Date: Wed, 30 Aug 2000 15:32:32 -0500
From: S.T.S. <shawnst14@hotmail.com>
Subject: GMJ: The First Time (M/t)

GMJ: The First Time
by S.T.S. (shawnst14@hotmail.com)

* * * * *

Here's a story, true as I can remember it.  Names are altered to protect
the guilty (though there was little true guilt - hell, it was fun dammit).
Hope you enjoy.  Drop me a line if you do (or don't).

So ...

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away ...

* * * * *

GMJ: The First Time

"What do you mean you don't want to go?"  The puzzlement and irritation in
Ms. J.'s voice was clearly evident.  "You said you were going yesterday."

"I know," replied Geoff, her youngest son.  "But I don't wanna go now.  I
wanna stay here."

Ms. J. must have found her 15 year-old son's change of mind intolerable,
because she snapped at him in anger.  "All right.  Stay here then.  But you
stay in the house.  Don't go nowhere 'til we get back."

Geoff was none too happy with this pronouncement, and he sat down sat down
on the living room sofa, a sullen look on his tanned, freckled face, his
blue eyes smoldering beneath his curly, brown hair, his pink, full lips
compressed into a thin, frowning line.

"Fine," he spat.

"And none of that lip," his mother replied, as she made to leave the house
with his two older brothers Lee and Ray.

She looked at me. "You want to come with us?  Lee and Ray are playing in a
tournament in Graham this afternoon."

"That's all right, Ms. J.," I replied.  "I'll just stay here with Geoff and
watch some tv."

She gave Geoff one more exasperated look and closed the door behind her.

Perhaps I should explain that Ms. J. and my Mom are best friends.  Their
children had kinda grown up together (that's me and my four siblings and
Ms. J.'s three sons).  I'd spent lots of time at their house (our houses
are five blocks apart) and they at mine.  I am five years older than
Ms. J.'s oldest son, Ray, who is the same age as my brother and who was at
this time my best friend.  So it was nothing unusual for me to be there
that afternoon, nor for me to witness a fight amongst the boys or between
them and their mother.  I knew Geoff was pissed off and I decided to stay
with him rather than sit under a summer Florida sun watching softball.

They'd been gone maybe ten minutes when Geoff bounded up off the couch and
announced that he was going to take a shower. Geoff's grandfather and
grandmother lived with Ms. J. and the boys until they had to be put in rest
homes, so an announcement like this was intended to forestall any curious
questioning by his grandmother - who was not quite right in the head -
about what he was doing.  You kinda got used to it after a while (and they
were really loud, too, the whole kit and caboodle - it could be quite
deafening to the uninitiated - but there was never a dull moment in the
place).

Geoff gathered his stuff for his shower and went into the bathroom without
another word.  I stayed on the couch watching tv, which was to the right of
the bathroom door (the front bedroom, the bathroom, and the middle bedroom
all opened onto the living room - that's just the way the house was made -
lots of them were when this house was built; my grandparent's house was
like it, too).

A few minutes later Geoff opened the door to the bathroom wearing nothing
but a towel, drops of water glistening in his wet hair and on his shoulders
where he'd missed them while drying himself.  He walked into his bedroom -
the middle bedroom - and closed the door to reappear a minute later wearing
a pair of red gym shorts.

Back then guys didn't wear the baggy shorts favored by guys today.  These
shorts were a size too small for Geoff and hugged his ass tightly, clearly
accentuating the curves of an incredible ass, an ass I'd certainly taken
notice of in the past and which I noticed anew at that moment.  The hem of
the shorts lay about one inch down his leg from his crotch.  This was not
unusual at all - but it's familiarity did not diminish its affect on me.  I
looked and dreamed.

Geoff crossed from the bedroom door to the couch muttering - still angry at
his mother, still the aggrieved teenager.

"God, Geoff, you're way too upset over this," I said.

