All standard disclaimers apply, including the most obvious one: you should not read this if due to age or place of residence, it is illegal for you to do so.
Even though you could probably find material similar to this at... well, at Barnes & Noble, for instance. The writing styles are probably a bit more polished and it usually takes longer to reach the good parts - even longer than it usually takes me - but really, you would be surprised.
(And so were the Concerned Citizens For Decency, apparently...)
But whatever, all characters portrayed in this story are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely unintentional.
Or at least mostly, but only because I still have some difficulty imagining a fictitious person who doesn't resemble a real person.
I really didn't have anybody specifically in mind, though.
Except for maybe one or two.
Or possibly even three. But that's the absolute max, and with that in mind...
I am all through disclaiming.
This is a snapshot of me at ten. I'd just walked out of my shower – which adjoins my room – and I was in no particular hurry to get into some clean clothes. In fact, I was looking at my naked self in a mirror. It was my mirror, in my room, which was supposed to be my own private space. My room and my room only! So if I wanted to strike various naked poses for awhile, I had every right to do so, but then, without even knocking, my mom walked in on me! While I was trying to do a handstand!
And even though she quickly apologized, I did not forgive her for at least three and a half days, because A: she didn't really sound sorry – even though now that I'm older and more worldly-wise, I can understand how difficult it must have been for her not to laugh - and B: I was too embarrassed to talk much about it anyway.
And her mentioning later that I had come from her womb and she had changed my diapers and bathed me and wiped my rear didn't improve matters any.
Not that I was unique, of course. By now, it's my understanding that it's not uncommon for a ten-year-old to be indignant if his mom happens to see him naked, and it's even more common for a child to be embarrassed if his mom happens to mention just how much she's seen of him – or her, when he or she was a baby.
But then, it's also not uncommon for a ten-year-old to think that he's unique, and since I was home-schooled I was hardly in constant contact with other boys my age. And... I have two more snapshots in mind, one from when I was twelve and my parents decided it was time for my first really serious “birds & bees” talk, and the other from the summer I was thirteen and had finally decided to come out to someone other than to just my parents, only to have my hopes crushed - in regard to what my coming out might eventually lead to - because the awesomely cool “I'm gay and proud of it” boy I was going to come out to at our teen camp was already paired up with another boy before I could ever get around to it. So I'll get to those “snapshots” and then on to my eventual happily-ever-after-at-least-for-the-foreseeable-future part. I mean, if it wasn't for that last part, I wouldn't be bothering with the rest, but first, some basic facts.
We live in the middle of nowhere in Texas, about halfway between Houston and Austin, and the reason I'm home-schooled is almost the opposite of why the majority in Texas are. In most cases kids are are home-schooled because their parents believe that the Secular Humanists have taken over the public school system and are teaching evolution and immorality and God only knows how many other un-American ideas, but as of late, the state school board in Texas has been taken over by a group of far-right wing Evangelical extremists, and among other things, they're only approving school books that represent their warped view, as in: those... delete, delete, delete!
(My mom feels that I should be able to express myself without resorting to profanity, and there are times when I feel at least slightly guilty after letting out a stream of expletives, even if it's only to myself. Then there's her bit about not lowering myself to their level, and beyond that, making fun of them only serves to reinforce their persecution complex. And I have to admit that they're an awfully easy target. ... Even if they're not so easy to get out of fucking office! Once they're in, those... delete... delete...)
Well, anyway, I wish it was as simple as hitting delete, but it's not. In spite of that, though, I will now move on to why I'm home-schooled. Even if you've probably guessed it already. Not that my parents are far left... unless compared to far-right-wing nut cases... I swear, this is soo damn difficult...
But anyway, my parents are Unitarians. And, honestly, I think it's a very cool church. Overall, I do, but one thing I often do object to is their political correctness. I mean, I agree with them on more issues than not, including the fact that being an Unitarian means that you can pretty much believe in anything as far as theology is concerned...
… Excluding, of course, far-right fundamentalist theologies. Unless it's an indigenous religion. Then we are to value it. With the possible exception of certain indigenous religions that might require an occasional human sacrifice. Then it would probably be a no-no. Unless they live in the rain forest or something and haven't had any contact with the outside world and don't want to have any.
And I exaggerate only a little. They can tie themselves into knots trying not to offend anyone... except of course... well, hell, I don't like them either, but...
