Date: Wed, 8 Mar 2017 20:45:06 +0100 (CET)
From: z.blake@tutanota.com
Subject: Secret Cumming Angels

SECRET CUMMING ANGELS
By Zachyboy
b/b, first time, romantic, best friends

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The following story is a work of fiction and will appear in my upcoming
collection "Yanking in the Young Years: A Celebration of Boyhood
Masturbation," coming soon to Nifty.

If you've ever loved a boy this way, or wished you could have, please make
a donation to the Nifty Archive Alliance in his honor. In his sweet,
lasting name.

http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

It will make the two of you live on forever.

On with the show.

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Dear Zach,

His name was Dakotah.

Dakotah. I know, right? Queerest name for a kid ever. Not his fault. His
parents were love and peace hippie-vegan types. He had a kid sister named
Nevadah. Both of them had an "h" on the end of their names, poor kids.

Anyway, Dakotah was the one and only boy from my childhood years I jacked
off with on a regular basis, only because we knew we could trust each other
to keep it completely hidden and secret. We did way more than just jack off
together from age 12 to 15, but that's a story for another time.

This story is about how it all started. 12-years-old. Jacking off with each
other for the very first time, and really falling in love, I guess. Or what
passes for love when it's boys loving boys.

I didn't come out as confidently gay until after college. At the school I
went to, there was gay-straight student alliance on campus, which finally
said to me, "Hey, gay is okay," so with that blessed relief, I started
messing around with other guys regularly. Repeating the stuff Dakotah and I
had done. Bigger in anatomy, but never bigger in spirit.

Thumbs up to gay-straight alliances, by the way. Nothing helps gay guys
find each other faster than a club for gay guys. Shit, what a club. Not
only did I "enjoy" it's "membership" in every sense of the word, by the
time I got my degree four years later, I was the treasurer.

Anyway, in my childhood, I was too terrified at the mere thought of getting
caught messing around with another boy I wouldn't have dared to come out. I
had pretty straight-laced uber-Christian parents who definitely would NOT
have understood. So even though I looked at boys all the time, and
definitely fantasized about them when I yanked my little dick at night, the
prospect of doing anything sexual with a real one, in the real world seemed
insurmountable. Impossible.

But you know what they say. Sometimes the solution is right in front of
you. So painfully obvious, you don't even know how you could have possibly
missed it. Enter my best friend Dakotah and his 12th birthday.

Dakotah was my best friend, forever. We'd been in school together since
kindergarten. And in the small town I grew up in, that means the same
classes, same homerooms year after year. Same first-letter, last-name, so
our desks were always together too. Even in middle school, we still had a
ton of classes together. We lived two blocks away from each other, so we
were inseparable brothers. Soulmates and cohorts.

So, growing up, there was a ton of incidental penis-viewing. We were kids
together, for Christ's sake. We played together, hung out together, had
sleepovers together. Changed clothes in front of each other. Pissed
together. Inside and outside, giggling kidlike and crossing streams. I was
certainly familiar with what Dakotah's dick looked like – small and
pink, intact and slender – and he sure knew what mine looked like – a
little thicker, a little longer, but otherwise identical to his. We both
have foreskins. We both have parents who spared us the snip. Mine looks
like his does. Just a slightly larger version. I'm about six months older
than Dakotah is.

So anyway, on his 12th birthday, his parents decide to have his party at
this state park where we live, which has a really ratty little beach that
nobody really likes to swim at. As kids, we all prefer the public pool or
the public man-made beach on the other side of town, but Dakotah's parents
are sort of peace-loving hippies and they support the national parks and
state parks and they're lifetime members of every park on the planet and
save the trees and all that jazz, so Dakotah's 12th birthday party winds up
at Chestler Beach, which is sort of, ehhh, seaweed in the lake and big
rocks in the sand that hurt your feet, but it's where all the tree-huggers
go.

Only it's really not a kid party, and it never really is in that crazy
family. There's Dakotah, me, his sister and two of her little girl friends,
but that's it for kids. Otherwise it's just aunts and uncles and grown-up
friends of his parents, who you suspect all smoke a little too much pot and
have probably never voted Republican in their lives. Great family. Nice to
everybody, but kinda "out there."

