Date: Fri, 28 Sep 2018 11:54:29 -0500
From: MC VT
Subject: Silkies (Bi-Inc)

Silkies
 ©MCVT2017 MCVT 2017 September 5, 2018

Vignettes; old man tells three tales about sexual enlightenment. (Inspired
by AB.)

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Adult Content; 100% Fiction, Mb, ped, spank, hum, mast.

=============================================================================

Six Decades Ago:

Two major events mark my own sexual enlightenment when I was young.  It was
spurred by the hygiene class -- the coach talked about jerking off while
the pimply-faced boys giggled and snorted.  He kept it brief, knowing the
older boys were up on things from their brothers.  I only had sisters and
was late to develop my "secondary sex characteristics," and ran a deficit
in my sexual prowess department.  But I was flying solo, sputtering toward
manhood on all cylinders.

Being a creative kid, I found through my adolescence and teen years I could
get off between the mattress and box springs of my bed, but my heavy teen
loads left a clear track.  Mom changed the sheets -- she'd find all that
dried spunk.  I got one of those thin plastic coverings that come from the
dry clearer and grabbed a glob of "butch wax." (My father used to have a
flat top and kept it sticking up straight in the front.)  With the plastic
carefully placed under the mattress, I separated the two thin layers.
Voila!  Plastic pussy!  The goo was mostly petroleum jelly though I
preferred mineral oil -- mineral oil got really messy and ran out all over
the bedding so I had to adapt. Worked for me.

Mom changed the sheets every Tuesday -- on Monday nights I'd pull the knot
of wrinkled plastic and the mix of wax and spunk, use it to jerk off and
slip it into my book bag to toss on my way to school. Pitiful way to expel
my teen sexual frustration, but efficient.

Damn, I was a horny kid, but not horny enough for real sex. There was an
incident when I was seventeen that traumatized me.  Several of the gals and
guys I ran with got drunk.  One of the girls was hot on my heels, but I
really didn't know what to do.  I stuck my hand under her blouse and after
a few beers, she was naked.  There was a trace of blood on her panties -- I
didn't know what that meant.  As I look back, it was a good sign, but my
young mind went back to the flickering black and white films from hygiene
class.  In my mind, I remembered the cancers of syphilis and imagined her
hole as a gaping wound of spirochetes waiting to invade the slick skin of
the center of my universe.  Oh, god!  Sweat poured off me.

To this day, I remember her sweet, young face looking up at me and asking,
"Use the back door?"  Talk about stupid, I got up dressed and left through
the back door of her parent's house wondering why she turned so cold all of
a sudden.

I was a slow learner with relationships and intimacy; plastic and butch wax
weren't confusing.

***

Thirty Years Ago:

I found a woman to marry me, believe it or not.  She thought my naivete was
endearing. My wife gave me a child, though I had less savvy with kids than
I had with women -- my boy taught me a lot.

He was a pip!  The most peculiar child about certain things -- like he
needed his "silky."  That meant his mother's acetate half-slip.  She bought
several and he always carried her slippery underwear with him in public,
rubbing it against his face.  Kept doing it until it was time to go to
school.  My wife didn't care, and I was beginning to think he might get
bullied or beaten for his peculiar textile usages.

School started and we bought him the usual outfits; jeans, tee shirts,
trainers and tee shirts and briefs. All new, and he'd picked out the colors
and tried them all on.  He liked looking good -- lot of pride in his
appearance, but that soon became a hassle.  I was a young dad and had my
expectations of my boy, but he constantly complained about his clothes
rubbing and chaffing him.  Seemed every weeknight when I came in from work
the wife asked me to talk to "my son."  It went on for months!

One night, I was fed up with this whining and complaining from a
six-year-old!  He was rubbing my bad nerve.  I went into his room,
extremely irritated and asked him to show me the problem.  He was on his
bed, sent to his room by his mom, rubbing his silkie on the side of his
face.  With one swipe, I grabbed it away from him, threw it on the floor
and stomped it.

"Enough of this baby crap.  Time to grow up and wear the clothes I bought
you. I don't spend all day behind a camera to come home and hear your
complaints. And these silkies have to go!  You better stop complaining
about the clothes -- they're good enough for everyone else.  What's your
problem?"

The poor kid was in shock looking at my big foot on his sacred silky.
Then, his beautiful face -- the face that looked like mine distorted into a
horror mask and the screaming tears began.  "You can't do that to my
silkie, it's mine!"