Well, it really gets exhausting at times, but in the interest of not tying myself into a knot, let's just say that most of the Unitarians I know seem to be very nice and well-intentioned, but more often than not, they do tend to be Quixotic.
And I think my parents would approve that message. About the Unitarians, I mean. Not the cussing, though. That would probably be inappropriate. Even if I ended up deleting most of it. And my mom would undoubtedly be red-inking the heck out what I've keyed in so far... along with a fairly acidic remark saying that my concept of “some basic facts” still in no way matches hers. And she was an English professor at Rice University before resigning herself to my home-schooling, after all. (That was a basic fact.)
At times, she can be pedantic. (Another.)
My full name is Theo Lindsey McKenzie, in honor of the founder of the first Unitarian church in England. (That's almost a fact.) Almost, because actually the founder's name was Theophilus Lindsey. Imagine them naming me that! I would never have forgiven them. (Theo is my full, legal first name, though.)
And... I do tend to be non-linear, and with that in mind: Snapshot Two, or “Everything I Really Didn't Want To Know About Sex”.
Not at twelve, I didn't. I didn't want to know anything about it. I could analyze the reasons why I didn't want to know, but for now – trust me on this – the best option would be to just leave it at I didn't want them talking to me about it and that's all there was to it.
Only, they did, of course. In a non-judgmental and non-threatening way, but still...
Well, I was trying my best to tune as much as possible out. By running various movie quotes through my head. Such as, “Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?” And: “Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.” And: “I vahnt to be a lawn!”
Along with several others and: “Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm schizophrenic, and so am I” - which actually is a quote by Oscar Levant - but the point I guess I'm trying to make in spite of myself is: by and large, it doesn't matter if your parents are Unitarian or Episcopalian or Evangelical or Hindu or Muslim or Jewish or Socialist or Catholic or Anarchist or anything else... it doesn't matter what belief they subscribe to, at twelve or thirteen or even fourteen many of us really are schizo when it comes to sex.
Even if I had mixed emotions when in spite of myself I caught the part about masturbation being something almost all boys my age did and that it was perfectly normal. I mean, I'd already assumed that they'd think that, but I was still hoping that they wouldn't say that. But then on the other hand, I was at least able to go from simply assuming to “It looks like I got the green light”...
So anyway, I continued jerking off with great regularity, only now it was without even so much as a hint of guilt. As long as no one else walked in on me, and by then I was fairly sure that that wasn't going to happen again. (Once I managed it while almost doing a hand-stand, but only once because worrying about whether or not I'd end up breaking my neck is distracting.)
What? You were under the impression that as a Unitarian I'd be free from guilt? (And my second snapshot is finished, by the way.) But yes, we Unitarians can feel guilty: in fact, there are times when I get the idea that we're the most guilt-laden people in entire country. It's not easy being the conscience of the U.S. of A! It's not!
And besides, it doesn't seem to be doing much damn good anyway. Like “they” really care if we're deeply concerned or not, you know?
Sometimes, as we're wrestling with our enormous collective guilt, it seems to be going a lot like this: (another movie quote, this from Dr. Stangelove when Peter Sellers – as President Merkin Muffley - is on the hotline trying to avert World War III with the pauses between what he's saying being for whatever his Russian counterpart is saying): “I'm sorry. ... All right. You're sorrier than I am but I am sorry as well. ... I am as sorry as you are. ... Don't say that you're more sorry than I am, because I am capable of being just as sorry as you are.”
And so on. It can get really, really exhausting, especially after you've basically accomplished nothing – except for working yourself all into a lather, of course – but, but... surely we aren't to feel any guilt about sex, are we? (Looks slightly awkward, but actually, this isn't being written for my parents' benefit, so...)
So do we feel guilty about sex between consenting partners? Or even between a whole bunch of consentees? Surely not! But... (this is from a British explanation of our beliefs): (even if it's fairly long, because like us, they want to cover all the bases): “Unitarians see human sexuality as a perfectly natural and healthy dimension of our existence.” (Well, of course. This is a very healthy viewpoint.)
“Although it is fundamentally the means of pro-creation, Unitarians recognise and value its role in bringing intimacy, tenderness, and pleasure to loving relationships. We do not insist that sex is for procreative purposes only, but its primeval purpose is a source of wonder, reverence, and awe.” (Primeval sex! It's healthy! Awesome!)