"I suppose," he replied.  "It's just that she pisses me off when she does
that!  There's nothing wrong with me not wanting to go watch them if I
don't want to.  Why's she got to make a federal case of it and then get
angry and then make me stay in the house?  You'd think I was two years old
or something."

I nodded sympathetically, though I couldn't feel what he was feeling
because my Mom gave me almost complete autonomy - I just had to let her
know where I was and she was fine with that.

"I understand," I said. "Tell you what - you want me to give you a back
rub?  You need some relaxing."

Took him about two seconds to say yes.

"That would be great," he smiled. "Let's go in the bedroom.  Grandma might
have a cow."

We got off the couch and walked into the middle bedroom, me first.  Geoff
closed the door behind him.  I didn't notice that he locked it (found that
out later - hmmm, who was doing what to whom?).

"What do you want me to do?" Geoff asked me.

"Lay down on your stomach."

He grabbed a pillow from the head of the bed, threw it on the foot of the
bed, and lay facedown.  I've never thought about it, but I have no idea why
he didn't just lay down on the bed the other way.  He lay with his hands on
the pillow cradling his head, his eyes closed.

"Not like that," I said.  "Put your hands out to your sides so your
shoulders aren't so tensed."

He did as I asked.

I sat beside him and looked at his face turned towards me, his brown
eyelashes against his freckled cheeks, lips slightly parted, brown hair
falling across his eyes.  Geoff was a very attractive young man. He had an
impish smile and twinkling blue eyes - and he loved to get into trouble.
Really.  Lived to make mischief.

Like his brothers Geoff was an athlete, yet he did not have their drive or
work ethic.  He played softball and tennis - though neither as well as his
brothers (Ray was the #1 singles player on the high school tennis team and
Lee was the starting 2nd baseman on the high school baseball team).  Geoff
like to cut up way too much.  His idea of softball practice was to shag fly
balls to the outfield, with a twist - the point was to make spectacular
diving or sliding catches - no ordinary outfielder he!

His athleticism meant that his 5' 7", 140 lb., 15 year-old body was in
prime shape with little fat anywhere.  His broad shoulders tapered to a
narrow waist above wide hips and strong, sturdy, muscular thighs.  His skin
was naturally dark and hairless (like Ray and his father, both dark-haired,
dark-skinned, mostly hairless men and completely unlike the fair, blond,
majestically hairy Lee).  Long hours in the Florida sun had tanned him a
rich brown to compliment his brown hair and accentuate his incredible blue
eyes.

I surveyed his body lying before me noting again his natural unaffected
beauty before I touched him.  I felt my desire for him well up and hoped
that what I wanted wouldn't backfire on me.

There is something about the male body - it's very hard to explain.  I
think there have been cultures that understood this ineffable something.
The Greeks who created the great sculptures which history bequeathed us.
The Egyptians of the early dynasties whose colossal figures embody the
power of the male form.  Occasional figures like Donatello, Michelangelo,
and Rodin whose works capture this something in stone and bronze.  They all
looked at men and saw not individuals, but archetypes of "male" and they
created figures that immortalized some particular epiphany of maleness.

As I looked down at Geoff's body, I felt I was looking at one of those
epiphanies, heightened and intensified by the clarity of his youth.  The
weight of his adult years yet ahead of him - the concerns of his life yet
to make of his psyche some lunar landscape - he represented, in a real
sense, all youth and their love of life.  The very real physical scars he
had were made unreal by the inner beauty of his body which radiated outward
and obscured, to my eyes at least, such imperfections.  I really felt as
though I were going to touch the body of a living god.  Hokey?  Not at all.
And I hesitated a moment.  Geoff seemed to sense nothing; he simply lay
there waiting.

I don't know what I expected to happen when I touched him.  Perhaps I was
just stunned that I was given the opportunity to touch him in such intimate
ways.  I'm not sure, even now, if he considered possibilities beyond a
relaxing muscle rub.  He could simply have locked the door to keep his
grandmother from intruding on our "private space."  I certainly thought of
the opportunity, of course.  Still, Geoff was not a naive young man -
not possible with Ray and Lee as his brothers (and, to be honest, his
father's side of the family was a rather coarse and uneducated lot).  Maybe
he knew about me.  Maybe not.

