Date: Wed, 11 Jul 2007 20:58:55 -0700 (PDT)
From: Stage Bear <stagebear05@yahoo.com>
Subject: And He Let Me

And He Let Me
by Stagebear

As I look back on it, it could have been called a case of molestation, but
it happened to me, and I'm not sorry it did.

I guess he was no more than 25 or 30, but to my ten year old self, he
looked old...older than my brother Phil, certainly.

I lusted after Phil, as much as a kid my age could lust. It wasn't as
though I had some huge awareness of what sex was, but I knew what a penis
was...I just didn't know it was called that. It was a dickie. And I liked
to look at Phil's dickie. Phil was six years older than I, and his dickie
had hair around it, while mine remained bald. Phil knew I liked to look at
his dickie, I guess, because he never tried to hide it. He'd bounce around
after his shower or while getting ready for bed (we always shared a room).

But this isn't about Phil...that's a whole other story. This is about the
guy at the miniature golf course. I never knew his name. But the story, as
clearly as I remember it, it true.

This goes back quite a few years, when it was no big deal for a ten year
old to explore town by himself.  And it was a Jersey shore town, pretty
small and pretty laid back. The closest thing to a crime was probably some
occasional underage drinking (which I'd also get into, later). Just a few
blocks from where I spent every summer with my grandparents was GameLand,
an arcade with lots of flashing lights, games, a jukebox and a miniature
golf course.

I always saved my nickels to play pinball and other games, but miniature
golf was a dollar a game, beyond my meager means. After I tapped out my
nickels, I started hanging out by the jukebox, looking over the four foot
fence that divided the open air arcade and the golf course. That's when I
saw him. He was the attendant, the guy who took the money, handed out the
clubs and balls and generally maintained the "course". He watched me for a
bit, as he walked around cleaning up cigarette butts and the occasional
empty soda bottle.

"Gonna play?" he asked, indicating the course.

"Um, no," I replied, "no more money".

"Well, I'd let you play free, but then everybody would want to" he said.

"That's okay," I said. I was shaking in awe and a little fear. I wasn't
afraid of him, exactly, but of the feelings he was stirring in me. I
started to turn to go.

"Wait," he said, "how about earning a game?"

"Huh?"

"You can work for me, and earn enough for a game, or whatever." he
responded.

The idea of earning money was almost as appealing as the chance to hang
around this dark haired surfer type. "Okay." I said.

"Great, you can start by helping me clean up." I started to walk around the
fence to the gate. "Here," he said, and walked over to lift my slight frame
over the fence. I felt lighter than air.

"Okay," he said, flashing that killer smile, "let's start with the balls."

I giggled. I knew what balls were, both in the sports sense and in the
"you-know-what" sense.

"Golf balls, doofus." he said.

"Sorry," I said. "What do you want me to do?"

"Start by checking the shrubs. A lot of balls wind up in the bushes."

I knew better than to giggle again, but I couldn't help myself.

"Okay, smart guy. You seem to know all about balls and bushes."

I didn't; I just knew about Phil's balls and bush, but this guy thought I
was a man of the world. I puffed up a bit.

We went on like that for about an hour. I would help by ducking into the
shrubbery and reclaiming lost balls. Whenever there was a down moment, he'd
take a smoke break and we'd chat about nothing at all and sip Cokes.

Finally, I noticed the sun was going down. The lights of the arcade went on
and he had to turn on the pole lights illuminating the course. Although my
grandparents were pretty lenient, I wasn't supposed to stay out past dark
without checking in. I decided to risk their wrath rather than desert my
post as Golf Course Assistant, plus he still owed me enough for a game.

"I have to piss." His words startled me out of my deliberations.  Not just
that he spoke, but that he referred so obviously to bodily functions. We
didn't do that in my house. "Did that Coke go through you yet?" he asked.

"Um, yeah," I said, shyly. It really had, and I needed to go as well.

"Well, let's head over next door," he said, referring to GameLand. After
locking the door to the little hut at the entrance to the course, we walked
over to the arcade. A big "Out of Order" sign hanging on the men's room
door stopped us in our tracks.

