushed me flat on the comforter, climbed on my pelvis
and said, "Now I'm gonna do you."  He didn't get any resistance from ME.

Following my example, he tweaked my tits and worked his hands down to my
pecker, which he was sitting on.  (Good thing it wasn't stiff when he
mounted me 'cause that wouldda hurt.)  It boinged upward when he moved
off of it.

One thing that I didn't do that HE DID was to spit into one's hand and
drool down onto my dick to increase the slipperiness when he grabbed it.
Oooh, that felt good!

Another thing he did was to grip with alternating tightness as his hand
slowly slid up and down my five-inch shaft.  That was different.

In little time, he had me writhing like HE was a few minutes earlier.  I
bucked up to meet his descending hand.  My ass cheeks squeezed together
and I could hear my inhales deepening.  Sometimes I held my breath for
fifteen seconds or so.  That leg- muscle-clenching really helped bring
me closer.  I was keeping that stuff inside now.  But I knew that
there'd come a point when I'd lose control.  The longer you're able to
be in charge, the more intense it is when you have to let go.  And I was
just about to where I HAD to let go.  That's it.  No more.  Reached the
end.  Here it comes.  There it goes.  Goosh.  Goosh.  Goosh.  Goosh.
Goosh.  Another fine orgasm I'm into.

I'm now prone - on my back; exhausted; covered with cum; trying to
resume normal breathing.  Here's where another new wrinkle occurs:
While I'm collapsed, waiting for my senses to return, I feel Geoff
poking into one of the pools of fluid.  I've got my eyes closed, still
enjoying the effects of a retreating climax, when he plunges three
fingers deep into my mouth.

"Taste good?  I heard that some people eat it."

"What the fuck?"

He's scooping up another glob of it and bringing his hand toward my
mouth again.  Amid my protests, I think that he jammed another quart
between my lips before I could stand up and start spitting it out.

That's right.  He had made me a cum-eater.  Because it was my own,
though, I suppose that it reduced my aversion to the thought.
(Actually, it wasn't too bad.)

"Don't do that again."  My pronouncement was very deliberate as I
hurried to the batroom to gargle.

Seven months later, we moved to our current home, ten blocks away.  But
it might as well have been across the country.  As with all personal
relationships, proximity is paramount.  I scarsely ever see those
brothers any more - except in school, before I graduated last year.