“For the most part, Unitarians take the view that the natural spectrum of sexuality includes both homosexuality and bisexuality. For this reason we would affirm the right of gay, lesbian, and bisexual people to give full emotional and physical expression to their sexuality.” (So let's just do it!)
“In all matters relating to sexuality, however,” (Uh-oh), “Unitarians stress the absolute necessity of responsibility and respect. For us, sexual immorality means any form of sexual activity that is not conducted on a sure basis of mutual consent and with due regard to the health, welfare and feelings of third parties. Unitarians regard sexual abuse and exploitation of any kind as an affront to the rights, worth, and dignity of the human person. Any sexual activity that is not entered into willingly, consciously, respectfully, and lovingly by consenting and responsible adults is seen by Unitarians as dangerous and unacceptable.”
Or at the very least, inappropriate. Some experimentation might possibly have been acceptable, except for whatever reason, I still didn't feel up to asking my parents about that possibility. I'd mentioned to them that I was pretty sure I was gay – at thirteen – but overall, I had the impression that while it would be brave of me to express my solidarity with the gay community, I wasn't emotionally ready for anything beyond a purely Platonic relationship... which was probably the case because, at thirteen, I'd just started puberty, and I was still having some trouble feeling really comfortable about sex and I still didn't want anyone else seeing me naked, which seemed to put a limit on exactly how far I expected to get anyway if I ever came out to anyone aside from my parents... because I also had to keep in mind that we were living in goddamn Texas which, by and large, happens to be not very gay-friendly...
And beyond that even, I also had to consider how the other boy felt about it and whether or not he was emotionally ready for... well, for whatever!
But then Logan Green, the awesomely cool and exceptionally good-looking boy I mentioned earlier, came out very openly at the Unitarian church we attend in Houston during a discussion of various LGBT issues, and while, admittedly, coming out when everyone in attendance is being supportive isn't the same as coming out in high school, I was still deeply moved. Inspired, even.
Even if I still didn't feel inspired enough to stand up and say that I too was gay and proud of it, because, for one reason, I was moved and inspired in more than just one area. In the primeval area of my being, and while I could have proudly stood up with a hymnal clutched in front of me or with my hands jammed into my pockets... or at least one hand, I decided not to.
Later, though, I would, I told myself. Logan was going to our teen camp, he said he was really looking forward to it, and so was I, and it was less than two weeks off, and... and...
Well, another reason for my not coming out at church right after Logan did was that I hadn't really rehearsed my coming-out speech. Because of course I wanted it to be a deeply moving one.
And with that in mind – the part about it being very moving – I still hadn't worked out exactly what I was going to say once camp started. I was counting the days with a mixture of both hope and dread. Because – to quote another movie line, this from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom: “Dr. Jones! No more parachutes!”
But still, I had every intention of blushingly and hesitantly coming out to Logan. I decided to go with blushingly and hesitantly because I was pretty sure that was how it would go, and if nothing else, that's called turning your weaknesses into strengths. Logan's heart would surely melt, and then, and then...
Well, maybe then we'd hold hands. And possibly there would be a chaste peck on the cheek or two. Because, seriously, I'd never witnessed anything close to an orgy at any previous camps. Camps are for having fun, but even so...
Well, maybe the real fireworks would start later on that summer, and quite frankly I felt emotionally ready for anything that Logan felt emotionally ready for. Only...
Logan met Aiden, and they were soon proudly holding hands and almost everybody was saying that they made such a nice couple, and it made me sick, because Aiden had a face full of pimples, and I did not have a very good time at all for the rest of the camp. I was really wishing I could get deathly ill and be rushed home early, but that didn't happen either.
Fortunately, though, I had more movie quotes to run through my head so I didn't have to pay any attention to any of our group discussions on saving the environment, or the effects of globalization on the peasants in Belize or someplace because...
Impossible! Nothing can get through our shields! (Star Wars: Episode I: The Phantom Menace, which really was disappointing, but...
Well, what to you think is going to happen when you shoot a tire out at eighty miles an hour? (Natalie Voss to Jackson Davis Hammond in The Chase, a movie my parents might have had some reservations about. But then in my room, I can watch anything I want to.)
