Date: Sat, 11 Sep 1999 14:08:00 -0700
From: Bruce Bramson <organs@backdoor.com>
Subject: JORDIE

At 12, Jordan Murphy was lean, wiry, and small for his age. Inevitably,
this had given rise to his nick-name, "Wee Jordie".  Worse, his parents
were inclined to call him "Wee-wee Jordie", because he had not stopped
wetting his bed until he was almost 7.  Fortunately, he had managed to
prevent this appellation becoming known to his classmates.

Jordie could not understand what all the fuss had been about: he'd slept on
a rubber mattress all his life, and modern appliances made cleanup easy.
His parents naturally assumed he did his wetting while asleep, but this was
not the case.  Jordie pissed himself deliberately, and always drank a lot
of water, especially before going to bed.  Soon after lying down, he would
relax and let loose, aiming his stream down over his hairless legs, or up
onto his smooth tummy - even up to his neck on occasion.  He thoroughly
enjoyed the sensation of his warm piss flowing over his lithe body, and he
might wake up once or twice during the night to perform for himself again.
Then there was that first one in the morning, with his little penis stiff
and his bladder full: he'd just throw back the damp covers and let it all
go!  Then it was off to the shower, after which he willingly bundled up the
soggy sheets and dropped them in the hallway hamper.

Things changed shortly before his seventh birthday, when he met Bart, who
moved to a house nearby. Bart was younger than Jordie by some months, but
was larger, taller, adventuresome and resourceful. They had not been
friends long, when they explored each other's bodies. Fortunate to have a
tree-house in Bart's back yard which afforded them the necessary privacy,
they examined each other intimately.  Jordie, a smart boy, had already
observed the differences among his classmates, in term of stature, build,
and willingness to experiment.  So he was not really surprised to find
Bart's penis slightly larger than his own, in proportion to Bart's slightly
larger build in general.  What he had NOT expected, however, was the thrill
he felt when Bart put his hand around Jordie's meat.  His penis immediately
stiffened, as it otherwise did only in the morning, and Bart's gentle
fondling felt really good!  Nor had he expected the pleasure he got as he
returned Bart's favor: Bart's larger stiffie throbbing in his hand also
felt really good. Lying in their snug enclosure, the boys diddled each
other as most boys do, enjoying the many new sensations.

Suddenly, Jordie's stiff prick, apparently harking back to his old morning
ritual of pissing himself, began to dribble; after a few moments, his piss
gushed forth.  Startled, Bart was about to complain when the warm stream
landed on him, but he found the sensation strangely pleasant. Not to be
outdone, he relaxed his own sphincter, and aimed a healthy stream of
boy-piss at his mate.  Jordie was ecstatic!  Here was a true soul-mate, not
afraid to pee with a buddy, or worry about being peed upon by one.

So began their damp relationship.  All summer, with little else to do, they
spent long hours in the tree-house, drinking water, colas or juices to keep
themselves "primed", and pissing on each other from every angle.  When the
drinks ran low one day, they filled empty bottles quickly and experimented
with drinking each other's nectar, which neither found unpleasant.  Though
they usually wet each other down in the nude, they found that pissing on
each other clothed was also fun.  Jordie especially liked it when Bart
stuck his prick in through his fly and cut loose: the warm sensation,
filling first his shorts then moving down from his crotch along the legs of
his tight pants, was particularly exciting.  Bart, on the other hand, found
Jordie's piss flowing over his bare chest, down across his stomach, into
his crotch to drip from his behind, his favorite feeling.

As summer waned and it began to get too cold to play in the tree-house, the
boys built an isolated "nest" in the basement of Bart's house, which had a
large area full of cast-off furniture and other stuff. It was warm there,
as the furnace was down there too. They found an old mattress, already
stained and worn, and covered it with plastic and some old blankets.
Snuggled together there, they would snooze, holding each other close, and
piss with wild abandon on each other.

Thus ended Jordie's habit of pissing himself in bed; his parents were
delighted, figuring he was finally out-growing his bed-wetting. But the
reality was, Jordie was saving it all for Bart, and Bart saved all his for
him.  It was a little secret between them. The start of school affected the
amount of time they could play together, however. As the weeks turned to
months, they saw less and less of each other, and toward the end of the
year, Bart and his family moved away.  "Wee-wee Jordie" had to find some
other way to play, and he began to do his pissing in the bath-tub, which
caused no problems for his mom, who was basically delighted Jordie kept
himself so clean.

But, Jordie was a growing boy: no other buddies that he knew of shared his
interest in piss, and as the months turned into years, he played with
himself less and less.  Slowly, his interest in piss waned, and he became
interested in other things at school.  Destined to remain smaller than his
peers, he withstood the taunts of his friends who always called him "Wee
Jordie", and he went on with his life.

