Date: Sun, 19 May 2019 15:50:16 +0000 (UTC) From: - - Subject: Sex Ed Demo 3 When you're home schooled, everything is a little different. My dining room table was also my classroom. There was no way to goof off in class. And the lessons were made just for me. I could get well ahead in the requirements if I worked hard, so I could spend lots of time on the subjects that I actually liked. When I talked to my friends from the neighborhood or in scouts about their school, I felt bad for them struggling in math and never getting to draw, or not getting to go on a field trip to some cool science museum because they flunked English. But anyway, I want to tell you about one specific lesson. For some lessons, it was just me and my dad alone, scheduled for when everyone else in the house would be away on some trip. He thought some lessons were for just him and me alone: stuff about nature or cars or sports. He rearranged his schedule so he and I could do the lesson about submarines and then go see one. I should tell you about the bones first. He gave me a book called The Human Skeletal System. This wasn't what you'd get at your school, maybe your university. He didn't want me to learn a dumbed-down version. I read it on my own and did some worksheets to review on my own before he tested me. I was always tested in a thorough, interactive way, so I couldn't just study for the written test (and he hated the idea of teaching for the test); I was supposed to actually know what I learned and be able to understand it and remember it for more than just that one day. "What bone is this?" he asked me from across the table after we cleared breakfast. He wasn't pointing to anything; just holding up one finger. I answered, "phalange?" He didn't take points off (didn't really care about the points), but he told me that the singular should be phalanx. He had me stand up and write it on our little blackboard that hung on the wall. I felt bad starting the test bad, but we both knew that it would actually help me remember that one even more. "Stay standing," he said, "and take off your shirt." I didn't know why I'd have to, but I always obeyed. I didn't want to bring a note home from teacher. He asked me to point out my sternum, and I did. He stood next to me and pointed to my collarbone and asked me what it was. I knew to say clavicle, even though a doctor might just say collarbone. He changed up how he asked each question, and never gave multiple choice or True/False. When he touched my back, I had to know to say scapula. When he said ulna, I had to know where on my arm to point (and that's actually kind of hard to tell from a diagram on paper of a skeleton). "Take off your pants, too." This was unusual. In general, we were private and proper. I would have my shirt off at the lake, but that was not permitted around the house (You know how old sitcoms would show them wearing pajamas but then putting a robe on over them? That was pretty much how it was.), and there was no reason to be seen in just your underwear. But there I was. I still wore tighty whities exclusively. I looked over my shoulder through the open patio door at the back yard fence. I tried to focus on the test as my father sat next to me and reached for my leg. I correctly named the femur and correctly pointed to my patella. When his index phalanx pointed at my hip, I was relieved that I only had to say pelvis. I still couldn't tell you the three individual bones. Then he reached behind me and inserted his hand down the back, inside, not over the fabric. I felt his hand, his knuckles curled against my skin, and his fingers press against me right between the top of my butt cheeks. "Koe Syiss?" I mispronounced, having only read it."COCK six," he corrected me on the Latin name for the tailbone. And that was it. He told me to get dressed. The rest of the day was me thinking about it over and over again while trying to memorize world capitals. A few months later, he gave me a book about the male reproductive system (not some "My Changing Body" thing full of cartoons, but a real science book). He said it'd be just the two of us again, which kept me from an annual 4-hour ride to watch someone make candles. I was happy to have some more time with just dad but surprised that we'd be doing anything close to what my friends had called "Sex Ed" years before. I kind of figured that was one of the reasons for home schooling. But I couldn't stop thinking about what this test would be like, after that last test. I read the book. I thought about the test. I made flash cards for myself. I thought about the test. I read the book again, making notes for myself. I kept thinking about when it would be just me and him in an empty house and doing a test on this stuff, and then it was the morning of. I woke up from what I had learned was a nocturnal emission and went downstairs. Dad was making breakfast. He asked if I thought I was ready for the test. I said I was. My mind was kind of preoccupied. Eventually