And: “Dive!” yelled the captain through the thing. So the man who makes it dive pressed the button, or something, and it dove. And the enemy was foiled again. “Looks like we foiled them again,” said Dave. “Yeah,” said the captain. “We foiled those bastards again, didn't we Dave?” “Yeah,” said Dave. The End. (Mrs. Hazeltine reading her story in the creative writing class in Throw Momma From the Train, which is a movie my parents might have had some serious reservations about. Because for one thing, it's insensitive towards old people.)
But... The Church of England has now joined other extremist religious groups in proclaiming the phenomenon a sign of a coming Apocalypse, although Downing Street is refusing to be drawn into a religious debate. ... Once again, the bodies of recently deceased are returning to life and attacking the living. (A radio report from Shaun of the Dead, which is a movie my parents would almost certainly think inappropriate, but I thought it was hilarious and not only that - returning to camp - I was in a black mood. And teenagers are often primeval, you ever think about that?)
But then, but then... in March of 2011, with puberty coming along about as nicely as one might expect if one was still only 5' 1'' and 92 pounds, Joshua Rains entered the picture big time...
And for what seemed to be the longest time, I was plagued with deep longing and lust and guilt and uncertainty, so there wasn't so much as a hint of any fireworks. Unless you want to count my jerking off in my room with him in mind on countless occasions. That was easy enough to do, because Sunday nights through Friday evenings he was our guest, which meant at night he'd be in a spare bedroom only two doors down from my room. (Unfortunately, my parents are very well off because my dad's a defense lawyer. Often specializing in cases the ACLU sends his way, because – and you might have guessed this as well - my parents are card-carrying members.)
We first met Joshua and his father at the Unitarian Church, shortly after they moved down to Houston from Boston. Actually they were of the Episcopalian persuasion, only Episcopalians in Texas tend to be a lot more conservative than in Boston. From the way Joshua described things, I'd say that Episcopalians in Boston are almost as liberal as us Unitarians, but in Texas a good many are about as liberal as the ones in Africa which, in most cases, would place them just barely to the left of the Taliban. And - this could have easily been taken as a fairly good hint, and I did think about it some - inasmuch as the Episcopal General Convention voted to bless same-sex unions in 2009, and also inasmuch as a lesbian couple were married in a church ceremony in Boston in 2010, lots of Episcopalians in Texas were upset. Some even seemed to be as upset as the Evangelicals.
But anyway, Joshua's dad remarked that he didn't feel welcome at the Episcopal church they'd first attended in Houston (that could have been a hint, all right), and then he further remarked that he wasn't very happy with the Eighth Grade curriculum at Joshua's new school, but for now it looked like public school was their only option because, in the case of some good private schools, you had to apply at least a year in advance, which they hadn't, because Joshua's dad didn't know about the transfer from Boston to Houston until just before it happened. “But really,” he remarked to my sympathetic parents, “I cannot stomach what they're putting into my son's text books! Especially in Social Studies! Why, they're trying to rewrite history!”
And meanwhile, Joshua and I were exchanging coolly bemused looks and blushing every once in awhile, but when my mom mentioned how I was being home-schooled for the same reasons, and also after mentioning her credentials once Mr. Rains started expressing an interest in her possibly taking on another – because Joshua really was a good student and had hopes of going on to Harvard... which is when Joshua looked down and started blushing even more and that point, I was in love! - possibly...
But anyway, that's how he ended up staying with us during the week, because we lived a good 75 miles west of Houston, so it was only practical.
And he was a good student. It was hard to keep up with him. So that was good from my standpoint and my mom's as well. She said as much, something like: “Joshua, before you started with us, I had some doubts, but you're pushing Theo, so overall I'd have to say that it's working rather well.” (Then we both blushed, even if I was resenting her implication that I'd been a slacker up until then. Only occasionally did I ever think that I'd had enough for the day.)
And I could go on and on about how much fun he was to be around. He was playful, funny, a bit of a wise ass – even if it was always in a good-natured way – and as much into movies as I was. He was a really decent person.
But I could also go to great lengths explaining how all those good things about him played into my not wanting to take a chance on messing things up by even so much as hinting at us doing any playing around. More than two months passed before any of that happened, so there had to be a reason that was important to me, and that was part of it.
Even if I was hoping that sooner or later, I'd at least get a glimpse of him naked.
Only, he seemed to be even more modest than I was, and I was still not keen on him seeing me naked, even if I often wished we weren't so well-heeled, because in that case the bathroom adjoining the room he was staying in would have been a luxury we simply couldn't afford, but as it was...