I reached out and began to knead his muscles starting with his neck,
working outward to shoulders first and then down and inward to his spin and
the cord of muscle that lies on either side of the spine, and then down his
back.  Geoff uttered not a sound and I don't think he said anything at all
for the next half hour.

I continued the massage: his sides (being careful not to tickle, I did take
the massage a little seriously), his thighs and calves, his feet, his neck,
his shoulders, his arms, until there was only one place left on the back
side of him.

"Geoff, do you want a 'complete' massage?"  I asked in such a way that he
understood I meant to include his ass.  He nodded his assent.

I began to massage that perfect ass. I know it's cliched to fucking
death, but he really did have the most perfect bubble butt.  He had, in
fact, the best body of the three boys by far, beautifully proportioned and
"just right."  I kneaded his ass cheeks slowly and gently, not like it was
some softball I was working before pitching it.  If you've ever had such a
massage, you may know that if it's done a certain way - the way I did it -
it is really a sensual experience.  I, of course, meant it to be.

To finish up, I started to run my fingers, hands turned backwards so that
my fingernails were touching his skin, lightly across his shoulders, along
his arms, down his back, and across the globes of his cotton-covered ass.
Just a gentle, light, feathery touch.  Not enough to tickle, but enough to
relax and soothe.  And to arouse.

When I was done with his back side, it was time for his front side.

"Okay, bud, time for the other side.  Turn over."

He dutifully turned over, throwing an arm up across his eyes.

I looked down at his pecs, his nickle-sized nipples set wide, his tummy
taut.  He had the kind of tummy with a "latent" six-pack; the muscles were
there, yet obvious to the eye only when he used them.  As I looked at his
crotch clothed in the red gym shorts, I could definitely see the shape of
his dick in his shorts.  Not fully hard, but not soft and hidden in the
folds of his shorts either.

I ignored it for the time being.

I began to massage the muscles of his chest and arms just as I'd done his
back side.  Legs and shins, feet, too.  I really did give him a good
massage (and my aching hands proved it).  When it came time for the feather
fingers, I started at about his ears, down across his pecs, across his
tummy, and along his hips to his legs.  I shifted back up to do it again,
except this time, as I moved my hands downward, I allowed my right forearm,
from elbow to wrist, to trail across the front of his shorts.  I was
rewarded, or he was rewarded - take your pick - when his dick began to
harden.

I continued this motion for about five minutes, his dick getting hard and
staying hard for the duration.  I could lie and say that it curved to the
left or right, but fact is I don't remember.

I leaned forward and whispered, "Pull your shorts off."

Geoff took his arm off of his face, he eyes remained closed, and put his
hands on the waist of his shorts.  In one motion he lifted his hips, slid
his shorts and underwear over his ass, lifted his knees towards his chest,
and pulled his clothes down his legs and off his feet.  He threw them to
the floor beside the bed and lay back down, replacing an arm across his
eyes.

I sat there admiring his beautiful body.  His crotch was a pale brown
compared to his dark, tanned skin.  His pubes were a neat triangle above
the base of his hard, throbbing dick.  Geoff's was the first dick I'd ever
seen that wasn't straight - it curved not towards his belly, but sideways
to the left (from my perspective).  I remember thinking, "banana dick."  It
wasn't a great curve or anything, it just wasn't straight like mine (which
curves slightly towards my belly but not sideways).  The head was slightly
smaller than the shaft, but not by much.

I kept up the finger feathers, this time with my forearms rubbing across
his naked dick.  It kept jumping up as I touched it.  Finally, looking at
his face to gauge his reaction, I closed my fingers around the shaft.  He
made no overt reaction to that, so I started jacking him slowly.

Then all hell broke loose and I nearly wet myself.

