Gender: Male Age: Secret Location: N/A
Introduction: This is a true story that takes place during the late 1960s in a small, Midwestern town, and is actually more a tale of love than sex. It may be somewhat lengthy but, unfortunately for me, there is no sequel. Those expecting ravaging sexual exploits will be disappointed, and those who dislike male/male themes should just stop here. I published this once before as DWM826, but neglected to add any tags, my first attempt on this site, so I can assure readers that I haven't plagiarized the story, and you'll see that it explains my somewhat romantic style in later fictional stories I've written. As I consider whether to write any more or not, I thought I'd just re-publish my first story (amended a bit) and see what readers think.
I grew up in a small town that could have been something from a Norman Rockwell print. There was no Internet, video games or cable television. There were several boys my same age living within two blocks of each other, and we amused ourselves with playing ball, slingshot fights in the nearby woods, swimming and building roads with our toy trucks. It was also a very religious community and all of us were altar boys.
After finishing six grades of parochial school, it was time for two years of public junior high, now called middle school. Little did I know how much that would change my life. Throughout grade school, I was fairly popular with the girls since I had a nice voice and sang in the choir, as well as acting in the school plays. I was also a rather sensitive kid who never picked on anyone else. My “girlfriend” was Gail, and we used to pass love notes back and forth to each other; harmless, childish stuff. In sixth grade our class was separated into boys and girls for two hours of sex education, which covered nothing more than the basics of reproduction. The girls taught by a nun, the boys by a priest, of course nothing was said about masturbation, oral/anal sex or homosexuality. It was all very embarrassing and I had a hard time even looking Gail in the eye after the girls returned to the classroom.
I remember that sex remained a taboo subject that was wicked and therefore never discussed. However, that didn't stop a couple of the boys from somehow getting their hands on a few Playboy and Penthouse magazines that we took up to the woods and laid out on the ground, holding our own centerfold contest replete with voting. I managed to salvage a couple from the town dump, where the old man in charge yelled, “you boys don't want that! It'll just charge your batteries.” Well, we didn't mind our batteries being charged at that age.
Summer came and we all continued our boyish fun. I was 12 years old at the time and Peter, who lived across the street, was 10. I had known him for three years and we got along famously. Unfortunately for him, he didn't have any boys his own age living nearby, so even though he was a “little kid,” the “big kids” frequently let him join in. I sort of took him under my wing and we spent much time together just talking, perhaps a bit of idol-worship on his part. I rather liked the attention.
He was a slender, good-looking kid with shaggy '60s hair that was somewhere between blond and brown. His blue eyes were startling when he looked at you, and were accentuated by oversized lashes. Peter smiled a lot and his brilliant white teeth were remarkable. I somehow felt a closeness to him that I could never explain. He could be wise beyond his age, yet pout like the boy he was. Perhaps he was the brother I never had, or the brother I never was. It was a mystery to me. All I knew is that we felt happy together.
Summer came to an end and the new adventure at public school began. We rode the bus into the much larger city five miles away. I was dumbfounded the very first day. Could there really be so many kids in one school? It didn't take long for me to figure out that I was relegated to “nothingness” in this school. I wasn't a jock, rich kid, brain, nerd or doper, all of which seemed to comprise the major social classes within the school hierarchy. It was depressing.
The other great revelation was the physical disparity between people. I had never seen a real naked person before, and having to use the shower and locker room with so many other boys was mind-boggling. All in the same class, there were endless differences. The shortest guy in the class had a cock that hung down almost to his knees while the tallest had a tiny one. Most were circumcised, including me, but some were not. I had never seen such a thing and wondered if they had a caterpillar living on the end of their dick, perhaps something which needed medical attention; I didn't know about these things. A few had large, dark bushes of pubic hair while others had none. Their asses ranged from round, firm globes to flat and nearly non-existent. I was literally overwhelmed.
I was of average height with a slender build, having brown hair and eyes. Although I had at least a small patch of thin pubic hair, sadly for me, I was at the end of the line when they were handing out cocks and got what was left over, so I was undersized in that regard, which made my experience in public school that much worse.
I went home wondering how I could fit into this new world. I just wanted to crawl back into the capsule of security I had known, yet I knew it couldn't happen. I heard the guys talk about “choke the chicken, spank the monkey, yank the frank, flog the dog, pull the pud, slide the salami, box the clown, pound the pepperoni, wank the wiener.” As naive as I was, I had no clue what they were talking about.