Well, once when we were under a tornado watch, I was almost wishing... or at least fantasizing that one would hit us and rip the two of us right out of our beds and him out of his pajamas and me out of my Calvin Klein briefs, only we wouldn't be killed or badly injured but we would suddenly find ourselves deposited in a field about a mile away and then, soon as I'd gathered my wits, I'd glance over at him and ask, “Hey! You hurt?” (and except for some scratches, he wouldn't be) and then he'd look down and... “Shit! I'm naked!” and then he'd glance over at me and add, “And you are too!” and with that, I'd look down and reply, “Um... I suppose you're right,” and then he'd come back with, “You suppose? Haven't you ever seen yourself naked before?” and slightly wounded (but still relieved) I'd say, “Well, yeah, but never under these conditions, if you know what I mean,” and eventually, we'd agree that we'd simply have to make the best of it and at least we were still alive.
And that was just to get us out of our clothes!
So nothing at all happened until Thursday night, May 26th, which just happened to be the last night he would be staying with us – possibly until that Fall - because the following week he'd be back in Massachusetts spending a couple of weeks with his mom, and after that there was a possibility of a long vacation trip with his dad. So, overall, I was feeling fairly glum, even if I was trying not to show it, because it wouldn't be cool if I did.
But it was what it was and where you are, there you are. And at least my parents were out of the house until later on that evening. So if nothing else... well, while we were talking about this and that, maybe I'd manage to drop a hint or two. In regard to me being... well, possibly gay. At first I'd leave it at just possibly, but if he didn't seem to be all that bothered...
Well, maybe then I'd take things a little further. I'd still be just talking about it, but...
I really had no idea. Not in a million years would I have thought that things could end going as well as they did. And to think, it all started because of “Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian”, which I'd never watched before, and no more than ten minutes into it, I was also thinking that I'd never want to watch it again. In fact I was wondering how much longer it was going to last. (Even if that's only my opinion, and it doesn't devalue anyone else's.)
On the other hand, we Unitarians also place great value on being honest, so honestly, I didn't like the movie, and I was trying to think of a diplomatic way of telling Joshua that. Because of course I didn't want to offend him, only it was his movie. We'd finished our school work and it was kick back time. In his room for awhile. Which is when he said, “I decided to put this off until now because if you're like me, then at first you'll probably not be thinking it's all that great.”
Then, after pulling the DVD out of a drawer, he went on to explain that it had been a thirteenth birthday present from his aunt and since she'd been thoughtful enough to remember, he guessed he ought to at least finish watching it and he'd finally gotten around to it the week before. And his birthday was in July...
“So you're telling me it was close to ten months before you finished watching all of it? ... That doesn't sound like it's what I'd call spellbinding, Joshua.”
“That was my first impression.”
“So you're saying that it drags for awhile, but it ended better than you expected?”
“Let's watch it in your room, and then I'll explain, okay?”
But like I just said, after a little over ten minutes I was already on the verge of asking how long it was – an hour and 38 minutes, as it turned out – only at about the 11:40 mark, Joshua hit pause and said, “I never noticed this before, but I think we at least have another good quote, and not only that, I'm betting that it could apply to you right now.”
Then after I looked at him with raised eyebrows, came this from Octavius (the Roman toy soldier come to life) to Larry Daley: I can see that you're genuinely slightly bothered.
And I admitted that that was close to how I felt. Even if now that I've had more time to think about it, it was almost exactly.
“Well, not a problem,” said Joshua, and with that, he stopped the movie, but before I could start my slightly bothered apology – along with saying that it really wasn't that bad... even if it looked like it might be, he continued, “I didn't like it either. I thought it was so bad, I was groaning! It's not a movie you want to remember for too long. But that was before I decided to see if the Capalert guy reviewed it, and... he was upset again.”
“So you're saying...”
“I'm saying that after reading his report, I had to go back and find all the scenes that had pissed him off, and that's when I started enjoying the movie.”
So time out for a brief explanation of Capalert. It's a Fundamentalist Christan movie review site, and other than saying that as of late those on the Far Right keep going further to the right than I ever would have thought possible...
Well, if interested, then “Capalert” can be googled easily enough, but in the case of this story - which basically is about me finally reaching happily-ever-after - getting sidetracked on someone else's beliefs wouldn't be beneficial.