Through all this, Jordie and his parents had been my neighbors.  We
certainly were not "close", but as neighbors we knew each other, spoke now
and then, and occasionally got together for a yard cleanup or some such
function.  I had seen Jordie "around" of course, but paid no particular
attention to him.  The lad was suddenly thrust upon me to look after when
his parents had to go away to help an ailing family member.  As school was
on, Jordie stayed behind, and found himself ensconced in my spare bedroom.
For my part, I found cooking for a healthy boy a real challenge!

A few days into his stay, the youth unexpectedly hopped onto my bed on a
Friday night, where I was reading a mystery novel. Seeking attention, he
bounced around a bit, and suddenly noticed the "crunch" of the plastic
cover I keep on my mattress.

"What's the plastic for," he asked?

"Ah, well," I replied, "older men sometimes have a little problem called
incontinence'.

"Which is?"

"When you unexpectedly lose control and pee on yourself".

"You have that problem?"

"Sometimes."

There was a long, thoughtful pause.  "So, sometimes you piss yourself in
the night, then?"

"It has happened." I didn't want to tell him I did it quite often
deliberately.

"I'm cold!"

"Get under the covers, then."

Jordie popped beneath my blankets and snuggled up against me, his pajamas
rough on my bare skin.

"You're naked."  Matter of fact.

"Yes."

"You always sleep that way?"

"Since I was your age, or before, even. I've always hated pajamas."

"I don't really like em myself."  With that, he quickly shucked his pajamas
and threw them out from beneath the covers.  Then he snuggled up against
me, feeling incredibly warm. With the difference in our heights, he ended
just above my knees. I had long since put my book down, unsure just where
this scene was leading.  My few glimpses of his lean young body were
somewhat un-nerving, and here he was pushing himself up against me
sensuously. Not that I was going to object: he clearly was enjoying
himself, and me, warm and snug under the blankets.  As Jordie seemed
temporarily uncommunicative, I was about to return to my book when I felt a
sensation at once familiar but different: Jordie was pissing on me!

I said nothing. He must have been drinking all day, I thought, for his
effusion went on for minutes, enveloping me in warm, fragrant dampness.  It
was sensational!  I developed a hard-on at once. Jordie spoke not a word...

...until, "You've been kind to me: I wanted you to have that," he said. "I
hope you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind": I've pissed myself in this bed often enough, but no one
has ever done it with me.  I rather liked it."

"Actually, I hoped you would like it."  Seeking approval.

"I did, immensely!  In fact, you can do it any time you like."

"May I touch you?"  He didn't wait for an answer. "Gosh, it's BIG!"

"I'm much older than you are.  You'll be big someday yourself."  His hand
enveloped my hard old dick.

"That big?"

"Probably."

Another pause in verbal communication, as his hand explored me.  He felt my
balls, my thighs...  My state of horniness was increasing by leaps and
bounds.  After a few minutes, I put my arm below the covers, feeling the
customary dampness with which I am all too familiar, and sought out his
member.  Oddly, it was flaccid. That's when I reminded myself that my
companion was a mere twelve years old. Nevertheless, he responded to my
hand, and I was soon fondling a pre-pubescent semi-hard pecker.

"Here's some more," he said, and my hand was flooded with another copious
flow.  I luxuriated in the feeling as his piss dripped away, and he finally
pumped his last spurts. As I rubbed his piss around his crotch, I could
detect a rapidly developing hard-on, soon to stand at full four-inch
attention.  He seemed perfectly content, almost sleepy, though I was in a
state of excitement the likes of which I hadn't known for some time.

"Can you pee?"

"I..."  Well, why not?

I relaxed. I have a slow sphincter, but counting backwards from 99 to
divert my attention and let my hard-on relax, I got to 88, and let loose.
Immediately, he cupped his hand over my dick, then grasped it and aimed my
flow at himself.  It seemed like I pissed forever, and I remembered
suddenly that he had urged me to "drink - it's good for you!" several times
at dinner. Was this all planned?  But, who was I to object?

"That feels wonderful," Jordie said.

"Thank you."

"I haven't done this for several years, I think."

"But you have done it before?"  I must have sounded surprised.

"Oh, yes!  I had a friend..."

Jordie snuggled closer, still exploring with his wet hands "down there".
He seemed amused by my now-soggy bush of pubic hair. He then told me his
life history, all that I've told above; about his bed-wetting, about Bart,
even about his nick-name, "Wee-wee"!  (He swore me to secrecy, of
course). By the time he finished his tale, much time had passed.  So had
more water: the bed was awash in piss, but with the plastic cover in place,
it didn't matter. Throughout his narrative, Jordie toyed with my dick,
which remained as hard as ever.