Yet, that night I laid on my back in bed and couldn't ignore the hardness of my cock. Though small, it got so hard that I could hardly breathe. I thought about the Playboy centerfolds and the naked boys around me in school. My hand slipped into my briefs and I instinctively gave it a few strokes, after which I nearly fainted. I saw stars before my eyes, my hips bucked up and I stroked that much harder until I fell back with my first boy orgasm. I didn't know what it was, but I was afraid that, feeling the cream around my hand, I might have broken something. I got up and turned on the light to make sure I wasn't bleeding, and indeed, I was not.
I gazed with curiosity at the white goo around my hand, and tasted it to make sure it wasn't blood. It was bitter and salty; not actually much to my liking, but at least I didn't need to wake anyone else up to get me to the hospital. I turned the light off and laid down again in bed. I was almost mathematical in my assessment of what just happened. “That must be an orgasm,” I told myself. Is that really true? Can it be? My cock was raging again just that quickly. I stripped off my underpants and took it in my hand. This time I touched the small head of my penis and gently caressed it until I found the most sensitive area. I stroked it gently at first, then faster until I blew another load, much smaller than the first, onto my chest. After that, my poor cock was sore and I didn't know if I ever wanted to do that again. Feeling terribly guilty and sinful, I rolled over and went to sleep.
Life continued through this new adventure into the winter. My grade school love Gail, shy and demure then, cast me aside as she grew into a beautiful young woman with gorgeous eyes and stunning body,
choosing to align herself with a hulking jock that I could never be. The “gang” of us older boys continued to hang together, but it was clear that we were slowly breaking apart. Jim was built like a fortress and became the supreme football and baseball player, Mark grew like a weed and excelled at basketball, while Dale sank deeper into drugs. I remained the constant “nobody,” but at least no one picked on me.
We amused ourselves during the winter with building snow forts and staging huge attacks. One fort even had posts iced in the corners such that a rubber inner-tube could be stretched between them and used to hurl giant balls of snow or ice against the other. Peter was always there to help build, and I could tell by his bright smile that he loved being included in the fun.
Once, when our fort was overtaken, we fell down together dead, as was required by the rules, and then just lied next to each other as the victors ran away with our flag. It didn't matter somehow. I looked at him and said, “you know, we've lost the war and are dead.” He replied, gazing at me with those piercing blue eyes and bright smile, “I know, but I'd rather be dead with you than alive without you.” With that he snuggled close to me, insofar as our thick coats would allow. I was a bit shaken, but didn't want to make more of it than it seemed. After all, it was just fun, but his poetic thought stuck in my mind.
Winter passed and my first year of public school was behind me. One more left to go, and hopefully I could survive, already having convinced my parents that I would attend a private high school afterward. Our gang of buddies was now completely broken up as we took our separate paths. I had turned 13 years old and Peter was now 11. We spent a great deal of time together; mowing lawns, picking weeds in the garden, swimming and just talking. Being around him somehow changed me.
In mid-July, the heat was overwhelming. He came over to my house one day and asked, “what can we do to have some fun in this heat?” Neither of us had air-conditioning in our houses at that time, so hanging out there was nonsense, yet we were bored. I said, “let's get into our swimsuits and go up to the woods where we can hit the creek!”
My father owned 11 acres of woods less than a mile away from town that had a natural creek running through it. “We can ride our bikes there and cool off,” I said. He beamed his usual smile at me and ran back to his house to get changed. I ran upstairs to my room, tore off my clothes and put on my swimsuit. I then went downstairs and met him in the street on my bike, making sure I brought a large beach towel with me. Together, we rode the distance to the woods, sweating all the way. Once there, we just dumped our bikes and ran into the woods until we found the creek. I knew the area well, and a sandy curve provided the ideal opportunity to settle in and relax.
After cooling ourselves off for awhile, we both left the creek and walked the short distance to a shade-covered glen nearby. I spread the large beach towel over the ground and we both dropped onto it on our backs. We didn't say a word to each other as we just looked up at the trees above us. “What else can we do in this heat?” Peter asked. I thought for a moment, and said, “I have a game that we can play without getting sweaty. It's the alphabet game.” The idea had just struck me and I thought it might be fun. “I will write a letter on your stomach, capital letters, but you must keep your eyes closed and decide which letter it is,” I said. “I'll just use my finger and it may be tougher than you think.” He smiled at me and closed his eyes.