Except for this: Joshua and I had already spent or wasted a lot of time reading his interesting reviews. Certainly not all of them, but at least enough not to be surprised when he raised objections to statue or picture nudity. I mean, at first I was... “Statue nudity? You cannot be serious!” ... and when I introduced Joshua to the site, he reacted almost the same way. But up until Night at the Museum it was all about how we'd never been all that turned on by naked statues. And we still aren't, but this time, when we read “Cupid nudity, full nudity of three characters, repeatedly” in the sexual immorality section; we had to investigate. Even though Joshua said that he'd already looked, and he'd seen no penises. In fact, he was sure that there were none. ... But it wouldn't hurt to look again, just to make absolutely sure.
And the cupids had no sex organs. (And our interest was still purely academic.)
At that point, it was. Because still under the heading of sexual immorality there was: “Large statue nudity, animated, full nudity, repeatedly.” That was Rodin's The Thinker. But even though it wasn't draped... which would seem to equal “full nudity” after all, not so much as a hint of his private parts. (And now that I think of it, the cupids weren't draped either.) Only...
Well, my interest was still academic, but, “You know,” I mused, “I've seen some pictures of it, but I never paid any attention to them. Because for one thing, I think it was always a side-view. Just his torso, him sitting there thinking. So I guess the question is, does the real statue even... have one?”
“What? A penis?”
“Yeah. All at once, I'm curious.”
“Well, now that you mention it, so am I, because I can't recall ever seeing it except from its side either...”
And just like that, our attention had shifted from penises that weren't there to one that might be there. Still only out of curiosity, though.
But after googling it, a page full of images from all angles revealed that yes, it definitely had one. Not as clearly defined as in the case of Michelangelo's David, but still, there was clearly a penis.
“And you can see that he has a pubic bush,” added Joshua. (Even if we were still being mature about it.)
Or, at least I was until he added, “I've just started getting some.”
Then after a pause he asked, “You got any yet?”
“Um... yeah,” I managed.
“How long have I had any?”
“Yeah. Just wondering. ... I'm curious, okay?”
“Um... I started last summer.”
And meanwhile, my heart was palpitating. And of course, I was also starting to feel a bit breathless.
And Joshua was starting to sound that way – breathless and squeaky – but bravely he soldiered on with, “So it's grown out pretty good by now?”
“Well... um... well, sorta. ... Not really spread out... much... that I can tell... but I guess it's getting there.”
“Sounds cool. ... My dad said... and I've read that... well, at our age, it's normal to be curious. He said it didn't mean...” (then in a rush), “well, what I'm trying to say is, it doesn't mean that we'd be gay, he said most of us really aren't sure if we are or not, but... wanna get naked? I will if you will. I'm curious, okay? That's all, just curious.” (Be still, my beating heart!)
“Yeah, I guess,” I managed, then reminding myself that I still needed to be cool about it, I added, “I'd like to.”
“Way cool!” and with that, he started hurriedly pulling his shirt up.
And I did likewise.
But then, before I'd pulled my shirt completely off – meaning that it was still over my eyes, he giggled and said, “I'm flowering.”
Which also came courtesy of Capalert. In the review of Billy Elliot, in the sexual immorality section there was: “Clothed scenes of adolescent heterosexual flowering” which we assumed meant the same thing as the “Portrayal of adolescent sexual awakening” in Peter Pan. Not that we could ever find those scenes, but then the Capalert guy has a fairly vivid imagination... apparently...
More vivid than our adolescent imaginations. Imagine that. But meanwhile...
“I think I've already flowered,” I replied honestly.
“So that'll be interesting too,” said Joshua.
“Yeah, I bet,” I replied. Slightly more breathlessly.
Or possibly way more, but anyway, in no time at all, when we were down to just our form-fitting boxer briefs – mine navy blue, his brown... I remarked, “Yeah, you've flowered, all right.”
“No shit, Sherlock, and yours looks decent too... So on the count of three: one, two...”
And then there it was in all its glory. Because Joshua jumped the gun, yanked his briefs down, and there it was!
Then he pushed down on it and then let go and it popped back up to almost vertical again, and...
“Definitely in full bloom,” he remarked huskily. (And breathlessly too, but just for the sake of variety...)
“Well, what are you waiting for, go ahead and get 'em... no wait. Can I?”
So with my thumbs hooked inside the waistband of my briefs... I was about to, but... I paused anyway. And asked, “Can you what?”