I sensed, however, that Jordie did not yet know about jacking off.  He made
no mention of doing so with Bart, or with anyone else, or by himself.  But
here he was, playing with me, and I was so horny I could taste it.  So, at
one point I gently enclosed his hand in mine, wrapped as it was around my
hard-on, and encouraged him to stroke me up and down, in that manner
familiar to all men and boys.  He soon had the right rhythm, my hand
slipped away, and he continued the motion.  I pushed back the covers, to
watch his glabrous arm with its small fist wrapped around me, and to allow
him to watch.  Jordie rested his head on my chest, now beginning to heave
somewhat as my orgasm neared.  When at last my jizz spurted out over my
tummy, some of it landed on his face.

"Gosh!  What's that stuff?"  Startled.

"It's what makes babies."

"Huh?"

Despite his sophisticated interest in water sports, clearly Jordie was
ill-informed on matters sexual.  I quickly filled him in on the "basics".
He showed little interest, returning to my still-oozing cock.  I watched,
amazed, as he furtively gathered some drops of my cum and put them to his
lips.  He made no comment, then found the large pool on my navel and spread
it all around my stomach, up on to my cock, and wherever else he could.

"Can I make this stuff," he asked?

"Probably not just yet, though I expect you might be able to fairly soon.
It's part of growing up."

"Does everybody do it?"

"All boys do, and most men do.  Those who say they don't are lying. It's
perfectly natural, especially given the shape of your cock and the shape of
your hand..."  But you might be able to get the general feeling of making
that stuff now, even if you aren't quite ready to actually produce it."

"How do you mean?"

"Shooting that stuff is accompanied by a wonderful feeling, like no other.
It is beyond pleasurable.  That's the main reason every guy jacks off, to
get that sensation.  At your age, the feeling can be had, even without the
white stuff."

"How?"

"Just do to yourself what you did to me: grab your dick, stroke it up and
down, relax and enjoy."

Jordie obeyed.  His shapely legs disappeared beneath the covers at about
his knees, but I was able to watch the fine musculature of his thighs, the
sinews in his arms as he tried out something new. I could not resist
reaching over to feel his taught stomach, a trifle rough from areas of
dried piss; then down along the inside of his thighs, so shapely and
smooth, and up to tickle the hard marbles below his little dick.  His hand
gathered speed, as I knew it would.  His eyes were closed, and his
breathing was getting quicker.  As he struggled with the flood of new
feelings, I recalled my own "first time".

***

Extended families were common when I was a youngster; Aunt Lucy and "Unca
Bob" had lived with us always.  Bob was my "pal", taking me to the movies
and zoo, doing the things my dad had no time for.  Along about my 14th
year, I began having wet dreams, and was terrified: sure something was
wrong with me, I confided in my Uncle. "Ah, yes," he said, "it's time..."

That night found me on his bed, stretched out beside him.  He was a
good-looking dude, well preserved and well muscled as I recall.  He told me
to take off all my clothes, which I was happy to do - I'd seen Bob nude
many times, and he me.  So there I was, a lanky youth with some fuzz on my
pubes and a few straggly hairs under my arms.  Bob also removed his
clothes, and I was startled to see his pecker, far larger than mine,
standing up straight.  Needless to say, my six-incher was in the same
condition.  When Bob reached over and put his hand around my meat, I
thought I would rise right off the bed; gosh, it felt good!

"It's time you learned what this thing will do," he said, stroking me
gently up and down.  "You will do this all your life, like everyone else.
Just watch me, and do the same to yourself."

He took himself in hand, and I followed his lead.  My, oh MY!  I'd never
felt anything like it, but it was distinctly pleasurable.  Bob was a
"leftie", so with his right hand he stroked my thigh, squeezing it now and
then, and played with my loose nuts.  Suddenly, I "got the feeling":
something was about to happen, and though I wasn't sure just what, it was
clear I had to keep stroking.  Then it happened: Bob and I erupted at the
same time.  I saw a lot of white stuff shoot from his dick, landing all
over his stomach and chest.  My spurts went right over my shoulder, spurt
after spurt, as I whacked my dick furiously.  Sensational!

"That stuff came out in your sleep," Bob said, but from now on, you'll
likely do it this way, cause it feels so much better when you are awake to
enjoy it.  It is perfectly alright to do it whenever you want, and don't
for a moment believe the guys who tell you it'll grow hair on your palm, or
any of that nonsense.  But from now on, you'll do it by yourself, like I
do, and like most other guys."  I was delighted: he'd never before called
me as a "guy": it was a real rite of passage.