he said, "Son? Are you ready?" and I realized that he was unbuttoning his shirt. I stared. This was different from just swimming. He tugged at it and contorted his arms. He wasn't wearing an undershirt like usual (you know how you can see the short sleeves through the long sleeves?). Seeing him without a shirt at the table was a shock enough, but then he stood and undid his belt and button and zipper, and shucked his pants down to his shins. He wasn't wearing any underwear either. I guess he was prepared to get undressed quick (but later I wondered why he didn't just wear a robe and nothing under it). He stood totally naked next to me at the table and said, "I'd like you to point out 3 examples of secondary sex characteristics." I stared at his body, up and down, all of him. I struggled to remember. I finally noticed how his Adam's Apple was poking out because of how he was standing bolt upright like a bronze soldier. I mentioned that and how it affected the voice, and he said good. I stared at his muscles. I wondered if he was kind of flexing. I slowly, questioningly, said musculature. He nodded. He waited. "There's a pretty obvious one right in front of you, son," he said, eventually looking down at his own body. I said, "uh, hair?" He said yes and stretched the question into a sort of essay where I had to 'expound.' I had to explain how hormones cause hair growth on the face (and I pointed on him, noticing that he had not shaved that morning) and the armpits (and I pointed as he raised that arm to show his tuft) and the body (and I pointed my finger close to his chest hair and trailed it down lower and lower until I said) "and... the... pubic area... at the base of the, penis" "Good, and can you point out the scrotum?" he said. I pointed, a bit too generally, and was asked to give a definition (another way tests would keep me on my toes, which are also phalanges, by the way). As I talked, I watched my hand reach out and point and then start to touch and hold and even lift his balls up and away from his body, describing his sperm. I was almost rolling his hanging balls in my palm. He stopped me and asked me to point out the epididymis. I found myself getting close up and gently taking one testicle and holding it in both hands, delicately locating and feeling. I'm sure he could tell that I knew where it was, but he looked down and held it with me, our fingers together on it. "Okay... okay, next can you point out the glans?" he said. "The? The foreskin?" I asked, staring while I sat there eye-to-eye with his circumcised dick. I said that I couldn't and explained why, like it had been a bonus trick question. He replied, "well you'll have to show me on yours then." I looked at him and then around again at us there and the morning light shining through the sliding glass door and our private back yard and the high fence. It felt like we were out in the open but emptied for us to be alone together. I stood up and decided to get fully naked like him, instead of just taking it out through my fly. I pulled my shirt off over my head as he watched and waited. I undid my neat, pressed khakis and stood in just my briefs for a bit while he watched and waited. I looked at him while I slid them down and stepped out and set them aside. I reached down without looking down and held my dick and watched my dad's eyes slide down my bare body to the tip. I showed it to him. "Mmhmm, and can you demonstrate how it retracts?" I slid it back for him and showed the thick head and looked back at him. "And you, you keep that clean when you wash yourself?" I said, "Yes, sir." I didn't always say sir but kept it for someone. He said, "and when you... see the doctor? Does he have you show him that?" "Yeah... Hey dad? How come I have it but not you?" "Well, you're a little more lucky than I was. And I made sure you stayed intact," he said, kind of staring. After a little looking, he said, "Does it... does it retract okay for you? No problems with that?" I said that I think it does and kind of gave him an unspoken invitation to reach down and investigate. His fingers held the shaft. I was pretty well developed by that age. It was kind of full. He pulled the skin back and then let it slide over again. Then we both looked down at it while he repeated. As he did it a third time, he again asked if it felt fine, and I told him it felt good. "I can even get my finger in there; see?" I said as I let the foreskin envelop my fingertip and head, stretched over. He said that was fine then and that we should continue. I noticed that his dick looked a little longer. I watched him straighten it out and tug it gently. It started to stand at attention, firmer and fuller. "Now, son, can you tell me what this is called? If you recall, from your book?" "An erection?" I answered. I was kind of shocked (but it was an easy question). My dad said, "yes, that is correct, son. You might have heard some different words for it.... you might call it a hardon?" He just kind of