Date: Sat, 1 Apr 2017 04:54:40 +0200 (CEST)
From: z.blake@tutanota.com
Subject: Yanking in the Young Years

YANKING IN THE YOUNG YEARS
A Celebration of Boyhood Masturbation
By Zachyboy
b/b, masturbation, oral, anal, memoir, anthology

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

The following 26 stories in this massive, masturbatory collection are works
of fiction. Or maybe they're not. You decide.

Wouldn't it be more fun if over the course of a few years, I actually
collected these memories from anonymous guys who shared them with me?
True-life tales of their own youthful participation in the Oldest Boyhood
Hobby in History? Whoof, I like that idea.

Oh, I may have polished them up a little for style and content, because
trust me, a few of their original authors couldn't hit the broad side of a
barn in a spelling bee, but other than that, let's just suspend disbelief
long enough to pretend that each and every shuddering, twitching, pretty
little climax is authentically, deliciously, boygasmically true.

No adult men lend a helpful hand to any of the boys in these stories. These
are simply boyhood memories about boys with other boys, doing what boys do
best.

The following stories are a great big work of fiction.

Only wouldn't it be fun if they weren't?

Love,
Zachyboy
April Fool's Day 2017

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

Pump out some juice for the Nifty Archive Alliance. They've been helping
you masturbate for ages.

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

Pick a letter and on with the show.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

YANKING IN THE YOUNG YEARS
Table of Contents

Foreword by Kewl Dad
Chapter 1. "A" is for Avery
Chapter 2. "B" is for Beauchamp
Chapter 3. "C" is for Chris
Chapter 4. "D" is for Dakotah
Chapter 5. "E" is for Eric and Everybody
Chapter 6. "F" is for Forrest
Chapter 7. "G" is for Gable
Chapter 8. "H" is for Hank
Chapter 9. "I" is for Igor
Chapter 10. "J" is for Jason and Jeremy
Chapter 11. "K" is for Kyle
Chapter 12. "L" is for Logie
Chapter 13. "M" is for Marcus
Chapter 14. "N" is for Newt
Chapter 15. "O" is for Ox
Chapter 16. "P" is for Peter
Chapter 17. "Q" is for Quinn
Chapter 18. "R" is for Rectums
Chapter 19. "S" is for Stallies
Chapter 20. "T" is for Tim
Chapter 21. "U" is for Uri
Chapter 22. "V" is for Valentin
Chapter 23. "W" is for Whizzer
Chapter 24. "X" is for Xander
Chapter 25. "Y" is for Yancy
Chapter 26. "Z" is for Zachyboy

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

FOREWORD
By Kewl Dad
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/authors.html#kewldad

Recently, I was asked by my friend and fellow Nifty writer Zachyboy to
write the introduction to his new collection, "Yanking in the Young Years:
A Celebration of Boyhood Masturbation."

First of all, let me tell you how honored I am to have this amazing writer,
who has filled so many of my reading hours with his wonderful, humorous and
sexy stories, ask me of all people, to introduce his first and only
novel-length anthology.

Over the last year or so, I have come to look forward to new stories from
Zach and devour them like candy. I even mimicked his style in one of my own
stories, "Andy Tastes Like Candy." But hey, isn't plagiarism just another
form of praise?...lol.

I guess what I like most about Zach's work is that he always manages to
make me laugh, and a good laugh is almost as good as an orgasm when you get
to be my age. Not that his stories don't produce some good orgasms too,
because they do.

I especially like how Zach mixes humor and sex – and sometimes even
romance – and creates a story that draws you in and keeps you wanting
more, right to the end.

Few writers on Nifty, or anywhere else for that matter, have the ability to
produce work in such volume as he does, and still keep it new and fresh
every single time.

So that being said, I give it up now to the master, Zachyboy, who has woven
26 magical stories from "A" for Amazing to "Z" for Zach. I hope you enjoy
them as much as I did, and that you'll take a minute and shoot him an email
and tell him just how special he is.

So, sit back, loosen your fly and feel free to rub one out if the mood
strikes you.

Thanks, Zach, for thinking of me, and for sharing your wonderful talent
with us mere mortals.

Your devoted fan,
Kewl Dad

And now, "Yanking in the Young Years."

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 1. "A" IS FOR AVERY

Dear Zachyboy,

"Row, row, row your boat, gently down the lake. Avery spits and grabs your
dick and gives that thing a shake!"

I read your request for submissions about boyhood masturbation. This is
what your post in my thread said.

"Wanted: True-life stories about your first masturbation experience with
another boy. Or your most unique and memorable one. Send them to Zachyboy
at the email address below for possible use in an upcoming Nifty
anthology. Anonymity guaranteed. Submissions welcome. Love you. Zach."

Well, Zach, this is both. This is my first masturbation experience with
another boy, and to this day, still my most memorable one. Because when a
boy asks you to jack off with him, well, that's one thing. But when he asks
you to stop for a second because he wants you to suck his nipples at the
same time, well now we're talking about something special.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I better start from the beginning. Every
collection of memories needs a proper beginning, right? As you yourself
always say, "on with the show."

So, Avery was this kid I saw every summer when my family went camping at
Lake Davis in North Dakota. My parents had been going there since before I
was born. My dad and Avery's dad were friends from their old Army
days. Avery and his family lived in Montana and we lived in Minnesota, so
North Dakota was the halfway point.

The annual once-a-summer, seven-day camping trip to Lake Davis was our
parents annual catch-up time. They lived for it, and we spent the full week
in tents and campers, theirs parked next to ours on the same big double
site every summer. There were no other kids. Just me and Avery. I was an
only child and so was he.

I was two years older than him, so I'd literally known him since he was a
baby, and we played together at the camp like unofficial cousin-brothers
who saw each other once a year. He was a great, funny kid and a whole lot
of fun to grow up with.

It didn't get sexual at all until the year I was 13 and Avery was 11. I'd
been jacking off for a year already, so an impending week at a campground
for me contained the extra logistics of where I might go to jack off in
private without Avery tagging along, since I figured at that age I already
did it and he didn't have a clue. Boy, did I call that one wrong.

The first day we were there, we were swimming off the dock. The water was
great in August. Really warm and comfortable, and it was common for us to
be in there until our fingertips turned to prunes. Avery wore a tight blue
speedo, and I had on loose trunks that were a little too big for me.

At one point, I was up on the dock and Avery was still in the water,
resting his arms on the edge of it chattering away, when suddenly he grins
up at me and says, "Hey! I can see your dick and balls through the leg of
your shorts. Woo-Hoo! Hello, sailor! Wanna dance?"

And I just laughed and jumped back in the lake and dunked him, but it kind
of made me secretly excited that Avery saw my junk.

That night in the woods, walking back from the pit toilet, I stopped behind
a tree and I jacked off and came on the forest floor thinking of Avery
looking up and seeing my dick. "Woo-Hoo! Hello, sailor! Wanna dance?"

Yeah, I did wanna dance. I suddenly wanted to dance with Avery something
fierce that summer.

I never really gave much thought to sex with another boy at that point. I
mean, I did jack off at home in my bed every night, but I'm pretty sure I
thought of girls, not boys. Or maybe not. I can't remember.

But I would definitely say that summer at the lake with Avery was the
beginning of my gay awakening. Sex with girls never seemed to enter my mind
much after that. Just other boys, and mostly Avery and that thing he made
me do to him in the rowboat in the cove. But I'm getting ahead of myself
again.

So, the next day, we're walking through the woods and Avery starts
chattering away asking all these really dumb questions.

"Do you ever fart?"

"Of course I fart. Everybody farts."

"Do you ever pee the bed?"

"No."

"Where's the weirdest place you ever peed before?"

"I don't know. In a glass jar in my friend's garage, I think."

"Did he watch you pee?"

"Yeah."

"Did you hold each other's things when you peed?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't know."

"Did he have a big thing?"

"Same as mine."

Looking back, I'm sure all those endless chattering questions were Avery's
overtures to my eventual masturbatory seduction. He was trying to get me to
talk about dirty things, naughty things, taboo-type things to get me
interested in doing stuff with him. At 11, he already knew enough about how
dicks worked to lay the verbal groundwork to get mine excited. And it
worked perfectly. His questions were driving me insane with lust.

"Did you ever say a bunch of swear words all at once?"

"Sure. Everybody does."

"What's your worst one you ever said.?"

"Fuck, I guess. Motherfucker, probably."

"Do you ever look at your thing in the mirror?"

"Yeah. Sometimes."

"Is your thing ever hard when you wake up in the morning?"

"Yeah. Always."

"Does it go down when you pee?"

And so forth and so on.

Now, this went on for another day until I was just about going out of my
mind with Avery and all the questions he kept asking me about my "thing."

We were peeing in the woods, and I should say after all those years of
camping trips, we'd peed together hundreds of times, but this time he
looked down at my wiener and I looked down at his, and he said, "Do you
ever rub your thing on your mattress when you go to sleep?"

"No," I said.

"Oh," he said.

There was a pause while we shook our drops off but left our wieners hanging
out from the top of our swim trunks, over the elastic bands.

"Do you ever rub yours back and forth with your fingers, like this? he
asked, tugging his trunks down a little, and taking his thumb and
forefinger, he made a rudimentary jacking off motion on his circumcised
dick tip. He moved it back and forth about ten times, and I started to get
hard just watching him do it.

"Sure," I said, only I do mine more like this. And tugging my trunks down
my leg a little, I made a cup around my shaft and showed him how I jacked
off with my whole hand around my wiener, maybe nine or ten strokes.

"Did you ever touch another guy's thing?" he asked me.

"No," I said. "Did you?"

"Yeah," he said. "My cousin's a bunch of times. He's your age. Wanna touch
each other's things a little?"

"Yes," I said instantly. By now, we were both erect. My boner was about 4
inches long. His was about 3.

"Okay," he said. "But we can't do it here. Somebody might see us."

"Where?" I asked desperately. My throat was dry. Because now I was ready to
jack off, big time. "Wanna go in my camper?"

"No," he said. "Our moms are there. Let's row out."

At 13 and 11, we were both accomplished rowers, and our parents had no
problem letting us take the rowboat rental across the lake to the other
side and back. Lake Davis wasn't very big. We'd done it dozens of times the
past couple years. Our moms made us wear life jackets, but they didn't care
if we rowed out by ourselves. It kept us occupied and out of their hair.

After telling our parents we were going to the other side of the lake to
dig for worms for fishing later, we got in the boat and rowed out about
halfway across the lake, well out of view and behind a cove of trees. There
was nobody else around and we'd see them coming from any direction.

Avery pulled his swim suit off first. His little wiener was hard as a nail
and snapped straight up.

I pulled my suit off and mine popped up hard too. Snap, slap, right against
my belly button.

"I'll do yours first," he said, and he spit in his hand and sort of kneeled
down in the boat in front of where I was sitting on my bench. It was
flat-bottomed rowboat, not a canoe, so it didn't tip or anything.

He kneeled down and started stroking my cock back and forth, up and down,
only stopping to spit in his hand a few more times.

"You got a good one," he said, watching it move between his hand as he
stroked me. I think by this time, my eyes had rolled into the back of my
head it felt so good. I'd never had anyone else jack me off before.

"Thanks," I said. "Go faster. I'm almost there already."

He picked up his pace. "Yours is the same size as my cousin's, only yours
is thicker and your bush smells like armpits."

"Uh-huh," I mumbled. "Uh-huh. Okay."

I didn't care what he was saying at this point. I was too damn close to
cumming.

"Does yours shoot gunk out yet?" he asked me. "My cousin's shoots gunk."

"Yeah...NNNGGH...a little...NNNGGGGGH!!!!"

That's all it took. Listening to him call it "gunk." I tensed up and shot
my little packet all over his hand.

"Whoa!" he grinned. "Look at it go!"

Truth be told, it wasn't much at 13, but to an 11-year-old, it must have
looked like fireworks.

"Whoa," he repeated. "Awesome gunk drops!"

I caught my breath. He sat back down on his boat bench, facing me.

"Now you do me," he said. His little wiener was still sticking straight up
at me. He scratched his pink scrotum and squeezed his muscles inside and
his dicklet jerked back and forth a couple of times and he giggled.

"Hey, sailor!" he said. "Wanna dance?"

I grinned at him.

I spit in my hand and started doing it for him. His was smaller than mine
and I marveled how different it felt to stroke another boy's wiener
compared to my own. I was intimately familiar with the movement of
masturbation, but his smaller size excited me, leading to a love of younger
boys that exists to this day.

"Can you do something weird," he asked me.

"Sure," I said, eager to help him.

"Promise you won't laugh at me?"

"Promise. What is it?"

"Can you suck on my nipples? You know? Like boob sucking?"

I was confused for a minute, but quickly nodded, "Sure."

I was on my knees, so I had to stretch up a little, and that time the boat
did wobble, but I quickly got my balance and started sucking on his left
nipple, which tasted salty and clean.

"Yeah," he whispered. "You can kind of suck harder on it if you want. Go
really, really hard on it."

I hoovered on. I mean, jeez, I was puzzled why he liked this, but a friend
in need is a friend indeed. I did what he wanted, trying to suck his
nipples as hard as I could and jack him off at the same time.

He realized the position was awkward for me.

"Here," he said, pushing my hand out of the way and wrapping his own thumb
and forefinger around his dick tip, the way he did it.

"I can do my own thing back and forth," he said, "if you'll just suck on my
nipples really hard for me. Both ones."

And so, weird as it seems, that's what I did. I sucked his left nipple,
then his right one, then went back to his left one, then went back to his
right one, sucking as hard as I could, turning them red and puffy, while
down below the tightness of his tummy, I could see him rapidly stroking
himself with furious flick of his two-fingertip-method.

"Aaah! Aaah! Aaah!" he was peeping, louder and louder, so I sucked his
nipples harder. My lips hurt, but he loved it. I wrapped my hands around
his back and I pulled him forward into my mouth, and the combination of my
hug and my achingly-hard nipple sucking sent him over the top. I felt him
freeze-up, shudder, twitch and shake and ram his hip up against me, then he
let out a huge sigh of relief.

Wanting to be part of making him cum, I quickly reached down to grab his
spent little wiener again. Pushing his hand away, I took it in mine and
jacked him a little more myself, until he said, "AHHH! AHHH! Too tickly!
Too tickly! Stop, stop!" and regrettably I stopped.

I looked down and there was no liquid cum yet. He was 11, so he hadn't
started yet.

"That was great," he said. "That one felt really, really good. You suck
nipples excellent, Trevor."

I was proud he liked it, but I felt cheated somehow. I kind of wanted to
jack him off too. And I really only got to do it at the beginning and after
he was already done.

"Sorry I'm weird with nipples," he shrugged. "I just like them sucked a
lot."

"Your cousin does that too?" I asked him. "Really hard like that?"

"Yeah," he said. "He got me into it."

Wow. That was a cousin I had to meet. I wish he'd come camping.

We rowed over to the other side of the lake, got worms, and rowed back.

On the way back to shore, I sang out loud, "Row, row, row your boat, gently
down the lake. Avery spits and grabs your dick and gives that thing a
shake!"

He giggled. "You said "dick" instead of "thing," he admonished me,
grinning. "You're not supposed to call it that."

The logic of boyhood. You can stroke another boy's cock and make him
cum. You just can't call it by a dirty, grown-up name.

For the rest of that week, Avery and I were North Dakota's most
accomplished campground masturbation team. One of us would look at the
other one and say "Want to?" and that's all it took. We'd hop in that boat,
row out into the cove and jack each other off out of everybody's view. We'd
dig up worms, fill our can and row back.

I did get good at mastering the art of sucking his nipples and jacking him
off at the same time that week. I had to jack him slower than he was used
to, which sort of irritated him at first, but eventually he got used to it,
and arched his back like a purring kitten when he'd shudder-up and
dry-seize in my hand.

We never got brave enough to do it in the camper or in a tent. Once we
started to do it in the pit toilets when we were standing together at the
urinal, both with erections that wouldn't go down, but another camper came
clattering through the doorway, so we had to quickly put our dicks
away. Which made us even more nervous about doing it anywhere but in the
row boat.

Surprisingly, it never went any further than that. We did it again the next
summer too when he was 12 and I was 14. In fact, we were so excited to see
each other that next year, we couldn't wait to get it started again.

"Look at those boys go!" I heard my mom mutter to Avery's mom from the
shore as we paddled away. "They almost tripped over each other trying to
get into that boat so fast!"

"Boys," his mom muttered. But by then we were out of earshot and our dicks
already hard. We called them dicks that year and his was a little bit
bigger now. As big as mine almost. And Avery could finally wet cum now.

"Watch it shoot," he told me that first time. "It's gonna shoot gunk this
year. Watch it go."

And in the dual aftermath, we'd rub our cum together on the tip of our
spent, kissing dicks. Tricky to do in a rowboat, but by then, that boat was
our castle. We knew it's every gentle slide.

Avery and I had two glorious summers in a row, jacking off and cumming for
each other. His desire to have his nipples sucked, harder and harder, never
waned. By then end of that second summer, he'd grab my head forcefully,
press it into his chest with all his might and hiss, "Suck it, Trevor. Suck
my tit."

I sucked it, gnawed it, and he threw back his head and howled out loud in
boyhood rapture. His joy scared the birds from the treetops.

"OHHHHHHH YESSSSSSS!!" he rejoiced, jerking and bucking and cumming liquid
wet slime in the clench of my fist. When he wasn't looking, his eyes closed
in bliss, I brought it to my mouth and I ate it. Delicious.

Me and Avery. Two glorious summers. 11 and 13, then 12 and 14.

But by the summer after that, Avery had a girlfriend, and even thought I
asked him to masturbate with me again, hoping it might lead up to oral that
year, he turned me down flat and we never did it again.

"Nah," he said. "I don't do that anymore. I just like girls now. I'm sorry,
Trev." He was embarrassed even talking about it, so we just hung out like
the lifelong friends and the once-a-year unofficial cousin-brothers we were
destined to be.

We were never meant to be lovers, but we were always meant to be us. And
that was more important. We didn't jack off, but we had a great time
fishing instead.

And you know what? It was fine. Life works out. I was 15 that year and I
was a confirmed gay boy by then. I had lots of (younger) friends back home
I jacked off with (and more). I knew the kind of hands I liked around my
dick by then, and they were boy hands, not girl hands. I knew without a
second's hesitation which gender I was thinking about when I closed my eyes
and jacked off at night.

So, that's my most unique masturbation memory, Zach. Doing it in a rowboat
in the middle of a lake, all because Avery looked up the loose leg of my
swim suit that first summer and spotted my junk.

If I close my eyes, I can still see him perfectly. Avery at 11, smiling in
the water, resting his arms on the edge of the dock, looking up at me and
yelling out, "Hey! I can see your dick and balls through the leg of your
shorts! Woo-Hoo! Hello, sailor! Wanna dance?"

And boy, we sure did. We did the two-handed boy dance three times a day all
week long, two summers in a row. It's still one of my happiest memories. I
still jack off thinking about it today.

"Row, row, row your boat, gently down the lake. Avery spits and grabs your
dick and gives that thing a shake!"

It was fun while at lasted, and by the time Avery opted out, I'd already
moved on.

By 15-years-old, my dick was already a neighborhood favorite, going into
the mouths and asses of boys a couple years younger that me, all of whom
were surprised and delighted to find I was an unexpectedly accomplished
nipple-sucker too.

All thanks to Avery and those summers at the lake.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 2. "B" IS FOR BEAUCHAMP

Dearest Zach,

For your wanking yanking thing.

About a million years ago when disco was still on the radio, Beauchamp is
this kid I'm in track with. Stephen Beauchamp. I guess it's really
pronounced Bo-shahmp, but we're from Minneapolis/St. Paul, so what do we
know, we just all call him Bo-chaaaaamp with our Minnesota nasal aaaaaa
sound that sounds like our moms, or that sheriff in "Fargo."
Bo-chaaaaaamp. Fuck, we sound dumb, and we know it. You don't have to tell
us.

Anyway, I'm in track with him and cross country and shit, and he's not a
huge friend or anything. I mean, we know each other and say a few words
once in a while, but we're not huge buddies by any means.

So, I only really know him as this person in my background for a couple
years. He's a fairly decent looking kid. Skinny. Tight cropped dirty blond
hair. Medium ears, not too big. Braces. I didn't know it yet and I sure
wouldn't have admitted it then, but I really like guys with braces. Like a
moth to a fucking flame, as it turns out. Go figure.

Back then, I kind of liked how certain guys looked in certain track shorts,
and I'm, you know, 13, 14, checking out guys' asses once in a while, but
still acting straight and going out with girls and shit.

So, after regular race season, somehow Beauchamp and I end up in this
half-marathon two towns from us, because what the fuck, there's nothing
better to do where we live, and runners like to stay in shape off season,
so we kind of nod at each other respectfully when we're checking in.

He's wearing grey shorts, black shirt, and I swear his dick is hard. I'm
trying to pay attention to where I'm signing on the clipboard to pick up my
number, but I keep stealing glances at his junk because he's got a fucking
boner at the registration table, and, well, whoever gets THAT??

And he sees me looking at his dick. I mean really sees me checking it out,
and swear to God, grabs his own junk and shrugs, winks and grins at me!
Bawk!!!

And he goes off to the bathroom at the park and I'm just standing there
stupid. Do I follow him? Do I not? He fucking winked and grabbed his dick!
Aw, fuck it. Now I'm hard because I knew Beauchamp is hard. And he fucking
WINKED.

I mean, big deal about the boner, right? I'm 14, he's 14, we're always
hard. We LIVE with boners 24/7 at our age. But we usually don't fucking
WINK about it!

So, what the fuck. I follow him into the bathroom to piss. Nobody's in
there because it's still way too early. And he's at the urinal, and I walk
up next to him, and there's no partition, and he's already got his dick
out, and it's fucking big, man. It's a 14-year-old horse cock. Giddy-up,
Silver. It's way bigger than mine.

So, I pull mine out too, and we both start pissing, and he looks at mine,
and I look at his and he just flat out says, "I gotta yank it, man. I
always need to cum before I run. You wanna yank?"

And I just look at him stupid and mute and nod, because now my dick is
hard, and he nods his head toward the last stall, and we go in together and
he locks the door, and he drops his shorts and jock and he's got the
biggest fucking bush I've ever seen on a 14-year-old to this day. Jesus
Christ, it's like Diana Ross stuck her whole fucking Afro down his pants,
only it turned blond.

Anyway, he just starts yanking on his cock like there's no tomorrow. Like
he doesn't have a care in the world. And he nods down at mine.

Well, what the fuck, right? When in Rome.

I get my bone out and awkwardly start to join him, and we start yanking our
cocks, watching each other, and with no fear whatsoever, he says to me,
"Shhhhh, don't say anything," and he fucking GRABS my cock and starts
yanking me. GRABS IT! FUCK! And I reach over and grab his dick and I do the
same thing to him, and he says, "Yeahhh, that's it, Kenny." I didn't even
think he knew my name, and there he is, yanking my cock, and the two of us
are just standing in that stall, free as the breeze, swapping hand
jobs. Jesus Christ, it pays to show up at a track meet early.

I shoot first and it's not a whole lot, but Beauchamp says "Sweet," then he
takes my hand and spits in it. He fucking SPITS in my hand, and puts it
back on his cock, and guides me to jack him faster and then he shuts his
eyes and makes a grimace with his teeth and I can see his fucking braces,
and he grunts. "UGG UGG FUCK" and he just FIRES sperm out of that cock. He
just fucking BLOWS sperm right into the wall. I've ever seen anybody shoot
that far, before or since. He just ROPES the fucking wall with jizz
strings.

I just stand there and stare at it like a whole can of pressurized Easy
Cheese just blew up in the stall. I'm dumbstruck. Incredulous. I must look
like an idiot with my jaw dropping to the floor and my mouth hanging open.

And he just sort of casually goes, "Thanks, man. That was a good one," and
hitches up his shorts and jock and out he goes. And I'm just standing there
with my jaw STILL gaping open, watching his jizz drip down the wall of the
stall and smelling his dick and his spit on my hand, and fuck YES, I reach
out with my finger and scoop up some of his wad, fuck YES I do. And I don't
even fucking care if it's gay.

First I smell it, then I taste it. It's fucking harsh, man. Beautifully
harsh. And I don't care how fucking gay it is, I scoop up his jizz with my
finger and I eat every fucking pig-gnarly drop of it and it fucking tastes
like a dying man's last meal, that's how good it tastes. I eat it all and I
smack my lips, wishing there was more.

And then I pull up my shorts and I'm shaking from what I just did, and I go
and line up and Beauchamp and I do our 21-fucking-K and we finish
exhausted. We match each other pace for pace, and even run together for
some good long stretches, but we don't talk other than a nod.

And I finish a few minutes ahead of Beauchamp, but when he crosses the
finish line, I watch his sweaty face, and he's got the same closed eyes,
same tight grimace, same braces showing (so fucking hot), same expression
he had on his face when he grunted out "UGG UGG FUCK," and blew his fat hot
ropes of jizz all over the wall of that bathroom stall. And I secretly ate
up every drop.

Me and Beauchamp messed around a little more that year. Definitely did some
more yanking. Did some oral on each other a few times before he got a
girlfriend and didn't want to do stuff with me anymore. I would have let
him fuck me, but he never asked and it seemed too gay to push it.

Once when he was sucking me, I felt his fingers moving around in back of
me, sort of sliding into my crack and I thought for sure for a minute he
was going to finger fuck me, but he chickened out. Oh well. Some guys never
make the leap.

Fucking Beauchamp man. Wads of jizz flying out of his magnificent dick with
that thick blond disco bush. Whenever we ran, those pubes smelled
ripe. Mine did too, probably. But his were like a drug to me. I couldn't
get enough of that musk.

I can still hear his voice that first time I saw him cum. "UGG UGG FUCK,"
when his ball-shit just flew everywhere and splattered the wall. Best
flying cum shot I've ever still seen.

Good old Beauchamp, yanking together at 14, then getting all sweaty
together running a 21K.

Fuck, I loved the smell of his big bush.

Fuck, I loved the taste of that kid's cum.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 3. "C" IS FOR CHRIS

Dear Zachyboy,

My first jerk-off with another guy was this time with my best friend
Chris. We just started 6th, so I guess we were 12 that year. And we hung
out all the time at this playground by his house because there was nothing
better to do, or we'd hang out up in his room because he had his own TV and
a lock on his door.

And we were typical dumb 12yo's and we'd always say really dumb bragging
stuff about our junk, and whose dick was bigger and how we'd meet some girl
and we couldn't wait to stick our big fat knobs (which trust me, really
weren't) up her tight little hole and make her beg for more cock and stupid
talk like that.

And one day we're up in his room and nobody's home and we're already horny
talking about how we wanted to fuck this girl we knew and all of a sudden
he starts talking about french kissing his cousin Gary who was in 8th at
our school.

And first when he started talking about it, I was like whoa, that came out
of nowhere, but the more he talked, the more my dick was getting hard
listening to him talk about how they made out all the time and rubbed each
other's dicks and stuff.

So Chris sort of reaches over and squeezes my dick really hard through my
pants and I go owww, and he just laughs and says I got you hard talking
about me and Gary stroking cocks and making out didn't I? and I look down
and he's got a huge bone showing through his pants and I laugh and say,
yeah, well I'm not the only one.

And he says, stick out your tongue, I want to see whose tongue is longer,
and so we both stick out tongues, and his is way longer than mine, and then
he says truth or dare, and I say truth and he says would you ever french
kiss another guy?

And I just shrug and he says come on, you gotta answer, so I say fine,
yeah, but only if nobody ever told, and he says truth or dare, even though
technically it's my turn and I say dare and he says french with me, and we
don't even stop to think about it, we just lean in and start frenching and
licking each other's tongues, and whoa, does that make my dick hard.

His mouth still tastes like Pop Tarts because we just ate Pop Tarts after
school. Brown sugar cinnamon. Even today I see Pop Tarts on the shelf at
the store and I still think of that first day we frenched up in his
bedroom.

I'm hard and he's hard and he starts rubbing at my dick through my jeans,
and I start rubbing all over his dick and he says put your hands down my
pants and I stick them down the front and I feel his hard dick through his
underwear and he starts doing the same to me and he says truth or dare and
I say dare and he says take your pants off and jerk off in front of me.

And I take my pants off and throw them on the floor, no big deal, we've
pissed in front of each other a million times, so it's not like we don't
know what each other's dicks look like, but when I take my pants and
underwear off, my dick is super hard.

He just stares at it rubbing his own dick through his jeans and I'm almost
embarrassed so I say truth or dare, and he says dare and I say you do it
too, and he takes his off so fast he trips and we both laugh.

And now we're both naked pants off, undies off, we reach over and grab each
other's cock and it's like 1000 volts of electricity, damn it feels good,
and we jerk each other for like 60 seconds and my dick is already sore
because we're not using spit but it feels good for him to jerk me.

He's got his hand kind of cupped around my dick and it feels great, and
I've got like two fingers and a thumb around his and we're jerking and
still tongue kissing.

And he says truth or dare, and I say dare and he says lick my sack and I
say no way and he says you gotta, so I lean down and lick his sack which
tastes like salt and smells like faint piss and I actually like it and do
it a couple more times to him, and then I say truth or dare and he says
dare and I say do mine too.

And I'm sitting on the edge of his bed, so he gets on his knees and he
bends forward toward me and he pushes my legs sort of up and back and then
he just slowly laps my sack from so low down under my taint, I swear his
tongue touches my asshole and I just shiver it feels so good.

And he licks my sack and the shaft of my dick five slow times and whoa,
he's way better at doing this than I am, and then he starts tickling his
tongue on my dick head which just about makes me scream out loud, and then
he doesn't even say truth or dare anymore, he just says want me to suck it?
and I say fuck yeah and he takes my dick in my mouth and just starts
sucking and licking like crazy.

And I grab his head and he sucks me so good I feel like screaming FUCK so
loud the neighbors can hear and he's sucking and jerking me at the same
time and sort of wiggling his fingers on my balls and it only takes me
about another minute and I cum like crazy in his mouth, dry. And he
suctions me super hard when I'm getting my feeling.

And then he stands up and takes his hard dick in his hand and tells me to
lay on my back on the bed, with my head over the edge and I do, and he
steps up and puts his dick in my mouth and it tastes great and I'm looking
up and all I can see are his nuts hanging in my face, so I lick those too,
and he moans and starts moving his hips in and out and fucking my mouth.

And I stop and lick his nuts a couple times and he moans every time I do
it, but then he just wants to fuck my mouth and he sort of holds my head in
place by my cheeks, and because my head's upside down, he's able to get his
dick really far back in my throat and I don't even gag.

So he does this for about a minute, then takes his dick out of my mouth and
starts jacking it right in my face and I've got this incredible close-up of
his dick tip and his hand going really fast around it, and he's almost
speed-punching me in the chin he's jerking so fast.

And he's shaking so hard all of a sudden, and he goes, open-open-open your
mouth wide, quick, do it, let me see your tongue...and then he just stands
there and his hips clench up. I can see his ass cheeks squeeze together and
he jerks it and grunts and freezes up and shoots two fiery little squirts
of cum right on my tongue. They come out, bam-bam, quick, like rapid fire.

I go ewww and I spit it out and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and
he goes you're supposed to swallow it, he laughs and says me and my cousin
Gary swallow each other's all the time!

And I tell him fuck you I'm not swallowing anything that comes out of your
dick, man, but secretly I go home that night wishing I had. I'm also
impressed because he's got cum and I don't have it yet and he's already
doing stuff with Gary, who's two years older than us.

So, that was the first of many jerks and sucks with Chris over the next
couple years. We got really good at eating each other's cum, but we never
fucked. He tried to do it to me once and it hurt too much and I wouldn't
let him do it again. Now I sort of wish I had.

He said Gary fucked him once a month on sleepovers, but I was never invited
to those so I never got to watch it done or have it done to me. Chris said
it hurt like crazy the first few times Gary did him, but he said you get
used to it fast and after a while it even feels good to have a guy fuck you
and put cum way up your butt.

Lord knows he tried to get in me, but it just hurt me too much. And for
some reason, he never offered me the chance to fuck him at all. I guess his
ass was just for Gary.

Those were great years. Any time I see a picture of a boy with his tongue
sticking out, I get hard right away thinking of Chris with his long tongue,
and truth or dare and frenching each other and him jerking off standing
over my open mouth that first time saying, open-open-open your mouth wide,
quick, do it, let me see your tongue... and then shooting out those two
piercing squirts on it. Somehow after all the sex I've had in my life,
that's still my hottest jerk-off memory of all because it just happened
that day out of nowhere and it was so hot and unexpected.