After thanking Bob profusely and after cleaning up the mess, I dressed and
scampered back to my own room, where I shucked my clothes instantly and
pulled my pud again, less than half an hour after my "first time".
Thereafter, I did it several times a day.  My poor pecker swelled up a bit
and got very sore for a while, but that didn't even slow me down.  I shot
my load in bed, in the bathroom, under the house, at school in the boys
room, in the locker room, in the cloak room, and even in the back seat of
the car as Bob drove us to the movies.  I simply could not do it often
enough!  Many were the knowing winks from Bob when I had to explain why I
was so long in the bathroom, or when I said I had to study.  He and I never
again "got it on", though my memory of his naked form and spurting cock was
fantasy fodder for many jack off sessions.  Gradually, his image gave way
to imagined classmates and friends.  Getting into their pants became an
obsession with me, but that is a story for another time.

***

These flashbacks occupied my mind for a few moments, then I returned my
attention to the heaving youth lying next to me. It was clear he was
beginning to feel the "roiling in the groin" so familiar to all: his leg
muscles were knotted, his flat tummy heaved with his panting breaths.  I
had no doubt he was on the edge of his first orgasm.

"I ... don't ... know ... what..." he gasped.  Then his hand flew from his
dick to his face, leaving his pecker momentarily flat on his pubes.  His
middle finger shot into his mouth; he sucked it furiously.  His dick raised
up, then fell flat, then raised again, and again, and again.  A few drops
of fluid glistened at the head of it.  His whole body twitched in time with
the rhythm of his rock-hard little prick.  His eyes shut tightly, he was
consumed by the overwhelming sensation of his first real orgasm.  It was
glorious to behold.

Slowly, he came down from his sexual high.  His dick stayed hard as ever,
pointing right to his navel, a few more drops of clear fluid oozing slowly
out to make a tiny puddle in the very spot where, in just a few months, I
knew there would be the start of his bush.  When at last his thigh muscles
relaxed and his breathing became less fast and labored, his sphincter
relaxed and he peed once again; his water flowed powerfully out over his
stomach, forming rivulets as it moved down to the soggy sheets beneath him.
Reaching over, I massaged his abdomen, speading his piss as far over him as
I could before the flow stopped.

"I never felt ANYthing like that before," he said excitedly.

"It's the very first of countless times, my boy."

"It's... it's terrific!"

"Yes, it's what it's all about' down there. When you begin to make the
white stuff, it will feel even better.  But for now, we need to sleep!"

I pulled up the covers, turned on my side and drew him to me spoon-fashion.
He was already drifting off, and within minutes we were both sound asleep.
Sometime during the night I was vaguely aware of much shaking of the bed:
no doubt he had to "do it" again, but tired as I was, I missed his second
coming.

Over the next two weeks, Jordie and I were inseparable, at least whenever I
was home from work and he from school.  I feared his new-found interest in
jacking off might reduce his interest in piss play, but such was not the
case: having found another soul like Bart "into" piss, he experimented with
it every way he could.  He had a lot of fun the night I put on an old
business suit (one I had planned to discard anyway) and let him piss in,
on, and over it all evening.  Adding my own flow inside the suit seemed to
"suit" him, too: what a mess! Apparently, it had never occurred to him or
Bart to "drink from the tap"; but as this is my favorite way, I had to
introduce him to it.  He always told me when he had to pee, because of his
total fascination with doing so; so one night as we were just watching
television, and he announced his need, I stood him on a chair in front of
the sofa, slipped his flaccid dick into my mouth and waited.  He got the
idea at once, along with a swift hard-on, through which I had never seen
him have any trouble going.  I was not disappointed, and drank his golden
boy-nectar greedily as that marvelously erect four-incher gushed.  It
always has reminded me of a sort of on-going, time-extended cumming, and as
he pumped the last of his bladder's contents, I dropped a load of cum in my
pants, so exciting was the experience.  Bold even at 12, Jordie drank my
next bladderful with as much of my less-than-fully-hard dick in his mouth
as he could manage.

Jordie also slept with me every night.  My washing machines got a real
workout, since we both pissed on or in each other copiously.  I especially
enjoyed watching his morning piss, through his hard-on, usually spraying
straight up into the air.  He had a strong bladder, and the stream would
rise several feet - truly a fountain of youth - before falling back noisily
all over the two of us.  But Jordie was not yet ready for regular
masturbation: I knew it was only a short time before it would obsess him,
as it does all young boys, but for now, piss-play was still "the thing",
something of which he could not seem to get enough.