Anyway, we do cake and candles and some kind of vegan meatloaf that nobody
likes and Tofurkey hot dogs in whole wheat buns that actually aren't that
bad after you get past the initial gag reflex, and Dakotah stands by his
shitload of presents and smiles while his mom takes his picture, and the
adults all get daring and break out the wine coolers and the joints,
because nobody's there but us, and Nevadah is off playing with her two
little girl friends, and Dakotah and I sort of wander down the beach and
off to some little trail in the woods, just to explore.

We're just talking about dumb stuff. School. Bikes. What was on TV last
night. And somehow as we're walking, I get fixated on Dakotah's arms. He
has these long, skinny arms, and he's wearing a tank-top today which makes
them look even longer and skinnier. Black tank-top with some kind of
circle, sunrise, wavy logo in the middle. Red and black board shorts. He
has skinny legs, and I like those too, but mostly I can't stop staring at
his long, skinny arms. Perfect fingers. I sort of want to suck on them, as
weird as that sounds, I know.

I've been getting older and, well, hornier lately (I hate that word, but
it's the only one there is for it), and more and more, I've been thinking
of my best friend Dakotah as "pretty" all of a sudden. That's not a word
I'd ever used to describe him before, but it seems like the older I get
now, the more I realize (with an embarrassed shakiness inside), I have a
"pretty" best friend. I don't know what to do with this new information
yet. It registers in me, but in a way I'm not quite ready to internalize
yet. I'd certainly never articulate it to him.

But still, I keep staring at Dakotah's skinny arms as we walk. They're soft
and brown. They're summertime tan. They contrast perfectly with his blonde,
almost white hair. I can't stop looking at them. In the outdoor light, I
can see fine, whispy white hairs on them. Like a soft downy fuzz. Barely
perceptible. I'm sort of getting a hard-on, just looking at his arms. I
fully understand that Dakotah is pretty. And it makes my heart ache somehow
in a way I don't understand yet.

He's just chattering away and we're now about a half mile down the trail,
and nobody can see us. Nobody's at the beach that day except the people at
Dakotah's party, and they're all back on the beach drinking wine coolers
and smoking a little weed and talking about peace-loving vegan stuff and
social issues and Green Party candidates they all admire, and Dakotah stops
suddenly and says, "I gotta take a piss."

I say, "Me too," and we both stop and pull our shorts down a little and
yank our dicks over the waistband and aim off to the side of the trail and
start pissing. His is a super bright yellow stream of piss because he
always takes vitamins. Mine's more clear-colored because I probably drink
too much soda.

While we're pissing, Dakotah says, "I'm starting to get hairs all over
mine," and I get instantly excited.

I say, "Really?" and I'm thrilled, because mine is still bare.

And he says "Yeah, wanna see `em?"

And I say, "Sure," because damn, he's pretty. It's Dakotah. My friend.

And he pulls his shorts and underwear down, nice and far, WHOA, and lifts
up his tank-top a little so I can see his pubes.

And I look for hairs, honestly, I squint, but I can't see a damn thing.

"Where?" I ask him.

"Right over the top of my dong," he says. "Right here." He points with his
forefinger.

I still can't see a damn thing. "You're full of crap," I grin.

"Here," he says. "You need to see them in the light." He adjusts his angle
so a little sunlight through the trees hits his skin, and I sort of lean
down and, ehhhh, maybe some light downy wisps, like on his arms, but not
really hair. Definitely not pubes yet.

I look at him and shrug. "I'm sorry. I'm not seeing anything."

"Get close," he says. "You can see them up close."

"Ugh," I say.

On one hand this is really dumb. On the other hand, I'm really starting to
get a boner now. A really big boner, because it's Dakotah, and he's pretty.

So, I kneel down on my knees and I literally stick my eye right up close to
his pube area, so close my nose is nearly touching his dick, and sure
enough, there are a few very fine, thin blonde hairs over his dick.

"Oh yeah." I say. "There they are. Like three maybe."

He giggles and shakes his cock at my face. "Hey, while you're down there,"
he grins. "Wanna give me a birthday present?"

I stand up so fast, I scrape my knee on a pine cone, blushing bright
red. "No way."

Instantly he puts his cock away. So do I. We bolted. He joked I should suck
him, and I instantly freaked out.