When anybody ever asks me what day of your life would you like to live over
again, secretly in my head, that's the one. I still remember how long
Chris's tongue was, and how good he kissed, and how great his beautiful
dick tasted with those first squirts of cum when we were best friends at
12.

The first ones are the ones you remember. The flavor. The feel of
it. Everything.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 4. "D" IS FOR DAKOTAH

[The following story originally appeared as "Secret Cumming Angels" in the
Nifty Gay Young Friends section in March 2017]

Dear Zach,

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, wispy 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 this 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 heartbeats.

"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.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 5. "E" IS FOR ERIC AND EVERYBODY

Hey Zach –

Here's my j/o memory for that thing you're collecting.

It's 1980 and I'm 12 at my summer camp in Ohio. Third year I've gone and I
like it. I've got about a million mosquito bites that year. There are 8
kids in my cabin including me.

The kids in my cabin are Mike, Dave, Eric (me), Jeff, Kevin, Brian, Mark
and Ricky. We're all 12 or 13 that year. It's all bunk beds. Four bunks in
the cabin. One boy on top one boy on the bottom, pardon the pun.  There's
no counselor in our cabin. Shit, no. They go sleep somewhere where it's
comfortable and warm with no noisy kids around.

After lights out, which is 10 pm, there's always a bunch of dirty talk and
dirty jokes in the cabin there in the dark. We're a bunch of horny 12 and
13-year-olds. At home, we'd be jacking off four times a day. Here at camp,
you sort of have to grab your secret opportunities. Go out in the woods by
yourself or save it up for night and try to get away with it sneaky.

You know some of the guys are jacking off after lights out because you can
either hear their bed springs squeaking, or if you're a lower bunk like me,
with Jeff on your top bunk, Jesus, that fucker nearly shakes me to sleep
every night from the vibrating bed frame he's up there jacking it so fast.

Sometimes you'll hear one of the guys giggle because they know the other
boy in their bunk is jacking it.

So, one night somebody giggles and Jeff says, "This is really stupid. We
should all just jack `em at once and get it all over with." And there's a
bunch more giggles.

And Mike says, "I'll do it."

And Brian says, "Fuck, yeah, I'll do it," which nobody doubts, cause he's a
cocky little smart-ass. He'd walk up and jack off in a nun's face if you
dared him. He was always showing his dick off in the shower and joking
around with it, and frankly, it was a pretty nice one.

So Jeff, who's the biggest kid in the bunk says, "Okay everybody, get your
dicks out and start jacking." And you hear giggles and blankets rustling
and a couple of the guys spit in their hands, and you can hear that
too. And then you hear a lot of bedsprings all squeaking at once. It's
ridiculous, really. But we're 12, 13, and fucking horny nonstop, so what
the fuck. It's dark. Why not.

And Dave says, "Hey, Kevin's not doing it."

And Kevin says, "Shut up, I am too."

And Jeff says, "Everybody better be jacking. Eric, go check."

And I've got my hard dick in my hand wailing away on whatever
3-and-a-half-inch spike I've got at that age, but hell yes, if Jeff wants
me to check out everybody's dick, I sure don't mind doing that, since I'm
the kid in the shower looking too long at all of their dicks anyway. And if
I get to see all of them hard tonight, where's my fucking flashlight,
right?

I hop out of bed like my ass is on fire, and I grab my flashlight off my
shelf and Jeff says, "Okay, spot check, gentlemen. Eric's gonna shine under
everybody's covers, and you all better be jacking. Do it for him for ten
seconds so he can confirm you're really doing it."

There's some giggles and moans from the guys, and Mark says, "This is so
fucking dumb," but I start checking anyway. I go in order of bunks.

"Eric, call it out and confirm," Jeff says, and I can hear him up there
still jacking away.

I check Mike first. Mike's on the bottom of bunk 1.  He's a good-looking
kid. Kinda longer hair that covers his ears and goes down around his neck,
parted in the middle. Braces. I always like the way Mike's armpits smell
when I stand by him. Strong, but not too strong.

I lift up his covers and sure enough, he's hard and jacking with two
fingers and a thumb. His tip looks really red because he's going hard and
he's not using spit. He's cut and bigger than me. 4 inches maybe. I watch
him jack for the required ten seconds, then I say, "Mark checks out!"

Everybody giggles when I yell out his status, but you can still hear
bedsprings going everywhere. This is kind of exciting for everybody.

Dave's next in the top of bunk 1. He's sort of a geeky Jewish kid. He wears
his glasses to sleep if you can believe that. Seriously. Sleeps in them. I
lift up his covers and shine the flashlight in, and his dick's hard as a
rock. He's got a little skinny one and it's sticking straight up, but he's
not doing anything with it.

"Start jacking," I tell him. "Let's get that hand in gear." And he grins at
me and does. I guess he just wanted to show it to me first in all its
glory. I watch for ten seconds.

"Dave checks out," I tell everybody, and put his covers back down.

Bunk 2 bottom is me, so obviously, I can't check my own, but believe me I'm
also hard as a rock from getting to see everybody's cock tonight. I'll have
no trouble getting my own job done after this viewing party believe me.

Bunk 2 top is Jeff, the instigator of all this.

"Come here, Cupcake," he says, and the other guys laugh. "I'll show you how
a man jacks it." I lift up his covers and holy shit, he's got a big one
when it's hard. It's gotta be at least six inches hard, which is bigger
than any of us. As big as my dad. He's got a foreskin, and I watch
fascinated as he pulls it back and forth over his large cockhead.

"You like?" he says to me. "You want to shake hands with Mr. Big Boy?"

I almost gulp and say "yes, please," but coming to my senses, I nod my head
"no." I stand there watching him move that magnificent dick. Not really
wanting to leave. I want to see him shoot.

"Um, Jeff checks out," I say nervously, realizing I've been watching him
too long.

"Damn right I do," Jeff grunts. And I know he's close to cumming. I could
tell he got harder and more excited because I was looking at him.

Kevin's in the bottom of bunk 3, and he's sort of the littlest kid in the
cabin, and sort of quiet and shy with cute curly hair, and this is his
first year at summer camp, so when I lift up his covers, he's got his
pajamas and undies pulled down but his dick's just sitting there completely
soft.

He's uncut and his dick looks really pretty and small. I can see this look
of horror on his face and he looks at me with pleading eyes, so I lie for
him. I wait for ten seconds looking at his little soft dick.

"Kevin checks out," I smile and I rub his curly hair really quick. Kevin
looks so relieved, you can almost hear him expel the air out of his
lungs. He's in over his head here.

Brian's our bunk 3 top, and he's a total smart-ass. I lift his covers and
he's got a boner that looks exactly like mine. Really, we could be dick
twins.

"Come on, Eric, give it a kiss," he says, and the guys crack up. "He wants
a little kissy-kiss from you."

I count out loud to ten and ask him if it does any tricks, or if he needs
his mother the whore to crank it up for him to get it started. All the guys
laugh.

"My mother's not here tonight, young man," he says properly. "But I'll cum
on your luscious titties instead if you want me to."

I roll my eyes and the guys crack up again.

"Brian checks out," I tell everybody. And then I mumble "asshole" under my
breath and move on to the next bunk.

There's only two guys left.

Bunk 4 bottom is Mark and he's got more pubes than the rest of us, and when
I pull the covers back and shine the light on him, he's hard and jacking it
all right, but I also catch a strong whiff of his pubes and his dirty feet.

"Jesus. Pew," I say, and all the guys laugh. "Mark checks out and he needs
a fucking shower."

"Mmmm, nice and dirty," Mark grins. "I can smell me too. Take a big whiff,
sunshine."

"Ugh," I say. "Ripe. Not good."

I watch him jack a little while longer, because he's also got a
foreskin. Foreskins fascinate me since I don't have one of my own. We were
all born in 1967 or 1968, and circumcision was just commonly done. They
didn't even ask your mom yes or no. They just did it. I'm always jealous of
kids who still have their foreskins. I want mine back. Our our bunk had
three out of eight boys still intact: Mark, Jeff and Kevin.

I watched Mark jack his dick and I wondered what sucking on his foreskin
would taste like. I'd hate to be under the covers smelling his feet
though. So, like the Tootsie Roll Pop commercial said, the world will never
know.

Ricky's up on bunk 4 top. And I open up the cover and shine the light
underneath, and his dick's still hard, but he already came. He's already
got a few little drops of silver goo under his belly button where his cum
shot out, and faster than I can react, he grabs my hand and puts it right
in his cum.

I don't say anything. I just freeze where I am feeling his sticky cooling
cum beneath the pad of my hand. Then he takes my sticky hand and wraps it
around his cock. I'm spellbound.

I squeeze his cock once. Twice. I jack it up and down quickly two times. He
squeezes his hand around my hand and we're both holding his cock. All this
happens in no more than ten seconds.

"Ricky checks out," I say, quickly removing my hand and flipping the
flashlight.

"Good job, gentlemen," Jeff calls out. "Now Eric, get back in bed and beat
your meat."

After what Ricky just did, mine's so hard it's killing me. It's gonna take
me about a second-and-a-half to cum now.

I get back in my bunk and I jack off like crazy with Ricky's cum still on
my left hand. I hold it up to my nose and I smell it while I jack off with
my other hand. I smell it and taste it and if I were at home, in private,
I'd be moaning out loud. I taste his cum. I lick it off my hand. Jesus
Christ, for the first time in my life, I taste another boy's cum.

I can't remember who cums first, but I know we all do eventually. Except
for Kevin, who's new at all this. Summer camp and jacking off both,
probably.

Jeff grunts so loud when he cums we all laugh.

Brian yells out "Aw, fuck, aw, fuck, here's mine," and he makes a little
grunt noise too.

And I'm so turned on by the grunts and the smell and taste of Ricky's cum
on my hand, I shoot off with a hiss sound, and then it's like dominoes,
everybody's cum noises make another guy cum. Like a chain reaction of
relief we all needed.

So, that's the time at summer camp I jacked off with 7 other guys.

Well, 6 really, since I covered for Kevin.

Later that week, me and Ricky started sneaking off alone together down by
the boat house during free time, and we started jacking off in front of
each other, then the next day we jacked each other off, then the next day
went down on his knees and sucked me off and I did the same for him and his
cum tasted even better hot, coming out of him. Like sweet celery. I could
have drank a Coke bottle full of it.

And that's how it goes the rest of summer camp that year.

We do a combination of jacking each other off and trading blowjobs down
there by the boat house secretly, until about four days before camp ends,
he sneaks some Vaseline from the first aid office and I let him fuck me in
the butt. It hurts, but I let him.

He does it with me bent over a work bench in the boat house. I lean over in
the dark boathouse with the door locked so nobody can barge in on us, and
he gets his dick all coated with Vaseline and he sticks it in me, and fuck,
it hurts at first, but then I like it.

It turns out I like getting fucked in the butt A LOT. I want more of it.

He doesn't offer to let me fuck him back, but that's okay. I'm happy just
to take it up my ass.

So, he fucks me three more times that week, and I'd sure let him do it
more, but there's just not enough free time, so we do what we can, but then
camp ends and that's the end of me getting fucked for that year.

But we both come back in the next year when I'm 13 and he's 14 and we jack
and fuck and suck some more. Only now he's got a way bigger dick. The first
time he fucks me in the boat house that next summer, I have to bite my
lower lip to keep from crying. He fucks me HARD. But once I get used to it,
I like it even more. That new, bigger dick of his. What a difference a year
makes.

Anyway, that's my favorite jack-off memory with some big, hard FUCKS at the
end. Sorry if it was long and boring!

Take care, Eric

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 6. "F" IS FOR FORREST

Dearest Zachyboy, you magnificent filthy motherfucker,

Here's a masturbation memory. Put it in your ass-pipe and smoke it.

When we were kids, probably around 10 and 11, there was this dirty little
kid in the neighborhood, Forrest, who was 5-years-old. He was a cute little
dark-haired kid with a pretty, grinning mouth. He'd give you a new smile
every second.

He'd also show you his dick.

Yep, the best part about Forrest was he'd wiggle his cute little pecker in
front of anybody who ever asked to see it, and also everybody who didn't.

Forrest heard the word "masturbate" from his big brother who was in junior
high, but being a little kid, he completely heard the word wrong. He
thought the word was "masturpeet." And when his older brother told him
stuff squirts out of your peter when you do it, that's all Forrest needed
to lock it in.

"Pee squirts out of your peter," he told us with great authority. "So
that's why you're spose'ta masturpeet to squirt it all out."

So, Forrest was always eager to teach masturpeetion to anybody who'd watch
him. He'd hitch his pants down past his skinny little butt cheeks, and then
his undies, and you could always tell he had a little racing stripe
dead-center in whatever color undies he was wearing (I only mention that
because I know you're into those, Zachyboy), and he's stand there with his
pants bunched down and his cute little peter between his first finger and
his thumb and he'd wiggle it back and forth all over the place, giving all
of us quite a show.

He wasn't really jacking it up and down on his glans or his shaft in any
particular sexual rhythm. I think he was pretty clueless about that. He was
sort of just wiggling it and twirling it around in the circle until he had
to pee. And as soon as he did, he'd just let loose.

"Watch this, you guys," he'd yell proudly. "I'm going to masturpeet all
over the grass."

And Jesus. Man. He'd just fire off a whole arc. He'd twirl his little
pecker around and fire off a fierce cascade of piss just as proud as a
peacock. That little kid had some pressure. Like a fire hose.

You really had to stand back when it all shot loose, because Forrest kept
right on twirling it while he was pissing full force, and if you didn't
take a few steps back really fast, you'd get splashed all over. We were
smart enough to make him face away from us, but we never warned the new
kids who watched him masturpeet for the first time because it was kind of
funny to see the looks on their faces when Forrest hosed them down with a
big hot arc of his masturpeetion stream.

He used to show his masturpeetion skills to every boy in the
neighborhood. The little boys around his age were fascinated because they
thought they were learning something legitimate and new. They took him on
his authority that this is how it was done, and I'm sure more than one went
home and tried it out themselves.

"Only in the back yard or in the bathtub," Forrest the Expert warned
them. "And in the bathtub, just twirl slow when you squirt on the wall, or
your mom really hollers if you get it all over the floor." The younger boys
were in awe.

Us slightly older boys were equally fascinated staring at his little pecker
and enjoying the impressive force of his pee, but we didn't have the heart
to tell him he wasn't really masturbating, because frankly, it was a hell
of a show and we had no business ruining it for the rest of the
neighborhood.

"Come on, you guys! Get your peters out and masturpeet with me!" As much as
we liked him, mostly nobody did it with him. I did once, but only because I
had to pee really bad at the time.

"You got a big one," he said. "Hoo boy!"

"Yeah," I told him, "But you're a way better twirler than me."

Forrest showed Cameron, a bigger boy from down the block how he
masturpeeted, and Cameron (who was 15 and in high school) asked Forrest to
walk down the trail in the woods with him a little ways and show him how to
do it again. And they didn't come back for about 45 minutes, so who knows
what went on or who showed what or how it all turned out, but I do know
Forrest stopped showing it to high school boys after that.

Forrest even did it in front of a girl once, and he got in trouble when the
girl told her mom, but he only got in trouble for peeing in front of her,
not for any sex stuff, even though he told the girl plain as day he wanted
to masturpeet for her. We all heard him. He even asked her to masturpeet in
front of him too, because he was a little fuzzy on how girls were supposed
to do it without a peter to twirl.

Anyway, that's how Forrest showed us all how to masturpeet. My family moved
away shortly after I met him, so I don't know at what age he discovered he
was doing it wrong and shooting the wrong liquid out, but he sure had fun
back when he thought he was the neighborhood's expert instructor, and
needed to teach us all what needed to be done.

And what a cute little kid he was. Short, black, swirly hair. Tight, skinny
little butt cheeks that were always on display.

If I could go back in time as myself at this age, I'd walk him down the
trail into the woods like Cameron did and show him the other kind of liquid
that comes out of a man's peter.

Maybe even hold his cute little head in place and have a little taste of
what my balls produce. Make him swallow an unexpected surprise at the end
with that pretty, grinning mouth of his.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 7. "G" IS FOR GABLE

Dear Zach,

There were two kids on my middle school basketball team I jerked off
with. This was 1975. I was 13 going on 14, 8th grade, and played
center. #11.

The two kids I messed around with were the smallest kids on the team. Both
sixth graders. One was #10, David Dentrey, who played power forward. He was
a short kid and his cock was so tiny you could barely see it. He wouldn't
let me touch it. I think he was embarrassed he was so small.

We had lockers next to each other and I caught him looking at my dick all
the time until one day I finally just grabbed my dick in front of him and
said quietly so nobody else could hear, "Come over after school. I'll show
you what it does." He blushed beet red, but sure enough, after school, he
met me at the bike rack and he came over.

I jerked off in front of him after we got up to my room and locked the
door. I talked him into pulling his pants down for me, but he wouldn't jerk
too. He kind of cupped his hand over his cock not wanting to show it and
said, "Can't I just do yours instead?"

I said, "Hell yeah you can do it for me," and he jerked it and I came in
his hand. He wiped my jizz on my bedspread and looked embarrassed, and he
said he was late getting home. He took off faster than lightning.

I thought that was the end of it, but the next night after practice, he met
me at my bike rack again and we didn't say much, but he rode home with me
again. He jerked me off three times after school, three days in a row,
until asshole Mark Riley, #21, our point guard, picked on him for coming
over to my house too often and asked him if we were girlfriends, and that
ended that winning streak. Everybody was afraid of being called a queer
back then, so Dentrey wouldn't come over again.

It's too bad because he had the cutest face, beautiful eyes, beautiful
hair. His hair smelled good. Small mouth. I would have loved to have seen
his mouth wrapped around my dick at some point but no such luck.

I did see his fingers wrapped around me, though. Nice long little boy
fingers that stroked me until I came, three days in a row. He always wiped
it on my bedspread, which I had to clean up with a wet washcloth later so
my mom wouldn't see it.

The other boy I messed around with and went the farthest with was #13,
Danny Gable, our small forward. Another sixth grader. He seemed to know
what he was doing and didn't seem afraid of asking for it. He said to me
one day on the way to our bikes after practice, "Dentrey says you like
doing stuff with guys up in your room."

I said, "Dentrey lies."

He says, "Okay. Well if you ever wanna."

And that's all he says and he gets on his bike and he rides off.

I probably jerked off thinking about that "Okay. Well if you ever wanna"
about ten times the next week before I got the nerve to ask him over after
practice figuring it was a joke or a trap, but nope. He really did want to
do stuff.

Hot kid. Black hair. Red lips. His hair would get really sweaty when we
practiced and I loved to look at the drops of sweat flicking off it when
he'd turn his head on the court. And I really loved his ears. Gable's ears
actually made my dick hard sometimes.

He was hairless, but unlike Dentrey, who was odorless, Gable had a little
pit odor sometimes. But just a little, and it always smelled good and
right, not overpowering.

The first time we were up in my room together I asked him if his family was
related to Clark Gable, but he didn't know who that was. I said, "You know,
from "Gone with the Wind," and he didn't know what that was either. I said
it was a famous movie. Probably the most famous movie of all time.

He said, "Yeah. Well, I gotta get home. You wanna jerk off?"

So much for movie discussions.

He takes his out and I take mine out.

Mine's hard already.

"Yours looks pretty big when it's hard," he says. "I've seen it in the
locker room soft. Always wondered how big it got."

"This big," I tell him, sort of pointing it toward him. His is hard too,
and he shows it to me.

Mine's about an inch bigger than his. I'm in 8th grade. Small for an 8th
grader, but still two years older than him. I've got a little patch of hair
over mine, but not much. He's still completely bare.

We jerk for a while and he says, "Wanna do each other's?" And I say "yeah,"
so we do. And he's got those long lean fingers I like.

And his hand feels really good on me, and unlike Dentrey who jerked me dry,
Gable licks his hands a few times to get it wet and slippery, and I do the
same, and we jerk each other with our spit, and you can smell the
salty-sour smell of cock-spit-saliva-sweat-breath in the air. That smell is
unmistakable. Like sour milk, nutmeg and cock.

"You ever get a BJ from anybody?" I ask him.

"Why?" he says instantly. "You wanna suck instead of jerk off?"

I was caught. I turned red.

"You don't have to be embarrassed. If you want to, I'm fine with it."

"Sorry," I tell him. "I just never got one, that's all."

"I have older brothers, so I know how to do it."

"Do they go all the way with you?"

"You mean up the butt? No, I don't do that part yet. But I do all the other
stuff. The jerking part and the sucking part. I can swallow your You-Know
when it comes out if you want me to."

And so before I know it, we're lying down on my bed, and first he goes down
and sucks me and it feels like complete heaven and my eyes roll back in my
head, and he does it for about a minute, but I don't cum yet, and then he
stops and says "your turn," and then I go down on him and suck him.

And Jesus, I never knew it was that easy to suck a guy. It just seems
natural. I could do it all day. I really could, even if he didn't do it
back. I love doing it to him.

And then he says "69," and I have a vague idea what that means, so we
do. And he's sort of fucking my mouth with his dick, and I do the same to
him, and he tenses up and grabs my head and gets his shakes, only nothing
comes out, and I get excited he got there, so I get there too.

And I grab his head and shoot off into his mouth. And I don't shoot a ton
at that age, but I do shoot enough to give him something to swallow.

And sure enough, he swallows it. Doesn't even miss a beat. It never even
occurred to one guy would swallow another guy's sperm. I didn't know it was
edible. I know that sounds stupid, but I thought you had to spit it out.

Anyway, a friendship is born. We do this all year, we even start doing some
sleepovers, which is great, because we pretend he's going to sleep on the
floor in my sleeping bag in front of my mom, but after we lock the door, he
gets into bed with me and we just jerk and suck all night.

We never make out though. I want to, but I'm afraid it crosses a
line. Weird how to boys can jerk and suck, but kissing seems gay.

After a while, on maybe our fourth sleepover, I try to get him to let me
fuck him. He says no, he doesn't do that part yet. Not the butt stuff. Just
jerks and sucks. He says no to butt fucking the first five times I ask him.

I'm getting so frustrated. He lets me squeeze his butt and even finger his
hole a little when I'm sucking him, which I LOVE to do, but he won't let me
put my dick in.

I say, "Come on. I have Vaseline. I'll go slow so it won't hurt."

And he says "No, I really don't do that part yet. You should really quit
asking me."

But of course I don't quit.

And then the sixth time I ask him, right after he jacked me off as I was
lying on my back and I shot cum on my own stomach he scooped it up in his
two first fingers like a spoon and said, "Eat it."

And I said, "What?"

And he said, "Eat your own."

And I said I didn't want to.

And he said "Eat your own and I'll let you butt fuck me tomorrow night."

And man, I ate my own jizz faster than you can say butt fuck Danny Gable.

I didn't like the taste and I winced and had a hard time getting it down,
but I would have swallowed five times as much to get the opportunity to
fuck him.

I still jerk off to this day hearing his voice say "Eat your own." Not "eat
your own cum." Just "Eat your own."

"Eat your own and I'll let you butt fuck me tomorrow night."

Next day he comes over and doesn't go back on his word. After we lock the
door, he takes his shoes and socks and pants and underwear off, leaves his
t-shirt on, and lays down on my bed face down and spreads his ass cheeks
apart and says, "Go slow. Use lots of Vaseline."

And I can smell the good smell of his ass the second he spreads it for me,
and it makes me want to fuck him even more. His scent makes me wild for
him.

And I'm shaking so bad taking my clothes off I'm so excited I can hardly
stand it. And I'm harder than I've ever been and I get my dick all greasy
and line it up with his hole and push in slow and he says "Ow, I hate this
part," which tells me he's probably already done this with his brothers,
but I don't care.

I just need to get inside him I ache so much for him with every cell of my
body, so I push into him and he goes "ow, ow" again, but then my dick gets
past his gate and slides into his hole and he lets out a big sigh.

"Okay," he says. "Hurry up."

And I pump in and out of him, and I think I'm going to die this feels so
good.

"Hurry," he says, making little grunting sounds. "It hurts. You're too
big."

So, I go a little faster and about 15 strokes later, I tense up and suck my
breath in really hard and I get my shakes and I shoot my sperm up his
butt. I push into his asshole really hard when I shoot, and he says "owww"
one more time and then "okay, done, stop, take it out." And I do.

And he takes his underwear and wipes my sperm and Vaseline off his hole,
then he puts them back on.

"I don't really like that part," he says. "It's really not my favorite."

"Sorry," I tell him.

"It's okay," he shrugs softly. "You were quick at least. My brother Donny
goes forever in me."

His brother Donny is in high school. A senior, I think. Jesus. His dick
must be huge.

Anyway, Gable and I get back to our regular sucking and jerking after
that. Knowing butt fucks hurt him makes me want to do two things. It makes
me not want to hurt him by bugging him for more because I like him and
don't want to make him uncomfortable, but at the same time, it makes me
want to get inside him again and fuck him like crazy, even harder. It's
like I want to protect him and rape him at the same time.

But I don't bug him for any more butt fucks. Well, okay. A little on
sleepovers, but only when he seems like he's ready for it. Like when I
finger him and he pushes back a little. Then I ask him, and with sort of a
resigned sigh, he lets me.

"It's not my favorite," he says, "But okay."

And I know he doesn't like it at all, so I try to be quick, but he never
complains. He just lets me finish. He doesn't like it at all, really, but I
know he does it because he's my friend, and sometimes you do stuff for your
friends you really don't want to do.

He's kind enough to put my needs first. And man, I love cumming up his
butt. Even today, decades later, I can cum up another man's butt and in my
mind, I'm 14, and I'm cumming up Gable's 12-year-old hole. In my life, I've
probably pretended at least two dozen guys I've fucked are Gable.

Anyway, Gable only lets me butt fuck him five or six other times that year
until he moves across town and switches schools.

I saw him a few years after that, but he was older then. He was 15, and I
was going on 17 and about to start my senior year, and it wasn't awkward or
anything. We were just sort of strangers at that point and didn't talk
about it. It was like it never happened.

I did go home that night and jerk off thinking about him though. I wondered
if he was still sucking or fucking anybody. Or if he'd gotten more
comfortable taking his brother's big cock up his ass. I would have loved to
have seen how they made that work out. If mine hurt him, his brother's must
have been a monster. Talk about brotherly love and dedication, huh?

That's it. That's my big jerk-off memory from my younger years. There were
others, but those two were my favorites.

David Dentrey, #10, pretty little power forward who jerked me off three
times then never came over again. I've often wondered through the years
what cumming up his little ass would have felt like.

And Danny Gable, #13, small forward, who liked to jerk me off, eat it,
watch me "eat my own," then suck and be sucked. He'd 69 all night long and
let me finger his asshole, but didn't like being butt fucked a whole hell
of a lot. I got inside his ass way less than I wanted to, that's for sure.

And me, #11, playing center, happy for whatever I could get. Taking what
the night, the boys, and the luck of the moment gave me.

Those were great times, messing around with other boys behind my locked
bedroom door, figuring out what spit and Vaseline were for. What dicks,
mouths and butt holes were for.

You only get to make those first discoveries once in a lifetime.

I wish I could go back there and discover them all over again.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 8. "H" IS FOR HANK

To: Zachyboy. Re: Masturbation Memory.

There was a kid at my summer camp who would pull kids off for a quarter a
pull.

This was back when a quarter still bought you a candy bar or a pack of gum
at the camp trading post, or when camps still actually HAD a camp trading
post where kids could buy soda, snacks, candy bars, gum, comic books and
fun stuff. Now you can buy a pack of carrots and apple slices if you're
lucky. Fucking health moms.

But Hank would pull anybody off. Didn't matter to him. He'd go off into the
woods and stroke the cock of any boy who asked, as long as you gave him a
quarter first. It was a mixed-age camp, age 7 through 17, so Hank didn't
give a shit how little or big you were. Young, old. Short, tall. Fat,
thin. As long as you had a quarter for him, Hank took the job.

In a way, you had to admire his eye for business. He saw a wide-open market
and he cornered it. Bunch of dirty, horny boys all trapped four weeks a
summer with each other. Group cabins, no privacy to pull off a secret load,
hormones raging, boy balls churning (or not...Hank did the dry-shooters
too).

Your choices were try to be quiet in your bunk at night, or give Hank a
quarter and walk down the path with him to the Hank Tree (no shit, that's
what we called it), drop your pants down around your ankles and let that
little fucker pull your hard cock until you shot.

He was not a bad looking kid, honestly. Cute eyes and nose. Nice smile. A
little dirty sometimes. There wasn't a lot of showering that went on at
summer camp unless we were forced, so Hank was like the rest of us. Just a
little grungy and well-past the cleanliness date.

He had shaggy hair that was a little too long, but that just added to his
general, overall dirtiness, which quite honestly, when a kid is stroking
your cock way out in the woods, you sort of like him to look a little messy
and rustic.

He'd wear the same socks a few days in a row, so you didn't want to get all
that close to his feet when he took his sneakers off, but otherwise, he was
still a decent looking kid. Just lacking soap and shampoo like the rest of
us.

Hank would pull guys cocks and that's all he'd do. There was a rumor that
one of the older boys fucked him that summer, but that's all it was, a
rumor. It was never confirmed by any older kid I ever asked and Hank
wouldn't say a word. If it happened, I bet he got more than a quarter for
it.

For all I knew, Hank was just a world-class cock puller. That's all he
offered on his menu. If you wanted your dick sucked or wanted to stick it
up somebody's ass, you had to work that out privately with another kid. As
far as I knew, Hank was cock pulls only. But good ones.

The first time he did me was private, half a mile down the trail and about
50 yards behind a really heavy brush area with me leaning up against the
Hank Tree.

I don't remember being embarrassed about it. I was already hard by the time
I pulled my pants down, so I gave him my quarter, and without a word, he
just took my dick in my hand and started pulling it back and forth, first
slow, then faster, then super-fast, until I grunted and shot a couple of
drops in his hand.

He was 9. I was 13. So I could shoot a little, but not very much.  He
smelled it after I shot, then wiped it off on his shorts. "Thanks," he
said, and put the quarter in his pocket.

I did a bunch of other one-on-ones with Hank that summer. Each time was the
same. Down the path, behind the brush, lean against the Hank Tree, and two
minutes later you were shooting in his hand and he was done.

He's smell his hand, as if proving to himself he did it, then he'd give you
a big smile and a thanks, and while you were hitching up your undies and
pants, he'd just walk off without you back to the cabins, a quarter
richer. I don't know how many guys took advantage of his services, but he
certainly had an endless supply of candy bars and gum in his backpack that
year. He was such a good kid, he'd even share with you.

The best dick pull by far was the time he did 7 of us in a row, just
because it was fun and dirty watching 6 other guys get their dicks pulled
by him.

One of the older guys said, "Come on, Hank's going to do a group pull after
archery." We had 90 minutes free time after archery, so there was no way I
was missing this one. "Get your quarter and meet us out by the Hank Tree,"
he said.

And sure enough, I trudged on out there and Hank was already doing the
first guy and halfway through it. I took my place at the end of the line. I
watched, fascinated.

There was one guy leaning up on the tree, hard as a nail and his eyes
squeezed shut and his head rolled back while Hank pulled him. It took Hank
about 3 minutes and the guy, who was older than me, sort of a lanky kid in
the Lions Bunk, probably 15, face full of zits, shot off a ton all over the
leaves and the pine needles.

Even Hank said, "Wow" when he shot, and Hank didn't usually say anything
when you shot your load.

That guy hitched his pants up and the next guy took his place and so on and
so on, and we were all older guys, 13-16, and everybody shot. And Hank
stopped and smelled his hand between every guy. His hand must have really
been sore and cramped, but he kept on going.

I still get turned on remembering how he smelled his hand between every one
of us. Closing his eyes. Seeming to enjoy the smell of cock and cum on his
hand.

The guy right before me, this 16-year-old we called Munchkin, which was
crazy, because he wasn't even short and he had a dick like a horse, shot so
far when Hank pulled on his dick, his cum came flying out like a fucking
rope through the air. Like he was cracking a whip. It landed on some pine
needles about three feet away which shocked the hell out of all of us
watching. We all felt like clapping.

I took my turn last, and I was so hard from watching six other guys get
pulled off, it only took me about ten seconds to shoot, which I'm sure was
fine with Hank, because his hand had to be tired after pulling seven guys
in a row.

I'm sure he went at it for at least 45 minutes to an hour. A couple of the
older guys paid for seconds, so all in all, 7, 8, 9, I'm sure Hank made at
least $2.25 that day. That's 9 candy bars at the trading post because they
didn't charge tax.