stopped talking until I continued our discussion. I said, "yeah... or? .....you have a boner?" He said, "maybe I might say that you're getting hard now, that you have a little stiffy." And we both looked down and I was hard too. We both just stood there looking at each other. After a little silence and the only movement in the room being our bobbing dicks and breathing, my dad reached down and held his meat in his hands on display for me. "Now, son... I want you to look real close at this." He pointed at a thick line under the skin on one side like a hose down the length and curved around to the underside. I could almost see it pulsing. He asked me if I knew what it was. I was right up close and could almost smell the skin. "Is that... what carries the.... the semen?" "No. No, son, but it's a common misconception. That comes right through the center. This is an artery that carries blood into my penis. When I get excited, aroused, blood rushes in to make it long and hard. You can feel how hard it is." I squeezed it. It felt firm and straight like a rod in my hand. He said, "It's pretty arousing being here like this, at the table, here with you." I looked at him. "Yeah. It feels.... bad. And fun." I didn't want to say naughty. I couldn't describe the taboo breaking being hot. We were kind of frozen in a moment. Our hard dicks pointed towards each other, but we weren't touching them. Then he slowly bent over and reached down to look closely at mine and touch it. He pointed out the same noticeable curvy mound on mine. "And yours is just like mine, son; see?" I looked down at him gently pointing, now touching it, and I watched how he couldn't stop himself from playing with the foreskin again, pulling it back and holding it as it slid over. One finger touched the tip, which had accumulated a dollop of ooze. When it made contact with his fingertip, it became a drizzling line. Looking up at me, he said, "Can you tell me what this is?" "Pre-ejaculate?" I answered. He rolled his fingertips together. "Correct. And I have some too here. See?" I looked. He showed. I looked him in the eyes. He looked down. I looked down. I bent down. I examined it and reached out a finger to touch. I touched it. I ended up kind of painting the underside along his frenulum. "Now... son. I, uh, next I want you to locate the... Prostate." I looked up at him. I watched him turn away from me, watched his curved round muscular butt cheeks, watched him lean over slightly with his dick hovering over the table as he set both palms flat down. I positioned myself behind him and reached up, pointing out one finger. I looked at the back of his balls and the skin behind them. I let my finger go straight ahead and in, exploring. I felt him. I pressed forward like I was pushing a doorbell. I poked a few times. I couldn't see the face he was making, but he was breathing weird. When I said that I couldn't find it, he said "I'll show you." I took my finger out and watched him step aside, a thin line trailed from his tip to one thigh. I slowly took his place and set my palms down flat. When he knelt behind me and gently inserted a finger, I pushed back against him and also against the edge of the table. I looked down at my dick between my hands bobbing with blood flow. I felt his finger slide deeper into me. I felt him gently push in and out, just barely, as he went in. I felt his push as it pressed against me on the inside. And I felt him ring my bell. I let out a moan like a whimper, but I could tell that he knew already that he had it. As he pressed it, he talked about it. "This" he touched it "right here" he pressed it again firmly "and I can feel that it's... engorged..." he said as he stroked it. I squeezed against it and shot out a line in the dining room table. Then another fell out and a third. Before I could start apologizing, he was up and in position next to me waiting, a little less patiently than before, for me to complete the test. I got next to him and reached over and down and in and poked my way in, watching his hands clench and biceps flex and dick flex up and balls tighten. I pressed fimer now, zeroing in on my target and pressing, petting, stroking. "Yes. That's it. Right there. Yes, son. mmmmph" and he looked over at me and down at my spent dick with a bit of semen stuck coming out, and I looked down at what he was looking at, and I held it with my other hand and pulled back the skin for him. And I watched him shoot a huge load, felt it rushing past my finger, and watched it land in a puddle next to mine. He let himself yowl in release, and it echoed around the empty house. And we stood there, exhausted, regaining our composure, letting our naked shoulders lean into each other. He said I did well. I said thank you. He said it was good. I said yeah. There was more silence until he asked what I wanted to do now. I said I wanted to play around naked in the back yard with him, and that's what we did. 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