“Can I pull them off? If we're going to experiment, then we might as well get as much out of it as possible, right?”
Experiment? We were going to... EXPERIMENT???
Well, aside from the fact that we already were experimenting. “If you want to,” I managed.
“Cool!” God! He's taking it soo well...
Then he stepped towards me, hooked his thumbs under my waistband in front and, “Okay, then...”
And it felt different. “Nice,” he commented. I appreciated him saying that, because just starting to grow hair or not, his looked close to five inches, while mine hadn't reached that mark yet...
“Wanna hug? Let's do that,” and before I could stammer anything, he was. Hugging me. Close and tight. As close as possible, with our penises rubbing against each other and the side of his face pressed against mine... and I was going to mention that I liked that, but instead...
“I think I'm close to sensory overload,” I managed.
“Me too. It's awesome, isn't it?”
... “Definitely. But...”
“Let's get on your bed. ... In case one of us passes out.”
And this time, I at least managed to get the first half of “okay” out before we were on my bed and... and...
“Let's catch our breath a little,” he said and then before I could agree to that, he added, “We still stay close to each other, but I think we need to slow down some. Agree?”
“Yeah.” (Deep breath) “I... well, I don't know about you, but at the rate we're going... well, actually... I mean, I haven't ever done anything like this, okay? And it feels fantastic, but the problem is, by now, us being against each other is like being in the middle of the best wet dream ever, but the problem with that is... Hush. Let me finish. The problem with this being my first time is, I'm not sure how long I can hold it back, okay?”
“My first time too. And I feel about the same way. So... well, of course you jerk off. I mean, you do, right?”
“Only three or four times a day.”
“Me too. Close enough. But anyway, what I was about to say is, I've read that boys... if they experiment with each other... I mean, you've heard of mutual masturbation, right?”
“Fuck!” I whispered, “you almost made me lose it right there!”
“So I'm going to take that as a yes, and I've practiced this on myself, but I am now about to...” (and then after he just fucking well did it... again...) “hold onto to the base of your penis, and not do anything much to it until you feel like the feeling's ebbing a little, and you'll be... Oh shit, that does feel good.”
(I thought it was time that I upped the ante before he could finish mentioning it.) So I grabbed his and... how I managed to not lose it, I will never know. Even with our precautionary measures. Seriously. I would have settled for just seeing him naked. Nothing beyond that, or at least not for starters, but this...
I can't describe it. I just can't.
But we did manage to hold out for slightly more than twenty minutes, which was much longer than I'd ever managed on my own, and that in spite of it feeling... I don't know, about 14 times better than ever before? ... At least that much. And possibly even more than that.
It was hard to tell, actually.
This is from Smokey and The Bandit, a movie that's full of quotable quotes, but this exchange between Carrie and the Bandit summed it up very nicely. In terms of where we were headed. The two of us. Me and Joshua. The two of us!
So that sums it up too, but even so... right after Smokey jumps over a bridge even though... as Carrie put it just prior to the jump: “It would be better with a whole bridge”... but with no other option, over that bridge they went, and they made it! Then (from Carrie): “We jumped over that bridge! We did that! Did you see what we did?”
And in reply, Bandit says (through gritted teeth): “Yes, I did.”
That's because Bandit was having trouble believing he was still in one piece. As opposed to the irrepressible Carrie who went on: “I wanna jump something else! I wanna jump a house! I wanna jump something!”
We had more bridges to jump – Joshua and I - and we were looking forward to all of them. There was no doubt about it. Not any more. Because...
Well, because later on that night while we were catching our breath – in bed – I said, “You want to know something? Before this afternoon, I would have settled for just seeing you naked. Just that. I would have settled for that. So after seeing you with a full-blown erection... well, then, I would have settled for that! I mean, I'd still be wanting to see it some more, but... well, you know, I would have been whacking off who knows how many times just thinking about seeing you with a boner!”
“Yeah, me too,” said Joshua.
“So I guess that means we fancy each other, right?”
“By now, I'd say that's obvious.”
Then he sleepily pulled me up close.
It was the best feeling in the world.
If you've reached this point, then I'm guessing that my latest effort was at least fairly acceptable, and as always, thanks for reading.
And also as always, major thanks to David Clarke. My writing will never be as polished as I'd like, but without his help, it would be a lot less so. That much, I'm sure of.