Anyway, good memories of Hank at summer camp, pulling guys off for a
quarter a shot. You could see him lying there on his sleeping bag, hair all
tussled and cute little smile, and he'd look up at you, and all you had to
say was, "Hey, Hank. Wanna make a quarter?"

And up he'd hop and off he'd trot, right down the trail to the Hank Tree,
where you'd find him there, cracking his knuckles and ready for
business. He never turned down the chance to make a quarter.

I came to camp with $10 spending money that summer, and I'm sure I spent at
least three-quarters of it on Hank.

If he ever came knocking on my door today, still 9, still willing, I'd
gladly give him 10 times that much just for one more pull. A hundred times
more, probably.

Smell your hand after I shoot it, Hank. It smells a lot bigger now.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 9. "I" IS FOR IGOR

Zach! HA! Jack-off memories! TOO FUNNY!

Haha! Me and my best friend Steve dressed up like Dr. Frankenstein and Igor
one year for Halloween, and when we got back to my house, I made him jack
me off, because Dr. Frankenstein is in charge of the laboratory and Igor
has to do everything he says.

I could shoot sperm and he couldn't shoot any yet, so he loved to see it.

We j/o'd together all the time and he'd do mine anytime I wanted him to,
because he liked to see it fire off. I'd always tell him to eat some, but
he always told me to fuck off. HAHA!

Anyway, Halloween, we go up in my room and I say, "Igor, I need you in the
laboratory."

"YESSSSSS, MASSTER."

"Take your pants off and show me your cock."

"YESSSSSS, MASSTER."

"Your cock is hard, Igor. You must want to play."

"YESSSSSS, MASSTER."

"You must want to see your master's dick."

"YESSSSSS, MASSTER."

It went on and on and we rubbed dicks together and I said a bunch of dirty
things to him, which he always fucking LOVED, and naturally he jacked me
off finally, but this time he actually said "YESSSSSS, MASSTER" when I told
him I was Dr. Frankenstein and he was Igor and I was in charge of the
laboratory so this time he actually had to eat a little of my cum.

And holy FUCK, he did it and I was so excited he actually ate my cum the
first time. Halloween 1993, baby. First time I watched him swallow my
fucking sperm. First of many.

And after he did it, he said, "Hey, that really wasn't as bad as I thought
it would be." He smacked his lips. "Kinda salty and slimy, but really not
that bad."

I tried to get him to suck the rest of the sticky juice off my tip but he
told me he's had enough for the night and I could kindly go fuck myself
again. HA! Oh well. Can't blame a guy for trying, right?

We talked dirty a little more and I got hard again (almost instantly...I
could go forever at that age)...so I told him to be a good Igor and bend
over the lab table (my bed) because I needed to stick my monster dick up
his tight little ass, and he almost let me. He spread his ass cheeks and
showed it to me. He sure looked curious about getting fucked for the first
time, but then ultimately, he chickened out.

We were 12 when all that happened.

His little pink asshole looked incredible that year. He'd let me see it all
the time. He just wouldn't let me fuck it.  All flash, no glory.

Oh well. I've more than made up for it. We finally butt fucked the next
year when we were 13. I did him first, then he did me. We've been fucking
ever since.

We're married now and in our 30's.

Every Halloween, we check out the boys who trick or treat at our door, then
go upstairs and play a quick game of "YESSSSSS, MASSTER" talking about the
ones we'd like to fuck before we sperm the shit out of each other,
internally and externally. This year when I fucked him, I grunted in his
ear, "Want some candy, little boy? I got some candy for you, bitch."

He said "YESSSSSS, MASSTER."

It's our Halloween tradition.

Thanks for the stories.

Your devoted servant, Dr. Frank N. Stein

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 10. "J" IS FOR JASON AND JEREMY

Dear Zachyboy,

Here's a submission for your "Yanking in the Young Years" idea.

My little brother Jeremy and I used to jack off together all the time.

We shared a bedroom and a bunk bed. He had the top bunk, I had the bottom
bunk.

I'm not sure how old we were when we started doing it together. Probably me
about 13, him about 10. We're three years apart.

I think if you're brothers and you hear each other jacking off every night,
sooner or later you're going to get curious enough to want to watch each
other do it, or in our case, eventually work up to doing it in front of
each other, and eventually doing each other's.

We were both skinny kids with slender little dicks, and really, for being 3
years apart in age, our dicks were pretty much the same size, which pissed
me off when we started doing it, because come on, three years older? I
should have been way bigger than him.

Oh well. No worries. I hit a growth spurt the next year and left his dick
in the dust. He REALLY liked jacking me off then. When I got big and
started cumming big wet ones, he was fascinated with it.

He was a super-fast cummer. He could pop off within 30 seconds of when I
started stroking him. He was always rock hard. I'm not kidding, man. His
bone was ready to go 24/7. We'd go to the mall and he'd pull me into a
bathroom stall and whisper, "Do me quick," so I would.

Or we'd be somewhere completely inappropriate and he'd want me to jack him
off. This is sick, but once we were at our aunt's funeral, right at the
funeral home, and we went into the bathroom to take a piss together, and he
whispers, "Let's do it. Nobody will know."

And I'm not kidding you. We stood in that bathroom together, lowered our
pants and beat each other off with our old Aunt Beverly lying dead in the
other room. Sick, but we both got off.

He used to act really teasing and faggy sometimes when we'd jack off
together. He'd lift up his shirt and cup his own tits and say, "Ohhhh,
Jason, you're my big strong man. Let me stroke your big strong cock, lover"
and to be honest, it turned me on when he talked like that.

I needed way more time to cum than he did. He could get his nut (dry) in
about 30 seconds, but it always took me at least a good five to ten minutes
of slow, then fast, stroking before I could shoot for him. And he was
always more than willing to take his time.

He'd go slow on me at first, talking kind of dirty and sexy..."ohhh, baby,
look at that big hot cock...look how much it likes my hand, Jase." And the
dirtier he talked the more I wanted to cum, but not cum, you know? I was so
torn between making it last and wanting to shoot it for him immediately.

There's these two pictures of us on the roof of our old apartment building
my friend Conway took. In one, Jeremy is holding his shirt up cupping his
tits looking seductive, and I'm flexing my muscles and showing my abs. (I
was just a skinny little fuck, though. I really had neither).

And in the next one, he's making kissy lips at the camera and his hand is
holding my tummy. I remember that one because after Conway took it, he
said, "Jesus, you guys look totally fucking gay when you do that."

And I just sort of laughed and blushed and changed the subject, but I was
thinking, "Christ, Conway, if you only knew how many time Jeremy's jacked
my cock off, you'd probably never talk to me again." Anyway, I treasure
those pictures. I know you don't ever like people sending you pictures,
Zach, but I'll show you those two if you want. They're totally legal. We've
got all our clothes on.

Anyway. I had a great time jacking off with my brother growing up. I don't
know how many years we kept it up. Until I went off to college, I guess.

We never blew each other, which I suppose is weird, given how many times we
jacked off together, but I guess we just never crossed that bridge with
each other.

And also, when I was about 15 and he was 12, I asked him once if I could
fuck him, and he said no, he'd already tried that with a friend of his
once. The friend tried to fuck him and it hurt too much and it was really
messy, so he never wanted to do that again. Which I respected.

So, it was kind of weird, but totally normal. We jacked each other for
years. We never really talk about it now. It was just something that
happened a lifetime ago and it's a happy memory. For me anyway. I hope for
him too.

"Ohhhh, Jason, you're my big strong man. Let me stroke your big strong
cock, lover."

I have no sexual attraction to my brother at all as an adult, and he has no
sexual attraction to me.

But I bet if we could go back in time, we'd have our dicks in each other's
hands making each other cum in a heartbeat.

Is that a common denominator for guys who write to you? They all want to be
kids again? Keep their grown-up knowledge but go back and relive it all?

It's sure that way for me. The things I would do to him now, whew, it makes
my head spin.

Keep up the good work, Jason

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 11. "K" IS FOR KYLE

Zachyboy,

My jack-off memory comes in two parts. The first was my obsession over my
high school librarian's little boy Kyle after I accidentally saw his ass
one day.

The second part has to do with the movie "The Squid and the Whale" and how
the somewhat-disturbed little 12-year-old kid in that movie repeatedly and
secretly jacks off at his school and wipes his cum on books and lockers. If
you haven't seen that movie, by the way, turn in your boy perv membership
card. I will never speak to you again.

I was 15 when this happened and sort of a geek in high school. Math
club. Marching band. AV Club, which my school called Electronic Arts.

As part of that club, two days a week after school, I had to stay for an
hour and help clean up the library, reshelf loose books, shut down
computers, roll the day's AV carts back into storage. I enjoyed it. I lived
near the school, so nobody had to pick me up. When I was done, I just
walked home and I was there in five minutes.

Right after school every day, the librarian's son Kyle would get dropped
off by one of the elementary school teachers on her way home. Mr. Daley,
the librarian, would keep Kyle with him for that last hour – his wife
worked too – and I'd leave when they'd leave.

Kyle was a cute little boy with brown hair. I didn't know how old he was at
first. I just sort of saw him around. He'd sit in his dad's office at
first, but later he'd come out into the library and look at books.

I struck up a conversation with him pretty quickly. I had no designs on him
at all at first. I just talked to him since I was there, and he was there,
and we had nobody else to talk to. His dad was sometimes in the library
with us, sometimes had meetings in the office, but twice a week, Kyle was
part of my after school world for an hour after school.

He was a cute, polite kid. Very quiet. Content to just pick out books and
read while he waited for his dad's work day to be over. I asked him what
grade he was in and he said 2nd, so that would be, what? 7-years-old maybe?
8 at the most? Not very old, but a cutie.

Now, I knew I was gay by then. I was 15 and a sophomore. I didn't have any
fantasies about Kyle at first. I was too busy checking out my same-age
classmates in the locker room during gym class. It didn't occur to me to
perv over a 7-year-old kid at all. Not that he wasn't a pretty boy, I just
wasn't wired for anybody that much younger than me. Or so I thought.

So, one day I'm putting a cart of books away, and I have to pee. Now, the
way the school is set up, there are no bathrooms in the library itself. To
pee, you have to walk outside of the actual library and WAY down the hall
to the other end of the building for the nearest bathroom.

Mr. Daley noticed I'd been doing that and he said, "David, just use the
bathroom in my office." I didn't know he HAD a bathroom in his office, but
sure enough, off to the side, there was a little room with a single toilet
and a sink, so I just got into the habit of peeing there to save myself a
walk.

So, one day I need to pee, and I walk into Mr. Daley's office. Mr. Daley's
not there. He's in a staff meeting.

And I'm already starting to unzip from across the room, when bam, I see the
bathroom door wide open, and there's little Kyle with his pants all the way
down to the floor, standing in front of the bowl, pissing in the toilet,
bare-ass naked from the waist down. I can hear his stream of piss hitting
the water, but I can't take my ass off his little clenched baby
cheeks. Jesus Christ, what a perfect ass it was.

I was walking so fast I actually had to stop quickly before I walked right
into him. He looked up and saw me coming, but he didn't look embarrassed. I
was more embarrassed than him, I'm sure. I turned beet red. I said, "Oh,
shit. Sorry, Kyle. I didn't know you were in here."

I started to back off and leave but Kyle just turned to me with a casual
smile and said, "I'm almost done," and he finished his pee.

I couldn't see his penis from the angle he was standing at, but I was
absolutely riveted staring at his bare butt cheeks. They were
perfect. Creamy white. Perfectly sized. So little. So round and skinny and
tiny and...

My heart was pounding just looking at his naked butt. I honestly wanted to
drop to my knees and, well, do things to it.

And like I said, I didn't think a 7-year-old's butt was my primary interest
at that time, but damn. It turns out when I saw one, it's like a switch was
flipped. I was an all-out 7-year-old boy-butt fan. Instantly.

Kyle finished, pulled his pants up and didn't flush. Just walked past me
with a smile and went back out to find a book to read.

I stood there sort of shaking at this drive-by butt sighting. I went in to
pee in the wake of his yellow. Jesus, there were still a couple of foam
bubbles around the edges, and the minute I took my dick out and aimed my
pee into his, I was surprised when a syrupy squirt of pre-cum oozed from my
slit. The whole thing had definitely aroused me instantly. As I started my
flow, I couldn't shake the thought of his perfect 2nd grade ass.

I went home that night, and I'm embarrassed to say I jacked off like crazy,
thinking all kinds of dirty thoughts about Kyle. I think that was the first
time I ever jacked off thinking about a significantly younger boy. I jacked
off thinking of touching his butt. Fingering him. And yeah, fucking him
too.

When I closed my eyes jacking off, all I could think of was that perfect
little boy butt and how unconcerned he was that I was just standing there,
staring at it. It didn't seem to bother him at all. God bless younger kids
with absolutely no body shame yet. God bless them.

The other part of this jack-off memory is the movie that goes along with
it, and sort of inspired the second, more dirty part of what I did.

This all happened in 2006. So, the movie "The Squid and the Whale" had just
come out the year before, but 2006 was the year my mom bought the DVD. My
mom loved all those independent festival films, so she bought this one much
to my pleasure.

The little kid in the movie, Frank, has this habit of masturbating at
school, which I thought was incredibly hot. I rewound his jack-off cum
scenes and the scene where he's shirtless in front of the mirror drinking
beer about a hundred times.

In one scene, Frank the kid goes off into a private corner of the library,
takes a dirty folded-up magazine picture out of his pocket, and with his
pants still up, rubs his crotch up and down on the end of a bookshelf, dry
humping the actual shelf, and cums in his pants, sticks his hands down his
undies, pulls out a wad of cum, and smears it across the library books.

Go ahead. YouTube it. It's on there. You actually see him smear his cum in
the movie. I just about died when I saw that scene for the first
time. (Worse yet, I was watching the movie with my mom. UGH).

Anyway, this had been in my mind for months already, that I should jack off
in the library sometime and smear my cum somewhere. I just never did it,
because I was afraid of getting caught, and besides, Mr. Daley was a nice
guy and really didn't need any of my sperm on his library books.

But now that I saw his son Kyle's naked ass cheeks and was so obsessed with
jacking off at night thinking about doing dirty things to this naked little
boy butt, I think I only made it five or six more days before I knew I had
to somehow jack off in the library and cum, looking at Kyle.

So, I waited until Mr. Daley was in a staff meeting again, and with Kyle
down at one end of an aisle picking out books, I walked down to a different
aisle that intersected his, out of sight, and I stood behind a row of books
where he couldn't see me, and looked out between the crack of the shelf.

There was enough space to give me a perfect view of him from down the
aisle, but he couldn't see my face or body at all.

Urgently, shaking, nervous, but excited as hell I was really going to do
this, I unsnapped and unzipped my pants, lowered them just far enough to
pull them up fast if I had to, took my dick out, (I was already very hard),
spit in my hand, and looking straight at Kyle through the opening in the
shelf, started jacking off, whispering as quietly as I could.

"So pretty, so pretty," I know I was saying.

"Let me see that pretty ass again." I whispered.

Kyle was totally oblivious, and lost in his book.

"Pretty, pretty, ass." I whispered. "You want this big dick in your pretty
little ass?"

I mean, I know it was filthy, but he couldn't hear a word, and I just
stared right at him from about 30 feet away, jacking off and fantasizing
about him through my imperceptible whispers.

"You need this big dick in, you Kyle. You need it in you bad. Here it
comes. Gonna fuck you with it. Gonna fuck it up into you."

And I kept on jacking. Rapid pace. Biting my lip. Desperate to cum.

"You need it so bad," I grunted as I felt it happening. "Gotta stick it in
you, Kyle. UNGH! FUCK! Stick it in you," I whispered shuddering.

I was cumming like crazy.

"Stick it in you, stick it in you, stick it in you," I kept whispering as I
came, looking straight at his perfect beauty.

I caught the cum in my cupped palm and like the kid in the movie, wiped it
all over a row of books.

Kyle didn't hear a word. Just kept on browsing through books.

"Jesus, I love you," I whispered.

I quickly put my dick away and zipped up. And I went back to shelving books
like nothing had happened. He had no clue at all what I'd just done,
staring at his pretty face. Staring at his pretty ass through his tight
school uniform pants. Needing it in all kinds of filthy, wrong ways.

In the end, I felt bad about smearing my cum on the books and went in
Mr. Daley's bathroom, got some toilet paper, came back and cleaned up my
mess.

I walked by Kyle with a wadded-up piece of toilet paper in my hand, sticky
with my cum.

The cum I'd shot out of my dick looking at him and whispering out of
earshot how much I wanted to stick it in him.

I swore I'd never do it again, but it turns out I did it four more times
that school year. Always whispering to him from a distance. Always saying
the same thing at the exact moment I caught my cum in my cupped palm.

"Stick it in you, stick it in you, stick it in you," imagining doing just
that. My big 15-year-old dick up his little, slippery-tight boy hole.

Those were some of the hardest, most vivid cums I've ever had in my life.

I was only a library volunteer the rest of that school year, so the next
year, I'd still see Kyle hanging around waiting for his dad, and I'd still
pop my head in and say hi to him and he'd smile and say hi back, but I
never got to jack off perving over him again.

And by that time, I was a junior and in a pretty developing sex situation
with a freshman guy I'd met that summer, so thoughts of Kyle had sort of
faded into the background as I was getting some regular blowjobs and headed
toward my first butt sex for real.

But every once in a while, I'll read a story here about a middle-aged teen
and a boy in elementary school, (and you've done some great ones, by the
way), and I'll remember Kyle and the great cums I used to have in the
library fantasizing about him. Jacking off starting straight at him, and
Kyle not having a clue.

And if you haven't seen "The Squid in the Whale" yet, please do. Watch that
boy rub himself off and smear cum in the library and on a girl's locker
later. As far as movieland boy cum goes, I highly recommend it. I don't
think anybody has yet done it better, or dirtier, or more deliciously
casually.

It's funny what we jack off over and why.

I'm going on 27 now, but I still rub one off every now and then, thinking
of sticking it up Kyle's little 2nd grade butt, just because I accidentally
saw him with his pants around his ankles, taking a pee that day in his
dad's office bathroom. Some things never leave us, I guess.

I still get hard just writing about it. I'm grateful you're kind enough to
let me share it here. It's hot thinking Kyle might read it someday and
wonder if it's him.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 12. "L" IS FOR LOGIE

Dear Zach, Master of Masturbation Memories,

I was best friends with a girl in high school. I believe the unflattering
term for a girl who hangs out unendingly with a gay guy is "fag hag," and
she was definitely mine, because everybody already knew there was no way I
was growing up, getting married and making babies with the girl next door.

She was sweet though, and amazing. And she was my fiercest best friend and
we hung out and did everything together. Except the nasty. Ewww, she was a
girl. But otherwise, I loved her madly, and I still love her to this
day. Unrelated by birth, she's my amazing little sister. I'm her older gay
brother.

This is a story about the time her pain-in-the-ass little brother seduced
me into jacking off with him and cumming on his dick. I was 15, she was 14
and he was 12. Little fucker got me to lose all sense and jack off with him
and cum on him. GRRRRR. I still don't know why I did it.

Jesus, that kid was a cocky little fucker. Jen's family's last name was
Logan, so everybody called her little brother Logie. Everybody called their
dad Logie too. So there was Big Logie and Little Logie.

Little Logie was a fucking thorn in my side from day one.

He wasn't a fat kid. Just a little husky. "Built like a fireplug" my
grandma used to call kids like that. A little pudge around the tummy. Husky
legs. Round cheeks. Really not fat, but husky enough that just looking at
him irritated you, sort of on general principle.

He had a filthy mouth on him too.

He'd walk in on Jen and I watching TV or doing our homework in her room
after school.

"Hey Jared. Whatcha doing up here? Gettin' ready to suck Jen's tits?"

"Logie, get the hell out of here or I swear I'll kill you," Jen growled.

Logie lifted his shirt and squeezed his own boy boobs at me.

"Bet you'd like to give these fuckers a suck, huh Jared? I bet you like boy
tits better than girl tits."

"Become invisible, Pest." I glared at him, before turning my attention back
to my book and ignoring him.

"Suit yourself," he shrugged. "I'll be in my room stroking the old love
snake if anybody needs me."

"Out!" Jen threw a book across the room and it hit his shin. He retreated.

Stroke the old love snake.

Logie had a ton of expressions for masturbating, which he'd randomly
announce he was going off to do, just to get under his sister's
skin. Whether he did it or not, I never bothered to check. He was a little
pain in the ass and I could give a shit what he stroked or didn't
stroke. He was NOT among my boy fantasies back then, believe me.

Still, I give him fair credit for how he could rankle Jen with the mere
mention of his masturbatory intentions. It used to bug the shit out of her.

"Hey, Jen. I'm going off to peel a fresh banana. You and Tinkerbell wanna
come and watch me?"

She'd growl with fury.

"Hey, Jared. Why don't you come into my room with me and squirt a little
lotion in your hand and help me rub one out for Jesus and the angels."

Jen would see stars.

"Hey guys, my man missile is about to launch off to planet Spermalot. You
wanna come and see the fuel leak out of the thrusters?"

"GRRRR! LOGIE! LEAVE!" Jen would scream.

"It's a shame all this beautiful man sperm gets wasted on my bedsheets,"
he'd brag. "I think Jared should let me squirt a few shots in his
Dr. Pepper for that taste he really knows and loves."

My turn to throw a book at him from across the room.

"Logie, you're 12. I told him. The only juice you're capable of squirting
is the Sunny Delight in your mommy's refrigerator."

Jen giggled.

"That's what you think," he said. "You should see this poochy shoot off
when I wrap my hand around it and take this big dawg out for a walk. This
fucker barks and chases a kittens up a tree."

"What in the fuck are you TALKING about?" his sister moaned. "LEAVE US!"

I'm telling you, he had a million of them.

Anyway, like I said. I never gave a shit if Logie was actually jacking off
or not. I was 15. He was 12. And gay though I was, my interests pegged
upwards on the age scale, not downwards.

I was more interested in jacking off thinking about 35-year-old Mr. Otero,
the Spanish teacher, putting his hand down my pants, not this
allegedly-pubescent little pain-in-the-ass who may or may not shoot
starter-sperm. I had no idea if he could or not and didn't remotely
care. He was a non-sexual entity to me. Or so I thought.

Ugh.

You know how life goes. You know how it throws you inopportune curves
sometimes. It's a combination of timing and sheer, fluky weirdness. And it
turns out Logie did indeed talk me into jacking off with him once, the
annoying, relentless little fucker. He even got me to shoot my load on his
pink little fireplug boy dick, the little fucker.

I'd gone over to see Jen one Saturday, like I did 52 Saturdays out of the
year, only nobody was home. Jen had an orthodontist appointment out of town
with her mom, and her dad worked weekends.

No problem. I'd just hang out in her bedroom and watch TV and wait. I was a
welcome fixture in the house by both her parents. As welcome as one of
their own kids. I was a polite kid, clearly gay as the breeze. They know I
wasn't going to fuck their daughter and knock her up, so I had free rein in
and out of the house. Come and go as you please, son, and thanks for not
fucking our daughter.

So, that particular Saturday, I simply let myself in with the spare house
key they kept hanging on a nail in the garage behind an old Snoopy flag
from Knott's Berry Farm, and I headed for Jen's room.

That's when I passed Logie's room with the door half open.

"Hey, Jared. Come on in. Nobody's home. I was just shaking hands with my
best friend. He wants to meet you."

"Logie, put a sock in it."

"Aw, come on, Jared. At least come in and look at him. He won't bite
you. He's very friendly to Tinkerbells."

I don't have any idea what I was thinking, but against all common sense and
reason, I nudged the door open a little with my toe, and sure enough, there
was Logie, laying on his bed with his pants and undies around his ankles,
bopping away on his tiny little mini-dick like it was the last chance to
start a fire on a deserted island and he had last two sticks to rub
together.

"Jesus, Logie. Put your dick away. That's pathetic."

He giggled. Took his hand off and showed it to me. It was angry, red and
proud. Stiff as a board and maybe 3-inches long. A cute little circumcised
one, half swallowed up by the baby fat of his pubis. He wouldn't be winning
any size awards with it, but honestly, it was annoyingly, arousingly pretty
to look at. He talked about it so often, finally seeing it was a weird sort
of curiosity-cleansing satisfaction.

I knew I was staring directly at it too long, and he know it too.

"Like it?" he grinned. "Maybe want a little taste before dinner?"

"Pfft," I answered. But I didn't move from the doorway. Didn't stop looking
at it.

"Come on, Jared" he said. "Come over and shake hands with him. I bet you
give great handjobs."

I rolled my eyes at him. "You wish."

"Come on," he said. "I'll give you five dollars."

"Logie," I said. "I wouldn't jack your little mini-mouse if five dollar
bills started raining down on my head."

"Aw, come on," he said. "Nobody'll know."

He started jacking himself again. He spit in his hand and started rubbing
his stalk up and down, and as embarrassed as I am to tell you this, I
started getting uncomfortably hard and aroused, watching him. My face felt
flushed and my traitor dick was already starting to grow hard in my sweat
pants.

"HA!" he said. "You're getting a boner. I can see it from here."

"You are such a pain in the ass," I told him. Yet, I didn't make any effort
to leave the room. I was too fascinated watching this little idiot
masturbate, shamelessly, right in front of me. He had a steady stroke and
gave a little grunt every now and then.

"You wanna suck it?" he asked me. "Come on. Please? I won't tell."

"No, I don't want to suck it."

"Please?" he begged. "You're a gay guy. I thought all gay guys liked to
suck the old water fountain."

"Logie, if you had half a dick, maybe I'd suck it. You don't even have
one-fourth of a dick. You don't even have one-tenth of a dick."

"Then how come you're still standing there staring at it?"

He had me there.

"Then how come you're all hard in your pants, Jared. I can see your wiener
bulge from here."

I had no answer for him and my mouth was dry.

"Wanna just watch me then?" he asked.

Watch him? I couldn't move from the doorway. I was glued.

"I'm gonna fuck a girl with this cock someday," he told me. "I'm gonna
stick it hard in her pussy and fuck her right up her dumb little snatch. I
already know who it's gonna be."

Wow. 12-year-old testosterone. I watched him stroke it, transfixed.

"Jen wants you to fuck her with your cock, you know."

"Shut up."

"She does. I heard her rubbing her pussy in her room one night and she was
saying your name."

"Shut up."

"But everybody knows you're gay, so too bad, so sad for her."

My dick was throbbing, watching him stroke his little meat stick. He added
more spit to his hand and kept going.

"Sure you don't want to suck it for me?"

"I'm sure," I told him, but honestly I wasn't.

Honestly, I was very aroused. But I knew I couldn't do anything with
him. He'd blab it to everyone and I'd never live it down. I'd be persona
non grata with Jen, my best friend. I couldn't really do this with him,
could I?

"You sure you don't want to jack it just a little for me? I really want you
to."

And he sounded quiet and pleading, not dirty and nasty.

Still, I said, "In your wildest dreams, little boy."

"Fine," he sighed. "Just watch me then. Do your own. Do it inside your
sweat pants. I won't tell."

I doubted that, but I was too hard now to argue. Instinctively, my hand
went down inside my sweat pants and underwear, and I started stroking mine
while I kept watching Logie stroking his.

I watched him jack off and he watched me jack off. And it was dirty. And
wrong. But it was good. I was very turned-on by it.

"Do you cum a lot?" he asked.

"Some," I said.

"I cum a little. Wanna see it when I do?"

I paused. "Yeah. I guess."

"Can I see yours shoot out too?"

"No," I said, still rubbing myself under my sweat pants. I was so hard I
thought I might snap off. I added some spit and kept going.

"Come on, Jared. Total secret. If you show me yours too, I'll never tell
anybody. I triple-swear on the Bible."

God, my dick needed to hit the open air. Fuck this crazy kid. I can't
believe he was getting me to do this in front of him. I felt doomed already
but too turned-on to stop myself.

"Fine." I told him, throwing the ultimate caution to the ridiculous wind. I
lowered my sweat pants and undies enough so my dick sprang free over the
top of the waist band.

"Jesus," he whispered. "That thing is huge. No wonder my sister wants it
rammed up her cunt."

"Shut up," I told him. "Just jack off fast and let's get this over with."

He was stroking. I was stroking. And I hate to admit it, but it was the
hottest thing in the world, watching this 12-year-old bane of my existence
masturbating in his bed, naked from the waist down, while I stood in his
bedroom doorway, watching him and jacking my own angry red cock.

"I'm getting ready to shoot," he warned me. "Come over here and catch it in
your hand."

I have NO idea what I was thinking – NO IDEA – but I did EXACTLY as
he said. I moved over to the side of his bed, still stroking my own cock,
and when he said, "Now. Put your hand here," I held my hand out, he tilted
his body and dick to the right, and as soon as his dick head touched the
skin of my cupped palm – and I got goosebumps when it did – he
grunted and clenched his teeth together and with an "eeee-eeee-eeee, here
it goes!" he shuddered tightly and squirted out two gooey, clear drops of
starter-semen in my hand. I was electrified. On fire to catch the little
boy HEAT of it.

Seeing him cum excited me beyond the boiling point, and taking his semen
and wrapping it around my own dick as lube, I started stroking my own cock
with his 12-year-old boy jizz.

"Whoa," he said. "That's so nasty, Jared. You're jacking with it. You're
jacking off with my cum! WHOA!"

"Shut up," I whispered. "I'm gonna shoot it, fucker."

"Shoot it on my dick!" he said excitedly. He leaned over toward me and
spread his little fireplug legs a little so I had a clearer shot at the
target. "Shoot it all over my dick and balls. Cum on me, man!"

Again, I have no idea what I was thinking, but I did EXACTLY what he told
me to do.

Knowing I was going to cum in the next five seconds, I aimed my dick head
at pink little boy stick and with a terrifying shudder, ashamed even as I
was doing it, I clenched my ass cheeks together, yelled out a
"GRRRRRRCCCKKKKY" nonsense syllable, and blasted wads of hot semen all over
Logie's dick and pubis, and tiny bare ball sack.

"Holy shit!" he uttered. "You got it all over me! That is so COOL!"

True enough, I had drenched him pretty good. He was wet and white with it.

Before common sense could outweigh instinct, his hand went down and he
started rubbing himself with it. Smearing it around his dick and
balls. Stroking himself with it.

I was blushing beet red.

"Okay," I stammered. "Well. Okay. Whatever."

I had NO idea what to say in the aftermath. No idea at all.

"That was hot, Jared. Thanks, man. I won't tell anybody. I swear."

"Thanks," I said. It was all I could come up with. Just simple, stammered
"thanks." For letting me cum all over his dick, I guess. Shit. I was
doomed.

I wiped my hand on my naked thigh, put my dick back in my pants and got out
of his room as fast as I could. From the doorway as I left. I'm pretty sure
I saw him lift his hand up to smell it a little. To taste it a little. And
to be honest, embarrassed as I am to tell you this. As soon as I got out
into his hallway out of his sightline, I licked the remnants of his
12-year-old sperm off my own hand. And I liked how it tasted damn it. I
wished he gave me more.

Ugh.

The little fucker got me to do it. Not only watch him jack off, but
actively participate.

I did it with him. And I came on his damn dick! That was the part that
terrified me. I lived in mortal fear the whole next month, absolutely
assuming he was going to blab it to the whole universe – Jen, his mom,
his dad – everybody. I was sure I'd be going to jail for child
molesting. 15 seemed ages older to me than 12 back then. I was sure it was
a punishable criminal offense, masturbating with a 12-year-old boy and
sperming on him.

But true to his word, Logie never told anybody.

He considered himself 100% straight, not gay. "I'm gonna fuck a girl with
this cock someday," he told me. "I'm gonna stick it hard in her pussy and
fuck her right up her dumb little snatch. I already know who it's gonna
be." So, all things considered, maybe having word get out that a teenage
gay boy shot sperm on his dick was too much face for Logie to save.

Whatever coaxed or shamed him into silence, his silence was golden. He kept
our one-time experience a secret completely, and it never went any further
than his bedroom doorway of that one weird Saturday of that one weird year.

It was never repeated. We ever progressed into anything else. Not a
thing. No escalating blowjobs or buttfucks. That was it. The upper limit of
my enormous gay experience with Logie. Jacking off with a 12-year-old and
cumming on his little dick and balls because he told me to.

"Have you noticed how Logie never comes in here and talks about jacking off
in front of us anymore?" Jen asked me out of the blue one day when we were
in her room, listening to some music and doing homework.

I had, in fact, noticed. Since Logie and I jacked off together that one
time, he NEVER talked about masturbating in front of me again, ever. I
think, at heart, he was just as horrified it happened as I was.