"Who's in charge here" I picked it up and pulled a lighter out of my pocket
and started it on fire, went to the kitchen with my son running behind me
screaming.  "You don't need it any more.  You'll survive." I threw it in
the sink watching it smolder and turned the water on when most of it was
charred.

Through the burning, he was a royal mess yelling and jumping around.  I was
an anxious man back then, exercising my authority to eliminate his foolish
proclivities, but felt an immediate stab of guilt for being so abruptly
cruel.

My wife started screaming at me for starting a fire in the house.

Dinner didn't happen.

My son was in his room with the door closed and no one was speaking to me.
All of this over a scrap of polyester?  Around nine I couldn't stand it
anymore and rapped softly on his door, apologizing and saying I really
wanted to help.  He opened the door and went back to his bed, shoving
something under his pillowcase.

"Son, I want to help. What's this with the clothes and the silkies?  Tell
me what's going on."

He turned away from me.

"Mom says you don't have the words yet to describe things.  She wants to go
to a counselor.  What do you think?"  I sneaked my hand under his pillow
and felt something slick -- I pulled out a pair of his mother's panties,
and they were used at that!  Instantly, my blood boiled.  I held myself
back from throwing them on the floor -- he looked so afraid of me.

"Stand up son."  He stood in front of me.  I put the panties on his head
and let his face show through one of the leg holes and marched him to the
living room to his mother.

"Missing any laundry, dear?"  I asked my wife.  She glanced at the boy who
was humiliated; sniffling and crying.

"I don't care if he has my panties.  He always puts them back in the
hamper."  She went back to her book.

Grabbing the panties off his head, "You little perv."

He scowled, grabbing them by the elastic on the waist.  Tug of war ensued
with wife's dirty panties.  What kind of family did I make?

I let go as my boy rubbed them on his cheek.  He was sniffing the gusset
where the little spots were, I could tell.  Jerking him back to the
bedroom, I pulled the boy's pajamas off him, pulled the panties on him.  A
few minutes of a loud, wailing fight but I was bigger.  Over my knee and
through the panties, I spanked till my palm burned like the dickens.

Standing him up, I noticed his short nail was stiff, and he pulled the
panties up tight, twisting the extra fabric and tucking it around so his
package and butt were tightly held.  He marched around me and got into bed
curling himself in a fetal position away from me.

"Why are you making me so mad?"  I was fuming.

"I'm not making you mad.  I only want my silkies -- they make me feel
good."

"Why can't you feel good without a silkie?"

"My silkies love me."

"What?"

"You burned my best silky -- the one that loved me the most."

Little jerk. "Silkies can't love anyone, they're just fabric. Big boys
don't wear their mother's panties -- they wear their briefs.  Mine never
bothered me."

"Did you have silky briefs?"

"No. cotton. Now I wear my cotton boxers -- all men do."

"They do not.  I saw it in a magazine.  Men got really cool, slippery
underwear and I'm gonna get some as soon as I have some money."

"That may be a while -- no one's going to hire a first-grader."

"I don't care.  I'm gonna find some more silkies that love me and I'm going
to get some silky underwear and wear them every day and you can't stop me."

Damn hard-headed little fart.  "Alright.  I don't care if you never wear
any underwear, maybe I ought to take all your fine new briefs and give it
to some kid who doesn't have any."  I was getting more upset by the
moment. "And silkies don't love you -- they can't!  They don't have a
heart."

"Yes, they do!  My silkies love me!"

I turned the light off and slammed the door, I could still hear him telling
me he didn't care and his silkies loved him.  I sat down by my wife and
grabbed the remote and sure enough, in a few minutes a storm of small,
white briefs flew into the hallway, "Send `em to the boys in China, and all
that crappy broccoli soup, too!"

He slammed his door shut.

"Honey, why do you always argue with him like you're another playground
bully?"  My wife asked as she went to the hallway, picking up the tiny
underwear. "Get back in there and find out what you can substitute for the
silkies, or else we'll have to go to a counselor -- that spanking might be
considered abuse. Help him find out what would feel as good -- maybe
baseball or playing the piano."

"I'll put locks on your dresser drawers and the hamper -- that'll stop
him."

"No you won't go ruining the furniture again with that damn power drill.  I
refuse to make our home into a prison because your parenting sucks.  Go in
there and show our son you love him more than his silkies.  I don't want
any notes from his teachers about him not being able to sit down.  Go!"