I told him that I would start with “A” as a practice letter, but the rest would be random. “Okay, I'm ready,” he said. I traced the letter slowly with my index finger on his smooth belly. “Got it?” I asked. “Yup,” he replied. “Then here we go,” I challenged. After writing several letters at random on his belly, and getting them all correct, I said, “let's make this a little tougher. I'll do a simple word.” He agreed and I wrote the word “CAT.” He got it. Nothing at this point was sexual to me. It was simply a fun game with my closest friend.
I then said, “too smart, so I'll give you a sentence that you must figure out. I will run the letters together, and will only tell you that the sentence has three words. Are you ready?” He nodded his head, tightly closing his eyes and ready to concentrate. My mind was trying to stump him, yet make it fun, but also careening in another direction. I used my finger to slowly and gently write “ILOVEYOU” in single letters on his silken body. I rolled over on my back and waited to see if he had figured it out. A few moments went by, after which he asked “is it I love you?” I told him that he was correct.
There was complete silence between us at this point. I was ashamed of myself, even though I had done nothing wrong. My mind was still spinning when Peter sat up on his knees next to me, and looked me straight in the face with those incredible eyes. “Did you mean it?” he asked. I was stumped for the moment and replied, “mean what?” “Do you really love me, or was it just a saying?” he asked. I couldn't move, frozen in time, Twilight Zone, but I finally had to accept that I wrote those words because they were true. “Yes, Peter, I do love you.”
I was afraid he would run away in terror and never want to see me again, call my parents or even the police. Instead, he settled next to me and nestled his head into my shoulder. I couldn't help but lean over and kiss him gently on the lips. This ran against everything I had been taught, but yet was so right. I desperately wanted to ask him if he loved me, but I didn't. If I truly loved him, that was not conditional on his return love. “Is it alright for boys to kiss?” he asked. I had no definitive answer for that, being only 13, so I said, “I think that it's alright, as long as they love each other.” With that, he pressed his lips against mine. It was an awkward, tight kiss much like mine was. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled his smooth body against mine. Our kisses became more natural, sensuous and gentle. My mind was racing and I knew we had to stop before something else happened. I broke our last kiss and said it was time to go home.
That night, I clutched my pillow as if it was Peter. It was clear to me that our friendship, at least on my part, had become something more. I knew little of sex, but I did know that I wanted to be with him physically. A million thoughts ran through my young mind. “Does this make me queer?” gay not being in use at that time. I asked myself why I loved him, and it was hard to describe. Perhaps it was his gentle nature, upbeat outlook on life, innocent view and that alluring smile. How can anyone ever put into words why they love someone? It just happens. I fell asleep dreaming of being close to him, but knew that I wasn't going to do anything to frighten or hurt him.
We spent the remaining summertime playing games with the other guys, although that diminished greatly as they pursued their own interests. When alone, Peter and I would just talk about things and, when we were sure that no one else was around, sneak a few tender kisses. One day in late August, just before school was about to resume, we were in my father's detached garage working on building a go-cart when Peter suddenly stopped what he was doing. He looked directly at me with those beautiful eyes and asked, “can we go up to the woods again?” I said, “sure, if you want.” My heart was pounding as I got the beach towel and met him with my bike. We made the short trip and found the same glen where we had first kissed. I laid the towel down as he walked to the sandy bend in the creek.
Although it wasn't terribly hot, he said “let's go swimming!” I replied that I didn't have a swimsuit with me, and he said, “who needs one?” Then, he slowly took off his clothes. I could hardly breathe as I watched him peel off his shirt, tennies and socks. He then lowered his shorts and underwear, kicking them aside. I stared in amazement at his smooth, hairless body. His young circumcised cock was smallish and his little bag was tight against his crotch. He gave me one of his great smiles and turned to walk to the creek, showing me his firm, smooth ass. I nearly passed out as I pulled my clothes off and joined him in the water.
We lounged in the waist-deep water and splashed each other until it was too cold to remain any longer. We both got out of the creek and ran back to the glen, throwing ourselves down on the beach towel. Peter was on his back and I used part of the towel to dry him off. I soon let the towel go, however, and began running my hands gently across his smooth body. This was all new to me, but yet it seemed very natural. I leaned down and kissed him on the lips, this time a deep, passionate kiss. I then began kissing and licking my way down his hairless chest and belly.