I shrugged at Jen. "I guess he's growing up," I said. "You can't be a
little horn dog perv forever, I guess."

She shrugged and said "I guess" and we went back to geometry.

But we all know that's not true, right Zach? You really CAN still stay a
little horn dog perv forever. You still are, I think. And so are most of
the guys who read and write on this site, thank God. We never grew out of
our perv years.

Logie was probably just as pervy with his friends and classmates after
that. He probably even nailed that girl he wanted, whoever she was, poor
thing. He was, after all, a little pain-in-the-ass, and some things never
change.

But he stopped talking dirty to me about masturbating after that. He never
said another filthy word.

I guess that one time is all it took to get it out of his system.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 13. "M" IS FOR MARCUS

Zachary Boy,

When I was 13, I made my best mate Marcus think he had a wet dream by
wanking myself off and squirting onto the front of the underpants he was
wearing while he was sleeping.

We had lots of sleepovers at my dad's flat in East Barnet. We both lived in
Chelsea, but after my mum threw my dad out, he moved to Finchley first,
then to East Barnet, and I'd take the Northern Line up to see him most
weekends and Marcus would come along.

My dad worked a night shift so we had the flat to ourselves, which of
course led to all sorts of filthy discussions.

We'd not yet wanked together at that point, although we discussed whether
or not we could spunk up or not. I could already cum buckets but Marcus,
who was quite a bit shorter and smaller than me, had no spunk at all.

We talked about wet dreams and giving his little sister a clunk and a bash,
which we both wanted to do, but she would have killed us and told
everyone. And I told Marcus how I'd like to spunk up her filthy little
10-year-old minge, and he did too, only he had no spunk to offer her
insides.

So, that same night after talking about her and helping ourselves to two of
my dad's Tesco Finest Oaks and feeling quite relaxed about it, Marcus fell
asleep first and I felt I needed a wank before bed, so I pulled out my cock
and did it right in my room with Marcus sleeping on the floor as he always
did with a pillow and blanket, mouth open and softly snoring.

Only the blanket was pulled aside (it was August and hot), and he was
sleeping in nothing but his underpants, so I stared at the soft bulge of
his cock – it was just a tiny todger – and when I got ready to spunk,
I squatted forward, lined up my hard willy with the dick pouch of his
underpants and shot all over his enticing little bulge.

It was utterly nasty, splashing my mate's cockbump down with loads of my
goo. And there was quite a bit of it. And then I simply wiped off my hand
on my side and meant to go to sleep, leaving him to sort it all out for
himself in the morning.

But feeling daring, I moved his sleeping hand into the goopy mess and left
it sitting there in the cooling stickiness of my spunk all over his crotch.

He stirred almost instantly, so quickly, I feigned sleep. Through squinted
eyes in the dark room I watched him wake, then realize what his hand was
in.

"Oh Jesus," I heard him whisper. "Aiden, Jesus." I continued to fake sleep.

He brought it to his nose and sniffed it first. Then his hand went back
down to scoop up more. Then I saw him TASTE IT. He tasted it, LICKED MY
SPUNK, thinking it was HIS. Thinking he'd had a wet dream thinking of
shagging his little sister.

"Aiden," he whispered quietly. "Aiden, are you awake?"

I said nothing.

Satisfied I was sleeping, through squinted eyes, I watched him take his
underpants off, LICK MY SPUNK AGAIN thinking it was his, then take out his
hard cock and start wanking it immediately.

It only took him 30 seconds and he grunted and dry-spunked. Then smelling
my cum on his hand again, thinking it was his, put his underpants back on
and went to sleep.

In the morning, he said nothing at all about his "first" wet dream. Not a
word. But I could see my spunk still damp and drying on the dick pouch of
his underpants.

Maybe three or four months later, Marcus revealed to me he could spunk up
at long last, and did I want to see him do it? And I said yes. I always
wonder if he was confused why he shot off and had such a "first wet dream"
at my dad's flat, then took another four months to pump it out by hand. He
never mentioned his confusion to me.

So, when he announced he'd started cumming regularly, we eventually turned
our sex talk into sex play and ended up wanking to some brilliant cums in
my dad's flat. There was even one memorable occasion when I convinced him
to take my cock in his mouth and suck me to completion, even though he
wouldn't swallow my spunk, and rather just made a face and spit it out in a
tissue.

We wanked quite a bit together, one or two times taking each other's cocks
in hand, but usually we just serviced our own, and usually under separate
blankets. He never sucked me again, nor was I lucky enough to bang him.

But it still excites me that the very first cum that Marcus ever smelled or
tasted, even though he thought it was his own, was actually produced by me,
after I shot it onto him, sleeping in his underpants.

I've never told him I did that. He's bisexual now and off at university,
but mine was the first spunk he ever tasted.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 14. "N" IS FOR NEWT

Zack-a-Doodle-DOO!

Favorite jack-off memory with another kid? Hmmm. How about the WEIRDEST
jack off memory with another kid? My friend's little brother. It was a
jack-off that was offered to me out of nowhere, and quickly turned into
being my very first blowjob. Completely unexpected but certainly (weirdly)
appreciated.

This story is from the mid 1990's when I was in 7th grade.

Somehow, for a school project, I got paired-off with Dale, this kid in my
class I don't really know very well. He was a nice enough kid. Very polite,
straight-A kid, we just didn't socialize together.

He was an odd sort of outsider rural kid. His family lived way out in the
country. He wore work boots to school. His family was very observant
Christian. Fundamentalist. Hold hands and pray at the table kind of
Christians. Dress up for church on Sundays in suits and ties kind of stuff.

Anyway, Dale and I have shop class together, only in my school it's called
Industrial Arts, or I.A. And I can't for the life of me remember why I went
over to his house for dinner one night, but I know we were building
something together for that class, and I think his dad had the right tools
and my mom didn't. Anyway, I wound up at his house for dinner, which was an
unexpected invitation, but I liked Dale, so I was happy to go. His dad
picked us up after school.

Dinner at their house was really nice, but also really weird compared to
dinner at my house. They really did pray before dinner. And they had a
little ceramic loaf of bread in the center of the table with these little
cardboard bible verse cards stacked inside it. "Daily Devotion" or
something like that.

And sure enough, after everybody said grace, I got to pick a card (because
I was the guest and got the honor, I guess), and then they all talked about
the bible verse on the card and what it meant to their lives, then they
held hands and prayed again. Eeeek.

I mean, it wasn't totally weird, I could keep up. I was a polite kid. It
just wasn't the way dinner happened in my house. We sort of fake-prayed
once a year on Christmas, and less if we could get away with it.

Anyway, the Drakes were a nice family. Their dad looked very big and
rural. He wore a flannel shirt and had some kind of outdoor job. The mom
and the little sister wore dresses at the dinner table. Then there was my
friend Dale, who was 13 like me. And his little brother Darrin, who was
12. And then a younger brother, about 6 or 7 named Daniel, but they all
called him Newt.

So, after dinner (which was delicious...believe me, Christian moms can cook
when they stay at home all day and don't work), we had hot apple pie out of
the oven.

"Wait'll you taste this," said Newt. "This tastesis delicious."

Not tastes. Tastesis.

Newt was adorable. He looked oddly out of place at that table. A little boy
anachronism. They all looked old fashioned. Flannel shirts. Print
dresses. Newt was wearing a bright red sweat shirt. Like a dash of color
and modern life showed up in the middle of Little House on the Prairie. It
turns out that's exactly what Newt was. A dash of modern life. And the
dried flakes on his shirt sleeves weren't cake frosting.

After pie, the mom and the sister cleared the table and did all the
dishes. Scary how Leave it to Beaver they were. And all us guys, including
the dad, went out into the front driveway where the dad lit up a pipe and
took out a big hunting knife from a sheath, and cut up a big watermelon for
everybody.

The driveway was long and made out of gravel – this was way out in the
country, remember – so we all ate our watermelon and just spit our seeds
on the ground at the dad's lead, which I thought was fun to watch a dad
spit seeds and act like a kid that so casually.

I remember laughing because their dad really was acting all kid-like and
goofy and he started spitting watermelon seeds at Darrin first, then at
Newt, then at all of us, and before we knew it, our jaws were all dripping
with watermelon juice and we were all spitting seeds back at him and he was
laughing and hooting, and I never had so much fun with a dad who seemed to
genuinely like being playful with his sons like that. We had such a good
time.

It really was just a fun, easygoing, time out there. I was a city kid and I
was totally not in my element out there with this rural, very church-going
family, but they were so genuinely good-hearted, I felt like they just
welcomed me right in and made me feel comfortable naturally, without any
effort at all. It was a good feeling. I remember wishing I had a dad like
that. Without all the praying maybe. Or the Daily Devotion in the ceramic
little bread loaf. But otherwise, they were so nice to be with that night.

Well. Fast forward a half hour.

Dale and I go to his bedroom to work on whatever project we were working on
for I.A. I was some kind of jewelry box thing with hinges and a drawer with
big bolts on the inside. Or maybe it was a bird house with some kind of
drawer to store extra seeds. I honestly can't remember what we were
building. The rest of the night overshadowed the school project, that's for
sure. Because of what happened that night, my brain has no historical room
in the memory vaults for whatever it was we were actually working on.

But whatever it was, we went to his bedroom to work on it. We sat on his
bed next to each other. Dale shared a bedroom with Darrin. There were two
twin beds. Newt shared a bedroom with the little sister Jenny down the
hall.

I do know our project had these little nuts and bolts in it, and we were
attaching something to something else with pliers when I dropped a bolt and
it rolled under Dale's bed. When I got down on my hands and knees to pick
it up, I looked under the bed and I noticed Dale had three Penthouse
magazines tucked way in the back.

"Hello," I grinned, grabbing them out. "I wondered if you were a completely
good kid or if you had some regular kid behavior around the edges."

He looked sheepish and shrugged, but then pointed to the middle
magazine. "That one's got the best centerfold," he said. And sure enough,
we opened it up, and it did. You could tell these were three well-worn
magazines and after Dale got up to lock his door, we looked at them in
detail. We were both getting hard and he noticed mine first.

"You ever play with yours?" he asked me? "You know. Rub it up and down
until it howls off?"

Swear to God, that's what he called it. "Howls off."

"Yep." I said. "Usually two or three times a night."

"Yeah, me too," he said.

Then it got quiet and awkward, because we were basically hard as rocks and
wondering if we should jack off in front of each other.

"We could put a pillow between us and not look at each other," he
suggested, sort of readjusting his boner from the outside of his pants.

"Will your parents come in?" I worried.

"No, they'll stay out in the living room with Darrin and Jenny and Newt and
watch TV because they know we're working on stuff. We're all real strict
about privacy in our family. My dad says it's really important for kids and
adults both. Nobody ever opens up a closed door here."

"Okay," I shrugged, because we were both really hard.

Dale took the pillow from his bed, and the other one from Darrin's bed and
stacked them between us, making a little visual dick barrier so we couldn't
see each other's cocks.

He unzipped first. I remember he had a big clunky belt buckle, and I could
hear it jingling around while he got himself situated. I unzipped next and
got my dick out too. I wanted to look at his, but I really couldn't see it
from over the pillows. We both started jacking off and looking at the
magazine, which he put on top of the pillows in the middle of us.

"Ahhhh," he said. "I needed this one. I didn't do one last night."

"I did mine twice," I said. "But I needed another one anyway."

We both giggled at that.

"Hey, you want to feel something really good on yours?"

I didn't know what he meant, but I said, "Um. Yeah. I guess."

He zipped up again, clinked his belt buckle walked to the door and opened
it up a crack.

"Hey Newt," he yelled down the hall. "Come help us with our project a
minute."

"Okay," the little boy yelled from down the hall, and I could hear kid feet
running to Dale's room.

I panicked because my dick was still out and I started to pull my pants up
but Dale said, "It's okay. You can keep them down."

Newt popped his head in the doorway, suddenly appearing in his bright red
sweatshirt and Dale opened the door for him so he could enter.

Dale told him, "Give Ben some help okay? He needs to howl off."

"Okay," Newt chirped and he headed straight for me, this sudden blur of red
headed straight for my cock like The Flash.

"Whoa, wait, stop," I said to Dale, shocked, panicking, holding my hand
up. "Won't we get caught?"

"Nah," said Dale. "It's okay. Don't worry. Nobody will come in. He does it
for all of us. It's private. Everybody understands."

I didn't know what he was talking about. "Everybody understands."

Dale said, "I'll just wait next door in Newt and Jenny's room, and Newt,
when you're done with Ben, come in and do me next, okay?"

"Okay," the little guy chirped, heading straight for me, rolling his
sleeves up, smiling at my cock, which had now gone soft, and cracking his
knuckles and getting right down to business.

Dale smiled at me and said, "It's okay. Don't be embarrassed. He does this
a lot. It's really okay."

Dale was out the door in an instant, leaving me with my dick hanging out,
and Newt wrapping his little hand around it. The feeling when he touched me
was electric. No boy had ever touched my dick before. I sucked my breath in
through my teeth.

"I do this all the time," he smiled at me. "It's okay. Don't be scared. It
feels real good to everybody!"

I looked at him smiling. Red sweatshirt. Brown hair. Brown eyes. His breath
still smelled like watermelon. He was the perfect little brother. His hand
squeezed and stroked my cock. It felt amazing. I didn't want him to stop.

I relaxed and decided to go with it. I was still nervous as hell someone
was going to break the door down and yell at us, but after I started
realizing nobody was going to come in, I let out a sigh and relaxed even
more. My dick had gone soft because of the surprise and the worry, but I
started getting hard again fast when Newt started stroking me.

"You got a good one," he smiled, moving it up and down, licking his hand,
adding some spit, and moving it up and down some more. "How much do you
make?"

"How much...what?"

"When you howl," he said. "How much juice do you make?"

Jesus, I thought.

"A little," I said. "Not tons, but a little."

He kept on stroking me.

"How much juice does Dale make?" I asked him.

"A lot," he said. "Darrin doesn't make no juice at all yet. My dad makes
the mostest."

Not most. The mostest.

Holy crap, was this kid jacking his dad, too? My head was swimming, but my
dick felt great.

"Okay," Newt grinned, satisfied I was fully boned-up again. "Here comes the
good part. Get ready to howl!"

And before I could stop him, he bent his little head over my cock and took
it in his little mouth.

Oh my God. It felt amazing. Electricity! I'd never had a blowjob before!
But Jesus...a kid...a little bitty kid was doing this to me...

"Wait! What are you doing?" I started to say...

I almost said, "Newt! Stop!" and I meant to pull his mouth back off my
dick. But then something in my brain clicked and said, "Shut up, don't ruin
it, dummy," so I just closed my eyes, leaned back and enjoyed the ride. I
enjoyed my very first blowjob at 13, with the mouth of a very talented 6 or
7-year-old wrapped around me.

Newt sucked me like an expert, only stopping long enough when he felt my
hips pumping up into his mouth to say, "It's okay. You can howl in my mouth
whenever you want to, Ben. Go and howl hard. You don't have to stop."

"Nnngh, nnggh," I was pumping and grunting.

"You can make noise if you want to," he suck-whispered. "Nobody will care."

"NNGGGH, NGGGH!!!" It felt so good. His little mouth sucking me. I wanted
to cum in his mouth so bad.

In another half-minute of sucking and pumping and a "huhhh-huhhh-huhhh" on
my part, before I knew it, I was grabbing his little head and holding his
mouth in place while I yelled out "NGGGGGHHHHH!" and pumped my dick into
him and froze up hard, and I shot my shaking, quivering, toe-curling little
load in his mouth. Newt took it like a pro. He just squeezed my butt cheeks
for purchase, wrapped his tight-sucking lips around my shaft, formed as
hard a seal as he could, and sucked and gulped and swallowed it
whole. Jesus, that kid was good.

It all happened so fast. I didn't know what had just happened to me. Sucked
by a 7-year-old and he swallowed my cum. The enormity of it took the whole
rest of that week to sink in.

Newt came up for air and smiled. He wiped his lips off with the back of his
hand.

"Not as sweet as Dale's," he said, "but way sweeter that my dad's. His
tastesis like coffee."

Not tastes. Tastesis.

Jesus. His dad? The little kid sucked his dad off? He ate his dad's cum,
too?

"I gotta go howl on Dale's now," he smiled. "Bye. Thanks for a good one!"

I sat there shell-shocked. "Watermelon seeds, watermelon seeds," is all I
could ridiculously think of. "The little boy's lips spit watermelon seeds."
I whispered it out loud three times like a tongue-twister.

It probably took me a good three minutes to come to my senses, pull my
pants back up, and by that time, Dale was coming back into the room with a
big grin on his face. Zipping up his pants, too.

"He's pretty good, isn't he?" he smiled.

I nodded with wide eyes. My mouth felt dry.

"He...won't...he won't tell on anybody, will he?"

"Tell who?" Dale grinned. "He does my dad's too. We all howl in Newt's
mouth."

Jesus, I wanted to say out loud. But they didn't take the Lord's name in
vain in that house, so I just said, "Wow."

We finished our project, and amazingly, neither of us said a single word
about the fact that Dale's little brother had just sucked our dicks for us,
and swallowed our teenage cum.

That night when he drove me home, Mr. Drake gave me a short quiet speech on
privacy and the importance of secrets. It was not a big lecture. Just a
brief, "Remember, Ben. What happens in a family is their own private
business, okay? I hope I can trust you to honor my family's private
business and keep it to yourself, is that all right with you?"

"Yes, sir," I promised him. "I won't tell anything, Mr. Drake."

"Good man," he said and ruffled my head. "I knew you'd understand right
from the start. You're a good boy and I trust you."

Strangely, it made me proud when he told me that. It wasn't until the next
day that all I could think of was, I wonder if he fucks his kids. I wonder
if he fucks Jenny. I wonder if he sticks his dick inside of Newt. Or
Darrin. Or even in Dale. Jesus. It was too large to think about.

"You come out and have supper with us any time you want, Ben." Mr. Drake
said before he dropped me off that night.

And I nodded and said, "I will. Thank you, sir." But of course, I never
did.

If this were a Nifty story, I'd have gone back the next three nights and
the dad would have been fucking me by the weekend, but the truth is, the
whole thing was so creepy and weird to me – keep in mind, I was an only
child and I'd never even conceived of incest before, much less seen a home
where it apparently went on so casually – so not knowing how to process
all of that at 13, I never went back there again.

I remained friends with Dale, however. We graduated together, friends but
not close. I remember seeing Newt at our graduation. He was wearing a
suit. He was probably 12 by then. I remember wondering who was howling him
by 12 and what hole they were howling in.

I was 18 by then and pretty sure I was gay. And Newt was a handsome boy of
12, and honestly, I wouldn't have minded a fresh howl or two inside him
myself. In his mouth or in his butt. Whatever he was offering.

So, there you go. That was the first time another kid jacked me off, and
the first time another kid sucked my dick. Dale's little brother Newt. A
surprise offering, right out of the blue.

Dale and I also got an "A" on our Industrial Arts project that year, even
though I still don't have a clue what it was we were building.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHPATER 15. "O" IS FOR OX

[The following story originally appeared as "Ever So Gratefully Smaller" in
the Nifty Gay High School and Athletics sections in March 2017]

Dear Zach,

You asked for favorite youth masturbation memories, and I definitely know
what mine is. It starts out with a whole lot of ropey, sticky masturbation,
but quickly moves to gagging down cumloads way too big for me and then on
to the eventual obliteration of my 14-year-old anal virginity. Something
tells me you probably won't mind if there's more than just jacking off in
the story.

And I will start this by saying nobody ever believes my story, because it's
such a cliché setup right out of the Nifty athlete and high school
section – "football jock bangs the towel boy" - and my whole life I've
been telling friends, "No, seriously, I'm not kidding, it REALLY happened,"
and they laugh and roll their eyes and never believe me, so ((sigh)) I
might as well write it all down and send it in to you, and you can stick it
in a story somewhere and have it publicly disbelieved by everybody.

And you know what? I don't give a shit if anybody believes me or not
anymore. I know it happened, and if they think it's bullshit, then it was
6-inches of really GOOD bullshit up my little teen rump, so believe me,
I've made peace with the accuracy of the memory, whether anyone else
believes me or not.

So. Late 1990's. I'm 14 and Ox is 17. Ox is the halfback on our high school
football team. #80. Go Patriots...the Mighty Roaring Patriots.

Let me say from the start, I was WAY too gay to be the towel boy for the
high school football team, that's for sure. You don't want to put me in a
room with naked guys, or I'm going to lose all concentration. But honestly,
I like football. I've got a lot of team spirit. (Quit laughing. Don't go
there yet. Not "that" kind of spirit).

And I just feel proud that I'm this sweet, skinny, gangly sort of kid who'd
get murdered on the field in the first half if he ever tried to suit up and
play, but I get to make a difference in my own way, and help out a
genuinely nice group of guys, the players, who are all very nice to
me. (Ha! Don't go there yet, either. Not "that" kind of nice).

Anyway. I feel good about what I do back then. I'm proud of it. And I'm
like their mascot. My name is Todd Tucker, but they all call me
T-Dog. They're nice to me. I matter to the team. In my own way, I'm
integral.

Anyway. Towel boy/water boy/last-one-out of the locker room clean-up boy is
something I've been doing since middle school at my dad's urging. I was way
too gay to be his son, I think, so after a lot of arguing and crying on my
part, he made me try out for football in 6th grade, and towel boy/water boy
is as far as I ever made it.

That seemed to satisfy him, that at least I was in the presence of jocks
(even if I never actually became one myself), and once I got over the
horror of having to go to practice and games nonstop, I actually found
myself liking it.

And being a burgeoning little gaybee, believe me, I sure as hell liked
seeing naked guys in the shower, all strong and sweaty, all through 6th,
7th and 8th, while I casually rolled a cart past them all, passing out
fresh towels and studying their dicks, close and unobstructed.

After being TB/WB (towel boy/water boy) three years of middle school (and I
was quite fucking good at it, I might add), the middle school football
coach told the high school football coach about me and said I was too
efficient to retire, and after a five-minute meeting in the high school
coach's office two weeks before the season started (do NOT go there either,
LOL), I was instantly drafted for the same job in high school. I was sort
of a TB/WB legend at that point, and really very proud to be asked. Go
Patriots. Go Mighty Roaring Patriots.

So, when all of this started, I was 14 and Ox was 17.

Ox was Steven Oxford, a senior that year, and believe me, he was built like
one. Very tall. Very strong. I was in clumsy stuttering dicklust with him
the first time I saw him. But that wasn't unusual. I was in dicklust with
all the upper classmen the first time I saw them. Or buttlust really, since
I knew when push came to shove, if anybody shoved anything, they'd be
shoving it in me, and not vice-versa. And believe me, I was perfectly fine
with that yet-unrealized fantasy of mine.

So, Ox was just one of the players I fantasized about, jacking off at night
and putting fingers up my ass.

Ox was super nice to me from the very beginning. All the guys on the team
were. Football teams take care of their own. It's a brotherhood, and I was
the little brother. Nobody messed with me. Ox even pummeled a kid in the
hallway on my behalf once. He happened to be walking by one day after 5th
period when some burnout junior was giving me shit and calling me a fag.

Without even a word of warning, Ox grabbed the kid by the shirt collar,
slammed him up against the locker so hard it left a dent, and said, "This
little man you're picking on is T-Dog. And he's part of my team,
asshole. And if I ever catch you giving this little man trouble again I
swear to all-holy Jesus I will put your teeth through the back of your
head. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

The kid was dumbstruck. Speechless.

Ox pushed him harder against the locker and said, "Say `yes sir.'"

That kid said "yes sir" faster than any of us could take our next breath.

"Apologize to him."

"I'm sorry, Tucker."

"Mean it."

"I'm sorry, Tucker. I'm really sorry." The kid was crying now.

Ox let him drop.

Then to me, Ox said, "You come and get me if he ever bothers you again, all
right T-Dog?"

"Yeah, Ox, sure." I was breathless. Nobody ever stuck up like that before.

And then he spoke to the assembled group. "Pass the word. T-Dog is part of
the Mighty Roaring Patriots football team. Anybody who picks on T-Dog in
ANY way will simply CEASE to exist. Be warned. Say "Yes, sir."

A bunch of gathered kids automatically said "Yes, sir." Who would dare not
to?

And then with a nod of respect to me, Ox walked off without another
word. And then I really loved him. Not dicklust. Crush. And nobody in high
school EVER messed with me. Not a single whisper behind my back. Not a
single, solitary pick-on-the-gay-boy word.

TB/WB. Towel boy, water boy.

These were my duties. Fill and refill six packs carry-crates of Gatorade
bottles with water, not Gatorade. Lug them back and forth from tank to
bench, tank to bench. It was fucking exhausting. Keep track of an endless
supply of hand towels on the field for sweaty time-outs. Hand players
water, hand players water, hand players water, hand players water.

Did I mention hand players water?

Be the other half of their brain. Know when they're thirsty. Protect their
hydration. Hand them water even before they say "hand me water." I was good
at it. It was instinct. Nobody ever went thirsty or sweaty when I was
there. Ever. I took pride in how good I was at what I did. And they all
appreciated what I did.

When there were victories, I was part of the team. The first head they
rubbed and tousled walking back down to the locker room was mine. "Good
game, T-Dog," they'd say, like I actually played in there with them, and in
my eyes and their eyes, I did. I played a different position, but it was
every bit as valuable.

I'd lay out their shower towels on their locker room benches. Collect all
the dirty uniforms and wet towels off the floor in a big rolling laundry
cart like the maids in hotels use, and I'd roll it to school maintenance
room where it got washed overnight by the janitors. I'd pick everything up
and fold it the next morning and put it back in the correct players'
lockers with my passkey. I had access to all their lockers.

And I know what you're thinking, Zach. I was probably in there sniffing
their sweaty jock straps and jacking off to all that testosterone and
teenage football sweat, and I guess I probably could have. There was plenty
of time and privacy to do it, but Jesus, the schedule and workload was
unending.

I was 14. A Freshman. I had homework. Duties. Constant workload. On
practice days and game days, believe me, there's no time to stand around
and sniff anybody's jock strap. Jesus Christ, you're exhausted.

We had 30 guys on our team. 30 sweaty guys. Sweat on one guy might be
hot. But sweat times 30 guys all over your hands and arms and skin and
face? Eww. Sorry, Zachy. That much sweat all over you every day, you just
want to shower off and go home.

I did shower in the locker room, but long after all the players had already
left. After games, they were in and out of the locker room, showered up and
dressed in street clothes in about fifteen minutes. I gathered wet towels
and dirty uniforms, carted them to maintenance, then I came back, took my
shower (I wore a uniform too. Lucky #7. TB/WB at our school was always
lucky #7), and then after I showered and dressed in street clothes (I also
had my own locker), I dropped my uniform off in the bin at maintenance, and
walked home. (I lived about 10 miles from the school). Last one out. Last
one home.

It was during my last-one-out shower one night, when Ox first saw me naked.

"Oh, hey T-Dog," he said as he walked past the shower. "Sorry, I forgot my
cap in my locker."

His voice startled me, and I instantly covered my crotch in
embarrassment. I was used to showering alone. It was silly I covered
myself, but it was just reflex. Plus, you know, I was pretty little down
there at 14 compared to him. It was just a modesty thing.

He got his cap and came back and stood in the shower doorway and talked to
me a little. "Good game tonight," he said. "You need any help cleaning up?"

I was confused for a minute. I didn't know if he meant cleaning up ME or
cleaning up the locker room.

"No," I said. "I'm good. I got it."

And then, I swear, he just stood there and looked at me for a little
while. Didn't say anything. Just looked.

I was a good-looking kid at 14. Skinny, but cute. I'd like to think this
Adonis was checking me out, but I figured it was just my wishful
imagination. I mean, next to me, he was from Mount Olympus and I was a
lesser creature of the glen.

"Well, goodnight," he said. But I swear he was still looking at
me. Checking me out. Viewing. My. Ass.

I went home that night and behind my locked bedroom door, I jacked off
twice at the thought of Steve Oxford looking at my naked body. Did he want
me? Oh, fuck, I wanted him. All I could whisper while I jacked off in my
bed that night was "Fuck me, Ox. Fuck me, fuck me."

I knew I was a bottom boy from the start. There was never any doubt in my
mind. I'd been putting fingers and objects up my ass since I was 10. The
thought of being Ox's bottom drove me out of my mind that night. I'm not
kidding, Zach. I wanted to be his bitch. I wanted to be his woman. I wanted
him to fuck me so bad.

Sigh. Fast-forward a few nights later.

For whatever reason, Ox doesn't leave with the rest of the guys that
night. He hangs back, telling them he needs to go back to his school
hallway locker and grab some books or something. So, he walks off in his
dirty, sweaty uniform and comes back about 15 minutes later when they're
all gone. It's just me down there cleaning up. Nobody else is at
school. It's dark for fuck's sake. It's 9-fucking-30. Coach is
gone. Janitors exist somewhere, but who fucking knows where they go at
night. They're like gophers.

"Sorry, T-Dog," he says. "I know I'm keeping you. I had some math I had to
grab."

"No problem," I said.

He stripped down and dropped his uniform on the floor like he always did
and told me, "I'm just gonna grab a quick one and get out of your hair,
T-Dog."

I said okay and watched him step naked into the shower. It was a breathless
sight. He had a dangling big sack, a magnificent cock and a full
bushy-black pube patch.

I grabbed his dirty uniform, and yeah, this time I did smell it a
little. It smelled strong and musky. I felt weak smelling it. But good
week. I wanted to get fucked by what I smelled in there.

"T-Dog," he yells over to me. "You gonna shower up too?"

I was taken by surprise. I was going to shower, but I just figured, you
know, alone. Not with him.

"Come on man," he said, all friendly. "You got nothing downstairs I ain't
seen before."

Scared as all holy fuck, but excited beyond comprehension just to be naked
together in the sight of this Olympian, I removed my clothes and put them
on the bench. My dick was in such a state of limp terror, it looked like it
was half an inch long. Shyly, covering myself with one hand, I walked over
and joined him in the shower, a few nozzles down. I turned on my
water. Hissed until the cold turned to warm, then to hot.

He looked over at me. Top to bottom. And this time I knew he was checking
me out. There was no mistaking it. He was looking at my ass. At my little
limp cock.

"Hey, T-Dog," he says, handing me his soap bar. "Do me a favor and do my
back, okay?"

I gulped out loud, but took the soap. "Okay, Ox."

And I did soap him up. Nervous as hell. Excited as hell.

I rubbed the bar all over his back, then set it down in the soap holder,
then carefully at first, scared I might do it wrong, started rubbing the
suds all over his back and shoulders and (God, he felt so strong and
muscular)...FUCK, I was touching him. My hands were shaking, all over his
skin...

"Ahhhhh," he moaned, "That feels great. Keep rubbing it, T-Dog."

And I looked down between his legs and his dick was growing rock hard while
I moved my hands around his back. Mine was still soft. I was terrified. But
his was turning into steel right before my eyes. Seeing it harden made me
rub his back more sensually. You know. Not massaging. Tracing his spine
with my fingers. I rubbed his shoulders, and let my hands drift down to the
muscles of his upper arms. I rubbed those too.

"Fuck," he whispered. "Fuck, that's nice."

He reached around and took one of my hands, and slowly, looking me right in
the eye, lowered it to his cock, where he rubbed it with soap and wrapped
it around his shaft.

"Wash my cock a little, T-Dog. Will you do that for me? Give it a nice slow
wash tonight?"

And I wish I could say there was some element of shock to that, or that I
was surprised, or pulled back in embarrassment, but God, such was not the
case.

The minute he put my hand on his dick, that was the only place I ever
wanted my hand to be again. God, it felt
wonderful. Big. Thick. Hard. Six-inches. No Nifty story cock where the
guy's got a 10-inch dong. Fuck fiction. 6-inches of Ox cock in my hand felt
overwhelmingly big, perfect and good. I did not need an embellishment. I
had a high-school senior's cock in my hand.

"That's it, T-Dog," Ox whispered gently, closing his eyes. "Wash it good
for me, T. It needs a good, good washing. Use a little more soap."

He stepped a little out of the shower spray so it wouldn't rinse off, and I
grabbed the bar and put some more soap in my hands so I could stroke him
with more lather.

"I appreciate this man," he said as I stroked him. "I appreciate this more
than you know. Awww, fuck. That's nice. That's it. Keep doing it."

And I just stood there naked in the shower, staring at his cock, amazed I
was doing this. Amazed it was MY hand wrapped around him, getting him off
like this. I started varying my strokes. Squeezing it in different
ways. Going harder, then lighter. Twisting my hand in different positions
around his shaft.