"Well, little buddy, looks like we're out of luck here. Damn, I really have
to piss." He grinned and grabbed the area where his dickie must have
been. My eyes widened. "Tell you what, let's go out back. There's never
anyone around. I do it all the time."

I was flabbergasted. Not only was this grown-up man talking about pissing;
now he wanted to do it outside. I followed him out the front bay doors and
around the back of the arcade. He was right. It was deserted.

He strode up to an area where two walls converged into an "L" shape, and I
followed. He was wearing shorts, but instead of pulling down his zipper, he
opened up the waistband and then dropped his zipper.  He wasn't wearing
underwear. I guessed he swam in his cut-off shorts and just kept them on to
go to work.  The shorts fell to his hips, exposing his dick and balls.

To me, they were gigantic. Now, in retrospect, they were probably pretty
average. But to my ten year old eyes, and next to my ten year old dickie,
they were huge; bigger, even, than Phil's.

"Well, you gonna piss or not?" Again, his words startled me. Right here, in
front of him?  The idea was insane. But he had exposed himself to me. We
were buddies, co-workers. This was a man's world and I was a part of it. I
lowered my zipper and fished around for my dick.

"Just drop 'em, little fella. It's faster." he said.

And so I did. I popped the button on the waistband and down fell my shorts,
to my ankles.

"Whoa, buddy. No need to show the world!" he laughed.

"Sorry," I said, grabbing my shorts and pulling them back up a bit. I then
flipped the waistband of my white briefs under my balls, as I had once seen
Phil do. Only little boys fished their dickies out from the fly, I told
myself.

"Ahh, this feels great." my mentor said, as his piss splashed into the
sandy soil, watering the long dead beach grass and the occasional hardy
weed.

"Yeah." I responded. It was the best I could do, as I was shaking so
badly. I stole a glance or two as he pissed for what seemed like forever.

"It's okay to look, buddy. Guys check out other guys all the time."

"They do?" My voice quavered.

"Sure they do, especially at your age. Everybody checks out other guys. Go
ahead, look all you want."

I stared openly at his pissing penis. He was holding it between his thumb
and forefinger and, of course, I duplicated this hold. He twisted and
turned it a bit. "Get a good look," he said. I admired his dick for an
eternity. Suddenly he turned a bit and his dick was aimed right at me. Piss
splashed dangerously close to the wall where I was standing. I had long
since finished peeing and was now just hanging on to my little dick for
dear life. "Gotcha!" he laughed.

I laughed nervously. And then I realized I was still standing there with my
dickie out. I flipped the waistband back up and rezipped my shorts. My
"boss", however, wasn't quite finished.

"I'll wait for you back at the course." I said.

"Hang on, buddy, I'm almost done." His dick continued to spew piss and I
continued looking. The flow dwindled, followed by a few spurts as he flexed
his dick. He started to shake it off, but didn't put it away.

"Still lookin'?" he asked.

I couldn't think of a word to say, and my mouth was so dry, it didn't
matter. He shook it again, just a little bit. A single drop of piss clung
to the tip of his cut dick. From there, everything that happened took place
in a much shorter time than it will take to describe it. He shook his dick
once again, but this time it wasn't as elastic. It was growing a little. I
knew, by now, that such things happened, but only from word on the
street. The droplet of urine clung for a moment longer, and then ran down
the underside of his hardening cock. His dick was buried in a thicket of
dark pubic hair (I guess that's why I'm not a fan of trimmed guys
today. This guy had dark, thick pubes).

Before I knew what I was really doing, my hand reached out toward his
growing member.

"Whoa, kid. What do you think you're doing?" His voice was
different. Harder.

I recoiled as if struck. I had ruined my new friendship and lost my first
job, all with one simple act. Tears filled my eyes.