My heart was racing as I neared his crotch, and used my right hand to fondle his balls and small cock. I felt it begin to stiffen as I licked around the base, then saw the pink head turn almost purple. I didn't know such a thing was possible, but I instinctively engulfed his entire penis and began sucking. It didn't taste like anything special, but the feeling of that hard little dick in my mouth was amazing. I teased his cock head a bit with my tongue, fulfilling some of my dreams. I put his dick back in my mouth and sucked with a fury. He groaned as I sucked him, writhing about and finally thrusting his hips upward. He was gasping and finally let out a yelp as he had his first dry orgasm. I continued to suck until I felt his cock begin to soften, and then let it slip from my mouth.
I kissed my way back up to his face, running my hands across his smooth skin. He pulled me into his neck and shoulder, panting like a dog, and held me close to him. Surprisingly, I didn't even get hard during the entire experience. I was so focused on loving him and learning things for myself that I didn't care. Once his breathing settled down, he pulled my head back so that we were only inches apart. With those sparkling eyes, he looked at me directly and said, “I love you,” then pulled me into a long, passionate kiss. That was the first time he ever said that to me. I was in heaven as I kissed and held him close to me, yet wondering if this was right or wrong.
After a while of tenderness, he rolled me onto my back and continued to kiss me. Knowing what he was going to do, I laid back and watched him follow my lead. He kissed and licked my chest, then moved to my stomach. My cock was now getting hard, but I was frightened and excited at the same time as he neared my crotch. When he took my throbbing dick in his hand I thought I would blow right then, but managed to hold off. However, once I felt his lips around the head of my cock, then taking it into his mouth and beginning to suck, I couldn't stand it anymore. I grunted and blew my load of sperm into his mouth, grabbing hold of his head as I did so. He swallowed every drop as I shot volley after volley into his mouth. I was dizzy and felt as though I would pass out, yet I savored my first blow job with someone I loved so much. Once drained, he again drew close to me and we kissed passionately, then just held each other closely. He asked why he didn't shoot stuff, and I told him that I was older and that he would sometime soon.
School began in September, and Peter and I had little chance to see each other. We played outside, raked leaves and never spoke about our sexual experience. The snow began to fall in October, and sometimes he would come over to my house to play with the race car set I had in the basement. We would be having fun with the game, when suddenly he would stop, pull me into his arms and kiss me. Since my mother stayed at home, there was no chance of making love. All I could do was hold him close to me and tell him that I loved him.
One day in the middle of winter, he came to my house terribly excited. He said, “let's go downstairs right away.” I didn't know what this was about. Once in the basement, he showed his bright smile and said, “I did it!” “What?” I asked. “I shot some stuff!” he exclaimed. I knew that he had had his first wet orgasm. I couldn't resist and gently pushed him into a dark corner of the basement. I dropped to my knees and unzipped his jeans, fishing out his young cock. “I want to see for myself,” I said. It was dangerous, but I put his cock into my mouth and began sucking like there was no tomorrow. I only stopped long enough to look up at him and say, “don't make any noise.” I sucked on the hard, little shaft as he grabbed my head with both hands. He finally pulled his right hand away from my head and put his sweatshirt-covered arm into his mouth, muffling his grunts as he blew his small load into my mouth. I swallowed the boy cum and let no drop escape. I zipped him back up and held him close to me, kissing him gently. “You're one of the big kids now,” I said.
It was early May when Peter stopped by to see me. He didn't have the usual toothsome smile and his eyes were clearly sad. “What's wrong, Peter?” I asked. He then told me that his father, an English professor at one of the nearby universities, had taken a job in Indiana and that they would be moving in two weeks. He continued to explain, but it was nothing but background noise to me. I felt as though I had been kicked in the stomach. My mind went blank and I wandered away into the garage, where I stood staring at the walls.
I heard the door close behind me, then felt his arms turn me around, wrapping us into a crushing embrace. I didn't want to do it, fought against it, struggled, but my eyes filled with tears and I began to cry into his neck and shoulder as we held each other. He also started weeping, and soon we were engulfed in body-wrenching sobs. I kissed him passionately, knowing that this would never happen again. Holding his face with both hands, I said, “Peter, know that I will always love you.” He finally showed that bright smile again and wrapped his arms around me. We held each other until our tears had subsided, after which I gently kissed him and said “good-bye, my love.”
I never saw Peter again, and wonder if he still thinks about me as much as I do about him.
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