***

I comprehend his obsession fully, though I came to active waterports late
in life. I've written a number of "fuck stories", and I noticed that in
nearly all of them I included some mild "vanilla" form of piss scene.  I
had a brief "affair" with a young Thai boy, and when in the course of our
play one night he said, "I've got to pee", I replied, "I'll drink it."

Within minutes, I was "hooked"!  The sensation of a guy loosing his water
in my mouth was inexplicably terrific.  When the affair ended shortly
thereafter, I went in search of something more, and attended a public "piss
party", where I quickly found additional possibilities.  Finding someone
younger who was interested in an older chap like myself was not easy, but
at a subsequent party I made a bold advance on a smaller black fellow who
was nicely put together. To my delight, he liked older guys, and we got it
on there, passing our piss back and forth. We've been "piss-buddies" ever
since, getting together once a month or so, doing it every way we can think
of.  Especially wonderful is a pissy 69, going in each other
simultaneously. We've hit that climactic moment a number of times.

***

The return of Jordie's parents put an abrupt stop to our activities.  They
could see no reason for him to hang around my place, figuring that he must
have been a burden to me.  I surely missed the boy, but had to admit that
the "relationship" wasn't one that was going to go on for long anyway.  I
returned to my old habit of occasionally pissing myself, and getting
together with my buddy now and then.

Some months later, Jordie rang my bell on a sunny Saturday afternoon.  He'd
grown some, and was beginning to show what a gorgeous youth he would soon
be as he entered puberty.  He greeted me with a big hug, then grabbed my
hand and led me upstairs.  "I have something to show you," he said by way
of explaining his visit.

In my bedroom, he uttered his familiar "I have to pee first," as he pulled
his dick out through his fly.  He knew I would be on my knees at once,
which I was; no slow-sphincter guy this, he cut loose instantly, letting me
drink his boy-tea as he had often done before.  It was delicious, as ever,
and exciting: doing this always gets me hard in seconds.  When he was
finshed, I continued to suck his hard-on, seemingly a bit larger than when
I had last seen it.  He opened and dropped his pants, allowing me to fondle
his firm thighs, and work my fingers up into his shorts.  I was startled to
feel some hair, and realized my little friend really WAS growing up!  I
released his cock long enough to pull his shorts down, out over the end of
his dick, and pushed them down to the floor.

"You've got some hair," I said.  "You're growing up for sure."

I buried his dick in my face again.

"That's what I wanted to show...

I gripped his hips and fucked my face furiously with his dick.  His
response was quick: not many strokes were needed, and I recognized the
impending orgasm.  I KNEW what he had wanted to show me, but I've seen
enough pop-shots in fuck-flicks: I wanted this boy's load, and within a few
minutes I got it.  He bucked, moaned, and shot five or six copious wads
into my waiting mouth.  I tongued his dick, tasting his boy-essence,
savoring it, swishing it around, before swallowing and releasing his
collapsing dick.

...you," he hissed. "I can make the white stuff now!"

"You sure can," I replied. "Does it feel good?"

"Well, I wanted to jack it off to show you but your mouth felt even better
and I couldn't stop."

I stood, my hard-on tenting my pants obviously.

Without a word, Jordie unzipped my fly and dug out my dick.  "I'll jack you
off, then," he said: "I've wanted to for a long time."

Who could object?  His fist went to work.  Hot as I was after giving him
what was surely his first blow-job, it didn't take long, and since it had
been some days since I had taken myself in hand, my juice soon spurted out,
to land here and there on the hardwood floor.

"It's fun to see that stuff shoot out," Jordie said.

"Even more fun to FEEL it shooting out," I said, as he rubbed some of my
"stuff" around the head of my shrinking cock.

"You got that right!" Jordie said, using an expression so popular nowadays.

Thoughtfully pushing my tired old dick back in my pants, and ignoring the
mess on my floor, he said, "Well, gotta run!"  Then with a sly wink, "Lotsa
studying to do."

***

Jordie is 15 now, and not so "wee".  I watch in fascination as he grows up.
His post-puberty growth-spurt has added fourteen inches to his frame:
twelve in height, and two where it counts most. Unlike his peers, he
refuses to hide his gorgeous legs in pants six-sizes too large.  He's
brought a succession of youths home with him; imagining their antics has
fueled many an evening's jack-off session. He's moved out of my life into
one of his own, which is as it should be.  I see with him with one boy more
often than the others: I expect he has a lover.  At least, he seems to be
successfully getting into some of his classmates' pants, just as I did at
his age.

What goes around cums around, as they say...


Bruce Bramson, 1999
<organs@backdoor.com>