"Hang on there, little buddy. You just surprised me, that's all. Don't
cry. It's okay to look and joke around and stuff, but you want to watch out
about doing anything else." he smiled as he put his cock away and flipped
his shorts back into place. I felt as though someone had turned off all the
lights in the arcade.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." I repeated. I had a sick knot in my stomach. What
I wanted most, to touch another guy's wiener, was obviously bad and wrong.

The poor guy looked conflicted. I can only surmise what he was thinking. He
seemed to me, (and in retrospect I'm pretty sure I was right), about as
straight as a guy can get. His little swordplay act while pissing was
nothing more than an initiation into guy stuff, innocent messing around. I
wanted more. I guess he read my mind, or my eyes, or something.

"Kid, you shouldn't do this with a guy like me. I mean, I fooled around
with my buddies when I was a kid, but...oh, shit, this is going way too
far."

"Never mind," I said. I just wanted to get out of there, but I was rooted,
still staring at his crotch where his exposed dick had just been.

He exhaled, looking at me. Pity? Who knows? But what happened next shocked
me.

"Look kid, I'll show it to you again, if you want." I nodded quickly. "And
you can touch it, just a little, okay?" The reality of what he was
suggesting seemed to dawn at once. "Jesus, kid, if you tell anybody about
any of this..."

"I won't," I promised. (and I haven't, until now).

He didn't say anything else. He opened his shorts again and drew out his
penis. He looked me square in the eyes, giving permission.

I reached out and touched it as I had before, but I didn't take my hand
away this time. I stroked it from the head to the base and back. I was
enthralled.

He had to know that I was a gay kid, having his first experience with a
guy. Was he gay? I truly don't think so. Just a nice guy, giving in to a
kid's curiosity.

I followed my instinct and surrounded his dick with my hand. I felt it grow
and pulse a little as it had when he was shaking it. I found a simple
rhythm and began to stroke it.

"Okay, that's enough." he said, but made no further effort to stop me. I
continued to stroke his cock and it continued to harden.

"Really, kid. Do you know what you're doing?" he stopped talking, seemingly
aware of the last time he had hurt me by his abrupt tone.

A gem of clear white fluid appeared at the tip of his dick, just as his
piss droplet had perched there before. Whatever his sexuality, what I was
doing was apparently having some effect.

"Kid, you may be going further than you can handle", he said but again made
no physical effort to stop me. I looked at him. He looked sad, almost. I'm
not sure, to this day, that he wanted or intended to let me go as far as he
did.

No more words from either of us. I continued to stroke his dick. He kept
looking at me, but not, as I recall, with lust or anything like it. It was
more, I don't know, sadness or something.

By now, this poor guy's dick was rock hard. I sped up my stroke and he
began to breathe heavily. "I'm trying, kid," he said "Trying what?" I
wondered. As if he read my mind, he answered:

"I'm trying to give you a load. Jesus...I can't believe..." his voice
trailed off.

It was only a few seconds later that I discovered what he was talking
about.

"Here goes, kid," he said. His dick tensed in my hand, he thrust his hips
forward a bit and closed his eyes. He made sort of a strangled noise in the
back of his throat. And then it happened.

My mentor, my boss, my new friend, came in my hand.

The white liquid burst forth from his hard dick and hit my arm, my tee
shirt and ran down the back of my hand. He grabbed my wrist.

"Stop," was all he said. I immediately let go.

He tucked his dick back into his shorts as soon as I dropped it. "Go home,
kid," he said.

"But, I want to..." I was going to say play golf, but he cut me off. "Go
home," he said again, and left to go back to his job. And I went home.

As I said, the whole episode lasted only minutes. I saw him once or twice
again, but he averted his eyes. I went home a week or so later to my
parents. The summer was over.

So, why did he do it? Was I abused, molested? I don't think so. I wasn't
really ready for it, at ten, but I knew it interested me. Did he have a gay
kid brother or something? Was he trying to be sure my "first time" was, at
least, safe?  I have no idea. I can't come up with a neat little
ending. Because it was real, it was life. And life doesn't always tie up in
neat little endings.

Email me if you enjoyed the writing. Please don't suggest alternate
endings, though. I can't change the past. Stagebear05@yahoo.com