"Jesus," he whispered. "You do that so good."

And I kept it up. Varying it. Loving it. Making love to his cock with my
hand.

He reached forward and put a hand against the shower tile.

"Oh fuck, T-Dog. Fuck...FUCKKKKK!"

I saw his ass clench up first and then, BAM! His dick flinched in my hand,
and POW! His wad shot out all over the shower wall. A thick, long ROPE of
cum, followed by another, then a smaller one, then a fourth. Jesus, he
came. I'd never seen that much semen erupt from a penis. I was stunned by
the amount of it. Confused in a good way. I was still jacking him when he
shot.

He made that half-laugh, half-ticklish sound and reached his hand down to
stop mine from moving.

"Whoa," he said. "Enough, enough."

Then he let out a sigh of relief.

"Jesus, T-Dog, that was fantastic."

He looked down at my still-limp dick. "Let me wash you a little bit." He
took it in his hand, and moved it around for me, but it wouldn't go up. I
was too nervous. Too in awe of what just happened.

He soaped up his hand. Tried stroking me again. No go. It just laid
there. I mean it felt good when he held it. I was just...I don't know...not
equipped to be big for him. I wasn't big. Ox was big. I was smaller. I
wanted to be smaller.

"I'm sorry," I said, blushing because it was still limp. "It's not going
up. I mean, it wants to. It's just not...ugh...cooperating." God, I felt
dumb. I was babbling like an idiot.

Ox just smiled. "Want me to keep trying?"

"Nah," I told him. "I'm good. Mine's clean."

He grinned at that too and let go of it. God, mine was small compared to
his. Mine was just a penis. Ox's was a cock. It was all I could do not to
go down on my knees in front of it. And you know. Suck him. Jesus Christ I
wanted to. I wanted him in my mouth so bad. I wanted to swallow what he
shot on the wall. But unless he asked, I didn't dare offer. Even back then,
there were unwritten rules to this sort of secret coupling.

"Well, it'll go up next time maybe," he grinned, rinsing the remaining soap
off his body, swirling his cum off the wall with a palm. "Noooooo!" I
thought in my head. "I wanted that for later! After you left! I need to be
alone with it!" But no. There it went, swirling down the drain. Fuck.

Ox turned his showerhead off and said, "See ya later, T-Dog. I gotta run,"
leaving me standing there with the ghost-feel of his big meaty cock in my
hand. I finished my shower in dreamlike shock. Like an out-of-body
experience. Ox was already dressed and gone before I finished rinsing off
and came back to my locker. My first jack-off with Ox. It felt like a
dream. Like a hit and run. I stood there dressing, wondering if it really
actually happened.

It happened all right. Because the next night after practice, it happened
again. And the night after that, it happened again. And it happened all
that week. Ox hanging behind. Both of us showering together.

"Come on T-Dog. Wash it again for me. You wash it so nice, you know that,
right?"

"Yeah, Ox. I like washing it for you." I really did. I liked washing it
slow. I liked teasing it out. Watching his face, knowing he didn't just
WANT to cum now, he NEEDED to cum. Then I'd do it really fast at the end to
watch the bliss in his face when he finally let loose and shot cum on the
shower wall. It made me feel strong and right, to make Ox cum like that. It
made me feel desired and sexy and essential to his needs.

Ox was always polite and tried to wash my dick too, but mine would never go
up for him.

"I'm sorry," I kept telling him, embarrassed. "It just won't...sorry,
Ox...it just won't do anything. I feel dumb."

"Hey," said Ox. "Not a problem. Some guys wash. Some guys get washed. It's
how it goes."

And he was right. There's a natural fucking pecking order to it, right?
Some gay kids are just meant to stroke. They don't get reciprocals. They
simply have a duty.

It was like my dick knew the absolute natural order of things. I was there
to service Ox. It wasn't meant to be the other way around. There's an
excitement in knowing you were made to be submissive. There's a relief in
discovering you are entirely meant to be this way. It's an absolute relief.

God, I loved to stroke his cock. It felt so good being the one who made him
secretly cum like this in an empty locker room, empty school, after
everybody else went home. It felt so good he kept coming back for more of
me. It felt so good that I did this for him. Nobody else. This was my part
of Ox. This is where Ox came to live in MY secret world.

I was fascinated by his cum. After he came, he always rinsed off and left
pretty fast. Not rudely. Not embarrassed. Just done and tired and needing
some sleep. He always said, "Thanks, T-Dog. Sleep tight, T-Dog. Thanks,
man."

One night after he left, I reached out and palmed his wad of cum off the
wall. I rubbed it all over my cock, smearing myself with it. I got hard
instantly and jacked myself to an orgasm in the thick stickiness of his
cum. I had no problem getting hard with my dick soaked in his semen.

The next night, I took a big wad of his cum on my fingertip and shoved some
in my ass. And then I did it again and shoved some more. I shoved all of
the cum I could find up my ass. "Fuck me," I whispered to the empty shower
room. "Oh please fuck me, Ox. I need you so bad." But of course, he was
already gone. I was sodomizing myself with his leftover semen. My whispers
and echoes, but no one was there.

There was no practice the next night, so Ox and I couldn't shower together
and we knew it. I walked past him in the hall after the final bell rang. He
was talking to some other upperclassmen who weren't on the team, so I
didn't make eye contact or interrupt their discussion. There's a protocol
to things.

But he smiled up and grabbed my arm anyway. "Hey T-Dog. Guys, you know
T-Dog right?"

A chorus of "yeah's" and friendly hellos. One of them scruffed my head
because, well, I was little. That's what guys do to a mascot, a little
brother. I was Lucky Number 7 and they knew it. In Ox's shadow, I was
Protected. I was a Made Man. Well, a Made Boy, I guess.

"Hey T-Dog," Ox said. "Go wait in my car for me, huh? I've got that roster
from Coach we need to go over."

I knew there was no roster from Coach, but I instantly said, "Sure." He
reached in his pocket and handed me his car keys. I knew what he
drove. Blue Mustang. Scratch of red paint on the side from an old fender
bender. He always parked it way at the far end of the student parking
lot. To avoid more scrapes. Plus, the birds shit on the close cars. There
were too many trees up close to the school.

"Be right out," he said and he went on talking with the other guys.

I went out to his car in the student parking lot, unlocked the passenger
door, got in and waited. It was warm, but not hot. I cracked a window. Most
of the cars were gone already. There were maybe a half dozen left, not
close to where Ox was parked.

Ox came out about five minutes later. Climbed in the driver's side. Sat
down. Smiled at me.

Without fanfare, he simply unzipped his pants, pulled his long cock out of
the fly, already half hard, and moved my hand over to grab it.

"Do me quick, wouldja T-Dog?"

I got nervous. Blanched for a sec.

"What if somebody sees?" I said freezing.

"Nobody's watching," he said. "I'll keep a look out."

"Come on, man. Stroke me, T-Dog. I need one bad today, man."

I started stroking his beautiful cock.

"Lick your hand," he said. "Get it wet. Use some spit."

I did.

"Ahhhhhh," he sighed, leaning back. I watched his cock harden to
full. Stroked him slowly like I always did.

"Go down on it," he whispered. "Put your mouth on it a little."

I'd never sucked him before.

"Come on," he said. "It's okay. I know you sort of want to, right?"

I blushed at that. My neck burned red. But he was right. And he knew he
was.

I looked across the parking lot nervously. "Keep an eye out for people,
promise?"

"Promise, man. Go down on it, T-Dog."

I leaned into the hot, musky smell of him, opened my mouth and did what I'd
been wanting to do all week. I took Ox's cock in my mouth.

Slowly at first, I swirled my lips and tongue around the head. I had braces
that year, so I had to be careful. Then hungry for it, I opened wider and
went down on the shaft. I went way down on the shaft. I'd been thinking of
deep-throating Ox's cock forever. And now I was doing it.

"Oh Jesus, T-Dog," Ox whispered reverently. "Jesus, Mother, Mary, God, you
do that good."

I took my time. In case I never got to do this again, I wanted to do it
right. I wanted to do it slow and make it last, but Ox's balls had other
ideas.

It seemed I barely started when he was already grabbing my head, pumping
his hips up into my mouth, and banging his thick mushroom cockhead into the
back of my throat. I didn't gag. I did NOT gag and I'm proud of that. I
just let him grab my hair and fuck my face. I let Steve Oxford, halfback
#80, fuck my throat and I felt GLORIOUS for it. I would eat this pounding,
banging cock FOREVER.

He grunted, and pushed, and jabbed and "NNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGH!" with a growl
to shake the trees, he started shooting that hot load all over my tongue,
all over my mouth, all over my throat.

Thick. Goopy. Syrupy. Strong. Needed. Delicious. On fire. Unending.

I gulped trying to keep up. Winced at the shock. The amount of it all. It
was fierce and it kept coming. I did gag a little. But I needed to gag. I
needed to gag on his dick load like this. It was the most empowering moment
of my life so far. My head in his lap, swallowing his sperm. Gagging in a
way I'd needed all my life.

Ox finished cumming. I sucked him a little more, cleaning him up. Feeling
him soften a little in my mouth. Getting all the flavor I could.

"Jesus, T-Dog," he whispered respectfully. "Where did you learn to do that,
man?"

"Dreams." I told him. "I've got a big imagination."

He laughed and shivered.

"Jesus," he sighed. "Fantastic. I wish you were a girl, T-Dog. We'd be
married already."

That hurt me in a way I was still too young to understand.

But, oh well, it is what it is. Kid hurts are short hurts. We get hurt and
we move on. I brought my head back up. Wiped my lips. They felt puffy and
numb.

"I'm sorry I made you swallow it, T-Dog. I should have let you up to
spit. That was rude of me, man. I shouldn't have done that."

"It's okay," I told him. "I didn't really mind."

Then meekly, embarrassed, "I liked it that way."

He didn't say anything for a second. What I wanted to say was, "I wish I
was a girl too, Ox. I wish I could be a girl for you." But the moment
passed, and some things are better left unsaid.

Ox tucked his dick away and zipped it back up.

"Good man, T-Dog. You're a good friend to help me out so much. You need a
ride home?"

I did, and he took me. We talked about football. He pulled in my driveway
and I got out of the car.

"Practice tomorrow," he said with a grin. "See you in the showers,
sunshine." He winked. I melted. Sunshine, not T-Dog. I could still taste
his cum in my throat. When I burped two hours later, I could still taste
the liquid thickness of Ox inside me.

At dinner that night, I had this burning urge to tell my mom, "You won't
believe this, but right now, this minute, I've got another guy's cum in my
stomach." I wanted to see her face when I said that to her. "I can swallow
a guy's cum too." I felt even with her now. On the same playing field. I
felt older.

The next night after practice after everyone was gone, I met Ox naked in
the shower like I always did now, and he was already hard. He got the soap
and took my hand to stroke him off, but I said, "No, Ox. Not that way
tonight," and I simply went down on my knees in the water spray, and I took
his hard cock in my mouth and started sucking him.

"Do it, T-Dog," I heard him whisper quietly. "Do it for me. Suck that
cock."

He tasted hot tonight. Sweaty and good. The water hadn't rinsed it off
enough yet. It didn't taste like wet clean skin yet. It still tasted like
hot, sweaty, 17-year-old cock. To a 14-year-old gay boy, that's delicious.

I made my tongue dance and flicker across his cockhead, down his shaft and
all over his swinging balls. They were salty. His sack was hot. I sucked
one into my mouth and he moaned. Christ I could lick off his flavor
forever, but he was having none of it.

"Stand up, T-Dog," he whispered hoarsely. "Stand up, man."

And before I knew what he was doing, he was lifting me up, pressing me up
against the wall of the shower and kissing me.

KISSING me!

Electric. Hungry. His tongue was digging into my mouth with passion. Making
moaning sounds. I was moaning back. He was rubbing the soap between
us. Slippery wet lather. I reached down to stroke his cock again. He kissed
me and moaned. I felt his hands reach out for the soap bar, almost dropping
it, lathering up.

"Gonna wash you, T-Dog," he whispered. "Gonna wash you somewhere special
tonight."

I knew what he was going to do even before I felt his hand slip down to the
globes of my ass. I felt the lather, slippery against my butt. Felt his big
finger sliding down into my crack, soapy, sudsy, searching for my hole.

He found it. FUCK. He found my asshole.

His big, long finger pushed soap past my sphincter. He didn't go slow. I
winced when he pierced me. It hurt but I said, "YESSSS," which is all he
needed to hear to push it in further.

"Gotta wash you inside, T-Dog. You need to be washed now."

"Oh yeah, Ox," I whispered into his hot mouth, our tongues in a
scrimmage. "I need to get washed, Ox. Please wash it good inside."

He finger-fucked me gloriously. Pushing, digging, curving his finger on the
inside. My knees were weak. I could barely stand. It felt like he was
holding me up from the strength of a single finger up my ass.

He took his finger out. I moaned at the emptiness. He turned me
around. Made me face the shower wall. I felt him nudging himself closer to
me. I felt him moving his cock toward my ass.

I felt him kiss the back of my neck. Kissed it. Bit it. My back arched in
reflex. I knew he planned on fucking me.

"Gonna rinse the soap out, okay now, T-Dog? Gonna rinse the soap out with a
little bit of my cum."

His dick was nudging me, searching for my hole, and all I could do was
shiver and say "Yesssss."

"Spread your legs a little more and put your arms against the wall."

His foot nudged between my ankles and I felt him kick my legs apart.

I wanted to cry, I was so ready for this.

He kicked my LEGS apart. He wanted me much he couldn't wait for me to
spread them myself. He kicked them apart. He nudged me more OPEN for him.
I put my arms up against the wall and let him do whatever he needed to
me. And I needed him to be in charge. Having no say at all was liberating.

Lathered with soap, his hard dick poked in the slipperiness of my crack. He
was looking for his angle. Trying to line it up right. Jesus, I wanted him
in me so much my whole body ached. My cells hurt. Jesus, I needed this.

I reached behind me. Helped him guide it in. Jesus, his cock was big. It
was a slippery, impossible, big hurting TOOL. Jesus, it hurt me. It hurt me
a LOT. But I didn't want him to stop putting it in me for anything. I
wanted to break down and cry it was so big, but I also wanted it deeper.

"Slower, "I begged...

"Gonna fuck your sweet ass..."

"Put it in slower..."

"Gonna cum up your asshole..."

I clenched from the pain, and then he slowed down. Breeched the first
ring. Pushed forward. Intense blinding whiteness. I breathed. I could do
this. Could take this. I needed to.

I relaxed and gave in to it. I slumped in weakness and trusted his cock. I
pushed out and I grunted, and God, he slid in me. Deeply, instantly when I
pushed, he got through my second ring. And then he was in there. And then
he was fucking me.

Oh Christ, he was fucking me. I smelled it. His cock. My ass. I could smell
us fucking, Zach. And you're right, man. You can smell getting fucked
sometimes. It smells decent, and right.

Oh Christ, his cock felt so hard and long inside me. He was so big. So
impossibly 17.

"17 goes into 14," I thought. Like a math problem. And I almost started
giggling hysterically. But then he fucked me harder and there was no time
to laugh. When he grabbed my hips and starting cock-slamming me, all
thoughts of laughter ceased.

"Anybody who picks on T-Dog in ANY way will simply CEASE to exist," I
thought deliriously. "Be warned. Say "Yes, sir."

Oh Christ, I'd needed this so long. I'd wanted this dick in me forever. Or
one just like it. But Jesus, it was big. I learned that day what all bottom
first-timers learn. The theoretical wish for a dick in your butt is NOTHING
compared to the 6-inch reality. On one hand, you're thinking "I was born to
be fucked like this," on the other hand you're thinking "what the HELL have
I gotten myself into?"

But that first one, man. You live the rest of your life trying to recreate
the feeling of that very first fuck. You search it out in alleyways. You'd
trade your fucking wealth for it.

Ox fucked my ass and he kissed and bit the back of my neck. "Good boy,
T-Dog. Open up that ass for me."

I didn't talk. Just made "nngh...nngh...nggg" sounds to the rhythm of his
fucking.

He took his time in me. Deep-dicked me. Stirred it and twisted it. He hit
spots up inside me I didn't even know existed. He stopped to lather his
cock with more soap. Pulled it out, lathered it up and shoved it back in
again. Violently. I cried out wildly, a full-throated wailing sound, in
nothing but helpless desire.

"You want it harder?" he whispered. "You need this big dick to fuck you
even harder, T-Dog?"

"Yesssssssssss," I begged him, shocked at my own answer. I was
blubbering. I could even feel my nose running. didn't know I had that in
me. I didn't know I was brave enough to ask him to fuck me even harder. But
I did. And I wasn't lying. The urgent need for it was very real.

Ox pumped me harder. NNNNGH! NNNNGH! We grunted together on each and every
fuck thrust. I could feel his bush banging into my butt cheeks. I could
hear his balls slapping hard against my taint.

"Gonna rinse that soap out of your asshole now, T-Dog. Ready for a rinse?
Ready to get all rinsed out inside?"

I nodded my head. I couldn't even speak. He was so overpowering. I was so
much smaller than him. I didn't know how we were doing this, but I was
mind-numbingly grateful. It felt so good to be his like this. It felt so
good to be smaller.

"Rinse it in me, Ox. Rinse it in my insides," I begged. And the begging was
real. It came with tears of joyful realization. God, I needed his cum. I
needed it to be in me.

There were tears flowing freely down my cheeks now. I was crying for the
love of it. I'd wanted this so long. It was everything I knew it would
be. When Ox got ready to cum in me, he grabbed my hips firmly, and kicked
my legs apart even further. Jesus, he kicked my legs again. It was like he
was kicking open another new part of my soul.

"Gonna rinse it in deep, T-Dog. Gonna make you all clean inside."

"Yes," I whimpered. "Rinse in me please, Ox. Rinse in me harder! As hard as
you can! NNNGH!"

He grabbed my hips and gave me four monster rabbit thrusts.

"JESUS JESUS JESUS JESUS" I cried.

"NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGHHH!" Ox growled and grunted and his head flew back
and his hair sweat splattered the shower wall and he howled and he bellowed
and I knew he was cumming in me. I could feel his dick jerking in
me. Twitching and grinding and pushing his cum to the limit of my sweet
nut. My prostate was decimated.

"Yesssssssss!" I cried.

"Take it," he growled.

He froze in place, to keep for comfort. He twitched and shook and creamed
my insides. He made me cry out in pain and gratitude.

Ox just CAME in me. He filled me FULL of him. He owned me now. He MADE me
this. He made me accomplish this. Take it inside me. This steaming and
stickiness, deep-fucking STRENGTH of him. I kept crying and shaking. Not
because it hurt me now. Just because I was so grateful for this. How he had
given me his STRENGTH.

As his cum subsided, he started fucking me slower again. Short, soft
strokes. Finding his artistry. Stirring me around inside. "Oh God, Ox," I
whispered. I took my own cock in my hand. I stroked myself while he fucked
me again. Rock hard, Needing to cum with his dick up my ass.

I stroked and I stroked and it didn't take me long, and sensing my tensing,
he pushed forward roughly and "OHHHHHHH, FUCKKKKKKK! NGGGGGGGH! OXXXXXX!" I
shot my first load in the shower, finally cumming for him as he fucked me
up the ass with that sweet, meaty dick of his. He pushed it in tight and
held it there, letting me cum. Letting finally find sweet, blessed relief.

He pulled out of me after I came. He was too tired to go a second
time. Just gave me the ass stirring I needed to shoot my own load.

"Jesus," he whispered. "That was incredible T-Dog. Are you okay? You're
crying, man. I'm sorry. You're crying."

"No," I whispered. "It's okay, Ox. I swear. I needed to cry. I loved how
you did it."

I sniffled. He held me. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

I cried in his arms. "Thank you, Ox. Thank you," is all I could say.

He kissed my forehead. Tousled my hair, because I was smaller, and that's
what you do.

He lifted my chin up and kissed me and smiled.

"We're doing this again, right? This is a do-over, I hope?"

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry some more. "I could do it again right
now, Ox," I told him honestly.  "You could do it again and I'd stand right
here and take it for you."

He took my soapy, sweaty body in his arms and we stood under the hot water
together. He kissed my lips again, softer this time. He kissed me like he
loved me. I felt good in his arms. Not used, just right. My size was just
right in the arms of this boy-man. I was smaller again, and I liked to feel
smaller.

"We gotta be careful about all this T-Dog. Can't get caught at it, right?"

"I know," I told him. "I'll be really, really careful."

Because that's the way it worked back then. Boys with boys, they don't go
public. They don't get to be lovers in view of anyone. You took your secret
moments wherever you could get them.

I sucked him off at the drive-in movie theater. He held my head down so I
had no choice but to swallow his cum. Twenty minutes later he made me do it
again. I could do it repeatedly. Whatever he fed me, I always wanted more.

He fucked me in the shower repeatedly. I had fissures one week, but I
didn't even care.

He fucked me in the maintenance room, bent over the laundry cart.

He fucked me at night, in the dark, in the student parking lot under a
streetlamp, bending me over the trunk of his car. I would have let him fuck
me anywhere.

He fucked me in his mom and dad's bed when his parents were away for the
weekend. That was the best one. That was the sleepover. That was the time
we fucked all weekend long. That was the time I hopefully felt like it
might last forever.

But no boyhood does. You know that already, or you wouldn't be
here. Wouldn't be here reading about it, writing about it and trying to
recapture it like the rest of us. Sigh.

There's no romantic happy ending to this story, Zach. I wish to fuck there
was. The next year, Ox went off to college, played university football on a
scholarship with a fairly decent team. Maybe banged the towel boy on that
team too. I certainly hope he didn't give it up after me. He had some
wicked prostate-stirring skills I hope he put to good use.

I missed him, of course. Cried a month's worth of loneliness. It's hard to
have something that big and that powerful – not just the cock, I'm
talking about the love – and just have it vanish one day like it was
never even there.

We saw each other on holiday breaks. We messed around a little, I jacked
him off and blew him in his car, but we both knew it wasn't the same. The
momentum of it, the wildness of it had passed. And you only get that once.

I raise my glass tonight to Steven Darien Oxford, halfback #80, and the
football-playing teenage new-men who masturbate with smaller boys, teaching
them things, helping them learn what they were always meant to do.

They hold our heads down and feed us our first epiphany. They kick our legs
apart and rinse out our souls. They lend us the strength that defines who
we are.

I raise my glass tonight to the big strong boy-men who were 17-years-old
and varsity perfect. All-state lettermen. High school seniors. Superstars.

They made you feel like part of their team, because a part of their team
you were. You were their mascot. You were integral. You were their lucky
number 7.

I raise my glass to the Mighty Roaring Patriots.

They were all very kind to their 14-year-old towel boy.

One was especially kind to a smaller boy like me.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 16. "P" IS FOR PETER

Dear Zachyboy,

What a great idea, a collection of stories all about boyhood masturbation
memories. You're like the activities director and organizer with the
clipboard, taking notes, making sure none of us forget what was important
to us once-upon-a time.

I'm a fellow Nifty writer, and I won't steal your thunder by plugging my
own catalog, but I've been tucking a few things aside for a while now, and
your call for submissions is the perfect place to give them a home, since I
truly didn't know what the fuck to do with them. So here you go. All yours
if they fit your theme.

Would you consider adding something that's sort of a "sub-category" to your
masturbation memory archive? Would you mind adding a couple of other guys'
memories I've collected about that magical era I call "Pre-Masturbation?"

I define "Pre-Masturbation" as that era in boyhood, usually quite young,
when boys start exploring their bodies together. They play with their
penises together, maybe just showing them to each other, maybe rubbing them
around a little, or touching them, or peeing with them in front of each
other, or maybe making up goofy games that involve penises, buttholes and
bodies?

It doesn't exactly encompass actual masturbation, because nobody
cums. They're too young to know that part even exists yet. That's a pot of
gold at the end of the rainbow they have yet to discover.

But they're perfectly content to play their little penis games, or butthole
games, because on one level, it's just giggly fun. But on one level, they
really do recognize it's naughty and they shouldn't be doing it, even
though nature hasn't taught them to physically cum yet.

My pre-masturbation-era boy partner when I was around five years old was a
boy down my street named Peter.

Peter and I played together all the time, inside our bedrooms or out in the
yard, and believe me, little boys who play together eventually pee
together, and Peter and I were no exception.

We'd giggle and show each other our stiff little weenies and cross streams
and make a game of it when we had to pee bad. Or sometimes when our cocks
were little and limp, we'd push the tips together and say they were
kissing.

I'm pretty sure we touched each other's dickies. I know we were pretty
exploratory. We liked to look at each other's butts and each other's balls,
and we were tiny and bare, but we knew it was fun and naughty and wrong. We
knew we'd get in trouble if anybody caught us, which made it seem even more
exciting to pee together, kiss weenies together, spread our cheeks and look
at each other's buttholes together.

We never came once. Not a single climax, not a single blowjob, not a single
attempt at anal sex. We were just ridiculously little and in love with the
naughty new littleness of the sweet little dickie games we loved and
enjoyed together.

We got caught by his mom of course. And got yelled at and told "Don't you
dare ever do that again!"

All the guys I've ever talked to about their "Pre-Masturbation" boyhood
play have a universal constant to their story. They got caught and they
stopped. They got told it was wrong. They were shamed and berated for it by
somebody's parent. And 100% of them always wonder how far it would have
gone if they'd never been caught. If nature had just had its way with them
back then.

Would Peter and I have eventually discovered masturbation? Would our
innocent weenie games at some point evolve into contact so long and
extended it might "accidentally" bring on a dry orgasm for one of us?
Because once that Pandora is out of the box, boys advance exponentially.

Would Peter have ever sucked my cock? Would I ever learned how to suck on
his? Or lick his sweet butthole. Or put my penis inside him? I still
wonder, Zach. I truly do. I still jack off at night thinking of what I
might have done with Peter.

I like this pre-masturbatory, unrealized theme in stories on Nifty. It's
sadly underwritten. Sometimes an author will throw in a line about
childhood pre-masturbatory play, but it's usually relegated to a quick
paragraph, and quickly morphs into "and then we got older and jacked,
sucked and fucked."

I myself could read a whole story on pre-masturbatory play between little
ones, and get off on the innocent erotica of that on its own.

I've talked to lots of similarly-wired guys on the subject and they've
shared some cool variations with me on their own pre-masturbatory play.

One guy told me (let's call him Dave), when he was 6 years old, he had a
5-year-old brother, and the two of them used to stir their tiny dicks in
their Cheerios every morning. They'd come down for breakfast, right before
school, kindergarten and first grade, and their mom would pour them
breakfast cereal right before going into the downstairs bathroom to take
her own shower.

As soon as she locked the bathroom door behind her, Dave and his little
brother would drop their pajama pants down to their knees, stick their
dickies in their cereal bowls, and stir the Cheerios around with their
little limp weenies and giggle at the thrill of it. Then they'd rub their
little wet cock tips together. All before mom toweled off and came back to
the kitchen.

Dave said this eventually developed into oral, when they realized the wet,
sugary milk on their dick tips tasted good when they licked it off. So they
rather quickly turned pre-masturbatory play into the early precursor of
blowjobs, even though neither of them came to a climax until years later.

But they did grow up as frequent oral partners. By their tween and teen
years, they were definitely swallowing each other's cum. And all the
happier for it.

Another guy who shared memories with me (let's call him Ryan), said he used
to tuck his dick between his legs when he was 6 and 7, and pretend he was
as girl. He'd tuck and squeeze and look at himself in the full-length
mirror in his mom's bedroom and pretend his tucked-in penis was a little
girl's vagina slit.

He'd even wet his finger and slide it in and out where his fake vagina was,
although he said he had no idea why he did that, because he didn't have the
first clue what fucking was, or fingering a pussy, or having penetrative
sex at all, but sure enough, in his pre-masturbatory era, he made a fake
vagina between his legs and fingered himself.

He wasn't trans. Wasn't bi. Grew up totally straight. But the very first
pussy he fingered in his pre-masturbatory era was his own pretend one. Go
figure. Life's a horny mystery.

I chatted with another guy once (let's call him Jake), who, in his
pre-masturbatory era said he had a little cousin (let's call him Jess; they
were both around 6), who liked to look at dickies with him, and liked Jake
to pee on his bare feet, between his toes.

Anytime their little 6-year-old cocks came out, there was a little
preliminary inspection of dickies and balls, but it always ended with Jess
asking Jake to pee on his feet, because he liked how hot and tickly it felt
between his toes.

Jake told me Jess eventually spread his butt cheeks apart one day and asked
Jake to pee on his butthole, but Jake wouldn't do that part. It was too
much, and too weird, even for an eager pre-masturbatory lil player. And
once again, there were no quivery little drygasms involved. The cousins got
caught by a mom one day, and they never did anything like that again.

One guy told me (and let's call him Sammy), he had an older cousin who was
7 (Sammy was 5) who liked to put his cock inside Sammy's belly button and
nostrils. How's that for some fetishy pre-masturbatory boyplay?

It didn't occur to the 7-year-old cousin to stick his stiffy in Sammy's
butthole or mouth, but there he was, anytime they got together, wanting to
wiggle it around in his navel or nostrils. You couldn't pay me enough Zach,
to make this shit up.

But Sammy said he liked it a lot, and to this day, at 50 years old, he
still jacks off remembering being a kid, with his older cousin's dickie
stuffed inside of his nose hole. He says to this day, he actually jacks off
sometimes with a finger in his nose, pretending it's his 7-year-old
cousin's tiny dick he's smelling and feeling. I think it's incredibly hot
how this ridiculous boy shit stays with us FOREVER, don't you?

All of these guys always seem to have a special nickname for their
pre-masturbatory weenie games.

Peter and I called it "Peeper Kissing" or "Showing Our Misters." That was
his mom's baby-word for his penis. She called it his "Mister." (Like Mr.,
obviously, not "spraying a mist," LOL).

Dave and his brother called it "Cheerio Dicks." They still call it that
today. Dave says he can still get off doing it and remembering it, and he's
sucked MORE than one adult cock of a guy who'd stick his thick cock in a
cold bowl of cereal for him.

Ryan said he called his vagina-tucking "Mirror Poses," as in "Mom's not
home right now, so let's go upstairs and do some Mirror Poses." He tried to
get a friend to do it with him at 8-years-old, but the friend got scared
and went home.

Jake and Jess just called their pre-masturbatory ere "Pee Games." Jess also
let he family dog lick his butthole, but again, it was pre-climax. The dog
licked him clean as a whistle, but apparently nobody came. Not man nor
beast.

Sammy said his pre-jizzing era was called "Smelly Buttons." His cousin
would say to him, "Come on, Sammy. Let's go upstairs and do "Smelly
Buttons." And do it they did.

Another guy who wrote to me called his boyhood activity "Doing
Flashlights." He said he and his friend would go hide in his closet in the
dark, take down their pants and shine a flashlight on each other's dick and
balls, and spread their cheeks for each other, and shine the flashlight on
each other's buttholes. They were 6 and 7 when they did that, and they
never got caught. He said by 12 and 13, they were full-out anal fucking. He
says he still remembers the hot musk smell of pulling his best buddy's ass
cheeks apart and shining a flashlight at his still-virgin rosebud.

So, yeah. Left unencumbered, I'm fairly sure all that boyhood
pre-masturbatory play would eventually lead to some full-out something, at
least. It's a shame that so many parents stop it.

Moms and Dads, for Christ sake, back off. If you catch your kids doing
Peeper Kissing, or Showing Our Misters, or Cheerio Dicks, or Mirror Poses,
or Pee Games, or Smelly Buttons, or Doing Flashlights, will you PLEASE stop
freaking out and making them feel embarrassed, ashamed and bad about it?

They are just little kids. And kids like to play. They're not hurting
anybody. They're happy. And they don't need your bullshit and the
ridiculous morals you picked up from your prudish parents and the prudes
who came before them.

So watch them sticking their dicks in each other's nostrils, but for
Christ's sake, relax. Smile knowingly, blush a little, and the back out of
the room quietly, as quickly as you can, so they don't know you spotted
them. Just let nature take its harmless, inevitable course.

I love pre-masturbatory stories, Zach. Thanks for a few great paragraphs on
this subject you've put in your stories throughout the years. I hope you'll
do a full dedicated story on the topic sometime to really do it justice and
explore this common phenomenon that is so sadly under-represented on all of
the story sites. We all fucking did it. And nobody fucking talks about
it. GRRRR.

Anyway, questions.

Would 5-year-old Peter have ever have sucked on my cock? Would I ever have
learned how to deep-throat on his? Or would I ever have learned how to
tongue his sweet butthole. Or put it inside him? I wonder, Zach. I truly
do.

