Date: Fri, 6 Jan 2006 07:09:54 -0800 (PST) From: dashiell walraven Subject: A Little Wakeup Call (M/b) Note: This effort is one of my first stories that I never submitted previously. It is much shorter than my usual fare, but I thought you might like to see some of my earlier work. Comments are always appreciated at dashiellwalraven@yahoo.com All the normal disclaimers apply, if you shouldn't read this, then don't! A Little Wake-up Call (M/b) by Dashiell Walraven I sat up in my bed, startled by an insistent whisper in my ear. I huffed out a heavy breath and scrubbed my fingers through my hair as consciousness returned with a thud. I squinted and muttered something incomprehensible as I tried to make out the features of the boy who had just awakened me. "I... I need your help," he whispered urgently, "I think I wet myself." I recognized the husky voice and matched it to the shadowy profile before me. It was Marc, a friend of my son Brandon, and he was part of a band of boys bunking at my place before we set off on a camping trip that week. "I'm sorry... wha?" I managed to say, still not quite back among the living yet. "I think..." he hesitated, I could hear the shame in his voice, "I think I peed the bed a little." "Oh..." I said with greater clarity, "Okay, go get your sleeping bag and we'll wash it with your clothes." I sighed as I swung my feet to the floor, slipped on my moccasins and shuffled out to the hallway, rubbing my fists in my eyes. I shook my head to clear away the remaining cobwebs and looked down to see Marc gingerly dragging his tattered looking sleeping bag out of the den where all the other boys were bunking. Marc's mom had along a discrete note of forewarning, along with extra clothes because of his continuing problems with enuresis. She said it was happening with far less frequency and not at all in the past few months. She hoped he was finally growing out of it. I walked him to the bathroom, where the washer and dryer were, and told him to take off his wet clothes. I picked up the sleeping bag from him and looked it over. "Looks like the bag has been spared," I said, "There doesn't appear to be any wet spots anywhere." I gave the bag a tentative sniff. Smelling nothing, I got braver and went in for a nose full. I was rewarded with nothing more than a slightly musty smell from the bag itself, nothing to indicate it had been peed in at all. I looked down to Marc, who had stripped off his flannels and was holding them for me to inspect. I put the sleeping bag down on the washer and held the pajama bottoms up to the light, and saw nothing. No tell-tale wet spot in the crotch, it all appeared perfectly normal. Looking back down to Marc, who stood before me unashamedly clad only in his flannel top, I saw his flaccid penis sprouting from beneath a dusting of straight, feathery hairs, which looked exactly like the whisper of down that graced his upper lip. I must have looked mystified. "See, right by the fly, that's where I did it," he said, pointing. I had to peer closely and I smelled it before I saw it. A dull odor redolent of buttermilk and chlorine bleach inflamed my nostrils as I zeroed in on the small, damp patch directly next to the opening of the button fly. I felt my own penis lurch as my sleep-deprived mind eventually grasped what had really taken place. "Tell me what happened, Markey," I said, "what makes you think you peed your pants?" He looked away for a moment, and then down at his feet. "Its okay Markey," I said, as I lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, "just tell me what happened." "You're gonna think I'm weird," he said, shuffling his feet. "Naw," I said quietly, "was it sort of like a dream?" He eyes shot wide and he looked at me like I was some sort of amazing mentalist. "Uhm... yeah... it was!" "Tell me what happened in your dream." Marc looked around as if to check for anybody else and then dropped his voice to a dramatic whisper. "I dreamed about you..." he stopped, hesitating, looking like he was about to cry, "and we were at the camp, and... and I needed to pee... but I had burned my hands or something, they were bandaged, but you took me to the latrine and you know... helped me... and..." His voice broke and he stopped. "How do you mean I helped you Markey?" I asked quietly. "You know... you stood behind me and unbuttoned my shorts... and you... uhm... sort of pulled it out... my dickey..." "Your penis...?" "Yeah, but I couldn't go... so you whispered in my ear and held my dic... uhm, I mean... penis. Your hand was so warm and I just got this really weird feeling and... I peed a little... I could feel it." I chuckled at that and sat on the john in front of him. "Come here Markey, let me have a look." He came over and stood before me, his nearly hairless penis bouncing in front of him. I took a square of toilet