No Monday night football for me.  I showered and trudged into the tyke's
room to find him rubbing the panties on his face. Cuddling in behind him, I
pulled him to me. "I love you more than silkie." Couldn't help but notice
that the he'd been sucking on the lace trim -- it was wet. "Boy, you gotta
give it up or you're going to be in big trouble with the police and the big
hairy guys in jail."

"Why? I'm not hurting anyone and Mom doesn't mind."

Instead of using an oppositional mode with force, I explained that women's
underwear was their private business, and carefully drew the lines between
what's his and what isn't his business, "And people will think you have
some serious problems -- I don't think you do."  I kissed him but noticed
he stuffed his mom's panties in his pajama bottoms and rubbed them on his
groin.  Watching, I held him closely and nuzzled his hair.

"Here." I pulled the panties from his waistband, "This is better than a
silkie."  I spit on my fingers and grabbed that short rod between two
fingers and my thumb. "Close your eyes."  I carefully stroked him, slowly
at first then I heard him stop breathing and make small sounds, barely
audible.

Reaching lower, I felt his tiny sac.  Warm and tight, my hands rubbed
between his legs, and I grabbed his package several times, squeezing
gently.  "Do you know I love you more than your silky?"

No answer.  This was new and he was confused -- it was the only thing that
comforted me when I was young. Turning him to face me, I moved us until my
face was at his groin and began something I'd never thought I'd do with my
own son.  Sucking both his balls and his penis in my mouth, I heard him
gasp.

"I love you."  In earnest, and trying to keep my excitement at bay, I began
sucking and biting him softly, my tongue tickled his slit and played with
his foreskin.  If I remember correctly, his hands came to my hair and he
was cooing at that point.  I had to slow down.

"Do you know I love you more than your silky?" I sucked on his tiny pink
glans.

No answer, he pushed my head back down on his smooth, short erection.  An
idea was forming, I sucked and nibbled everywhere a first-grader can be
ticklish. A quick jerk ran through his body and he pushed me away.

"Was that as good as a silkie?"

"Maybe..."

"Let's make a deal.  You give up the silkies and let me be your new silky."

"I want the cool underwear that feels like silkies."

"It's woosy. Could you wait till you're older?"

"You said underwear isn't everyone's business -- I want the cool kind."

Going into my bedroom I returned with a stapler, scissors and one of those
handkerchiefs that matched some tie I'd long ago spotted and tossed.  I cut
little squares out of the acetate fabric and stapled them inside his
briefs.  "Until you're bigger, this is going to have to work."

He was delighted with his junk rubbing against the slippery fabric all day.

I learned later all this crap about the silkies and underwear was probably
a ploy for my attention -- the kid needed to know what was going on and was
simply trying to comfort himself in an overwhelming world. He was smart and
made me think about myself differently -- he looked up to me and respected
me.  In my world I had to fight for that.  Maybe my ego needed him -- I
actually knew the answers to a lot of his questions.  We stayed close as he
entered adolescence and his teen years.  When I thought he'd rebel -- he
didn't.

When he needed my attention, he only said the word, "silky." That meant he
needed my comfort and I poured it out on him.  Didn't let him stay as dumb
as I was for so long. Sometimes in the car, sometimes when we camped, at
the lake.  The kid was as insatiable as I was and as inept at relationships
with women, but he did okay.

Late blooming, like me, he found a woman like his mother who appreciated
his peculiar ways and bumbling ways to make a home and a family.

***


Two Days Ago:

The screen door slammed shut as Penny, my daughter-in-law left.  I stood at
the sink watching her leave when I felt short, warm fingers sneaking up the
back of my thigh under my old, baggy shorts.

"I stink today -- can we hose on the porch?"  The small voice told me.

"How did that happen?"  I turned around and lifted my grandson to my face
to kiss him.

Looking at the ceiling, "I took a bath last night and I pinched it closed
-- so that makes two days."

"Delicious.  Get to the back-porch skunk boy."

I sat him down, salivating and went to get a towel, but decided we'd
air-dry instead.  Penny would be gone all evening and it was still hot in
the late afternoon. Then I went and shut the gate to the yard.  Privacy.

Shoes, socks, tee shirt and shorts thrown on the boards of the back porch,
and there was a naked boy standing in the sunlight -- his light hair
tousled and making a halo around his head with the sun behind him.  He
leaned over and pulled on the end of the hose.  I tossed my clothes on top
of his and we began our ritual.