Until then, I smile at the impish little memory of him and remember fondly
our pre-masturbation.

And somehow it's more magic in a way, and a little more arousing, and a
little more special, because we never ever went there. We did lots of
secret naughty things. But we never shared a climax.

That makes Peter special to me. He was a little boyhood miracle.

The one that got away.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 17. "Q" IS FOR QUINN

Dear Zachyboy,

So, your question on the chat thread was, "Tell me about an exciting or
memorable time you masturbated in your childhood with another kid." I don't
know if this counts or not, but here it goes.

I was in high school, my brother was in middle school. He was a cute
kid. Little skinny sexy kid. Tight little tummy, working on some abs and
little boy biceps. Pretty little chest and nips. Perfect face and hair and
smile. I mean, really, he was like a little model. I jacked off all the
time fantasizing about him.

I read all these stories on here and I think, how did all these guys do all
this sex stuff with their little brothers? Jesus, my brother would have
told my parents in a minute if I would have tried to get him to suck my
dick. Fucking him in the ass, he would have howled to the moon.

Anyway, my little brother's name was Quinn. We were the only two kids in
the family. Dylan and Quinn.

He was a sexy little kid and he had absolutely no body shame, which meant
he'd take a shower at night for school the next morning, and then he'd just
casually stroll down the hall naked with a towel around his shoulders.

My room was next to his, so a lot of times he'd just stop in my doorway,
talking to me or saying goodnight with his little wet dick in full view. I
tried not to focus on it, but come on, he was hot. Little acorn tip, just a
nub. Sweet little ball sack underneath, not dangling yet. Talk about
getting hungry, just seeing it night after night in my doorway.

Anyway, I never made any moves on him. We just weren't that kind of
family. Plus, I was five years older than him. I was 16 to his 11 when I
started doing what I did, but as far as dick and butt stuff, he just seemed
too little to mess around with. And he was my brother. I loved him. I
didn't want to mess up his head by, you know, fucking him or anything.

Plus he would have told. He just would have. I love all the stories on here
where the big brother says "Now you can't tell Mom and Dad," and the little
brother just automatically says, "Oh. Right. Of course not." Pfff. Like
that would ever happen IRL. He would have crowed it like a rooster.

Anyway, Quinn was a hot little kid, and beautiful. The perfect boy
body. The perfect, sweet personality. We never fought or argued. He was
just a great little brother.

I was incredibly turned on by him. I was already pretty sure I was gay in
my teen years with no particular outlet for it, so of course, the mind goes
in sort of twisted directions. I used to jack off a lot thinking of Quinn,
sleeping right in the room next to me. Fantasizing I'd go in while he was
sleeping and just nudge his mouth open with my dick and feed him some cum.

Zachy, you did that story "Giving Ryan a Drink," where the uncle does that
to his nephew while he's sleeping and when I read it, I thought, "Shit,
that's what I always wanted to do to Quinn."

So, even though I knew I was never going to do any sex stuff with him, I
started becoming obsessed with somehow feeding him my cum secretly. I know
it's gross, and you probably won't even use this story because it's really
not a shared masturbation story between two boys.

The jacking off was all on my part. I'm sure he did it too, but we both did
it privately and not with each other. The only reason masturbation comes
into play at all is the way I used to jack off and cum and then secretly
mix it into his food.

I know that's gross. But bear with me. It was super hot to me at the
time. Maybe somebody else out there has done it too, and if they have, I'd
sure like to hear from them.

Anyway, the first time I did it, I was making a sandwich for myself after
school and Quinn came home and asked me to make him one too, which wasn't
unusual. Our parents worked late, so it was no big deal for me to make him
a sandwich. I sort of looked after him after school. Make sure he got a
snack and got his homework started eventually.

Only this time when he went upstairs to change and take a dump like he
always did right after school, I was so fucking turned on by this idea of
feeding him my cum (which I'd been obsessing about all day), I actually
stood there at the kitchen counter, took my dick out, spit on my hand, and
already hard from thinking about it, I jacked off thinking about him
opening his pretty little mouth and absolutely gobbling my dick up, all the
way back to his throat.

I think it probably took me all of 20 seconds to cum, I was so turned-on
and shaking with excitement over the nastiness of what I was just about to
do to him. I even started whispering to myself, "Eat it, Quinn. Eat this
big creamy load. You ready for some cum little brother? Open up, baby
boy. Here it comes!" My eyes rolled back in my head as I shot my load all
over the counter. A fairly big one.

Anyway, I heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on, so I zipped up
quickly and before he came back down, I put mayo on four slices of bread
– two for me and two for him – only on his two, I scooped my cum up
with the knife and swirled it around in his mayo, so you couldn't tell it
was in there.

Then I put two slices of lunch meat, a piece of cheese and some lettuce on
his sandwich, closed it up, and put it on a paper plate for him. When he
came back down, he grabbed it off the counter, said "thanks" and went into
the living room to watch TV, and I remember just standing there in the
doorway, shaking with excitement, almost flushed and scared, wondering if
I'd get away with it.

I wondered if he'd notice the taste. I watched him slowly eat every bite of
that sandwich (except the crusts), knowing he was also eating a big wad of
my sperm. I don't think I could even breathe that first time, watching him
eat that first big load of my cum.

I jacked off twice in a row in bed that night, knowing my 11-year-old
little brother had actually eaten a full load of my sperm. My semen was
actually INSIDE my brother's stomach. My cum had become a PART of him now.

I'm telling you, it was the most exciting, erotic, forbidden thing in the
world to me. Even thinking of it the next day had me hard and leaking in my
pants at school. It was insane how much it turned me on.

After that, it became a regular obsession and a challenge. What could I
jack off and cum into, so he'd eat more of my sperm? What were the
"delivery vehicles" that would work the best? Cold liquids didn't work. It
would clump and be visible. Hot chocolate was great. It dissolved and mixed
in.

Fast food was great. You could mix it into the sauce of a Big Mac and he'd
never even notice. Goopy things were the best hiders. Things with
frosting. Hot macaroni and cheese was a favorite to put it in. You could
stir it right in and he'd never notice a thing.

I did it on two slices of his pizza once. It was a frozen pizza we made in
the oven one night. After we'd eaten some and it cooled off a little, I
took two slices into the bathroom with me when he wasn't looking, and sort
of lifted the cheese flaps up.

It was cool enough that the cheese pulled up as a solid unit. And I came on
the bathroom counter, then scooped it up with my finger and smeared it into
the crust and the sauce, then laid the cheese flaps back down over the top
of it.

I took the pizza slices back out and casually put them back on the pizza
cardboard. He didn't even notice. I ate a couple more "non-cum" pieces and
sure enough, about three minutes later, Quinn says "Are you gonna eat these
last two?" And I said "No, go ahead. I had my share," and he picks them up
and eats another full load of my cum, mixed into his pizza, and he doesn't
even notice.

In fact, I'm almost puzzled he doesn't even notice. I've tasted my cum, and
while it's not strong or bitter or anything, it definitely has its own
noticeable flavor. But mixed in with stuff, it must become pretty benign,
because Quinn ate a ton of it. I put it in pizza a bunch of times after
that, and if the sauce tasted funny to him, he sure didn't say anything.

So, it went on like that for a pretty long time actually. Until I went off
to college. I'd say I secretly mixed my cum into his various food items
well over 200 times. I stirred it into his ice cream. Into his mashed
potatoes once from KFC. I'd mix it into the ketchup when I microwaved him a
hot dog.

Canned chili was a favorite of his, and that was super easy to mix it
into. Chocolate pudding was also easy to mix it into. We had those little
single serving pudding cups a lot in our house, and those were always super
easy to stir a little cum into and swirl it around so it was hidden. They
were small cups though, so I could really only put half a load into a
pudding cup, otherwise you'd see it in there.

Cold things you could still sort of see it. Warmer things it sort of melted
in invisibly.

Anyway, I'd say from age 16, 17 and 18 for me, which would have been age
11, 12, and 13 for Quinn, even on the conservatively low side, ate over 200
loads of my semen and never even knew about it.

Even today, I think about telling him what I did all those times. It would
excite me to know that he knows all the times I did it in retrospect, but
I'm not sure he'd really like the thought of it, so I've never taken that
leap of admission. Maybe someday, but not today.

There's this picture of me and Quinn on the beach. I'm almost 17 and he's
almost 12. We're standing on the shore smiling at my mom. We both have our
shirts off. I'm wearing white shorts. He's got his favorite jeans on with
his favorite belt buckle.

We're not going to swim that morning because it's still too cold. We're
just going to take a walk down the beach. His favorite necklace is around
his neck, the one he lost three days later that same trip when it came off
in the water and was gone for good. He cried out of frustration trying to
find it underwater, to no avail.

Anyway, in the picture, he's standing in front of me, and my arm's around
him sort of nestling him back against me and holding his wrist, and his
head's sort of nestled into my arm.

And we're both smiling at Mom, because it's a great beach trip and
everybody's having a good time, and he really is a good kid. Sweet and sexy
and full of life and laughter. Quinn really was a wonderful little
brother. You couldn't ask for a better one.

But honestly, not more than 5 minutes before that picture was taken, Mom
had given me money, and I'd gone up to the taco stand up the beach to bring
us all back some breakfast burritos. But before I brought them back down to
everybody, I saw the long row of changing rooms right past the food stand,
and I knew I had to feed him another load.

So, I took the burrito bag into one of the changing rooms, unwrapped one of
the burritos, opened it up, and jacked off all over Quinn's eggs and
sausage and sauce inside, thinking about his pretty face and imagining him
sucking my cock, saying the same thing I always did. Sort of whispering and
grunting it under my breath as I jacked to a finish.

"Eat it, Quinn. Eat this big creamy load. You ready for some cum little
brother? Open up, baby boy. Here it comes!" I grunted and came in his food
again, Imagining cumming in his pretty mouth directly, which I sadly never
did.

I folded it carefully back up, wrapped it back in its foil, and put it on
the top of the pile in the bag, making sure it was the one Quinn got when
we all ate our breakfast on the blanket on the beach.

I panicked for a quick second when he opened his up to put a packet of hot
sauce on it, because when he unrolled it open, I could clearly see a big
white glop of my cum on top of some scrambled eggs that hadn't mixed
anything, but he wasn't paying attention at all.

He just squirted the hot sauce right over the top of it, folded it back up
and ate it all down, happy as can be. His hot sauce on top of my hot sauce.

And about 5 minutes later as we get up to walk down the beach and put our
feet in the water, my mom grabs her camera which is eternally with her
everywhere and she calls out, "Dill. Quinn. Smile for me!"

And we turn and give her a pose, and out comes this perfect picture of my
little brother and I, which I still have. And I've jacked off to this
picture about 500 times probably through the years, because I know it's the
single picture I have of me and Quinn where my cum is literally still in
his sexy little tummy, freshly eaten, minutes ago.

When the picture was taken, he had literally JUST eaten my semen. A full,
warm load. And one of many.

Anyway, I'm sure I'll be jacking off to that picture until my dying
day. And it's fun to finally tell somebody about it and get it off my
chest. Two shirtless brothers and one sexy-hot little monkey, his naked
belly full of dirty, secret brother cum.

So, that's my jack-off story about me and Quinn. I'm not if you can use it
or not or if it fits the theme of other people's stories, but you're
welcome to share it if you want to.

Love your stories. Keep it up.

Dylan

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 18. "R" IS FOR RECTUMS

[The following story originally appeared as "Stick it Up Your Ass" in the
series "Tales from the Male Bag," in the Nifty Gay Adult Youth section in
March 2017]

It doesn't seem right to do a whole anthology on boyhood masturbation
without devoting at least one small subsection to a personal favorite boys'
small subsection of mine; the rectum.

Because the more I talk to fellow grown-up gaybees out there, the more I
realize, holy boyholes, Batman. We didn't just masturbate with our
cocks. We masturbated up our buttholes, too. There is literally no end to
the stories I hear about boys who shoved things up their ass regularly as
part of the exploratory and masturbatory process, growing up.

I recently did a story called "Henry in the Hiney," where the young
protagonist pops things up his prepubescent pooper.

In Henry's case, the list of goodies he shoved up his butt included his
fingers, the top of a plastic water bottle, his little sister's jumbo
crayons, his mother's pink hair brush, bananas (peeled and unpeeled),
cucumbers, drug store enemas, his best friend Peter's mini-peter, the dog's
tongue, his uncle's finger and his teenage brother's cock. It was an
ambitious list, but I was bored that night.

I ended the story with a challenge: "Write me and let me know what you
liked to stick up your butt when you were a kid. If we get enough entries,
who knows? We could launch a memoir." And I'll be darned. You guys sent me
some revealing historical notes straight from your little back doors. I
have you well-trained. On to those in a moment.

I've written about boys sticking things up their buttholes before. In
"Henry" I confess I myself as a young boy fell hapless penetrative victim
to the business-end of my little sister's jump rope and walked around the
house with it dangling out of my ass like I was part of the cast of "Cats."

In "Little Bitty Ice Cubes," 11-year-old wonder twins Riker and Riley
canvass their neighborhood giving all their little friends the cold-hole
treatment with, well, you guessed it, little bitty ice cubes.

Rexxy's daddy in "Doing Daddy's Laundry" finds a creative way to scratch
his son's itchy butt with a Twix bar in the bathroom of an empty
laundromat. That one's still getting fan mail.

And I've always been meaning to write one called "Surprisatories," in which
the underage hero can't wait to try the next household item or grocery
store offering up his virginal rump. The to-do list on that one is
downright daunting.

Point being, childhood was a wondrous time, and for us burgeoning gaybee
babies, there was no end to the creative contents we shoved up our asses on
our way to fully-realized tophood and bottomhood.

No collection about boyhood masturbation would be complete without a few
notes from readers telling us how they masturbated themselves on the inside
too

= = = = =

Anthony wrote, "Let's see. Things that went in my hiney when I was a
kid. Several handles of toothbrushes."

"One time I was pushing a marble on the outside of my hole and it went
in. That scared me, but I pooped it out."

"This one time, I put the hose end of an air pump for a toy car in my butt
and I was pumping air in to make me fart. The next day, my friend put it in
his mouth and said, "Yuck!" Lol."

"I also used a hair brush handle, a screwdriver handle and the small end of
a glass pop bottle."

= = = = =

Greg wrote, "When I was 11 to 16, I used rectal thermometers, fingers,
green peeled bananas, cucumbers, fragrance bottles, hairspray bottles, and
lots of anal douches of hot water."

"I also would masturbate anally while spying on my little brother's
pubescent friends through the bathroom window. I love pubescent boys'
little bottoms and would love to make love to a pretty little boy who would
appreciate my sexual attention."

= = = = =

Mark wrote about a boy named David, and their butt-exploratory friendship
when they were both 6 years old. It first appeared in "Smell This 4," in
Nifty Gay Urination back in December 2015.

"To David's credit, he let me do whatever popped into the head of a little
six-year-old. I rubbed my finger all across his tan wrinkle...feeling every
fold of flesh, as well as the tacky wetness that was smeared across it. I
poked at his hole, seeing if I could get my finger inside, but to no
avail."

"I took a stick and poked at his hole, grabbed some berries off the vines
next to the cinder block wall and tried to push them into his little
pussy. I even found a peach pit that I rubbed across his hole and tried in
vain to push through his tight little ass muscle. The crazy things that
boys do."

Crazy? Um, yeah. Mark told me as he grew older, things he crammed (or tried
to cram) up his own butt included his dad's metal cigar tubes, the blunt
end of a fairly large flashlight greased with Vaseline, and the
motherfucking vacuum cleaner handle.

Whoof. Hats off to Mark.

= = = = =

Cory wrote: "I used to do ears of corn all the time. You know, not soft
sweet corn, but hard ears of feed corn; Indian corn."

"I'd read the term "cornholing" in Edmund White's "A Boy's Own Story,"
which was probably the only book in my town's whole library with even a
vague, childhood, boy-boy sex scene in it."

"The boy he meets in the book refers to butt fucking as "cornholing," which
fascinated me, because, well, I lived in Iowa, and if there was one thing
we had a shit ton of, it was corn."

"I had to shuck if first, of course, and sort of rub down the scratchy end
with the scrub pad in the sink. But once it was smooth and tapered, it was
a pretty natural shape to stick up my ass, as long as it was greased up
with plenty of Vaseline."

"The first time I did it in my bed, I made a mess all over my sheets and
got in a ton of trouble. I told my mom I'd been greasing my bike chain in
the garage and forgot to wash my hands and I got oil all over."

"After that, I was smart enough to do it on the floor with an old beach
towel under me, which I folded up and hid way up on a top shelf in my
closet and re-used."

"It hurt going in a lot. Ears of corn are thick. Bigger than a boy butt
should probably take, I guess."

"The trick was finding a slender enough ear of corn to do the job at
first. Although after the first year, I got pretty good at taking the thick
ones too."

"They always hurt going in, but once I got them inside myself, I could
usually get them pretty deep. At least half of the ear."

"I remember it felt like I had a big lump in my throat when I got one far
enough inside me."

"I'd fuck myself in and out with the ear for a little while, usually
pretending it was some boy I liked fucking me, and then I'd leave it in,
pushing as deep as I could with one hand while I jacked off with the other
hand. Sometimes I had it in me so far it made tears squeeze out of my
eyes. But I liked it. I did it a lot. I had excellent cums when I cornholed
myself."

"I was 12 when I started doing it. I did it all through my teen years until
I went off to college and started getting cornholed by the real thing."

= = = = =

A couple of submissions were deliciously brief.

Ken: "Only suppositories. For migraines."

Me: "Hmm. Maybe we can mine a couple of paragraphs from that one. From what
age to what age? Did you put them in yourself? Did your mom put them in?
Did you like them? Did they work? Did it ever occur to you to stick
anything else up your butt, even out of curiosity? Come on, man, Work with
me. I'm on a story deadline here."

Ken: "Yes, suppositories for migraines. I had to put them in. My mom took
my temperature via butt thermometer until I was about 9, I think. I started
getting migraines when I was 14.  She wasn't about to do it for me. "Just
go in the bathroom and stick it in." she said. It felt WEIRD! You can feel
them dissolving. Did I like them? They WORKED, so I LOVED them! Sometime
later I experimented with dildos."

Me: "Very interesting. But perhaps not the masturbatory zing my public is
clamoring for."

Ken: "No, I didn't think so either."

= = = = =

This one made me smile.

Jack: "A Bic pen, a tampon and I guess maybe a finger."

Me: "Perfect in its brevity."

Jack: "Spoiler alert: tampon applicators are sharp."

= = = = =

William wrote, "I would've been about 15 or so when I found one of my
mother's vibrators. She used to keep money in the front of her second
drawer, in front of her clothes. Every once in a while, I'd sneak in there
while she was out and swipe five bucks to buy some snacks at school."

"This time when I went in there, next to the little bank envelope was a
small pink vibrator. I say small but it was really about 5 inches or so
long and about as thick as a quarter."

"Turns out, underneath the clothes she had a handful of
vibrators. Apparently, this time she was in a rush to put it away and just
put it up front with the money. I was hard as a rock when I found it and
turned it on. I've always been into kinky and taboo things and the thought
of using a sex toy that belonged to my mother was hot as fuck."

"Needless to say, I took it back to my bedroom for some fun. I used some
hand lotion to grease it up and stuck it right up my ass. It hurt like fuck
the first time, since I'd never had anything else up my ass before. I had
to take it out and breathe deeply, but after a minute, I tried it again."

"Once I got it up there and turned it on, I probably lasted about 30
seconds before I was jizzing all over myself. Since then I've swiped her
vibrators more than once to pleasure myself, always putting them back right
where I found them and getting a small thrill out of my mother and I
sharing a sex toy."

"In fact, now as an adult, I get a naughty thrill out of having fucked
myself with a toy from both of my parents and knowing they use those toys
still."

= = = = =

Myself, I remember doing my mom's lipstick tubes. I started with the tiny
little white ones that Avon ladies used to leave behind as samplers, and
moved on to the full-size tubes in fairly short order. Ironic in a way that
Avon simultaneously served my mom's 35-year-old oral lips and my
10-year-old anal ones.

I know we shoved a lot of sticks up our asses in the woods when we were
kids. I'm assuming we blunted them down to relative smoothness somehow,
either reverse-whittling the sharp ends off with jack knives or rubbing
them smooth against rocks, since there were no punctures or fissures I'm
aware of. When it comes to sticks, whoof, safety first, kids. Don't try
this without an adult present.

I remember doing the handle of a ping pong paddle, and believe me, that
ping pong paddle and I were best friends for most of the 6th and 7th grade.

I never disrupted the contents of the fridge. I admire you guys who made
anal love to cucumbers, zucchini and bananas. I'm embarrassed to say, food
items simply never occurred to me.

I did do pencils, crayons, Bic pens, and the pokey-end of my mom's wooden
mixing spoons until my mom said, "Why are my spoons always so stained at
the ends all of a sudden? What are you kids using my spoons for?" I gave up
the practice, but didn't have the heart to tell her I'd taken her Betty
Crocker fudge brownie recipe to a whole new level.

I did my dad's big Zippo metal lighter, which was odd because it was
rectangular (and cold!) but by God, with a little lotion, I made it work,
and then the next week, I smirked to myself repeatedly as the mean
son-of-a-bitch lit his Winstons with my ass juice on his fingers.

Along with their myriad of air-tight serving ware, Tupperware made a
snap-together toy dog and toy giraffe in the 1970's. Google them. They're
adorable. My mom bought my little sister one of each at Tupperware party at
my grandma's house one year.

The dog's tail and the giraffe's neck were my constant companions. The
dog's tail alone was like a starter-model butt plug for me. "Locks in
freshness," I'd giggle as I once again corked it up my clencher.

I jacked off and came with all of these items up my tight spot. "R" is for
"rousing." "R" is for "rip-roaring." "R" is for "rectum."

Like all of you guys, the things I stuck up my hungry little gaybee rectum
were too numerous and creative to recall.

Send me your favorite rectal memories. We'll archive them here on Nifty for
all the world to remember.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 19. "S" IS FOR STALLIES

Dearest Zach,

Holy shit. I read your "Whispers in the Westwoom" and I have to tell you
this one.

I was in a Borders in Portland before they all went tits-up like the
dinosaurs – this would have been, Jesus, maybe ten years ago or more?

And I walk in to take a piss, and I hear two boys whispering from the
bathroom stall.

"Shhh, knock it off, somebody just came in."

And then a giggle, and then total silence.

Now this is just a one-seater bathroom. One urinal, one stall, one
sink. They're in the only stall, trying to pretend they're not there.

Now obviously, I'm curious as fuck as to what two boys are doing in a
single stall, unless boys shit in teams now, so I step up to the urinal,
unzip and piss. I make a big show of sighing, and even rip a small fart so
they're sure I think I'm alone.

Then I zip back up, wash my hands, whistling and yanking paper towels and
making a big fucking show of it. And then I head for the door, and instead
of exiting the bathroom, I push the door open loudly, let spring-loader
gravity pull it back with a bang, while I just stand there in the doorway,
pressed against the wall, well out of their sight, but able to hear
everything they say.

"You gotta knock this off," one voice says. It's not high. It's not
low. It's fresh puberty. A voice in the process of getting deeper.

"You love it," the other voice whispers. "Look how hard your dick is. You
love danger jack."

That's what he calls it, Zach. No kidding. "Danger Jack."

There's no talk for a minute. It's the sounds of fabric rustling. Pants
being pulled down. Then a sigh.

"I can feel your pulse in your dick. No kidding. I can feel your
heartbeat."

"Christ, Christ, do me fast. Do me fast before somebody comes in."

Then more silence. More fabric rustling.

"Do mine too."

Then another sigh.

Small sighs. Grunts. Two boys are in there, clearly masturbating each
other.

`Suck mine."

"No way. I'm not kneeling down here. The floor's dirty."

"Come on, suck it a little. I'm close. I'll go really fast."

"No way."

"Fuck me then."

"No. Just hurry up and make me cum. It's too busy here tonight. We're gonna
get caught."

"Squirt on the metal. On the toilet paper thing. I want to see who makes
more."

"No fair. I already did one today, two hours ago. I'm not built back up
yet."

"Do it anyway. Tiptoes. Squirt on it."

"Okay."

"Right next to each other. Do it on the metal. Cum for me. Cum
good. Pretend you're fucking me. Pretend you got it way up me and you're
gonna cum in my hot ass."

"Fuck yes."

"Cum in me."

"NNNGGGH!" A grunt. A whispered, "Fuck."

"Here comes mine."

Another grunt. Another satisfied "Fuck, look at it. Almost the same
amount."

"Hurry up. Let's get out of here."

Fabric rustling. A belt buckle clinking.

Shit. As quiet as I can, I push the door open just the miniscule amount
needed to squeeze myself through it and exit the bathroom before they come
out of the stall. I hold onto it as it closes, so it doesn't make
noise. Whisper quiet, it seals, and I quickly speed-walk down the first
aisle I see. Poetry anthologies. I grab a book and pretend to read, waiting
for the boys to come out.

I'm excited. My dick is hard.

In my head, I'm already fantasizing what they look like. Dirty boys? A
little rough looking? I mean, they just jacked each other off in a public
restroom. They talked about sucking and fucking each other, something
they'd clearly done before. I'm envisioning them in my head even before
they walk out.

The bathroom door opens and they emerge. They're gorgeous. They're two of
the most clean-cut normal looking boys I've ever seen.

The first one's a ginger. Longer hair down to his lower neck. Combed over
to one side. Almost feathered on the side. He looks sweaty and
flushed. He's wearing jeans and an orange shirt. He looks sweet. Like a
good boy.

The other one looks mischievous. Like a polo shirt version of Peter
Pan. Gorgeous smile. Perfect teeth. Brown hair. Gel in his
hair. Meticulous. White shirt. They both have backpacks slung over their
shoulders. They look perfect. They look like they belong together.

They're fucking, I think to myself. They're beautiful boys, not much past
14, and they're already fucking. And they just jacked off in a bathroom
stall together. And they shot their cum on the metal toilet paper
guard. Please let it still be there, I'm thinking. Please let them be
perverted enough not to wipe it up. Please let them be bad boys enough to
leave it there for somebody to find it.

After they were down the aisle and out of view, I almost tripped over my
own feet I was in such a hurry to get back into the bathroom and check out
that stall.

"Oh fuck," I whispered when I entered the stall and locked it behind
me. Two little puddles of white-thin boy cum adorned the stainless steel of
the toilet paper housing, the one on the left just a little bit bigger, but
essentially the same size. Both about the size of a thick nickel. The on
the right was drizzling down the side of the toilet paper housing in a
runny strand.

I quickly pulled my pants down, freed my dick and started jacking off. I
touched the puddle of cum on the left. It was already cold.

Yeah, yeah. I know you think I'm going to tell you I scooped it up and ate
it. Sorry, no. If it would have been hot, or even warm, yeah. But, please
bitch. Who wants to eat cold cum? Not I.

But fuck if I was going to waste it.

I jacked off, Zach, and I scooped up their cum and I fingered it up my own
asshole. I took their sticky cold boy cream, on four fingertip loads, then
a fifth for good measure, and pushed it up my own asshole as far and as
deep as I could get it, swirling it around inside and pressing it against
my own rectal membrane. On the fifth insertion, I came all over the
bathroom floor. Ropes of cum shot out of my dick all over everywhere. Like
them, I didn't wipe it up.

I pulled up my pants, washed up, and went back out into the bookstore.

I assumed they'd be gone, but as I walked past the side wall and it's big
row upon row of magazines, there they were, looking at comic books.

I walked as close to them as I dared. I actually brushed into one of them
as I reached past for some magazine I was feigning interest in.

All I could think of was, "I've got your cum in my ass, boys. Both loads of
cum from your pretty little ball sacks is up inside my rectum RIGHT now. My
fallopian tubes are sticky with your babymakers right now. I squeezed my
ass muscles and I could actually feel the stickiness of their first wet
manhood all gooey in my ass. I've never been so turned on in my life. I had
their sperm inside me and they didn't even know it.

And all I could think of was their hands smelled like each other's cocks.

Their hands smelled like each other's dicks and their sperm was in my
asshole. It was just like they fucked me. Two beautiful boys filled me with
their fuck gift and they didn't even know it.

They checked out. I checked out behind them. I watched them leave the store
knowing if I pushed out with my sphincter muscles right now, I'd shit their
cum in my undies.

There you go, Zach. I'm sure that's not the hottest masturbation story
anybody will write you for this collection, but it sure felt good to me,
having the cum of two 14-year-old boys up my ass.

I never learned their names. I call them my Stallies. I went back to that
Borders for weeks, but they never came back again.

I would have re-fingered my rectum with their cold little left-behind
loads. I would have been their secret clean-up bathroom bitch, hungry to be
pregnant with more of their cold little swimmers.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 20. "T" IS FOR TIM

[The following story originally appeared as "Tim's Jar of Cum" in the Nifty
Gay Young Friends section in July 2014]

Dear Zachyboy,

When I was about 10, there was a 15-year-old boy who lived across the
street from my grandma's house. My grandma babysat me a lot, so I was
always there, and he was always home, so I always went across the street to
play with him.

I was sexually active then with younger boys in my neighborhood, but never
seemed to get anything going with Tim, even though we hinted and danced
around it all the time.

He liked to talk dirty to me and I liked to talk dirty to him. He talked
about fucking girls all the time. I assumed he had because he was 15 and
"worldly." He assumed I hadn't because I was 10 and "just a kid." Turns out
we both had it backwards.

He used to save up all his cum in a jar in his room. He would jack off and
shoot it in an old Miracle Whip jar and he'd show it to all the neighbor
boys. He talked about girls all the time. He talked about girls while he
messed around with boys, which was standard for a lot of my friends.

His cum-in-the-jar wasn't white anymore, of course. The acidity of air did
it's duty and what remained after months of storage was just thick and
clear and slimy. But he took great pleasure in showing it off. He loved to
show kids in the neighborhood his jar full of cum.

He always said someday he was going to give it to Chelsey, a girl he
obsessed over. She was two years older than him, a senior in high school,
and somehow, he must have thought the way to a girl's heart was through a
shitload of cum, because as far as we knew, that's who he was saving all
that slimy old dick juice for. And I have to admit, it was a pretty full
jar. He kept the lid on tight so it wouldn't evaporate or crystallize.

But he never really showed it to Chelsey, he just showed it to a whole LOT
of boys. I think it was his way of judging if they had any sexual interest
in him. And quite a few did.

Show a little 10-year-old boy a jar full of the magical, mysterious dick
juice they can't even make yet, and then have the 15-year-old who made it
all put his hand down the front of your pants, and yeah, a jar full of cum
is a massively good aphrodisiac. It's sure a hell of a lot more creative
than "how big is yours?" "Wanna compare?"

So, that's what he did to me of course. Showed me his cum, got me all nice
and boned by rubbing my little dickie through my pants, then asked me to
eat his cum.

It was cum eating, combined with, like I said, baby's first facial. And
wow, what an experience THAT was.

Tim me stick my fingers inside that jar of cum first. He wanted me to stick
my little hand in that jar of slimy cock sauce, and squish it through my
fingers.

Then he lifted my shirt up and off my skinny chest.

"Fuck," he said, looking at my little nipples. "So fucking hot."

Then he asked me to take some of his cum out the jar and rub it on my
tummy. Rub it on my belly button. Rub it on my nipples. And then rub it on
my lips.

And I did.

And he unzipped his pants, took out his monster-hard cock, and started
stroking it, right in front of me.

"You like that cum, baby boy?" he teased me. "Does all that hot cum feel
all sticky on your titties?"

I didn't know what I was supposed to say, but I knew I liked it. I knew I
liked him talking dirty to me.

"Uh-huh," I said innocently. "I like your cum, Tim. I like your cum a lot."

"Because I'm getting ready to give you some more cum, baby boy," he grunted
hoarsely. "You think you want that, Mikey baby? You think you want some
more of my cum now?"

"Oh yeah," I whispered, really turned on. "I want more of your cum. Lots
more. Make more for me."

"Get on your knees," he hissed urgently. "Get on your knees now."

I complied by mere seconds before his fat cock was exploding, bursting,
firing off cum directly into my face, into my hair, onto my nose, into my
mouth. He shoved that fat fuck stick right into my lips, where I opened
instinctively, taking him inside me, sucking the salty bleach load off his
thick mushroom head. My own 10-year-old cock was about to burst.

It was so good. So hot, being fed that way. He didn't even have to help
me. As he finished his cum, I was already scooping his jizz from the side
of my face and feeding it to myself. Eating every bit of him I could
find. God I loved the taste of him. I took him deep into my mouth and
cleaned his cock for him. I wanted every last drop he could give me.