It was a weird and surprising thing for him to say, because even though
we've known each other forever since kindergarten and seen each other's
cocks a million and a half times, he has never made a sex comment
ever. We've never even talked about or hinted about jacking off (even
though I'm sure he must be doing it too; I sure was). And Dakotah has
never, ever, ever, in a million years, made any kind of blowjob comment
like that. That was just unheard-of for both of us.

Anyway, he knows he's embarrassed me, so "Relax" he says, "I'm just joking
with you, Connor."

But now I'm all flustered and as we stand there on the trail, all I can
think of is, did I miss my only chance to do stuff with him because I
freaked out like that? I mean, he's pretty. He's Dakotah. Did I wreck it?
Can I get it back again?

So, I get my wits back together and before I can chicken out, I take a deep
breath and just come right out and ask him, "Do you ever play with yours at
night in bed? You know. When it gets hard like a boner?"

He kinda laughs and looks embarrassed himself now. "Duh. All the time," he
says. "It's like it never goes down anymore."

He's so pretty right then, blushing deep red. I want to kiss him. I don't
know where the feeling comes from, but I want to take him in my arms and
kiss him then. With hugging. And tongues.

"Yeah," I laugh. "Mine stays hard a lot too."

I feel like I want to say everything to him right now, but I don't know
where to start. Dakotah, I feel things for you. Dakotah, I like the fine
downy hair on your arms. Dakotah, I want to kiss you, I think.

There's their weird, long pause, and you can feel our shared uncertainty in
the air.

"Mine's hard right now," I tell him honestly. Embarrassed, but kind of
wanting to show it to him. "It got real hard and it won't go down."

He grins and blushes. "Yeah. Mine too," he says. "It's super, super hard."

Another long pause that feels like forever.

"Wanna show `em to each other?" he shrugs.

"Okay," I shrug back, and we both pull our shorts down again, and boing,
our dicks snap up and hit both our stomachs. We laugh because it's like
it's choreographed.

Well NOW what, I'm thinking, because here we are standing with our dicks
pointing straight up at our belly buttons, not knowing what to do next.

"Does your skin pull back from your head yet?" he asks.

I nod. I show him.

"Mine too." He skins his back. His little head is perfect and pink
underneath. We both have boners. I can swear I hear our hearts pounding.

"Wanna play with `em in front of each other?" he asks simply.

Mine is so hard right now I think it's going to crack in half.

"Sure." I say simply. "Nobody's out here, right?"

"Nah," he says. "We're good. Nobody's ever out here."

We both step out of our shorts and underwear. Like totally bare from the
waist down. I still have my t-shirt on. He still has his tank-top.

And he reaches down and starts playing with his. Just sort of pinching the
nozzle tip and moving the foreskin slowly back and forth around his head at
first with his thumb and his forefinger, but then taking his whole palm
hand and wrapping it around himself, and stroking in earnest. I do the same
to mine.

"You ever use spit?" he asks me. "You know. To get your hand wetter? And
make it even slipperier?"

I nod and it's a lie. I really never do it with spit. But I want to see
Dakotah do it that way. So I pretend that I do.

And without a word, we both lick our palms and start stroking again.

"This is weird," he says. "Doing it with you. I'm embarrassed."

"Yeah," I agree. "But it feels good, right?"

"Yeah."

I look at his face. His cheeks are so pretty. Flushed and soft. Something
in me wants to cry, he's so pretty. And I don't understand why.

We do it for another half minute, not saying anything. I'm staring at his
skinny arm. Then at his dick. Then at his eyelashes. He has such pretty,
gentle eyelashes. Then at his arms again. I want to kiss his arms, but I
know I can't. Boys don't do that. They might do this, but they don't do
that.

My dick is even harder now, watching his skinny arm muscles while he
strokes himself.

"You ever do another guy's?" he asks me. "You know. Jack it up and down for
him?"

"No way," I say instantly, horrified, embarrassed. "You ever?"

He blushes. "Yeah. Once. My cousin. He's older. He made me do his in a tent
once. On a camping trip."

"Wow," I tell him, because I can't ever imagine how two boys could ever be
brave enough to do that.

"His was big," he says. "He's almost 16. His shot stuff at the end. White
stuff came out."

"Wow." I said.