paper, and grasping the little tadger, gently pinched the head, spreading the opening at the tip. Therein glistened a white blob which I easily milked out onto the paper. Marc gasped as I did this, his member plumping in my hand. By the time I pulled the paper away, he was fully erect. "See this?" I asked, "That's semen and it's what came out of your penis tonight, not pee." "Semen?" he gasped. "You've heard of it?" He nodded his head in dumb fascination as he turned the blob on the paper and watched it sparkle in the bright bathroom light. Sure, he'd heard of it in some health class or other, but probably never quite understood how the stuff was made. Smiling, I tousled his hair as he looked up with his huge, gleaming eyes, his proud little cock point up between us. He took another moment to inspect himself. "I think I really have to go this time," he said suddenly. I stood up from the toilet and raised the lid for him as he took a splayed leg position before it. He stood there for a few long moments before announcing, "I can't; it doesn't seem to want to go." I chuckled, the poor kid was sporting some pretty serious wood and I doubted he would accomplish much in his present state. "You have to get rid of your erection; it is what is preventing you from going." I informed him as clinically as I could manage. He stood dumbly in front of the toilet for what seemed an eternity. "It won't go away," he said plaintively. "Maybe..." I ventured, "if you, played with it a little." I mentally kicked myself for suggesting to a twelve year old that he should jack off in front of me, what a smooth move that was! Still, he tentatively fingered his rigid little member some. In for a penny, I always say... "Do you ever, you know, rub it?" "Sometimes," he said matter-of-factly, "but it just makes it feel like it does now." He let out a little whimper, "I really have to go..." "Okay Markey," I said quietly, "calm down, we'll get this taken care of." I sat on the edge of the tub, took both his hands in mind and pulled over to look right into his sweet face. "Markey, I mean when you touch and rub your penis, do you ever get the feeling like you did in the dream tonight?" He shook his head silently, looking at the floor past his noiselessly pulsating penis, to his feet. I tucked a finger under his chin and raised his eyes to me. "It's okay to do that; it might help your erection go away. Wanna try?" Marc grinned as he nodded his head enthusiastically. He turned to the toilet and started to lightly rub his hand around his cock, closing his eyes and sighing deeply. Mesmerized, I felt my dick start to rise in my own pajamas and was thankful to be sitting down; the loose fitting material hid my erection. I thought he might be close because his breathing started to come in hitching gasps but I suddenly noted tears streaming down his cheeks and realized he was crying. "Oh my goodness..." I said soothingly, pulling him into an embrace. He hugged me fiercely and sobbed into my neck. I made quiet comforting sounds as I held him and ran my fingers through his hair and patted his back. For a moment, I was aware of a feather touch on the side of my engorged dick. It was Marc's penis, protruding through the open fly of my flannels as he hugged me, brushing my overly sensitive pecker. The breath whooshed out of my lungs as he clung even tighter to me. "Oh God," he gasped, "I'm getting that feeling again..." Marc repositioned himself and drove his throbbing pencil against me, causing it to directly parallel my own and rubbing its entire length along the base of my shaft, driving it skyward. Marc's dick pulsed against me and I felt his warm wetness squirt and land on my abdomen. He continued to thrust against me as the warm rivulet turned cold and ran down around my balls. Suddenly, and quite without warning, I unloaded my own blast into the leg of my flannels. I'm sure my eyes were wide with fear as Marc clung to me and his thrusting gradually faded away, still breathing heavily. Silently, I gathered my thoughts and wondered what to say to him. "Are you okay?" I whispered in his ear. He nodded silently and pulled away. A thin string of his semen stretched between us and finally snapped as we separated. He looked up at me with woeful eyes, blinking some of his tears away. "I'm so sorry..." he said, like a condemned man, "It was just like in the dream." I breathed a sigh of relief, Marc gave no indication that he was aware of my own ejaculation and I made no move to point it out. I gave him some personal wipes and told him that sometimes boys have these dreams and not to worry about it. That seemed to satisfy him as he cleaned himself up, put on his flannels and dragged his sleeping bag back to the den to resume his sleep with the other boys. For myself, I had to take care of some very immediate business at hand.