I'd started it a month ago, but I'd taken on the boy's hygiene classes, of
sorts.  Yes, a boy needs to know and my son wasn't doing a very good job --
as usual.  Grandson learned about trimming fingernails and toes, using the
nail brush, and how to clean ears, and always behind them. Those foreskins
can get tricky, so that got my special attention.

From my lawn chair, I leaned over rubbing my face on his tiny groin.
Goodness, those tiny glands were in over-drive in the heat, and he'd saved
it all for me!

Grabbing his butt in my hands, I smashed my face into his tender groin and
sucked his short rod into my mouth, snorting and gobbling the way he liked.
He was laughing and grabbing my head, "We need soap!"  My tongue found it's
savory treasure under his thin foreskin and I moved on to his tiny sac.

"I'm using French Soap."  My lips and teeth gently mauled the boy's balls
-- what heaven!

"French soap?"  He was still giggling.

"Sáh-lee-vah - made it myself."  I continued back on his groin
making growling sounds -- he liked feeling the vibrations from my voice.  I
continued, massaging his butt cheeks and hogging-out on his smooth, tender
buffet until he was relaxed; transfixed by the sensations of pleasure my
tongue was giving him.

The afternoon was hot, I pulled away from him and he looked up at me.
"Water!"  I turned the handle on the spigot

This was my favorite part, but the hardest.  He just simply didn't like his
butt inspected.  Today, he'd learn better, I'd been preparing him.  He had
to hold his breath till my fingers were sure his tiny pucker and short
cleft were absolutely crud-free.  Boys can be careless in their rush to
play!

"Up on my lap, let's see how dirty you are now."  When I picked him up, he
opened his legs over my thighs.  Turning the water on to a nice speed, the
cool water hit us and felt good in the heat.

"Disgusting!  I can smell your butt already!"  He was squirting us between
our chests letting the cool water rinse the sweat and dust.  He moved the
hose and rinsed his shoulders then my neck.

"My butt's clean, I can't smell it."  He dripped the water on his short rod
and down between his legs.  But my fingers went to his hole while he ran
the water and I started rubbing his tiny pink muscle -- damn, it was tight.

"I'm clean!"

"Gotta check."  Slowly and firmly I wormed my little finger into the boy's
heat.  Miniature oven inside him, wet and slippery.  "Filthy!  Absolutely
filthy for a boy your age.  Are you ashamed?"

"No. I'm clean..."  My fingertip found his tiny prostate -- useless for
anything now except to learn how good it is to have one.  He moaned a
little and moved the hose so the water ran down his back and over his hot,
stretched muscle and my finger.  Interesting!

I began rubbing and he leaned back, looking into my eyes with his mouth
open.  I rubbed gently -- very short strokes, almost strumming.  When I
pressed and made a little circle over his glands, his jaw dropped and he
sucked in a breath making a little "f-f-f" sound with his lower lip against
his teeth.  He was stunned for a moment as I chuckled.

"You like that?"

"I think so."  His eyes glazed for a second and I chuckled and hugged him
close.

"You didn't hold your breath!  We'll have to do that again later. Let's
water the garden."  We went out naked in the sun, and he squirted me
several times just because he could and I let him play until the sun went
behind the thick row of privets.  Nothing more beautiful than a naked boy
in the afternoon on the rope and board swing under the mulberry tree.  He
was a beauty.  Slender, full of energy -- enjoying his freedom with his
short rod erecting in the breeze and cowlick bouncing along as he ran and
played.  Naked butt flinching and dimpling as he followed a garden snake.
Content to be a boy exploring his world.

I gathered a bucket full of tomatoes, cucumbers, tiny carrots and basil and
cleaned them off with the hose before we went in the house but stopped and
sat on the steps watching my sweet grandson in the last warmth rising from
the earth.  He'd found a scarab beetle and set it on a low-hanging limb.
Finally worn out, he came and sat beside me and we ate tomatoes like apples
and cucumbers like hotdogs.

"What's for dinner?"  He asked.

"Grilled cheese."

"Can I make my own?"

"Sure."  I looked at his feet -- they were grass-stained and dirty, he
sported dew drops of sweat on his upper lip.  "Need a bath."

Gathering our clothes, we headed for the bathroom.  I turned the shower on
and let him get in and slipped in behind him.

"Is there some more French soap?"  He asked, grinning.

"Later there will be."

"Are you going to check and see if my butt's filthy again?"  He asked as he
scrubbed between his legs.

"Now or before we go to bed?"

"You better check it now."  He grinned.


Fin.


Silkies