"Yeah. Sperm," he tells me.

He stops jerking for a second and looks at mine. "Does yours shoot white
stuff out yet? You know. Like sperm and stuff?"

"No," I tell him. "Mine just gets tickly."

"Yeah," he says. "Mine too. Nothing comes out yet."

Then a long pause. A really long pause.

"You want me to do yours for you?" he shrugs. Then quickly. "You know. Just
so you can see what it feels like?"

I know this is wrong. I know this is weird. But I keep staring at his
perfect skinny arm, and I feel like I want to cry I love him so much right
now. I don't ever know how life gave me this perfect, good friend. I'm hard
and I'm excited, but I'm also all upside-down inside, because I feel like I
love him, and I don't deserve how good he makes me feel.

"Okay," I say. "But you promise we'll never tell anybody, right?"

"Swear," he says, and he puts fresh spit on his hand, not that he needs it,
my foreskin feels fine and shiny by itself already, but when he reaches
over and grabs my dick, the second he touches it, my knees go weak. I
almost fall down. At 12, I thought it felt great to touch my own dick. It
was nothing compared to the first time Dakotah touched it that way.

He starts jacking me, and he's got a real nice natural rhythm to his
movement. I don't know how many times he's done this for his older cousin,
but he seems to be really good at it. I'm embarrassed, but I like it. I
feel myself melting into him somehow. Stepping closer. Needing this in my
body, but also, weirdly, needing this in my heart. The moment is quiet and
almost like magic.

"I don't know if I'm supposed to say something," I tell him honestly. "I've
never done this before."

I just want to hug him. I want us to kiss. But we can't do that part
here. I know we're not supposed to.

"You wanna do mine too?" he asks hopefully. There's a quiet littleness in
his voice. I won't recognize that littleness until years later. It's
need. Desire. It's asking permission. It's aroused desperation.

I reach down and without even answering him. I take his foreskin between my
thumb and my forefinger and I wiggle it around a little. He shudders when I
touch him. He gasps in breath when I move it for him. It feels warm and
smooth. I start moving it back and forth. Sliding it up and down. Exposing,
then hiding his head. Then exposing it again and again.

He shudders when I do this for him. He stops doing mine for a minute
because he's so lost in how I'm doing his for him. It feels like art to me,
touching and moving him gently this way. Then I wrap his dick in my hand. I
squeeze it and move it. Then he finds his rhythm on mine once again. We
stand together, closer now, chest to chest, doing each other.

"Oh wow," he whispers. "Oh, wow this feels good."

And it's not "wow" because we're jacking each other. It's "wow" because
it's gentler and softer than we thought it would be. It's "wow" because
underneath it all, we're best friends and we know how to do this for each
other. It's "wow" because it's already love.

We stand super close and tight to each other. He's doing mine and I'm doing
his. We're not even looking down at them. His eyes are closed now. We're
standing so close I can smell the birthday frosting on his breath.

He leans his head down now and he puts it on my shoulder. I want to cry
again, he feels so good nestled into me like this. I didn't know I needed
him this way. It's like we're hugging now, only jacking each other too.

We stand there in the woods together, 12 and masturbating. Holding each
other. Learning how physical and emotional love fit together at the very
same time like a puzzle piece. A discovered solution. It's a moment in my
past that changed my whole world. My life was born in the woods that day.

We do it like that, chest to chest, hugging and
jacking. Nestling. Quiet. Secretly loving. I can smell the salt on his
neck. The summer sun heat of his hair. He's snuggling me. I'm holding him
with one arm behind his skinny back. His back is arched and feels perfect
in the cup of my hand. And we're jacking each other off. Stroking each
other without saying a word. It feels so good, so natural and so right. The
jacking of course, but also this long, secret, private hug. We've needed to
hug each other like this, quietly for so long now. Here in the woods where
no one can see.

I nuzzle my face down into his hair and inhale the sweet heat of him. We
are perfectly moving and perfectly in tune. Our hips start undulating for
each other. It's urgent and it's beautiful and we're helping each other
along. We already know what to do. We need no help finishing this. I
whisper in his ear, "I love you, Dakotah." It's out before I know it, and I
don't have time to take it back. He whimpers when I say it. It makes
Dakotah whimper.