Afterwards, he was embarrassed.

He helped me get dressed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have done that. Please don't be mad."

I didn't understand. I liked what he did. Mad? I was throbbing hard. I
wanted more.

But he didn't suck me off. We were just done. Inexplicably done. It would
be two weeks before he tried anything again.

Two weeks later, he was talking dirty to me again. Telling me how he wanted
to fuck me. (Thank GOD, I thought, he's FINALLY going to do something else
to me!) and he did! He tried anyway. But it didn't work out.

He tried to fuck me in a storage shed in his yard. But it was in the middle
of the summer, it way too dark, it was way too hot, it was way too humid,
and he was way too nervous. It was like trying to fuck inside a steam iron,
worried about being caught.

And we had no lube at all, so he just couldn't get it in me, although God
knows I wanted him to. Frustrated, losing his hard-on, he turned around and
told me to fuck him instead. But I was too little. He was too tall. I
couldn't even line my cock up the right way. We were dripping with
sweat. It was a total, miserable failure, and I was so sad. I was so
frustrated. We just gave up.

And after that failed attempt in the storage shed with me, he never tried
anything with me again, even though we still hung out and remained friends
until he moved a couple years later. No more sex, no more beautiful
cum-covered facials, which was weird and frustrating to me, because he
talked about it all the time, he just never did anything to me again.

I would have allowed him free access. Open season. No limits. I did
everything with other boys. Everything. But he was five years older than
me. A big kid. A leader. I had no idea of how to ask him for it. I thought
it was out of my realm of request. I just kept waiting and waiting and
hoping he'd hit on me and want to try to fuck me again. But nothing.

I caught up with him just three years ago when he came out to visit
me. He'd had a pretty rough life, and I hadn't seen at all as an adult
until he looked me up online, and he came to visit and spent a couple
nights in our guest room. My boyfriend at the time was cool with it and bid
us an early good night and retreated to the bedroom so Tim and I could
catch up privately.

Tim and I talked a lot about childhood, and he said he'd had many bisexual
experiences since then, in youth, and in adulthood, and he was glad I was
gay and happily living with a long-term partner now, and he thought gay sex
was incredible.

For instance, even though he considered himself primarily straight most of
his life, he'd had lots of gay one-nighters, and he had to say, in all
honesty, pussy was pussy, but he really loved sucking a guy's cock and
eating a guy's load.

We talked about all the kids we fucked around with when we were little. And
who did what to who, and what we did and how far we went. And it turns out
a lot of the little boys I was sucking and fucking with were the same
little boys he was sucking and fucking with. Yet we were both perplexed we
never did more with each other after that one hot cum shot, and that one
failed mating.

I said, "When we were kids, after that time in the shed, why didn't you
ever make any more moves on me? Why didn't you ever try to fuck me again?

He said -- and this blew my mind -- he said, "I felt so wrong for trying to
fuck you that day. I felt bad enough for cumming on your face that time,
but trying to fuck you, too? I just felt horrible about myself."

He said, "I was just so old and you were just so young. And plus, I was
just too overwhelmed and in love with you back then."

He said, "You were just this perfect, beautiful little boy, and I was just
this lusty, always-horny teenager. You were so completely high above me,
you were like an angel. I was just so filled with complete awe and
reverence for you, I didn't ever want to hurt you, and I didn't want to
take advantage of you or force you into anything."

He said, "I hated myself for cumming on you, and I hated myself for trying
to fuck you in that shed when I held you in such high esteem. I was just
ashamed of myself and I was just overwhelmed with love and protection for
you anytime I was near you, and I never wanted to try anything on you
again. Other boys, yes. But not you. You were just too perfect in my
eyes. I didn't want to make you into ME."

"Make me into YOU?" I just looked at him with my jaw hanging open and said,
"MAKE ME? Do you have any idea how much I WANTED you back then? Just to
hold me and cuddle me and kiss me and feel me all over and sex me up and do
anything to me?"

I told him, "Do you realize how much I wanted you to try it again? To do
ANYTHING you wanted? I worshipped you, Tim. I just didn't know how to tell
you that. I adored you. I craved you. I would have done ANYTHING for you
back then. You could have done anything to me. Anything you wanted."

And we both just stood there on my patio, hearts pounding, just staring
into each other's eyes, and for a minute I didn't know what was going to
happen. Were we going to kiss? Fuck? Go inside and go down on each other?
It was just this breathless moment, suspended in time.

He looked so little. So shocked by what I'd just said. So tiny and sad.

So, I just moved up to him and engulfed him in my arms and hugged him, and
he just burst out crying, this 6'3" massively tall man, this man who had
been through Afghanistan and Iraq and God knows how many bar fights and
run-ins with the law, and I just held him and hugged him and he just wept
and sobbed in my arms, for, I don't know, five minutes? Ten? There was no
time that night. Just his heartbreaking sobs for opportunities lost, and a
time we could never go back to.

I don't know what happened that night. But it was incredibly painful and
incredibly sweet. And it was very powerful. And we didn't have sex. It
didn't end up in the patented Nifty trademark ending where both guys cum
and everybody's happy and we all move on to the next story.

But it was a beautiful moment, standing there in the dark night on my
patio, hugging him while he cried for what we never got to be for each
other as kids. What we absolutely could have been if either of us would
have been able to articulate the deep, powerful love we had for each other.

I think about him a lot and I hope he visits me again sometime when I can
see him privately. I hope he reads this and recognizes himself and reaches
out, even though I've changed his name.

I think we still have a lot of unfinished business. And I don't even mean
that in a wink-wink lusty, leering kind of way. I mean, if I do ever see
him again, I think we really will have sex this time. There's no question
about that. I really do want it.

I think this is an example where really just one single episode of
childhood masturbation (and a failed attempt at a little more) turned into
a lifetime of longing for two people.

I want him to come and visit me again. I want him to take me lovingly,
quietly, tenderly. I think when we do wind up loving each other physically,
it's going to be achingly tender and a beautiful kind of closure we never
got to have as children.

I love you, Tim. Thank you for my childhood.

I hope to see you secretly, and soon.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 21. "U" IS FOR URI

Dear Zachary Boy,

You will forgive. I don't speak much in good English.

My name is Uriel. Is meaning "God's light." And I am 13 when this happens
and my friend he calls me Uri.

And my friend his name is Lyosha. Is meaning "one who helps people," and I
am calling my friend Oshi, and he is one who helps people to me always,
because he is my friend, the best one forever.

And we are 13 together when is this happening and we are Uri and Oshi.

And we live in St. Petersburg, Russia and name is meaning for Tsar Peter
the Great, and is on the Baltic Sea, and is on the Gulf of Finland, and was
Leningrad until 1991. And was that year I was born and is also year of name
for St. Petersburg yes and Leningrad no.

And I am 13 in 2004 and so is Oshi and we are the best friends. And to be
boys to be horny, we are looking at each other always in the khuy. Is
meaning cock or dick or penis. And we look at each other and touch each and
jack off our khuy together.

And Oshi when he is little, my best friend, is funny, he takes bottle he is
finding on beach at Baltic Sea. Is Baltika 9 Extra Lager brown bottle. And
he is only five and little and he is taking his khuy which also is little
and he is sticking it in bottle and is going the piss in it. And we
laugh. And I am going the piss in it too.

And we are dumping it out in Baltic Sea but Oshi he is keeping bottle
always for the keepsake in his bedroom because it is good day and good
memory we are friends who are doing the piss together first time.

And we are 13 one day grown up and always horny for sex in our khuy cocks
and I see Baltika 9 bottle in his shelf where he put it and I say "Oshi, go
take the piss in here now," and he laugh and he is saying "My dick (khuy)
is being too big now." And I say you jack off on your khuy and I am pushing
Baltika bottle in your pizda, which is bad Russian, word is meaning "cunt."

And he laugh, but he is taking off the pants, and his khuy is being boner
already, and is spitting in his hand and is starting a jack off on his
khuy, and Oshi is smelling good in his khuy, and I am watching him jacking
off in his dick cock, and I am sucking on Baltika 9 bottle to get it wet,
and Oshi he is moving his legs apart and I am seeing his ass at me open
like a whore (in Russian is blyad), and I am pushing Baltika bottle up his
pizda cunt and he is getting more boner in his khuy and is hard. And his
khuy it is exciting me more and mine is making a hard khuy too for looking
in his asshole.

And I am pushing it in and out his blyad pizda asshole whore cunt and Oshi
he is making the fuck moans and I am pushing in Oshi very far and now his
sperms jizz fuck semens is coming out of his boycock boner fuck boy khuy
very much. Is making very much.

And then he is doing same to me and I stroke my penis cock khuy and he fuck
me hard with Baltika 9 bottle and he is telling me he is liking to see my
cock, and when almost I am shooting sperms jizz fuck semens, Oshi he is
putting his mouth over my khuy first time and he is drinking my sperms. And
we are never doing this before. First time. And I am holding his head to my
sperms, my Oshi. And I love so much my friend and later we are kissing with
mouth and tongues and saying the good things at this and we are happy. And
this is love for two boys.

And many times we are jacking off the khuy hard boner cocks we are having,
and fuck our whore cunt pizda with that bottle for Baltika 9 and having
kisses and love and we say the love to each other. And then we are fucking
each other with our khuy in our pizda cunt hard. And we are liking to fuck
each other and are putting the sperms jizz fuck semens into each other from
our boners so hard making the fucks in each other. And is sad ending,
Zachary Boy because next year, my Oshi he is having to move to Helsinki (is
city in Finland) because is where his dad is working.

And Oshi before he leave me, he is crying and is holding me in his arms and
we are having kisses and we are sad and he is giving me Baltika 9 bottle
and is saying you should keep, Uri. And my life is changing when he is
going to Helsinki and is never full of same boy and love that way no
more. Forever no.

And I am being 14 when he leaves me, and I am going to beach at Baltic Sea
and I have Baltika 9 bottle and I am closing it up with note inside.

And note is in bottle is saying, "Dear My Oshi. I am missing you forever
and my memory I am having of you. I send you this bottle back and note
inside. And if it go to Helsinki and you find it, you know I am still
loving you so much when I am thinking of you. And you are always being for
me me my only best friend and nobody ever else. I love you. Your friend Uri
who has love for you very much."

And I am closing bottle so note is not getting wet. And I am throwing in
water. And I am watching and I am crying for my Oshi, as cold Baltic Sea,
is carrying my message away.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

[The following story originally appeared as "Solace" in the Nifty Gay Young
Friends section in March 2017]

CHAPTER 22. "V" IS FOR VALENTIN

Dear Zach,

I led a small and secret childhood. Painful and private and hidden away. It
was a troubled world full of questions and doubts. And it felt like it
lasted forever.

The boy's name was Valentin. He was the first boy I ever kissed.

It wasn't Valentine, like boxes of chocolates. It wasn't Vallin-TEEN, like
Rudolph Valentino.

It was just vuh-LEN-tin, with an accent on the LEN.

Even writing it is beautiful to me now. Valentin.

The boy who helped me find myself. The boy who helped me come out to myself
for all the right reasons.

The first boy I loved completely, deeply, and only once.

= = = = =

Valentin and I were 13-years-old and in 7th grade together. We were both in
choir together. On weekends, we were both in gymnastics together. For two
years now. Two years of watching, discovering, knowing each other.

He was delicate, beautiful, small and strong.

He was graceful. Flush-faced and rosy-cheeked.

I remember after practice on the weekends, two-hour sessions where every
muscle hurt, I'd watch Valentin sit on the thick Spieth mat at the corner
of the gym, breathing heavily, putting his socks back on, and even that
seemed delicate and perfect, like a poem he couldn't help writing.

That was Valentin, I think. An unassuming poem that never stopped writing
itself.

I was in love with him and in lust with him. I assumed he was gay, and I
feared that I was too. And I say "feared," because being gay was the last
thing I wanted to be. I was a choir boy. I was a gymnastics boy. I hung out
with all my girl friends, not girlfriends. I got teased mercilessly in
middle school and he did too.

We had an understanding, Valentin and I.

We knew we were in the same boat.

Neither one of us had to say it out loud, but we both knew we were ships on
the same path. And it wasn't easy being the only two boys in our school who
innately, hating every minute of it, knew we were this way.

It would be so much easier if I just liked girls. I tried, you know. I
tried over and over. But I felt nothing for them. Nothing at all. But
Valentin made my heart pound.

I lost myself in every thought of him.

= = = = =

I jacked off thinking about Valentin all the time. I jacked off thinking
about every boy all the time. I was 13 years old that year. Face it, I just
jacked off. Endlessly.

I felt ashamed after I jacked off every time, because I wasn't thinking of
girls.

All my friends were thinking of girls. And I was thinking of all my
friends.

= = = = =

I was crude. I was little-boy horny.

There was no romance in my fantasies when I thought about Valentin.

I thought about harsh things. Rude things. Rough things.

I used to whisper-talk to the eyes-squeezed-shut fantasy of him in my
bedroom at night, dreaming of being with him, carnally. Anally.

"Fuck your sweet ass," I'd whisper into the dark. "You need it, don't you?
Need it like a good little gay boy? Oh yeah, Valentin. Open up for it,
baby. I'm gonna put my cock up your deep little ASSSSSSSS!"

And I'd moan out loud and grunt out his name as I let loose with my nearly
non-existent loads of semen, needing him.

I was impolite to the image of an angel. But I had so much need. I didn't
know what to do with it.

= = = = =

Valentin needed me too, but it was different than the way I needed him.

= = = = =

It was Memorial Day weekend 1987, and we had just finished our DMSA Boys
Sectional.

I placed 1st in Floor and third in Pommel.

Valentin, who moved liked magic, placed 1st in Still Rings, 1st in Vault,
3rd in High Bar and 2nd All Around.

Both of us sucked at Parallel Bars. Me 4th. Valentin 5th.

But it was a good meet. Six trophies between us. Two were mine, four were
his.

There are times your adrenalin just simply gets the best of you, otherwise
I never would have had the courage for what I did that day.

= = = = =

We were changing together. The host studio had private changing rooms like
ours did. Two boys to a room. Valentin and I entered ours with laughter and
pride and superiority. Two gay alpha males, basking in the glow of their
aching perfection. Our muscles howled. Our hearts were full.

Valentin was wearing red shorts. White ankle socks. A red, white and black
tank.

I don't remember at all what I was wearing. I simply have no memory but
him.

He sat on a bench putting his socks on.

"Hey," he said. "Thanks for teaching me that release." He was referring to
his re-grasp on the high bar. "I never would have hit that without you."

He stood up like he meant to offer his hand to me, or a friendly pat on my
back, and I don't know what happened. I just moved into him and held him. I
took him in my arms and I held him.

I can't even say I hugged him. This was no bro hug. No athletic,
camaraderie or pat on the back. I simply just stepped in and had to hold
him.

"Oh," is all he said, in a small voice. "Oh."

I was embarrassed. "Oh, God. I'm sorry. That was dumb. I was just
happy. I'm just proud of us. Of you."

He smiled. Red-faced but kind.

There was a pause that lasted forever.

He stepped into my arms again. "It's okay."

And instantly I knew, it was okay to hold him again.

We stood like that for ages. Forever. This unexpected contact that had
probably been coming for two years, but now here it was. There was no way
to explain how it happened. Like all watershed moments of self-discovery,
it simply WAS.

"I just..." I stuttered. "Sorry. I'm just so happy. I just want you to know
how happy I am, and..."

I was babbling and we both knew it.

"Shhhh. Stop," he said.

He looked in my eyes. Touched a hand to my cheek. And sweaty and shaking,
he leaned forward and kissed me.

It was chaste, it was soft and simple on my lips, but he kissed me.

And then I kissed him back.

And mine was not chaste, and mine was not pure. Mine was a tongue that was
hungry for his. And he responded in the same helpless, hungry, whimpering
way.

He whimpered as I kissed him. Both of us were so afraid to be doing
this. Fulfilling every stupid, cruel middle school hallway prophecy about
us. The two gay boys, finally kissing. Helpless fags who couldn't help
finally needing each other. We hated ourselves for doing this, and we never
wanted it to end.

Please God, please God, I whispered in my head. Please let this happen
forever. It felt so right. It felt so shamefully, desperately, detestably
right. I knew in that minute I didn't like girls. I wasn't waiting for the
right girl to come along.

THIS was the right person. This boy. This kiss. This soft tongue was what
my future tasted like. And I never wanted anything else, not ever, not from
now on.

= = = = =

He sat down on the bench, dumbstruck that we'd just done this.

"Wow," he whispered. "What just happened?"

I moved forward to him. My crotch was near his face. I was erect and
horrified.

"I'm sorry," I begged. "I didn't mean to. I shouldn't have done that. I'm
sorry if I scared you."

"No," he said. "I liked it. I wanted it. I'm just...I don't know what to do
now."

He looked like he needed to cry. I was lost. I stepped closer. He buried
his head into my stomach as I stood over him. Into my crotch. I felt his
face rub across my dick which was erect with my shameful lust for him.

"I don't want to be gay," he cried honestly.

"Me neither."

But I held his head. Stroked his hair. He rubbed his face into my
groin. Rubbing his cheek, nose, eyes against my boner. Whimpering for me. I
pressed it against him. I felt his lips and hot breath touch my penis
through the fabric. I knew that he needed me.

I reached down and fumbled with my shorts. Pulled them down. My hard dick
sprang free. I heard him gasp. I rubbed it forward. Pressed it into his
face. Urgent, lust-crazed, seeking his mouth. Christ, I needed him. Christ,
I felt filthy.

"Stop," he cried. "What are you doing. Stop! This is too fast!"

Blushing I withdrew. Tugged my dick away. I hid it, ashamed.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm stupid, stupid. I thought you wanted me to do
it. I'm sorry. I'm so stupid."

I wanted to cry now too.

"Why would you think I would do that?" he cried. There were huge tears in
his eyes. "I don't want to be that, Tyler. I'm scared to be that way."

"I'm sorry," I repeated. It's all I could think of. I got dressed. I
couldn't speak. Couldn't face him. I gathered up my backpack. We were both
crying now.

"Stop," he sobbed. "Don't go. I'm sorry. I do want to do stuff. I just
don't know how. It's going too fast."

I walked to him and hugged him. Neither of us understood this. It's power
was beyond us.

"Please don't leave," he cried. "I do want stuff like that with you. Just
not mouth stuff yet. I'm scared of that part. Let me just touch it. You
know. Just kiss me and let me touch it and stuff."

"You don't have to," I started...

"I know," he said. "But I want us to know there's nothing wrong with it,
you know?"

I sobbed deep in my chest.

Nobody'd ever told me there was nothing wrong with it before.

Nobody'd ever told me that needing this could be right.

I cried because my heart was so full. I held him again and our mouths found
each other. I tasted the sweat of four trophies on the salt of his
quivering upper lip. We cried and kissed in corresponding need for each
other.

His hand slipped into my sweat pants. Found my cock which was now rock hard
again. He began stroking it. I reached into his shorts and found
his. Hot. Missile firm and slender. Smaller than mine. Hotter than mine.

We kissed and cried. Stroked awkwardly. Pawed at each other's sudden
realization. This is who we were.

"You can try forever not to be this," our newfound urgency assured us, "but
this is who you are, boys."

Our urgency shrugged its shoulders and repeated gently in our sweaty ears,
"This is who you are."

I came first, exploding and seizing and crying out and releasing my watery
squirts in his hand. He gasped and whispered my name. "Tyler," and bit my
bottom lip, and every muscle in his body went tense and he froze, and he
came too, shuddering and completely dry.

We held each other. Shocked. Grateful. Appalled. Knowing everything had
changed from now on.

>From beginning to end, the whole thing couldn't have lasted more than five
minutes, yet it was the most important moment of my life. Here I am, 30
years later, still remembering it and stumbling on the passionate
awkwardness of it. Still building a lifetime of relationships around what
it ultimately meant to me.

There was wildness to it. There was urgency and animalism. But when it was
over, Valentin and I stood there holding each other. Privately, secretly,
for one perfect moment, effortlessly, with no shame, loving each other. To
this day, there is nothing in the world that has ever been softer.

It was a moment behind a locked door in a changing room with Valentin. When
the school's two gay boys finally got the message. Finally understood it,
loud and clear:

This is who we were always meant to be.

= = = = =

I think we were always in love after that, me and Valentin. Secret,
nodding, understanding love. But it was a different time when-and-where we
lived, and boys weren't allowed to fall in love with each other quite
yet. Not publicly anyway.

So, we never did another thing. We were both too scared our classmates
would find us out. Ironic, really. They already knew full well who we
were. We were the ones who were desperate not to have it confirmed.

I still cry for the 13-year-old gay me. And the 13-year-old gay Valentin,
still trying to hide. Perfectly good, decent, loving-kind children, who
didn't have the courage yet to be who they were. In a perfect world, oh
what we could have been. But anybody who has ever been to middle school
knows, the middle school world is far from perfect. And it's never
forgiving.

Me and Valentin? We never kissed again. We never loved again. We never
swapped sperm or shared more magic the way it miraculously happens in Nifty
stories. Life's not Nifty. Most of the time for gay boys, there's no
Chapter 2.

Valentin dropped out of gymnastics two months later. His family moved away
in the spring.

But until then, we always smiled at each other in the hallways, and in
choir, and in stolen moments from across a room. We had a shared secret and
the comforting safety knowing we were no longer alone, outsiders or odd
ones.

I wish I knew where you were today, Valentin. I wish I could tell you how
much I owe you for those kisses and your courage. Cumming was secondary. I
owe you for your trembling, terrified fearlessness.

I close my eyes and I see you sitting on a thick Spieth mat at the corner
of the gym, breathing heavily, putting your socks back on. You are still so
delicate. You are still my lifetime's prettiest poem.

And for what it's worth these 30 years later, I'm still right here and
writing it down, forever lost in the memory of you.

= = = = =

Solace (noun). To give consolation in a time of great distress or
sadness. To alleviate sorrow, misfortune, trouble or discomfort. To give
comfort and relief.

I led a small and secret childhood. Painful and private and hidden away.

There are times, however, we transcend ourselves, and in retrospect, feel
safe enough to catch our first small glimpse of the strong, complete men
we'll grow up to be.

Back then, however, it was all so new and we were still so young. It was
still just a troubled world full of questions and doubts, and it felt like
it lasted forever.

Thank you, God, for an unexpected friend who gave me glimpses of normality
and a sense of kindred spirit and of finally fitting in. He was the hope
for my future. He taught me, "this is who I am now, and this is okay."

Thank you, Valentin, for a single soft moment of solace.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 23. "W" IS FOR WHIZZER

Dear Zachyboy,

I was 13-years-old and Whizzer, the 6-year-old boy next door used to meet
me in this tool shed behind his dad's house, and first he'd piss all over
the outside wall of it, because that's how he got his nickname.

And then once we stepped inside and turned on a flashlight, I'd show him
dirty pictures I printed out on my computer of really little boys, like 4
and 5, who were naked and doing stuff with other, bigger boys like me. This
was way back in the newsgroup days when everybody had pictures.

He would giggle at them and point out every boy's dick in every picture I
showed him by pointing at it and saying "There's that one's penis!" and
then he'd laugh and wait for the next one. He'd always say "There's that
one's penis" and no other word for it, even though I'd try to get him to
call it a dick or a cock.

After a while, it got to where I could get him to take off his pants and
pull down his underwear and show me his dick. He was cut and I wasn't. He
was tiny. Just a little stub of a cock, maybe an inch at most, but it sure
was pretty. He had a pretty little whizzer. He'd let me touch it and play
with it, but he wouldn't let me suck it.

"Yuck," he'd giggle. "You can't put it in your mouth! That's where all my
PEE comes out!"

I tried to tell him it was okay for me to suck it, but he shook his head
no.

"Nope, nope, nope! NO SUCKS!"

I'd have to stop, afraid the neighbors would hear him.

However, he was happy to look at mine.

I'd take my own dick out and he'd be fascinated by my foreskin and push his
cock up against mine, almost like he was docking with me. I'd try to jack
us off together, but he'd push my hand away with his chubby little baby fat
fingers.

Then he'd just say "Kissy penis, kissy penis!" and he'd laugh again and
make kissing sounds with his lips while he ground our dick tips together.

I'd start jacking off in front of him and sometimes he'd let me take his
hand and wrap it around my dick shaft, which wasn't really that long at
13. I was still under 4-inches, I think. But he was only a little kid with
pudgy little first grade hands, so my dick always looked really huge with
his little hand wrapped around it.

Most times I'd just jack off and he'd watch me, but sometimes I could get
him to keep his hand around me until I shot. I didn't really shoot at that
age. It just sort of jerked when I came, and oozed out a couple little
gooey drops of watery cum. He'd always giggle when I came. He'd let me rub
it on his hand sometimes and get him sticky with it.

And I'd try to stop him before he could wipe it on his shirt or pants
because I didn't want his mom to see it dried out and wonder what it was,
but it was hard to keep him from wiping it on himself. He did it without
thinking and I always cringed, but nobody ever stopped us, so I guess his
mom figured it was his own snot or something. Who knows.

I tried to get him to suck my dick all the time, I really wanted it. He was
so pretty, and I could just imagine that little mouth of his wrapped around
my meat, sucking away on me, but he wouldn't do it. I also tried to get him
to jack his own cock or like I said, let me suck him, but he wouldn't let
me do that either. I got my mouth around his little dickie about three
times, but he always pushed me away.

"Nope, nope, nope! NO SUCKS!"

And it killed me, because he tasted GREAT. Like pee and cherry popsicles.

Whizzer was my little jack-off audience only, I guess. He was perfectly
happy to meet me in that tool shed every day after school, piss on the
outside wall, then come inside while I flicked the flashlight on and look
at dirty pictures together and touch his dick slit against my dick slit,
cut to uncut, and say "Kissy penis, kissy penis," then watch me jack off
until I came and then play in the stickiness of the little loads I shot.

We did that maybe 40 times? 50 times? Then he got a little older, turned
7. Plus, I started shooting more by 14 and I started getting more
aggressive wanting blowjobs and stuff, and hinting about his butt, and even
asking him a few times if I could fuck him, so I think I made him feel too
pressured about it and ruined a good thing. He eventually just stopped
meeting me out there in the tool shed entirely, and it sort of all drifted
off and stopped on its own.

But he was a really cute kid and it was good while it lasted. I wish he
would have sucked me or let me fuck him, though. I still jack off 20 years
later thinking of his bright eyes, his pretty cut little cock, and his high
voice saying "Kissy penis, kissy penis."

I wish he would have kissed mine for real.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 24. "X" IS FOR XANDER

Dear Zachyboy,

I hated the name Alexander growing up. Still do to this day.

Worse yet, I hated people who shortened it to Alex without my
permission. Don't you hate that shit? I talked to a guy named Peter once,
and he said it drives him crazy when people call him Pete. I know a Michael
who hates the fuck out of Mike. I know a Beverly who hates the fuck out of
Bev.

Anyway, I go by the name Xander, pronounced Zander. I hate the name Alex. I
hate Alexander. I hate it so much, when you wrote the story "Take a Gander
at Alexander," I actually copied and pasted it into Word, did a find and
replace, and removed every reference to the name Alexander and replaced it
with Xander. HA! Talk about immersing myself in one of your stories. Thanks
for fucking me, by the way. Felt great, once you got my name right.

Anyway, I hated the name Alex. I hated the name Alexander. Starting in 6th
grade, fresh start, middle school and all, I insisted my classmates and
teachers call me Xander from then on. I was god damn shit-fit pissy about
it. And nobody wanted me in shit-fit mode. I was a scary, hissing cat back
then. So, eventually it stuck.

Well, the infuriating part about my first "masturbate with another guy"
memory is the simple fact that I couldn't get that fucker to call me Xander
for anything. The grown-up version of him STILL calls me Alex, to this very
DAY, just to taunt me. Teasingly. He's worn me down, the dumb fucker. Just
like he did back then. GRRRRRRRRR! And I still can't get enough of his
cock! UGH! I'm hopeless!

Anyway, for purposes of this story, I should admit that I was flat-out gay
as the breeze from the day I could walk and talk. There was no ambiguity in
my future ever. Boys knew it, girls knew it, I knew it, my mom and dad knew
it, the little old lady three houses down on the corner knew it.

I was a walking, talking tribute to prepubescent ASTOUDING homosexuality
from the get-go. And by the time I hit middle school at 12, I was jacking
off about three times a day and fingering myself, imaging kissing, hugging,
sucking and being fingered and fucked by boys ages 7-on-up. Didn't even
matter to me. If they had a penis and were out of diapers, GIMMEE GIMMEE
GIMMEE!

So this is a story about the first one I finally got. (And he was the brave
one, not me. Knowing it was available for the plucking, he came right out
and took it).

I say that only to point out the fact that it was NO challenge at all for
Steve Carlson to get me to jack him off and suck his cock. I'd signed up on
THAT clipboard by the time I was six. Not that I did it back then. But I
knew I was on the roster and next-up at bat in a PROFOUND way.

So first of all, let me explain that I had a marvelous ass back then. It
was tight, it was bubbly. You would honest-to-God WEEP if you saw my ass
back then, Zachyboy. I have a picture of me somewhere taken the previous
summer. I was 11, going on 12.

I'm standing on a wood and metal piece of playground equipment at the park
by my old middle school. (The very park I sucked Steve's cock at and jacked
him off eight MILLION times). It's the last picture of me before I started
6th grade.

I've got biking shorts on. Really tight lycra. I didn't bike at all, but I
knew they made my ass look good. Gay boys at 11 and 12 want their asses to
look good. It's Mother Nature.

Anyway, I've got one hand up on the ladder. My knee juts out sort of
girlish and gay. I'm not exactly smiling at the camera, but I know I'm
looking sexy. And my ass, Zachy. My ass looks good enough to eat. It looks
good enough to feel, to rub, to massage, to lick, to fuck, to eat, then
fuck again twice. I get off looking at my own ass in that picture. I can
jack off pretending I'm fucking me. STEVE still jacks off to that picture
of me.

Anyway, that dumb fucker Steve Carlson ALWAYS loved my bubble butt, and
when nobody was around, he'd stare at it endlessly. He even WHISTLED at it
when nobody was looking. WHISTLED!!! Shit, he made my heart pound. He was a
wise old 7th grader who noticed me right away. I was a gun-shy 6th grader
worshiping him from the start.

"Hey Alex," he'd grin at me. "Can I get some fries with that shake?"

"My name is Xander," I hissed at him, shooting daggers with my eyes.

"Meet me at the park after school today, Alex," he grinned. "I'll tell you
what your name is."

I was gayly dumbfounded. It's hard to process regular flirting when you're
12. It's even harder to process sexual flirting, but that's exactly what it
was.

Somewhere in my tingling brain (which wanted a boyfriend) and somewhere in
my tingling balls (which wanted their usual release) and somewhere in my
tingling throat and butthole (which, I assure you, were absolutely BORN to
crave dick), I knew damn well Steve Carson wanted to do bad naughty sexy
dangerous yet-undone stuff with me, and I probably shouldn't let him, but
fuck hesitation, I was gay as three canaries, and I knew I wanted him to do
it.

Sure enough, that day after school, with nobody else around, there I was in
a dark bathroom stall with Steve Carson at the park, one of those hideous
public park shelter-house bathrooms made of wood, awful aluminum toilets,
and the smell of the stale urine of the 80,000 guys who have pissed there
before you...

And without too much preliminary conversation, because face it, Nifty
readers like that shit in stories, but us gay boys don't really need much
of it in real life, there I was in a stall with Steve, and his pants were
around his ankles and his dick was huge and hard compared to mine, and he
was daring me to stroke it.

"Come on, Alex," he grinned. "Give it a little handshake."

Fuck if I was going to be scared off by his dickwad truth-or-dare
taunts. I'd stroke that fucker until it fell off twitching. I'd stroke his
fucking cock until it flew off into the treetops. Major Homo, reporting for
duty.

Jesus, it felt good in my hand. I remember looking down and thinking my
nails needed a trim while I started stroking his cock. Steve on the other
hand looked like he was about to cry in sheer gratitude, something I still
give him shit about today. "You needed it way more than I did, asshole."
And he never really argues with that.

Anyway, I stroked him like I always dreamed I'd stroke another boy. There
was nothing shocking to it. Nothing nervous or hesitant. I'd wanted to do
this to another boy FOR...EVER.

His dick was hot and thick and longer than mine. I stroked that thing like
the work of art is was.

Steve's eyes rolled back and he said, "Shit, you do that good. I knew you
were a little gay boy, Alex. Little gay boy cupcake cock-stroker,
cutie. Keep doing it. Squeeze it harder."