Without warning Geoff's grandmother began banging on the bedroom door,
hollering for Geoff.

"Geoffrey, what are you doing in there?" she bellowed.

I never saw Geoff move so fast.  Without looking at me, he jumped from the
bed, grabbed his shorts and pulled them up his legs.  In two steps he was
at the door, had it unlocked, and open.  He glared at his grandmother.

"We're talking Grandma!" he shouted.  "God, just go watch tv, we're just
talking, okay?"

She mumbled something and turned around.

Geoff closed the door and locked it again.

Then he did something that stunned the hell out of me!!!

Standing at the door, he dropped his shorts to the floor and stepped out of
them.

I remember thinking, 'Holy shit!' when he dropped his shorts immediately on
turning around.  'He still wants to do this.  Oh my god!'

I'd have thought his dick would have gone flaccid after that interruption,
but it had remained quite erect.  Still without looking at me, he walked
towards me butt naked, his dick bouncing along in front of him for the
three steps it took to get back to the bed, and lay back down.  I hadn't
moved an inch.  He placed an arm back over his eyes, the invitation quite
clear: please, continue (though he did not say anything aloud).

Continue I did.  This time, however, a different game commenced.

This was no longer just experimentation.  He wasn't just along for the ride
now, just letting me do to him what I wanted to do.  He wanted this to
happen, too. He'd had opportunity to stop.  When he dropped those shorts he
pretty much gave his consent to what I'd been doing.  I think he knew where
it would go.  So I went there.

I went straight to his dick and began to play with it, stroking it with my
finger tips, wrapping my hands around its silken hardness.  An erect dick
is a wonder of nature!  Pliant yet hard.  Flexible yet rigid.  Geoff was
circumcised as was I, so he had no foreskin.  I played with his balls,
still hairless, and stroked his inner thighs where he had the hair that
accumulates once puberty begins.  I massaged his perineum, but avoided his
hole (that would come later in our relationship).

I then did what I'd wanted to do since I'd seen him walk out the bathroom
door, water glistening on his gorgeous shoulders, I leaned over and licked
his dick.

Geoff sucked his belly inward in a gasp of breath, slowly releasing it as I
continued to lick up the shaft from his balls to the head of his dick.  He
smelled of soap, though he did not taste like soap.  In fact, he didn't
taste like anything at all. Dunno why, just didn't.

I lifted his dick up from where it lay against his belly, and I put my lips
around the head and savored the texture, unlike anything except the head of
a dick.  There is simply nothing that the head of a dick is like to which I
can compare it.  If you've sucked one, you know what I mean.  If you
haven't then you've no idea and I can't describe it.  I absolutely love it.
I could have sucked on Geoff's dick for hours.  His body, though, had other
ideas.

It had been quite some time since I'd begun that massage and he'd been
aroused for well over half an hour.  Horny 15 year-old that he was, it
didn't take all that long for my sucking skill, however feeble or facile,
to bring him to the edge and over.

His belly began to quiver and he jerked his hips up off the bed, and then
he gushed into my waiting mouth my reward for the most excellent massage of
his body and dick.  I savored the taste of his cum, salty, bitter, acrid,
yet wonderful.

He sighed as he came down from his orgasmic high.

I sat up, and he got off the bed and pulled on his briefs and shorts.  He
never said a word to me about what we'd done, then or after, ever.

The moment was over, his massage ended, his anger at his mother forgotten.
He was, once again, the carefree, impish Geoff and no longer the writhing,
passionate teenager in the throes of orgasm.

I've always found it difficult to think of orgasming youths as youths -
somehow the act of orgasm - the fact of it as it happens - catapults youth
out the window leaving only the reality of maleness.  Puberty heralds the
end of physical childhood and, despite the secondary sexual
characteristics, it is the orgasm and its issue that are the real
trademarks of growth.  At the moment of orgasm, when a boy, youth,
teenager, or man cums, they are all the same age forever.

(c) 2000 JGS