"I'm gonna get my feeling," he whispers, tensing up beneath me.

"Me too," I whisper breathlessly, clutching him tightly.

Our hips get shaky. His arm is quivering. I feel my ending coming.

It happens at the same time. We gasp and explode for each other. Dry
explosion of shuddering boyhood. Howling sweet fire. Best friends forever,
doing this and needing this. So good. So secret. The world sparkles white
with our lightning when it happens. Such accidental joy. The forest is
swimming with our dizzy, happy fireflies for each other.

We breathe. Our hearts beat. We breathe and we hug each other and come back
down, exhausted and humbled. There are tears on my cheeks and I wipe them
away quickly with the back of my hand before he can see them. Before he
knows what this means to me. Before he finds out how much I really do love
him.

It's astounding, this love. It hurts, it's so large.

"Oh wow," he whispers. "Connor. Wow."

I kiss his neck. I find the audacity to dare. I softly kiss his neck and I
do it again. If it can't be love, at least let me have these little stolen
kisses.

He giggles. He nudges his soft cheek into my shoulder. He sighs, content.

We're shaking and silent, Pressed together, embarrassed, happy and scared.

"That felt great," he says at last. "I really, always wanted to do that
with you. Did you too? With me?"

I don't know what to say to him, so I just nod. A simple nod "yes."

I'm lost in the enormity of the aftermath. I told my friend I loved him. We
stroked each other's cocks and I told him I loved him. I'm so happy we did
this, but I'm feeling really weird about it now. Confused and upended with
butterflies in my stomach. My mouth feels dry. We put our dicks away.

"Hey," he says quietly, reading my mind. "Don't feel weird about it. I'll
never tell."

I smile nervously. "Okay. I mean, yeah. It was good. I liked it a lot."

"It's just natural," he says to me. "That's what my cousin says. It's just
natural."

We awkwardly turn around and head down the trail, back toward the beach. We
don't say much at first. What's happened back there has sort of overwhelmed
us.

But then he stops and turns around. He looks me in the eyes and he quietly
smiles and says. "Connor. Thanks. I love you, too."

And he turns around and starts walking again, and I'm glad he's turned away
from me so he can't see me crying. My tears fall down like waterfalls and
raindrops. They're bigger than me. They're realization.

I love my friend. I always have. But now I know what love really means.

Boyhood is such a resilient time. Two best friends who cross a bridge
together will eventually find their voices again. They'll learn how to live
it and make it a part of themselves. They'll understand need, and
opportunity, and their secret love will find a way. They'll find a way to
do it again, like Dakotah and I did that summer, and the one after that,
and the one after that.

Dakotah was the only boy I ever masturbated with in my childhood. And the
only boy's cock I ever took into my mouth, scared but eager, novice but
hungry. He was the only boy who ever blew me. And the only boy I ever made
love to.

Scared and shaking, I made love to him one night and discovered the path to
the rest of my life. Two nights afterwards, he made love to me. And so
began a new adventure. Dakotah and I, we did everything together. From 12
to 15, every best secret in my world was shared with Dakotah.

There's a lot you get to have in your childhood, but you're not allowed to
talk about it.

With Dakotah and me, it was love, but it couldn't be love. Not to the
outside world anyway. We were lovers, we were partners, but we couldn't
tell anybody.

It was that complicated part of a beginning gay life where your status is
known, but only to each other. To the rest of the world, you're a
closely-guarded secret. An essentially-guarded secret. You are lovers, but
not lovers. Innocently, repeatedly, cumming in private. Loving in
silence. And that's just the way it has to be.

How it ended between us is another long story, and it's kind of a sad one,
so I won't tell it here. We'll save that story for another day.

As for me and Dakotah and the memories we shared, I think I'd just like to
leave us in the woods for a little while longer. In this story, anyway. The
two of us that day, standing in the woods, jacking each other off and
discovering we were bigger than we thought we were. In a lot of
ways. Especially in our hearts.

"Connor. Thanks. I love you too."

That's how it started. And God, how I miss him.

"Hey, don't feel weird about it,' he promised me. "I'll never tell. It's
just natural."

And true to his word, he never told a soul.

That's how it was then for me and Dakotah. Perfect and private. Hidden, but
natural.

Lovers, but not lovers.

Secret cumming angels.

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