"My name is Xander," I told him again.

He grinned. "Maybe you need me to teach you your name."

I didn't know what he meant. But when he pushed down on my shoulders –
firmly – I understood immediately that he wanted me down on my
knees. And I knew there was only one activity I could conceivably do for
him down there at knee level, and I was SO glad he wanted me to.

I was SO excited. My heart was about to explode. I was about to give
another boy a blowjob for the very first time.

I opened my mouth on instinct. I'm telling you, I was born for it.

"What's your name?" he grinned at me, smacking his cock on my lips. God, it
smelled good.

"Xander," I told him defiantly, trying to lick at it, but he wouldn't let
me! UGH!

"Baaap, wrong," he said. "Your name is just Alex. Say it. I'm Alex."

"Xander," I repeated, moving my mouth forward and trying to get his cock
inside. Christ, it was like being locked outside of the bakery, looking in.

"Uh-uh-uh," he taunted. "Tell me you're Alex or you don't get to taste this
great big treat I'm making for you, cupcake."

"Xander," I whimpered.

"Making a treat for you right now in my balls," he said. "You want a little
taste of it, Alex?"

I nodded. Damn near had tears in my eyes the need was so great.

"Tell me you're Alex, and I'll let you suck my dick."

"Fine," I whimpered. "I'm Alex, not Xander."

"Good boy," he grinned, and he pushed it past my lips. EXPLOSION of sensory
experience!!

God, the flavor of it is something I remember to this day, so vividly it
almost makes my heart stop. It was maple syrup and stale piss, and sticky
old cum crust, and graham cracker spiciness and saltiness, and sweatiness.

Steve Carson had an electric, impending manliness at 13 that my own cock
lacked at 12. I opened up and sucked and licked and swirled and
deep-throated Steve Carson's cock like my entire future depended on it. And
in a way, I guess, it did.

I sucked him for maybe three minutes when he pulled it out of my mouth and
took his dick in his own hand and said, "Open your mouth really wide and
keep it open..."

And I was confused why he stopped me but I did what he said, and Jesus
Christ, he took his own cock in his hand (and there's a fucking close-up,
WOW), and he started jacking it off so hard and so fast and so close to my
open mouth he was actually punching my chin with his rapid-fire fist, but
Christ, fuck, I had no complaints.

Then he grunted and whispered, "OH YEAH, OH YEAHHHHH ALEXXXXX," and
suddenly he was jamming it into my mouth again, desperate to shoot it
somewhere.

Picking up on my cue, because I knew he was cumming, I wrapped my mouth
around it, and holy shit, these weren't the few little droplets of clear
stuff I made...this was a goop-shot, then another goop-shot, then a third
goop-shot, of bleachy-thick BOY SPERM, and it surprised me so much and it
tasted so hot, I was sucking and swallowing it before I had a chance to
decide whether I liked it or not.

(Note to future historians: I did).

I don't know what we did after that. It's all a blur. Steve says he took me
to McDonald's and we had vanilla shakes, but I don't think I've ever had a
vanilla shake in my life, so I have no idea what he's talking about. The
fucker's romanticizing us again. Trying to make himself look good after he
orally sodomized the younger kid in the park that day. Asshole.

Anyway, smacking my lips and gulping it down and deciding I damn sure liked
what Steve Carson had to offer, we sure as shit met at the park again the
next day after school. And the next day. And the day after that. And
symbolically, I'm still meeting that dumb fucker at the park after school
over 20 years later. He's right here waiting me to finish sending this
email to you.

"Wrap it up, Alex!" He STILL calls me Alex. GRRRRRRRR!

That was my first boy-boy masturbation memory and first boy-boy
cum-swallowing incident all in one. A combination handjob blowjob that
would be repeated many times that year in that same smelly grimy bathroom
stall, until Steve Carson and I got brave enough for sleepovers at each
other's houses the next year.

And by halfway through THAT year, my mom and Steve's mom were already
saying, "Awww, aren't they sweet together?" and about two months after
that, Steve Carson and I both found out what my sweet little bubble butt
was made for. And I'll give you a hint. It's an entrance, not an exit,
pal. Christ, could he enter that thing. Still can. And masterfully.

Anyway, Zachyboy, I'm 32-years-old now and Steve is 33, and he thinks that
it's hot that I'm writing this to you. He thinks it's
filthy-dirty-excellent I'm telling you about us so we're archived here on
Nifty forever.

He likes your stories too, but mostly he likes the ones like Casey and
Pwince or Casey and Raven where the bigger boy gets the best of the littler
boy, up his butt and down his throat. Ha. Just like he got me back then, I
guess. Just like he's probably gonna get me in another five minutes.

Back then in middle school, I was Alexander Jonathan Fry. I was
12-years-old when I insisted Steve Carson call me Xander, but he
infuriatingly called me Alex every single time. He's the only person in my
life who ever got away with it.

Because what can I say? I married the dumb fuck.

Now my name is Alexander Jonathan Carson, and I'm 32-years old and Steve
and I have been together for 20 years.

He still drives me heart-poundingly wild sexually, and I'm still that boy
on my knees in that filthy stall servicing him at his command, and I love
the dumb bastard with all of my heart.

We went to high school together and college together and moved in together
and blah-blah-blah, happy ending together, we got married as soon as it was
legal. And he still calls me Alex, the hopeless dumb-shit fucker.

"Hey Alex," he just said. "Shut that laptop off and come to bed. I'm gonna
play Take a Gander at Alexander up your tight little boy cunt
tonight. Let's see if I can make you squeal like a Zachyboy story. Take off
your sexypants and let's pretend you're 12 again.

So, that's what we do, Zachyboy. A whole lot of fun and a whole lot of role
play. Little gay boys like me, we never grow up.

A special tight thanks from the bottom of my bubble butt for keeping us so
young. You don't know what that means to me. You've made me 12 forever.

Your fans, Xander and Steve.  Alex and Steve, I guess.  That fucker. You'd
love him.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 25. "Y" IS FOR YANCY

Dear Zachyboy, you old cock stroker!

Of course, we didn't call it stroking cocks or jacking off or choking the
chicken or hammering the hog back in my day. We just called it yanking
peckers. And you had to be pretty God damn good friends with a fella just
to talk about pecker yanking in front of him, much less reach down his
trouser shorts and do it to him! Christ Jesus, most boys would have died on
the spot before they yanked peckers with another boy!

Anyway, I read your call for stories on that sexy website everybody tells
me about. My grandson pointed it out to me. He likes perving on the young
ones just like I do, and he said, "Granddad, you need to send in the story
about you and Uncle Yancy when you were boys, and the Sears Catalog Hair
Squirts!

Well, I could never refuse my grandson anything, including things I
probably legally shouldn't talk about, so here I am doing his unholy
bidding, and before you get too excited, keep in mind he's 25 already, so
he's long past your prime, although I certainly nipped him in the bud while
he was still fresh. By way of full disclosure, his daddy doesn't give a
shit about boys, so it must skip a generation.

And I myself am 78-years-young this year, and if that's not enough to
depress the whole town, at least I'm the oldest horse's ass who'll send in
a pecker yanking story to this big conglomeration of yours.

Anyway, my grandson Trevor tells me he already sent you his boyhood yanking
story about a boy named Avery he knew up at Lake Davis – crazy little
kid who liked his nipples sucked and used to yank peckers with my grandson
in a rowboat. Apparently Trevor sucked his gooseberries and the two got
along just fine about a half mile from shore.

Trevor says, "Come on Granddad. Look here. See what it says. You GOTTA send
him Uncle Yancy and the Sears Catalog Hair Squirts!" And he shows me your
note on his computer, which I swear to Jesus would be the devil's own tool
if it didn't have so many God damn beautiful boys with their peckers
hanging out. Anyway, he showed me your note, which said:

"Wanted: True-life stories about your first masturbation experience with
another boy. Or your most unique and memorable one. Send them to Zachyboy
at the email address below for possible use in an upcoming Nifty
anthology. Anonymity guaranteed. Submissions welcome. Love you. Zach."

Well Zach, I'm not sure if I love you back yet. Let's be friends first. But
I can sure tell you about my first time with another boy, because it was my
little brother Yancy, and I yanked my pecker and I aimed it at his head and
I shot my hot Lordy goodness all over his Brylcreem-shiny slicked-back
hair. Just a little dab'll do ya, like they always used to say.

I'm old as the hills, Zachyboy. You'd need to get out your calculator and
you're abacus to figure out all the years I've been yanking what's left of
my pecker. Let's see. I was born in 1939, so that makes me 78 coming up in
July, which means it would have been around 1953 when this happened, when I
was 14 and my little brother Yancy was around 11. He's still alive and
well, by the way, and he reads all your stories, and he particularly wants
to lay some pipe to that little fella Fiji of yours who barks like a dog
and puts on the skirt.

But back to the two of us at 14 and 11 and the mess I made in his hair that
day.

Well now first let me say in my own defense, Zachyboy, I only shot the
Lord's own ball sauce all over my brother's hair because I was shaking and
excited and I wasn't quite sure where to shoot it.

It seemed bad manners to squirt it all over his face, (though apparently
not after reading your stories), but from where I was standing in 1953, and
where he was kneeling down, I had to put it somewhere. When the feeling
comes upon a fella, even in the old days, there's not much time to study
the map. Sometimes you just let loose and yo-ho, there she blows.

I should say for starters there was nothing good to yank peckers to back in
my day. There was no such thing as the Nifties back in 1953, and we sure
didn't have the Gay Boys Tubes and whatever else my grandson is always
showing me on his God damn iPad with the God damn peckers and the buttholes
all lined up like the goodies in the Dunkin' Donuts bakery case.

We just had the God damn Sears catalog, and if you wanted to look at dirty
pictures while you yanked your pecker, you better damn well like pictures
of ladies in their unmentionables or boys in their underdrawers, because
that's all there God damn was. Lucky for my sake, I happened to be a fan of
both.

I'd take that old catalog up to my bedroom after school and lower my pants
down and yank my hard pecker till the cows came home. I started yanking
about 12 with the 1951 Sears Catalog and I was still going strong with the
1959 edition when I graduated high school and went off to the service.

So around 14, I started developing a particular fondness for the boys on
the underdrawer page. Those were some pretty racy ads for my day. Those
boys all wore tight white t-shirts and plain white briefs that were tight
as can be.

I don't know exactly what Sears did with those boys' peckers because you
could barely see just a hint of a bulge where their goodies ought to be,
but their creamy skin and pretty faces were all I needed to shoot a whole
mess in my hanky, which I rinsed out later in the sink.

And about that time, I got to thinking if I liked yanking my pecker looking
at boys in the Sears Catalog, I sure as hell might like looking at the real
God damn thing if my little brother Yancy would be cooperative enough to
sit on the floor and pose like the pictures in the catalog. It'd be like
having all those God damn boys come to life in my bedroom, since after all,
God damn it, both our underdrawers came from Sears.

So sure enough, when I asked him to do it, he just thought it was the
funniest God damn thing in the world to scoot out of his trouser shorts and
slip off his shirt, and he just stood there and posed for me like the
underdrawer boys on page 36, first with his hands on his hips like
Superman, then down on one knee like he was proposing marriage to my
pecker, which I don't mind telling you would have married him on the spot,
since it was already out and hard as a rock while I yanked away looking at
him.

Yancy was a good-looking kid back then, Zachyboy. He was a blond kid,
spitting God damn image of me, only my hair was darker. Dad always said
that Mom fucked the milkman, though not in those words.

Anyway, seeing my little brother down there on one knee in his
underdrawers, smiling up at me, nose about two inches away from my pecker,
holy cow, I was ready to churn the Lord's own butter in about two seconds
flat.

"Oh Christ Jesus, Yance! Here she comes! Sweet Betsy! Here she comes!"

And since I didn't have my hanky handy, God damned if I didn't aim at the
first thing handy, his shiny little blond head of Brylcreem! Holy sweet
Jesus! Out shot my pecker sauce in one, two, three big glops all over his
hair, and a runny little fourth one squirted out right down the part on his
left hand side.

"Hey!" he hollered. "You just shot your goober-doo in my hair! No fair!"

"Comb it through," I told him, handing him a comb from my
bureau. "Nobody'll notice a thing."

And sure enough, that night at dinner, his hair was combed and shiny as
always – me and Yancy were always clean-cut kids – and he ate his
pork chop and baked potato with his Green Giant corn on the side, and our
mom and dad never even suspected he was sitting there with four squirts of
my nut sauce in his shiny little pompadour. A little dab'll do ya!

Well, let's just say, that's all it took. That started up a whole God damn
era of me and my little brother Yancy reenacting practically every God damn
picture in the Sears catalog for the next four years. As Yancy got a little
older and started shooting the nut sauce himself, sometimes I took the
kneeling position and sometimes he did. And things really got creative when
we started acting out the ladies on page 24 through 26.

And as for letting loose as a goose in each other's hair, kids didn't bathe
five times a week back then, so shoot, we'd go days with each other's sperm
slicked back in our hair, and thanks to the Brylcreem, and in later years,
Vaseline Cream Hair Tonic (Contains Veritol! Enriched with Lanolin!), no
one was ever the wiser.

Oh sure, we'd get little flakes like we just had an egg shampoo sometimes,
but Christ Jesus Zachyboy, it was the 1950's and everybody had dandruff, so
nobody ever gave a shit. He'd be sitting there in his 5th grade classroom
with four-days of my built-up gunk in his hair, still thinking about
pulling girls' pigtails.

Well that's my story about yanking peckers with my brother and shooting the
cream sauce in his hair. I hope you can use it in whatever it is you're
trying to build. That's not as far as we went of course, but my grandson
tells me you only put the call out for pecker yanking stories for this
conglomeration, and I better keep the cock sucks and the butt fucks to
myself for the time being.

Roger Wilco, Zachyfucker, but if you ever branch out, you just give me a
holler and I'll have plenty more Yancy stories to pitch in, because that
little fella could suck a cock and spread his butt cheeks apart like
nobody's business. I know you're a smelling fella and you'd faint dead away
if you'd ever caught a whiff of his spicy little possum.

Just for posterity and to get your pecker in a commotion, I should mention
I also yanked my pecker plenty of times smelling his underdrawers. He could
pack a fine aroma in those things from age 9-on-up. I've read quite a few
of your undersniff stories, and shoot Zachyboy, you act like you invented
it. Hell, I was huffing my little brother's clam tracks half a dozen
presidents before you were born.

Well, that's all I've got, so I guess I'll wrap it up. I've been reading
your stories here in the Nifties for quite some time, and you do a fine
job, and I see you've got yourself marching straight through the alphabet
with your "Andy in the Attic" and "Barrret in the Bathtub" and
what-have-you. I'm not sure what it is about the ABC's that gives you such
a thrill in your pecker, but I guess we're all pleased you have a hobby.

This conglomeration here, Zachyboy, you ought to just call the whole crazy
mess "Yanking in the Young Years." My grandson's story about sucking that
little fella's nipples up at the lake, and me shooting the white hot
bejeezus out of Yancy's headful of Brylcreem, and whoever else contributes
to your nonsense.

Why, you ought to call the whole shooting works "Yanking in the Young
Years," because I'll be God damned if those weren't the best God damn years
for all of us to yank our own peckers, and any other peckers we could get
our God damn hands on.

Keep on writing there, you crazy old pecker yanker, and we'll be out here
doing the Lord's own work and reading your nonsense until we all drop dead
of old age with our peckers in our hands.

Until we do, God damn it, me and Yancy say thanks for the yanks!

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 26. "Z" IS FOR ZACHYBOY

Well, what the fuck. I'll do one too.

You made it this far. You might as well watch Little Zachy yank, too.

"See if you can reach a hand down your pants, Zachyboy," my cousin Mike
said to me once. I was 5 and he was 11.

"Come on, Zachy. Squeeze your little peter-pecker. Can you squeeze it a lot
and make it all hard?"

That's my first memory of masturbating. Just squeezing it really, to please
an older cousin who, five years later, I wanted to fuck me.

"See if you can reach a hand down your pants."

That's where it always starts, right? Someone, somewhere in your life wants
you to see if you can reach a hand down your pants.

= = = = =

My masturbation memory is about hidden smoking and sex behind the barn. I'm
14 in this memory, and the kid I'm with is 13.

I haven't smoked for ages, eons, but I've always found pictures of
cigarette smoking boys very hot. Me and my friends all smoked from age
10-on-up, way too secretly and way too much. I've still got a picture of me
smoking at 10. Frayed and faded. I lived decades before digital. But there
I am 10, and smoking like a chimney. Jesus, I'm pretty. Even I want to fuck
me.

Fast forward, 14 years old.

Clandestine cigarettes behind the barn and clandestine sex play behind the
barn are very much tied together in my mind. Stolen moments and stolen
smokes. Boosted packs of Marlboros from our parents or fearlessly purchased
from the cigarette machine at the local laundromat for 60 cents a pack.

They were connected forms of naughtiness. My friends and I went up behind
the barn to smoke, suck and fuck. And cigarettes were foreplay. With new
kids, cigarettes were the litmus test.

My theory was this:

If you can get a kid to smoke with you, he's already corruptible. A kid
who'll smoke with you and swear with you is also a kid who'll piss in front
of you. And once two boys piss in front of each other behind the barn and
comment on each other's cocks (and believe me, I always did), taking those
dicks out later and jacking them in front of each other, or FOR each other,
is already a done deal. At that point, it's just a matter of perfecting the
timing.

Smoke. Swear. Piss. Jack.

It worked like a charm every time. It was fucking universal.

The time I'm remembering now as I add my own memory and wrap-up this
massive stroke fest was particularly memorable because it happened so fast
from start to finish.

I met this kid – MET him, full strangers, we'd never even talked before
– yet, less than two cigarettes later, maybe TEN fucking minutes, he had
his pants down around his knees behind the barn, and I was stroking his
13-year-old cock with lotion, and he was shooting cum on my hand. Watery,
shiny boy drizzles. Glorious. From strangers to semen in less than 15
minutes. A record-breaker even for me.

I'd gone up behind the barn to smoke and meet my neighbor Matt, who was
also my best friend. We'd been messing around since we were 9 and 7, and
now, five years later, we were pretty damn good at it.

I expected to see Matt where he always was after school. Behind the
barn. Smoking, waiting for me. One hand already down his pants, squeezing
himself, edging himself. Hard and waiting and ready to play.

"See if you can reach a hand down your pants, Zachyboy."

"Come on, Zachy. Squeeze your little peter-pecker. Can you squeeze it a lot
and make it all hard?"

"See if you can reach a hand down your pants."

But this particular Wednesday, Matt wasn't there. It was another kid
instead. A tough kid from a grade below me. I knew his name was Kyle
Drake. I knew "of" him, but I didn't exactly "know" him, all right? We'd
never talked before. I considered him a "bad" kid. And in my world, bad
kids were good.

"Hey," he nodded, smoking a Marlboro. "Marbs" we called them. "Can I bum a
Marb?"

"Hey," I nodded, lighting one up when it was offered to me.

"You're Zach, right, man?"

It was the late 1970's. Nobody called anybody "dude" or "bro" back
then. Everybody was "Man."

Kyle-Man. Zach-Man.

"I'm Kyle," he said, offering me a handshake, which I took and returned.

"Yeah," I said. "I've seen you at school. You live around here?" I was
confused.

"No," he said. "I'm friends with Matt."

"Oh. Right."

Somehow, it never seemed to occur to me that Matt, two grades below me, had
his own circle of friends that didn't necessarily include me. We were
neighbors and friends and five-year ass buddies, but at school, I was in
8th and he was in 6th and never the twain shall meet. Kyle was a 7th
grader.

"Matt said you guys come up here and smoke. Hope you don't mind if I hang
out."

"Free world," I shrugged.

We took a couple of hits. Marbs were good. I liked menthols, but you didn't
dare smoke those in front of a new kid, or he'd tag you as a pussy for
sure.

I craned my neck down the field toward Matt's house to see if he was
coming. It was weird to be up here with Matt missing. Kyle noticed.

"Oh, Matt's not coming. He had to go somewhere."

Go somewhere?

That was bullshit, of course. Matt didn't have to go to jack shit. Matt had
simply brought me a new boy, like he'd already done so many other
times. Matt was like my faithful pet cat, and bless him, he was leaving
another dead mouse on my doorstep.

I'm sure he'd told Kyle at school if he wanted to get his dick sucked or
jacked off by another guy, I'd be the helping hand to seek out. And then
simply told him where our barn was. So, fuck. Kyle, 13-years-old and all
hormones, was good and ready. Here he was, wondering how to get me to do
stuff with him. Even when the sex play is a given, there's still a fine art
to coordinating the seduction. Boys have protocol.

And of course, from my standpoint, I was ready to go. New boy, new
dick. Thanks, Matt! So, lucky for Kyle, I was already standing up there
smoking with him, two minutes after meeting him, wondering how to get the
festivities started. Bad boys rarely shilly-shally, my grandma used to
say. See if you can reach a hand down your pants, Kyle.

Kyle and I talked and smoked a couple of cigarettes. We swore. We spit on
the ground. We tried to sound tough to each other. Both posing, both
needing relief. If you honestly knew how many of your 13-year-old friends
would have let you jack them off when you were the same age, you'd trip
over your credit limit trying to buy the first time machine.

So, me and Kyle, we stood there and smoked and acted tough. The topic
inevitably turned to girls in school. Which middle school girls had the
nicest tit buds. Which girl's pussies we'd like to finger. Which girls had
already been fucked and by whom. Which girls gave head, as far it was
rumored. Who we'd like to fuck the hardest.

It wasn't difficult to notice his cock was already getting hard and so was
mine.

Guaranteed fact. When two boys privately smoking cigarettes up behind a
barn start talking about fucking girls until their dicks get hard, no
actual girls are ever required.

"I gotta piss," Kyle said.

And bam. That's when I knew we were going to jack off.

The "I gotta piss" ploy is the oldest one in the book. I'm fairly sure I
had it copyrighted back then.

"Me too," I nodded.

We ground our cigarettes out and took our dicks out. Mine was about 3/4ths
erect and his was a little harder. Mine was a little longer than his, but
he had a nice fat one. It had some girth to it. Mine was darker, his was
lighter. I instantly wanted to worship it in a dozen filthy ways.

"Nice," I told him casually. "You got a nice one."

I was never one to mince words when a cock showed up on the scene.

"Thanks," he said, not particularly embarrassed. "Yours is nice too. Big."

"Ever get yours sucked?" I asked him, and I watched his cock jump a
little. It twitched before his pee flow started when I mentioned oral.

"A few times," he said casually. "Girl cousin. Kind of a whore."

"Any port in a storm," I told him.

He nodded at me but furrowed his brow. I don't think he knew what "any port
in a storm" meant.

"Matt says you guys do stuff," he said simply, coming right out with
it. "He said you'd probably do stuff with me if I came up here."

"Hey Zachy," I heard my cousin's voice say. "See if you can reach a hand
down your pants. See if you can squeeze your little peter-pecker."

I smiled knowing this boy was a Go.

"Matt told you we do stuff? That fucker."

Kyle looked panicked at first. Thought I was mad. But when I grinned and
said, "Jesus, you could have warned me, fuckers," his relief was
instant. He knew he was off the hook.

I looked at his dick and he looked at mine. There was an unspoken
hungriness. All it needed was permission.

"Wanna jack off a little?" I asked him fearlessly. I'd asked that same
question to a dozen boys by now.

"Sure," he said instantly. I could hear his sigh of relief. "I'm already
hard."

"Duh," I said. "I'm looking at your dick."

He giggled. Honestly giggled at that. Lord, it's so fun to make a tough boy
giggle. As tough as they try to be, it still sounds little-boyish.

He started jacking. I started jacking. I watched him lick his hand once,
then twice, then a third time.

"Damn," he said. "My spit's not thick enough today. It's thin. Damn."

He was jack-wincing. Irritated and uncomfortable.

"Want lotion?" I asked him.

"You have lotion?" He looked incredulous anyone would have such niceties
behind a barn.

I took a small travel-size bottle out of my jeans pocket.

"I always have lotion," I shrugged. "It pays to come prepared."

"You a fag?" he asked me, but nicely, like he was asking me if I was
left-handed.

"No. I just like to cum a lot."

He giggled again. I uncapped the lotion.

"You want to put it on yourself?" I asked him, "Or do you want me to put it
on for you?" (No time like the present, right?)

He blushed deep red, but his answer was immediate. "You put it on for me."
I could tell this boy had never been jacked off by another boy before. If
you've done it before, you don't blush anymore.

I slathered my hand with Jergen's unscented and stepped forward and took
his cock in my hand. It was hard and hot and I squeezed it for a minute. I
could feel his pulse. His heartbeat blipped in his dick. He sighed and
leaned back against the barn.

"Jesus, Zach-Man. Fuck, that feels good."

He closed his eyes and I slowly stroked him back and forth.

I almost hated to lotion him up, because once you put lotion on a guy's
dick, so much for sucking him off midway through it without a funny taste
in your mouth.

But I figured, oh, what the hell. This was our first time jacking off
together, I probably shouldn't try for oral and ass right out of the
starting gate. I was content to jack him off with my right hand and jack
myself off with my left. Years of doing this with Matt had left me pretty
ambidextrous.

"You and Matt do this too?" he said, reading my mind with a husky voice.

"Yeah," I said. "All the time."

A short pause. Then a dirty query.

"What else do you guys do?"

His dick jumped in my hand when he asked the question. He excited himself,
just asking me.

"Everything," I told him honestly. "We do all of it."

"Oh shit," he whispered, and I could feel him grinding into my squeeze,
turned on by the revelation.

"You ever suck his cock?" he said in a quiet voice.

I leaned into his ear and answered him kind of low and dirty. "Yeah, I suck
his cock."

Then I squeezed him harder. I squeezed him like a whore. "I like the way it
tastes."

He moaned and closed his eyes again.

"Oh shit. You suck him. And he sucks yours?"

"He sucks me great," I told him, jacking him faster. "He sucks me like a
girl."

He whimpered. Actually whimpered at that one.

"You guys ever go all the way?" his voice was coming in ragged breaths
now. "You know. Butt fuck and stuff?"

"Yeah," I leaned in and whispered in his ear. "I butt fuck him good."

He moaned, "Oh fuck. Oh fuck. You guys do it."

"I do it to him hard," I added, jacking him faster.

"Oh fuck," he whispered. "I'm getting close, Zach-Man. I'm gonna get the
feeling."

"You gonna cum?" I teased him, needing to be sexy. "Cum for me? Like I cum
inside Matt's wet little asshole?"

"Oh fuck," he whispered, shaking and ready, trying to hold back. "How do
you fuck him? Doggie style? Stomach?"

"Stomach," I told him. And I could tell by his breathing, he was really,
really close now. I nodded toward the grass a few feet away. "He lays down
right there and I fuck him in the ass. I cum in his ass right there on the
ground."

"Oh fuck, oh fuck. Does he like it? Does he let you?"

"He lets me fuck him hard," I whispered. "I fuck him as hard as I can and I
blow my load up his ass."

"Oh God, OH FUCK. OH NGGGGGGGGH! OH FUCKKKKKKKK!!" And he twitched and
froze and let loose with a slimy sheen that oozed out of his dick. He was
trembling all over. Sweaty on his forehead. I let him come down from it,
then nudged him and pointed down at my own dick, hard, red and ready.

"Watch," I ordered him, stroking mine harder, picking up the pace and
aiming it at his.

"Do it," he said, jutting his dick out toward me. "Get your feeling all
over my cock."

The sight of his stick, shiny with boy cum was all I needed to tense up. I
touched my dick tip to his, piss-slit to piss-slit, and the dick-kiss was
electric. I fired off almost instantly. Gobs came out and burbled over his
mushroom as I bellowed out a "OHHHHH. FUCKKKKKKKK."

"Jesus Christ," he said in awe. "That's a lot of sperm, Zach-Man. I can't
believe you put that much up Matt's asshole. Fuck."

I took our combined cum in my hand, coated my palm with it, lifted his
shirt and rubbed it all over his stomach and tits. He gasped. He
shivered. He'd be glazed-frosted as soon as it dried.

"Oh fuck," he whispered. "That's nasty. That's sick, man." But he didn't
make a move to stop me.

We stood there breathing heavily until he hitched up his pants, reached in
his pocket and pulled out a Marb. He handed me one. We lit up with my Bic
lighter. Solid red. Almost out of fluid.

"What did you say when you were going to cum? I asked him. "What did you
call it? Getting the feeling?"

He blushed. "Yeah. Sorry. I've called it that since I was little."

"I like it," I said. "It's hot. It's perfect. I'm gonna put that in a
story. Get the feeling. Gotta write that one down."

He laughed. "Write it down?"

"Yeah," I shrugged. "I write stuff down. Sex stuff that happens. I like to
remember it all. Details and stuff."

He looked amused. He also looked at me like I was partially an idiot. If
the shoe fits.

"You're gonna write down about us jacking off up here?"

"I'll change your name," I shrugged. "Nobody'll know it's you."

He looked puzzled. "Seriously?

"Yeah. Seriously."

"You write down sex?"

"Uh-huh. I like to remember it. Stuff like this makes good stories."

"Yeah, but what would you ever do with them? Why bother?"

"I don't know," I told him. "I just hang onto them. Who knows," I
grinned. "Maybe I'll publish them all someday."

He laughed. "You're crazy, Zach-Man. Who'd ever want to read some dumb
story about two kids jacking off together? Shit, man. That's
crazy. Nobody'd ever publish it anyway."

I just shrugged and smiled to myself. "You never know. It's a big weird
world."

He took a final hit off his cigarette, inhaled deeply, dropped it on the
ground and smashed it out with his foot.

"Come on," he said, looking at me lustily. "I wanna go again. Get the
lotion out. I want one more."

I nodded and unsnapped the cap. Maybe I'd lead the dirty talk this
time. Put my lips real close to his ear and tell him to lay down in the
grass. Lie down on his stomach like Matt does, cooperatively, while I fuck
his little ass. Maybe I'll tell Kyle I want to fuck his little asshole
too. I did, by the way. But that's an entirely different anthology.

"Sex stories," Kyle grinned under his breath, still amused by The Idiot
Zach.

He took his dick back out and it was a glazed, sticky mess. Already
beautifully hard again. I doubt it had even gone down. "Gonna write a story
about this cock, Zach-Man? Gonna write a best-seller about this handsome
fucker?"

I lotioned my hand, grabbed his cock and listened to him hiss when I yanked
on it roughly.

"You never know," I smiled as I squeezed him. "The future's kind of
limitless, right?"

He couldn't answer at first. He just melted into my handshake.

"Whatever," he said finally. "Less talk, Zach-Man. More jacking, less
talk."

"Right," I nodded and gave him a wink. "On with the show."

= = = = =

So, that's who am, I guess. Nobody special, really. Just one more dirty boy
up behind the barn with a Marb in his mouth and a pecker in his hand. Or if
I was lucky on any given day, a dick in down my throat or my cock up a
butt. Because yanking in the young years always turned into other stuff
too, way more advanced and way more enjoyable.

But yeah. Undoubtedly. Those were the glory days. Boyhood mutual
masturbation was filled with newness and danger and the sweet, electric
forbidden grunts and squirts that lit up my life and dripped down, gloppy
and white into the hay.

Those stories became the unforgettable literature of my own weird
world. And here I am still writing them down for you guys, because I just
can't get past my past sometimes.

Whether it's your history, my history, it really doesn't matter. Our first
wild playtime haunts us, fills us, delights us, defines us. I'm sorry
mine's not prettier. Or I'm sorry if mine's too pretty, depending on your
vantage point. I yam what I yam. The Popeye of boy porn. Dry cums or wet
ones, give me a can of spinach and we'll see what muscle pops out.

In the meantime, thanks for reading me with faith and regularity. If they
ever build that time machine I keep hoping for, go back to your own
childhood and wait for me.

Watch from your bedroom window until that moving van pulls up across the
street.

See that kid rolling his bike down the ramp, a little bit grungy? A little
bit rough? I can almost promise you, that's going to be me.

I've got the lotion and Marbs in my pocket already. See if you can reach a
hand down your pants, baby. Squeeze your little peter-pecker for me and
make it all hard.

That's the way to do it. We're gonna be great friends, the two of us, I can
feel it already.

Great friends always, yanking in the young years.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

THE END

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

This collection is dedicated to my irreplaceable friend M.

We would've had such an amazing childhood together.

I love you, my friend.

You're my anchor, my goodness, my comfort and my keep.

Zachyboy
April 1, 2017
z.blake@tutanota.com

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #