Date: Fri, 24 Sep 1999 14:36:33 -0700
From: Bruce Bramson <organs@backdoor.com>
Subject: Central Velly High

			    CENTRAL VALLEY HIGH

I entered in 1950, a short skinny youth with a shock of wild hair.  I was,
in fact, the quintessential "nerd", utterly unwilling to follow current
fashions or fads.  I was considered bright, "College Prep", a Science
Major. What many fail to realize is, "nerds" get just as horny as anyone
else.  Possibly, more so...

Physically, I was a "late bloomer", the raging hormone syndrome gradually
taking effect during my freshman year.  I had for some time had a
fascination for looking at guys, and there were some real beauties at
school.  In those days, boys felt no compunction to hide what they had.
Long before shrunk-to-fit pants became popular with gay guys, high-school
lads wore the tightest pants they could shimmy into; if the result was a
big basket, so much the better.  Of course, if asked, they would have said
this was to attract girls, but no one ever asked. It was taken for granted
that male youths could flaunt their physical beauty shamelessly, and they
DID!  Unfortunately, I did not have "it", or so I thought, so I eschewed
the tight pants and wore my brother's hand-me-down denims most of the
time. We were less than affluent as I grew up in this mid-sized Valley
town.

The first manifestation of my "awakening" was in the form of wet dreams,
which I was not prepared for.  "Unca Bob" showed me how to deal with them!
(See, "Jordie").  Thereafter, when I was not pulling my pud, I spent most
of my time fantasizing about my classmates.  I could not make up my mind
whether I liked John, a short muscular fellow who wore the tightest jeans
and sported the most fully-packed basket of anyone, or Gary, who was taller
than me, played basketball, and showed a delicious basket in the skimpy
gym-shorts guys wore in those days.  Or Leon, very small and even more
immature than myself.  Or Evan, the blond "boy next door".  Or Danny, or
Shelly, or Tom...  The fact is, I was fascinated by them all, and before
long all my jack off sessions involved fantasies about one or another of
them.

Yet these guys, most of them what we now call "jocks", had absolutely NO
time for a geeky kid like me.  What annoyed me more, I knew what most of
these fellows had between their legs: in those days Physical Education was
required, and it always included changing before, and showering and
changing again after, whatever sport one tried out for. Unfortunately, the
"sport" I wanted to try wasn't being offered.

In fact, I had no use for sports beyond the chance to glimpse my classmates
nude, or nearly so.  I was still far too uncoordinated to engage in
anything competitive, a fact recognized by the coaches, who were content to
let me be towel-boy for a single class credit.  I loved to watch
basketball: my eyes feasted upon all those lithe limbs and skimpy shorts,
and my poor pecker stayed hard in my pants for hours.  I cut the bottoms
out of my right pocket, which allowed me to hold myself as I watched; as
soon as I got home after a game I would whack off with the vision of all
those legs and arms and chests and dicks to feed my fantasies.

So my freshman year was an endless series of imagined orgies, and, once the
swelling and soreness occasioned by my first few masturbations went away, I
jacked off daily, often several times.  I left my load in hankies, tissues,
socks, shorts, tee-shirts, pants, on the wall, in the bed, in the sink, in
the toilet, in my hand, in my face, and in just about every other place I
could think of.  Yet, for some strange reason, I had the notion that I was
the only guy in the school who did these things: that my classmates were
doing it, just as I was, was the revelation that dawned on me early in my
Sophomore year: I stumbled onto a "circle-jerk" in a corner of the gym.

Holy Christ! Here were 5 guys, none of whom I knew but all of whom I sure
WISHED I knew, with their pants around their ankles, jacking furiously.  My
dick sprang up in my pants as I stood and watched, undetected for a few
moments.  Then one of the boys spotted me, and I froze.  I was unable to
move as they hoisted their jeans quickly. In a flash they were upon me, and
I was "pantsed", my denims were tossed on top of a row of lockers, and with
a lot of ribald laughter, the boys were gone, leaving me shivering on the
concrete floor. My dick didn't droop through the whole episode.

Now that I knew other guys did what I did, my objective became that of
finding a group to join.  This wasn't easy, because I was such a loner and
outsider to all the usual goings-on in the school.  I couldn't dance; the
whole idea of dancing with a girl struck me as silly.  I couldn't sing, I
couldn't do sports, I couldn't swim, I couldn't act, there just was nothing
I could do that any of the hunks did.  All I could do is jack off, and this
I did more and more often, usually with that circle-jerk scene foremost in
my mind.  I spent as much time in one or another of the toilets as I could,
risking furtive glances at pissing dicks, hoping to spot another hard-on,
but these were few and far between.

Then one day I overheard bits of a conversation at the table behind me in
Biology Lab.  I was sure I wasn't supposed to hear, but it sent my hormones
into 5+ range: something about the Biology teacher.  I got enough of the
conversation to suggest that only guys would be there, and of course I
fancied some sort of sex was the objective.  My dick rose up, and I tried
my best to get the time and location, but didn't succeed, not wanting the
speakers to see my ears "flapping".  I set about trying to figure out how
to wangle an invitation, partly because the Biology teacher was about the
only older dude I had ever thought to look at more than once.  He wasn't
that much older, for one thing - in his thirties - and he dressed rather
casually for that time, in a way that revealed a trim, athletic body not
all that different from some of his older students. He often put his arm
around our shoulders, something NO other teachers did.

As it turned out, that conversation WAS meant for me: one of the boys in
the circle-jerk I'd witnessed had reported my state of excitement at seeing
their brief display.  He also noticed my "flapping" ears, and the rise in
my denims as well. So when Mr. Bennett quietly mentioned he would be home
the next Saturday afternoon, and would be willing to give me some extra
tutoring, I was ecstatic!  Of course, the first thing I did was run home
and jack off, imagining all sorts of wild "tutoring" involving many of my
classmates.

The next few days were agonizing: so sure was I of getting into a few of my
classmates' pants that I did not jack off for two WHOLE days!  And while
the visit turned out very different from what I expected, the events which
did unfold were beyond my imagining.  Came Saturday afternoon, I was at
Mr. Bennett's door, unspeakably horny and excited.

Only Mr. Bennett was there.  Damn!

"My boy, I have a big surprise for you," Bennett said, after the usual
greetings.  He must have seen my crestfallen look when I found only him at
home.  "You are going to be on television!"

In 1951, we still had no TV at home.  My father thought even then it would
be a bad influence.  So I had rarely seen a TV show, and the idea of
somehow being involved in one was utterly foreign to me.


"There's a program called "Science in Action", and I put your name in for a
student interview spot.  You've been selected, and the program will be on
in a couple of weeks.  So, you have to be ready."

He filled me in on all the details.  Then he said, "You'll be representing
CVHS, so we have to do something about your appearance."

"Such as?"

"You'll need some new clothes, and certainly a haircut."

New clothes were out of the question.  He saw my troubled look at once.
"Not to worry, my boy, I have a 'slush fund' I can use to help in these
situations. We'll just pile in my car and go see what we can find at
Sears."

I went to the denims, but Mr. Bennett suggested jeans.  He selected a pair
he thought would fit, and pushed me toward the changing room.  "Try those
on," he said.

He had an eye, alright!  The pants fit perfectly, hugging my thighs
sensuously.  With my dick swollen by the new sensation, I even showed a bit
of a basket, as I admired myself in the mirror.  When I appeared from the
changing room, he gave me an appreciative glance: "That's better," he said.
"Now some shirts."

He selected a few nice shirts, under-shorts and tee-shirts.  He seemed an
expert at picking the right sizes, so I did little more than watch.  I was
still wearing the new jeans when the shoe salesman glanced at me
appreciatively from his little stool. My poor little dick, squashed beneath
the tight fabric, ached!  With effort, I resisted the temptation to jerk
off in the changing room when I switched back into my time-worn denims.

From Sears, we returned to Bennett's house, still no other youngsters in
sight.  "Now, about that hair," Bennett exclaimed, opening a door.  Inside
was a fairly complete barber-shop, with a comfortable reclining chair, a
sink, and lots of equipment. "Put myself through college by barbering,"
Bennett explained, "so I think I can do a little something with that mop of
yours."  I hopped into the chair, and he went to work.  For some reason, I
found his attention very stimulating: I thought my little wee-wee had never
stayed hard so long.  Every time Bennett touched my head, to tilt it this
way or that, I thought I would explode.  An expert, he even lathered me up
and trimmed my neck-line with a straight razor, just like in the real
shops.  When he was through, he said, "Get your new things and bring them
in here."  I obeyed.

"Now, we'll watch a real transformation," Bennett said, as he rolled out a
floor-length mirror on a stand. "Put these on," he said, selecting some
jeans, undies, a shirt, shoes and socks. He tore off labels here and there.

"Here?"

"Sure; just us guys.  You really ARE a cute kid: you only need to learn how
to show yourself off to advantage, then you won't be such a loner."

I slowly unzipped my denims, and they fell away.  Then I shucked my shirt
and dropped it on the floor as I always did at home.  As usual, my dick
swelled up.  I slipped out of my singlet, and pulled a snowy new tee-shirt
over my head.  I looked to him for approval.

"Let me show you," Bennett said.  He stood before me and rolled each sleeve
up neatly, just the way I'd seen all the boys do.  His fingers toying
around my armpits sent my temperature up a few degrees, and when he
smoothed the tight shirt down over my chest and tummy, I thought I was
going to drop a load.  "Now the shorts," he said.

"What the heck?" I thought: he must have seen guys nude down there before.
I pushed my shorts down, and my raging hard-on headed for the ceiling.  As
casually as one might caress a cat, Bennett, still standing before me,
cupped my balls and fondled my dick.  I thought I would shoot, so horny was
I, but after just a bit of this, he handed me my new shorts.  I put them
on, struggling to get the tight waistband over my erection.  Then I pulled
on the jeans, once again experiencing the new sensation of taught fabric
hugging my thighs.  I had trouble buttoning them, not being used to doing
so: Bennett obliged, and once again, my temperature shot upwards as his
nimble fingers, working SO close to my private parts, got the fly closed.
Somehow, in doing so, he managed to arrange my boyhood in such a way that
its outline showed clearly through the dark blue fabric.  When the shoes
and socks were in place, he pushed me in front of the mirror.

Truly, I HAD been transformed!  My hair, still long, was coaxed into
various swirls around my head, and it glistened with Bryl-Cream.  My bare
arms emanated from tightly rolled sleeves, and when I lifted my arms, the
few hairs in my pits could be seen clearly.  Encased in jeans, my legs
looked little different from those of my classmates, whose legs I admired
so much.  And that I could ACTUALLY show a basket was utterly thrilling!

"Recognize him?" Bennett asked.

"Gosh, Mr. Bennett, I don't know what to say, or how to thank you."

"You don't need to," he said: I've enjoyed helping you see yourself for the
cute kid you really are.  Now, gather up your stuff and run along.  I know
you can't wait to jack off that horny pecker of yours."

Well, he was sure right about THAT!  "But I thought..."

"No, my boy, none of that!  I'm old enough to be your father, and I don't
fool around with youngsters.  But I was one once, not so long ago, and I
remember how it was."

I just HAD to ask: "Mr. Bennett, did you ever jack off with other guys when
you were my age?"

"Of COURSE I did. Everybody does. Haven't you, yet?  Then, "No, I guess you
haven't.  Just keep yourself looking sexy like you do now, and I'm sure you
will soon. Now, run along, my wife will be along soon."

It happened much sooner than I - or he - could have guessed!  Walking home
with my bag of treasures, I ran into Shelly, who I thought was one of the
most gorgeous guys I'd ever seen.

As if seeing me for the first time (which he was!) he greeted me -
something he'd never done before.

"Hi... uh..."

"Bruce."

"Yeah!  I didn't recognize you.  You're in my home room."

"Yep."

"Whatcha up to?"

"Been shopping."

An awkward pause.  I appraised Shelly, taller by a head than myself, in
tight jeans, like myself (now!), the bulge in his crotch drawing my eyes
like magnets.  He had a narrow waist, but unusually broad shoulders, a
graceful neck, and nicely muscled arms which emerged from sleeves rolled
tightly into his pits just like my own.  A few glossy black hairs curled
into the sunshine.  Shelly appraised me, and seemed to like what he saw.

"I'm going to be on TV," I said, hoping to get a conversation going.

"No kidding?"

"Science in Action. Channel 2, in a couple of weeks.

"Neat!  Say, could you help me with my Biology homework?  I can't seem to
get this stuff about generics."

"Genetics," I corrected.

"Genetics, schmenetics, whatever!  It's goofy."

"Sure, I'll give you a hand. When?"

"How about now?

"Why not?"

We fell into step, headed for his house nearby.  Shelly had a way of
walking: a "liquid" sort of motion.  When I could lag behind enough to
watch the back of his legs, his thigh muscles appeared nicely developed and
shapely.  I recalled that he was a swimmer; I'd seen him in a bathing suit
often at the gym, but never nude.

We raided the refrigerator at his house, then went upstairs to his bedroom,
colas in hand.  His room was small, part of the attic, warm and stuffy.
Shelly stripped off his tee-shirt, exposing his lovely chest. The muscles
in his shoulders were powerful and curvaceous, tanned and smooth; he had
far more hair under his arms than I, yet elsewhere he seemed to have very
little.  He stretched, pulled up a chair for me, and pulled down his
biology text.  Within minutes, I realized he had at least as good a grasp
of Mendelian inheritance as I did, if not better: he needed no help.

"Jeez, Shelly, you're more up on this stuff than I am," I told him
honestly.

"Just doesn't make a whole lotta sense, even so," he replied, rubbing one
shoulder as if it was sore.

"Something the matter with your shoulder?"

"Oh, pulled a muscle I guess.  It needs to be rubbed - right there," he
said, indicating a spot.  " Spose you could rub it a bit for me?"

"Sure."  I stood behind his chair, and tentatively put my hand on the spot
he said was hurting.  I had never felt anything so wonderful in my life!
His skin was soft and smooth, but the muscles underneath firm and well
developed. I ran my hands over those round mounds of muscle and nearly
fainted with pleasure. From the tips of my fingers, the sensation ran right
down to my dick, which instantly rose to attention.

"Harder. Squeeze with your fingers. Yes, there - that's it, that's the
spot."

I worked a little harder, but glanced up and saw us reflected in a mirror:
Shelly, shirtless, seated, with me massaging his shoulders from behind.
Confined in my new jeans, I thought my prick would burst, but I could not
stop feeling Shelly's wonderful skin.  My hands wandered far from the sore
spot, down over his powerful biceps, where a sexy vein stood out.  Shelly
closed his eyes, and my hands wandered further, across his chest, where
they felt his pecs, and tweaked his nipples, surprisingly hard.  I could
not stop myself...

...but Shelly could, and did, long enough to stand and face me, rip open
his jeans, and push them down.  His hard-on tented his white shorts, and a
greyish spot near the evident head suggested some sort of leakage had taken
place.  He gruffly gripped the waistband of my new jeans, easily parted the
fly, hooked his thumbs on jeans and shorts and pushed them to my knees. No
longer in control of myself, I reached out, gathered the sides of his
shorts and roughly pulled them down, allowing his boner to spring forth -
the first real boner besides my own I'd ever seen up close.  It was, I
thought, the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.  It sprang, not quite
perfectly round, but dead straight and perhaps seven inches long, from a
thicket of fine, curly hair.  Tethered below were two large balls, the left
slightly below the right.

We stood thus for what seemed an age, admiring each other.  Shelly seemed
pleased with what he'd found inside my trousers, and I was mesmerised by
the sight of his prong, which bounced ever so slightly up and down in time
to hiS heart's steady rhythm. Entranced, I boldly grasped that gorgeous
dick of his, felt it throb in my hand, then cupped his balls much as
Mr. Bennett had done mine not so much earlier in the day. Shelly groaned, a
low, throaty groan, as if in pain, but enjoying it.  Almost unconsciously,
I began to stroke his meat, my hand palm-up, delighting in the rubbery
smoothness of it.

"I never realized what a good looking kid you are," Shelly said at last.

"I've admired you a long time, myself," I said, "and dreamed of getting my
hand on your pecker."  I stroked it a bit faster.

"Sure feels good," he said.

"Doesn't it?!" I exclaimed.

I looked down.  The head of Shelly's cock glistened, and seeing my hand
upon him set my spine tingling.  I took my own dick in hand, and stroked us
both to the same beat.  I was on the edge, and sensed that he was not far
from shooting, though I was too inexpert as yet to read all the subtle
signs in another person. But when he gripped my shoulders, pressed them
hard, and rose up on his toes, I was sure he was going to cum, and he did.
My hand, still palm-up, was quickly filled with the familiar milky flow.
Shelly was an "oozer" - it just flowed out in a series of globs, perhaps a
tablespoon-full before he was through, as his dick throbbed over and over.
I quickly brought this bounty to my mouth, licked my palm with my tongue,
enjoying the somewhat astringent taste.  I'd long since tired of eating my
own, but here was a fresh load from someone else.  Similar to mine, it was
different in an undefinable way, and I gulped it down as if it were manna
from heaven.

"Gawd damn, I NEEDED that," Shelly said breathlessly.

"So you did!" I rejoined.

"How about you?"

"I want to."

"Here."

He wrapped his large and slightly hairy hand around my stiff dick, and
that's all it took.  I'm a "spurter", and I squirted cum uncontrollably.
Some landed in his pants, still at half-mast; a big glob struck his thigh,
and began to slowly run down towards his knee.  Other gooey gobs decorated
his hairy thicket. Still others fell to the floor. I could not recall EVER
cumming so much, or for so long - and all he'd done was grip my dick, only
the second to do so.

"Gee, you cum a lot for such a little guy," Shelly said, wide eyed.

I winced at this reference to my size.  "To be honest, you're only the
second person to touch me," I said.  No need to tell him I'd been saving up
for Mr.  Bennett's "party", which hadn't taken place.

"Sure wish I'd been the first," he said rather wistfully.  "Who did?"

"I - um - can't tell you, I'm afraid," I replied, thinking it unwise to
reveal Mr.  Bennett's predilection.  "But you felt ever so much better!"

"Bet it was Mr. Bennett in Biology.  That guy has Roman hands and Russian
fingers' - cops a feel every chance he gets."

"Mmmmmmm." I tried to be noncommittal.

"Throws WILD parties now and then, too.  I'll see if I can get you an
invite to the next'n."

Good news!

Shelly pulled up his shorts, then his jeans, ignoring the soggy spots of my
cum.  Our tryst was over, and I followed his lead.  As we headed out of his
room, I spied a pair of heavily stained shorts on a chair, and
surreptitiously scooped them up and jammed them in my pocket.  When I got
home, I examined them closely: it looked like he'd cum in them several
times: the familiar yellowish stains were stiff, but the shorts still
smelled of "young guy".  I whipped out my meat, shoved the shorts into my
mouth, and jacked quickly to another lunging climax, visions of Shelly's
oozing dick in my head.  I brought his shorts down in the nick of time, and
added my youthful exudate to his.  I had those shorts around for months,
and shot them so full of cum they would stand, yellowed and stiff as if
starched, on my desk.

The TV appearance was fun.  In those days, Channel 2 had its studios and
transmitters in the Sutro Mansion, at the top of Twin Peaks.  Mr. Bennett
and I took a bus to San Francisco, and were met by various people connected
with the show.  There were rehearsals in the morning, then we all went to a
fancy restaurant for lunch. Since my "spot" was at the program's end, and
lasted no more than a few minutes, I had time to wander around the big old
mansion.  There were rooms filled with humming cabinets, others with small
stages and clunky-looking TV cameras.  Fortunately, I found an isolated
bathroom: horny as ever, I left a wad of cum on the wall, and went back to
exploration.  The program itself aired live in the early evening, and I
remember almost none of it: I still have the 8 X 10 glossy that was given
me as a souvenir.

Mr. Bennett and I climbed into a Greyhound bus about 8 for the two hour
trip home.  It was dark, and I soon fell asleep, my head propped against
the window.  When Bennett's hand crept over and cupped my basket, I awoke,
but feigned sleep, wondering what he might do.  After rubbing me enough to
get me hard, he worked his hand into my jeans - no small feat, tight as
they were.  He simply held my hard-on in his hand for the remainder of the
trip.  My stiffie stayed up the whole time, and I stayed "asleep", hoping
his hand might get more active, but it did not.  From the bus station,
Bennett drove me home, never mentioning his "Roman hand", this time without
the "Russian fingers".

Meanwhile, I could NOT believe my sudden popularity at school!  A few girls
made passes, which I fended off easily.  The boys, while not exactly
"overt", began including me in brief conversations in class and at the
lockers.  One of the gym coaches suggested that I could play handball -
there were two courts - and he matched me up with Dan, a kid about my size.
Of course, this meant stripping and showering, which gave me lots of
opportunity to assess my classmates bodies and equipment.  I remained
always fearful of springing a boner, but it usually didn't happen for some
reason.  Once in a while there was a bit of "horsing around" in the showers
or drying room.  I got a few towels snapped at my backside, but it seemed
innocent enough.  Dan had a very nice pair of legs, which he enjoyed
showing off by wearing the skimpiest grey shorts.  He gave me a jock, the
first I had owned because I was too poor (or too embarassed) to get one for
myself.  The first time I slipped into it, as he watched, I got the usual
boner at once: the elastic cupping my privates, and the thin straps around
my legs and up into my crack were new sensations.  Dan, I thought, watched
a little longer than he might have, as I pulled on my shorts and we headed
for the courts. These were somewhat isolated, built for some reason between
two sets of bleachers that faced the track and field.  After a few minutes
of vigorous swatting of the tennis ball we used, Dan said, "Let's take a
break."

We flopped down, our backs against the sidewall, panting.

Dan broke the silence: "Gee, I'm horny this morning."

"Join the crowd.  I'm horny all the time these days."

"Yeah, this thing between my legs rules my life."  I saw that he was
getting hard.  So was I.

He rubbed his crotch.  "Gotta get some relief," he exclaimed.  "Come on..."

He sauntered out of the court, around the wall, and slipped under the
bleachers; threading our way through the supports, we soon found a spot at
the back where we could stand.  Dan slipped his shorts down, and
unabashedly hauled his cock out by pushing the jock aside.  He had about
the same kind of dick as mine, a bit more curved.  I needed no prodding,
and pulled mine out.  Of course, it was hard as a rock, and fumbling with
the unfamiliar jock just made it harder.

"Nice prick."

"Yours, too."

"Wanna jack me off," Dan asked?

"Sure."

I took his dick in hand.  It seemed hot to my touch, but it responded
quickly to the attention, and I felt the surge of blood as it engorged
fully.  I jacked him to a quick climax, his seed falling to the ground,
except for some which dribbled down over my hand.  Without even asking, he
did the same for me.  The fact we could be spotted by a nosey coach or
horny kid heightened the experience, and I soon shot my wad, also on the
ground.  We spoke no words, just "took care of each others' need".

"Thanks," Dan said.

"Any time," I replied.  We went back to our game, and the bell soon sounded
to send us back to the showers.

It became an almost daily occurrence.  We would stand there under the
bleachers, where we could easily see passing runners, or football games
farther away. Now and then a coach would wander by: no one ever spotted us.
There was nothing unusual about seeing those courts empty: the game was
generally regarded as a "sissie" sport, and Dan and I were the only two
students who ever played.  Nevertheless, the possibility of being
"discovered" made it all the more fun.  From time to time, if the need
arose, Dan would take a leak down there, too, and I found it strangely
erotic to watch: he was utterly unabashed, and would do ANYthing in front
of ANYbody, as I would discover later.  But there under the bleachers, it
was just us two horny lads, looking after each other.

By afternoon, walking home from school, I was always horny again.  Usually,
when I got home, I'd whip out my meat and pull it off, then do my chores or
a bit of studying.  One day, though, a Chevy pulled up where I was walking.
Gary, the tall basketballer I admired so much, was at the wheel, and
offered me a lift, something he'd never done before.  He was almost never
seen without Marcia, his "steady", at his side.  I slipped into his snazzy
car.

"Where's Marcia," I asked?

"On the rag."

I had NO idea what that meant, but was not about to ask.  He pulled away
from the curb, driving quite slowly, in the general direction of my house.
With his left hand resting on the "necker's knob", his right was free, and
it drifted quickly to his lap.

"Haven't had any for a coupla days."

Dumb little me: again, I was not sure what he was talking about.  But the
movement of his hand around his crotch made it clear he was horny.  Soon
enough, I thought the worn fabric of his jeans would explode!  Visions of
his lithe legs dancing around the basketball court shot through my mind,
along with many vivid images of his skimpy grey shorts, and the goodies
they contained.  I'd never seen him nude, as he had PE at a different time
from me.

It was now, or never, I thought: "Can I help you," I asked?

"I need a place to jerk off.  My folks are always home."

Well, heck: in a town like ours, the orchards were only a few minutes away
by car, and there were lots of places a horny guy could go, just to get
away long enough to whack off.  Gary didn't need my place...

..."but maybe he needs ME," I thought.  I moved closer, across the seat, so
I could put my left hand on his thigh.  It twitched alluringly.  "My folks
don't get home till 6," I said.

We were nearing our place; I'm still not sure how Gary knew which driveway
to use, but he did.  We had the kind that goes around behind the house and
out again, with a drive-through garage of sorts at the back.  What with
trees and plantings, parked there, no one could see us at all.  Still, the
idea of the two of us jerking off in the cramped confines of his front seat
didn't appeal to me, and I invited him inside.  My bedroom wasn't anything
special, but it was mine alone, and the bed was comfortable.

"Sure there's no one home?"

"Oh, come on! Even if there is, and there isn't, they wouldn't bother us
anyway.  We'll just be studying Biology."

My room opened off the back porch, so getting inside took only a few
moments.  It was long enough to admire Gary's form as I directed him there.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought I could do anything with
this guy!  He was, for one thing, a Senior; they usually didn't have much
to do with us lower classmen. But he was also a member of a clique - a
group of perhaps twenty youths from somewhat better homes than mine, who
"ran around together".  Most of them were DeMolay's - a sort of fraternity,
I gathered. A few were class officers, and others were just "jocks"; they
all had girlfriends, though who was "going" with whom changed now and then.
Whatever Marcia's problem, Gary led me to believe she would usually relieve
his horniness.  Yet, here we were in my bedroom together, he standing a bit
awkwardly a full foot taller than myself, still pawing at his crotch like a
man possessed.

I was not quite sure how to proceed, this being only my second one-on-one
encounter; despite hopeful signs, I hadn't seen Shelly again.  In the
awkward silence, I appraised this stud, so tall, his legs encased in
skin-tight jeans, his long arms (much hairier than mine) dangling.  His
right hand groping himself was the only movement.  Something HAD to give!

"If you don't get out of those jeans," I said, "they're going to explode!"

A throaty chuckle crossed his lips.  In a trice, his fly was open.  White
Fruit-of-the-Looms flashed.  He pushed his pants down slowly; they clung so
tightly he had to use both hands on each thigh in turn, to get them below
his knees.  He hobbled two steps, and sank down on my bed, his shorts
tenting so far I was amazed they could stretch so much.  Indeed, there was
a major tear along one side which revealed a tantalizing bit of tanned
skin.  I sat down on the bed beside him, and reached toward those shorts.
Before I got there, he had risen enough to slip them down atop his pants,
and there was his young manhood, exposed before my greedy eyes.  It was
specTACular!  HE was spectacular!  He had some hair on his thighs: all the
hairs pointed in the same direction, and were short and straight.  The hair
in his crotch was thick, yet his balls, and patches on his thighs nearby,
were nearly hairless.  He had the first "treasure trail" I'd ever seen up
close, that ended just at his navel.  But it was his "toad-stabber" that
drew my attention.  It was long, close on 8 inches, I judged, and it curved
leftward at a rakish angle.  His "purple helmet" was just a trifle larger
than the shaft below, and there were droplets forming at the slit.

I shifted position, and reached over with my right hand.  Wild horses could
not have stopped me!  I gripped that massive prong and began to jack it
off, slowly, as sensuously as I could.  Gary relaxed against the wall: he
was so tall, he could do so, even with his feet still on the floor.  He
pulled his tee shirt up to his neck, which gave me a chance to study his
torso.  I could not imagine anything more beautiful!  He was slightly dark,
as if tanned, except that was his natural color; yet there were subtle
shadings around his pecs and neck.  He was not particularly "muscular", yet
he was "defined", such that every muscle below his skin could be seen as if
his skin wasn't there. I continued to jack him slowly, hoping to savor this
experience I'd dreamt of so many times.  I was instantly envious of Marcia,
who I presumed had ready access to this gorgeous guy any time she wished.

But, I realized, I was not getting the sort of reaction I expected from
Gary.  He wasn't breathing hard, didn't seem to be "getting the feeling".
I increased the speed of my hand on his lovely prick.

"Marcia sucks."

Christ!  Why hadn't I thought of that? I recalled scarfing down Shelly's
load moments after he deposited it in my hand: wouldn't it be better "fresh
from the tap"?  Despite having never done such a thing, I instantly
perceived how FINE it might feel to have a dick in my mouth!  I knelt on
the floor between Gary's legs, but couldn't get close enough because of his
pants, webbed between his shins.  So I removed his shoes, and clumsily
pulled off his pants, one leg at a time.  His bare shins were far hairier
than his thighs, though mainly the hairs there were longer than those
above: long, and straight.  And soft..., oh, SO soft, as I ran my bare hand
up his shins, along his inner thighs, up under his balls. Now, with better
access, I bent forward, and put my lips on that cockhead.  I licked it
tentatively, then open my mouth and enveloped as much of it as I could.
There was enough below for me to take in hand; breathing through my nose, I
moved my hand and mouth up and down together.  It was heavenly!

Gary's response was gratifying, too: before very long, his breathing got
faster. He raised up on his elbows, where I suppose he had a good view of
my hairy head bobbing up and down.  About all I could see from my vantage
point was the juncture of his thighs just below his balls, with my left
hand cupping and fondling them.  It seemed the longer I sucked, the longer
his dick got!  And when, with a load moan and a few grunts he exploded, I
thought there was nothing I had ever felt so glorious!  He shot so much,
only by swallowing the first few spurts could I avoid losing some of his
fresh young cum, which I surely did not want to do.  Again, its taste was
not unlike that which I had experienced previously, yet it WAS slightly
different.  It tasted, I decided, like Gary, just as Shelly's cum had
tasted like Shelly; I could not describe it any other way.

Gary stayed hard quite a while, and I stayed down on him, sweeping up the
occasional further drops as his dick throbbed now and then.  I really did
NOT want to stop, so good it felt to have his dick in my mouth.  But I knew
one has to take time to "recharge" after cumming, and at last, I came up
for air.  His dick, shiny with my saliva, slowly drooped down onto his
pubic thicket.  My poor little cock, still stuffed in my jeans, hurt!  To
say I was horny again (still!) was a big understatement.

"He told me you'd do that," Gary said.

"Who?"

"Oh, some guy..."

"I thought you said Marcia..."

"Yeah, she sucks her thumb, she's so stupid.  She won't touch me."

I'd been tricked into giving my first blow job!

I stood, groping myself, hoping Gary would respond.  Instead, he stood,
picked up his shorts and pulled them on, then shimmied into his jeans,
carefully arranging his sated meat so it showed to advantage.  After
putting on his shoes, he said, "Thanks kid: gotta get home for dinner," and
he was out the door.  I heard his car drive off, as I still stood, my balls
blue, my mouth aching slightly from accommodating his hard-on.  The flavor
of him was still there...  I picked up Shelly's yellowing shorts, and
within seconds, they sopped up another load of my boy-cum.  I'd had my
first piece of "trade".

Far from the last, of course.  Thanks to Gary's trickery, I was hooked!

If Dan was surprised the next morning, there under the bleachers, when I
sank to my knees and shoved his dick in my mouth, he didn't show it.  He
was so much smaller than Gary, I could bury him in my throat, and feel his
pubic hair tickle my nose, his balls slap against my chin.  He grasped my
ears, fucked my face enthusiastically, and shortly filled my gullet with
warm cum.  Better yet, he reciprocated, giving me the very first blowjob I
ever had.  I was delirious, never up to then having any notion of how GOOD
it feels to shoot off in a warm, slobbery mouth.

"Jeez, Bruce, that was fanTAStic!"

"SenSAY-tional."

"Where'd ya learn that?"

"Oh, some guy..."

"Can ya do me again?"

It took him a bit longer the second time around, but Dan was every bit as
horny a kid as I, and he rewarded me soon enough with another tasty load.
The bell rang just as he reached nirvana, so we had to hurry back to the
gym.

With the benefit of hindsight, I now know that the predominant way the high
school guys got off was by their own hand.  Girls who would do any more
than cop a feel were few and far between, and usually not highly respected.
Though there was a lot of bragging, it was almost all bullshit.  And
guy-guy interaction wasn't all that common, either, usually taking the form
of impromptu circle-jerks, and now and then, Bennett's parties.

These, too, were just circle-jerks, with a bit more comfortable setting.
Bennett's wife would serve drinks, then disappear.  "Who's the horniest guy
here," Bennett would ask?  After a brief silence, the familiar sound of a
pair of jeans being ripped open would be heard, and one of the fellows
would haul out his meat.  The others would soon follow.  Bennett was just a
facilitator and voyeur; once in a while he'd fondle a guy briefly, but he
loved to watch cum spurt from a hot prick.  The only time I saw him
actually give a hand job, it was to a chap whose arm was in a cast,
preventing him from doing himself.  It was a spectacular ejaculation,
though: I guess the guy hadn't managed a good jerk in some weeks, and he
made the biggest mess all over his stomach and chest I'd ever seen.  His
relief was written on his face, as Bennett mopped him up with a towel.  In
all, I went to half-a-dozen of Bennett's parties, and they were all alike,
all entirely harmless, just a group of horny guys getting off, helped along
by a generous teach who had the space and who liked to watch.  I was really
disappointed when I read, during the following summer, that he'd been
"found out": he was summarily fired, and run out of town.
  
Nor did I ever witness cock sucking at Bennett's place, and since I wasn't
sure if he knew I'd learned it, I never went for any of the guys I found
there. These weren't the "pack" fellows; Bennett drew his guests from a
less affluent stratum of our town's little "society".  Many's the time,
though, that I longed to suck them off, and in many cases I did, but under
other circumstances.

In fact, the word spread like wildfire through the school's "grapevine":
"Little Brucie will suck you off if you treat him right."  Treating me
"right" usually just meant finding me, and locating a place with a few
minutes' privacy, and showing it hard.  It didn't even have to be hard: I
quickly learned how to make it so, and I slurped up load after load of
tasty cum.  I cared not at all that I quickly became known as a cocksucker:
after all, that's what I WAS, and the steady stream of "clients" told me I
was "in demand".

Near the end of the year, the DeMolay's threw a dance.  I had no interest
in going: I had no interest in girls.  Without that wonderful appendage
between their legs, they were utterly useless.  Yet, just a few days before
the event, Frank, a boy I admired (and had "relieved" a few times)
suggested I should go to the dance.  It took me a while to catch his drift,
but eventually it dawned on me that guys there were likely to get just a
tad horny, what with close dancing with their dates, and might welcome some
"on the spot" relief.  My lack of knowledge about girls had led to my not
recognizing this opportunity for myself.

I took the bus to the dance hall that Saturday night and watched the
couples arrive for a while, the guys all decked out in rented tuxes, the
girls doing their best to look sexy and grown up.  Many of them failed, I
thought.  Dancing was to commence at 9:30, and go on until midnight.  When
I heard the music, I slipped indoors. The dance floor was upstairs, the
toilets were off the foyer. I headed for the mens, and found it empty,
which gave me time to reconnoiter. I spied a stall with a good view of the
urinals, dropped my trousers and sat as if to do the nasty.  And waited.
  
Not for long.  The first to come in was my buddy, Dan, obviously quite
tipsy.  "Haddafewbeers," he announced, as if I couldn't see that perfectly
well.  He didn't even see me; fumbling at his fly, he went to a spot
somewhat too far from a urinal, and cut loose with the longest piss-stream
I'd ever seen!  He pissed for several minutes, getting some of it into the
urinal, then lurched out, stuffing his dick away.  I learned later he soon
had to be been driven home after fertilizing some bushes in front of the
hall.

Why no chaperones came in there all evening I'll never know, but before
long there were three principal activites taking place: pissing, drinking,
and getting blown. A cocksucker's paradise!

First in was John Burdy, a short, muscular Senior who had never so much as
glanced in my direction, ever.  His date must have gotten him all stirred
up, and no doubt someone had told him relief was available, for he lost no
time in whipping out his dick, not all that long but larger around than any
I'd seen.  He'd worn a jockstrap, I suppose to "keep things in check", but
it hadn't worked.  He stuck his prong in my mouth, put a hand behind my
head, pulled me on to himself, and popped his cork almost at once.  It was
with the greatest difficulty I retained all of his copious load.  "Thanks,
kid," he said, stuffing his still-drooling pecker back in his jock as he
swaggered out.  From start to finish, it had taken perhaps two minutes.

Hardly had he left, than George Graham walked in.  He took a generous swig
from a bottle produced from a hip pocket, then flopped his meat out for a
whiz.  As he pissed, he turned towards me and winked.  "Want this, kid?" he
asked, moving his flowing prick around and around as it began to get hard.
"Sure, I'll take it," I replied.  His hard-on choked off his flow, so he
simply walked, his fly open, into my booth, his cock ahead of him.  It was
a nice one, curved somewhat downward, and it fit my mouth perfectly.  It
didn't take him long, either, and my second load of the evening found the
back of my throat.

It went on like that all evening.  At times there were three or four guys
hanging around, fondling themselves, waiting their turn.  Many got a bit
tipsy as the evening progressed, and I learned that booze-flavored cum is
not always pleasant.  Still, I was game for anything, and lost count of the
dicks I sucked and loads I consumed.  Gary showed up, and got serviced
along with the others.

One boy I'd never seen before sauntered in, about as tipsy as Dan had been,
and flopped his soft fleshy meat into my mouth.  Before I quite realized
what he was about, he began to piss.  Knowing he was past stopping the
flow, I had no choice but to swallow as fast as I could, and I swallowed,
and swallowed, and swallowed!  He seemed to have a huge bladder, but to my
surprise, the taste was not unpleasant, and when at last he stopped peeing,
I hoped I could get it up for him.  But he pulled out without a word, shook
a few drops in my face, and went out. I never saw him again.

As far as I am concerned, the "star" of the evening was Bob Boone, another
basketball player I'd watched enviously on the courts many times.  He was a
good deal taller even than Gary, and I eventually had to squat on the
toilet seat to reach his crotch effectively.  He came into my booth with
his pants pushed out so far I thought he would split a seam.  What was
special, he closed the booth door, and did a slow strip-tease, removing his
tux entirely, allowing me ample time to savor his spectacular body.  He had
a deep tan, except around his privates, and his muscle structure was
absolutely stunning, all in perfect proportion to his height.  He was a
natural blond, and while he had some body hair, it scarcely showed against
his skin: the hair was almost transparent.  On the inside of his thighs he
had none at all, and the skin there was "smooth as a baby's ass", as the
saying goes.  He had immense balls, and a cock that ran Gary a very close
second.  Unlike most pricks I'd seen that stood more-or-less straight out,
Bob's, when the Penney's briefs finally dropped, curled right up through
his golden bush, and ended just below his navel.  It was as if he had an
invisible jockstrap in place, and at first, I wondered if it would break if
I pulled it down straight.  I need not have worried: Bob put a finger on
the base and pushed it down for me, first to admire, then to administer my
talented tongue.  I licked his balls.  He removed his finger, and his dong
sprang back upright, so I licked the length of it along the bulging urethra
and up around the head. Low moans emanating from somewhere high above me
suggested he liked what I was doing, so I continued for some time, up and
down the shaft, under his balls.  I could get one at a time into my mouth,
and the satisfied sounds told me he enjoyed that too.  All the while, I ran
my hand up and down his lanky thighs, feeling his muscles twitch and slowly
tighten up.  Pre-cum in amazing amounts ran down his shaft; I licked it all
up greedily.  When at last he seemed ready for something deeper, I quickly
put down the toilet lid, squatted on it, gripped his meat at the base and
bent it down to my mouth.  Not yet ready, it seemed, Bob pushed my hand
away, gripped himself and slapped my face all around with that baseball-bat
of a prong, anointing me with pre-cum, which made my young face slippery.
The more slippery it got, the more frenzied he became, until I realized he
was actually cumming, at which point I thrust him into my mouth, gripped
him with both hands and got the bulk of his load where it properly
belonged.  He bucked, groaned, thrusted and twitched, almost like he was
having a fit, but it was the most explosive orgasm I'd ever experienced,
and it lasted for minutes.  When it was finally finished, he bent down,
cupped my face in his hands, and kissed me full on the mouth, sticking his
tongue into my tunnel of love that had so recently housed his hose.  It was
AWEsome!  Then he licked all around my face, cleaning me up pretty well,
and finally stretched himself back up to full height.  I must have been a
sight, for after he put on his snowy white shirt, he turned around, and I
used the tails to clean up a bit before he stuffed them into his pants.  We
had spoken not a word.

"Thanks, Bob, you're great!" I said.

"You're OK, too, kid."  He fumbled for something in his wallet, then put a
slip of paper in my shirt pocket.  "Call me sometime," he said, preening a
bit in the mirror behind the toilet.  Then he was gone.  The paper, of
course, had his phone number on it.

As midnight approached, the mensroom suddenly filled with horny guys whose
girl"friends" had told them to "Go beat off" before they headed out to the
drive-ins or lovers' lanes.  My booth filled up: I had each hand on a hard
dick, another in my mouth, and as fast as one would cum, another took its
place.  At one point, I think there were five guys stuffed in there, two
more whacking at themselves.  Cum flew everywhere!  As the room emptied
out, I heard the strains of the last dance and the roar of hot-rods, and it
was clear the end was near.  At length, it was just me and Frank, whose
counsel had led me to be there in the first place.  I had cum in my hair,
on my shirt, all OVER my bare legs, and must have looked like something the
cat dragged in.  I had not even thought on how I was going to get home, or
how I might explain my appearance if I got there.

"C'mon, Brucie-baby," Frank said, helping me to my feet.

"Jeez, I can't go home looking like this.  And where's your date?"

"YOU'RE my date, Brucie-baby."

"Eh?"

"My folks are away.  You can sleep at my place and get cleaned up.  We'll
call your mom from there and let her know."

I was too tired to argue. My jaws ached and my legs felt like rubber; I'd
been sitting on that throne for nearly three hours. Besides, I liked Frank
a lot; he'd been a real pal to clue me in about the dance.  My mom could
care less where I was, anyway.

I glanced in a mirror.  "Gawd, what a mess!"

"Ah, but wait till graduation night, Brucie-baby: you ain't seen nuthin'!"

"No, Frank, this night I'll always remember, and nothing can top it.
Besides, on grad night the guys all get drunk, and the girls really do put
out, or so I'm told.  I can't handle a bunch of drunks."

"Maybe you're right.  Anyway, let's get out of here."

It was a typical warm June evening; soon enough, we were at Frank's rather
swanky place. He led me to his large bedroom with a bathroom attached. It
finally dawned on me Frank wasn't dressed up in a tux.

"Didn't you GO to the dance," I asked?

"Naw.  I hate dancing."

"But, you came to pick me up after?"

"I toldya, you're MY date tonight.  I know your talents, and I know you can
make me feel real good.  Right now, it's shower time."

Having pulled my jeans over my cum-splattered thighs, they were now glued
to my skin. I couldn't seem to get them to slide off.  Frank started the
shower, dropped his pants and shirt in a pile, then grabbed me from behind
and pushed me into the shower, jeans and all.

"We'll just soak them off, Brucie-baby," he said, and as the warm water
soaked in, he soon had his hands around my pants and worked them down over
my aching limbs.  His hands, the water, the rank odor of cum: I suddenly
threw a boner, and realized it was my turn to be horny!  Frank was soaping
me all over now, cleaning up his little whore-boy, getting ready...  His
hands felt wonderful, stroking my legs, my arms, even rinsing out my hair:
it seemed he was everywhere at once, and I melted at the unexpected
attention.
  
"Sorry, Frank, I've GOT to pee! I can't remember when I pissed last."

"Hey, we're in the shower, let it go," he said.  He moved the shower-head
aside, directing the spray at the wall, and stood in front of me.  "Let it
go, little one," he said, smoothing hair back from my face, "just let it
go."

I had to let my hard-on abate somewhat. When at last I peed, he knelt
quickly and let my stream play over his chest.  I thought I'd never stop,
and watched in fascination as my piss ran down his nicely shaped torso,
over his tummy, and down through his pubic hair.  It was incredibly erotic,
peeing on this guy, who, as far as I knew, was just another horny guy.
Okay, he had some unusual preferences apparently: but he'd been "there" for
me, and I appreciated it.  When my bladder finally emptied and I'd squirted
the last of it, he stood, returned the spray-head to its proper position
and quickly rinsed himself.  Then he turned back to me, and for the second
time that night, I received a kiss.  Only this time, as I wrapped my arms
around him, and felt the warm water running between us, I returned his
favor with gusto.  Gee, it felt good, holding him, being held, being
kissed: we ground our hips together, and our hard-ons met, kissing each
other in a sense, just as we were.

I don't know how long we played in that shower: Frank seemed in no hurry.
Sometime in the wee hours of Sunday morning, we tumbled into Frank's bed,
both nude, both hard; the shower had revivified me somewhat, and feeling
Frank's warm body beside me had a most soothing effect.

"It was a SUPER evening," I told Frank; "I wouldn't have had the sense to
go there if you hadn't told me about it.  I really appreciate it."

"You'd have figured it out sooner or later," Frank said.  "I knew you'd
have a ball."

"Had a bunch of em," I said, running a few of the more delicious moments
through my mind again.

"And now, you're here with me, and you're all mine," Frank said in a low,
sexy voice.

"Yes, all yours.  I'll do anything for you tonight, you know that."

"Anything?"

"Yes, ANYthing!"  Having watched him enjoy my pissing on him, it was hard
to imagine something more kinky he might have in mind.

"Then, I'm going to fuck you.  I've wanted to for a long time."

Dumb little me!  Wanting to fuck my mouth: he'd done as much before.  I
loved it, of course.  "Sure thing, Frank, I know you like that."

"No, sweetheart, not the way we've done it before."

Ah, the innocence (or is it ignorance, or is there a difference?) of youth!
Still in a state of euphoria after my night of wild abandon, doing what I
loved best, I had NO idea what Frank was driving at.

"You wanna do me," I asked?  Frank had never made a pass at me before: he'd
been just another bit of trade up to this point.

"No."

"Well, I'm here, I'm horny, I'm hard, and so are you:" (I groped him under
the covers, finding him fully erect like myself).

"Hornier, I think, than I've ever been.  You remind me of the little
brother I never had, with your nice little body, so smooth, so young...  I
want you, the way I've never wanted any other boy.  I'm going to fuck you.
Turn over on your stomach."

Now, I'd heard guys in the gym joshing each other about corn-holing, and I
had a vague idea what it meant: but the image of a guy sticking his dick up
another guy's backside didn't come to me easily. Nevertheless, somewhat
mystified, I obeyed.  Frank straddled my legs, and began a slow massage at
my shoulders.  He had big, powerful hands, which once again seemed to be
all over me.  Being very tired, I was willing to let him do whatever he
wanted.  His hands felt SO good, rubbing up and down my back.  They played
with my butt some, then down along the backs of my thighs, my calves, my
feet.  He moved a bit, and a new sensation burst into my consciousness: he
was licking the backs of my legs, long wet strokes that set my nerves
a-tingle. Those nerve impulses ended at my hard-on, compressed between my
tummy and the sheets, making it lurch every time he tongued my skin.  Then,
without warning, he parted my butt and ran his tongue lightly around my
asshole, just for a moment, then again up over my back.  I felt breath on
the nape of my neck, a nibble at my ear, the gentlest puff of wind blown
over my moistened earlobes.  If he was trying to elevate my level of
horniness, he was certainly succeeding, and I LOVED it!  Then he lay back
down alongside my form, ran his right hand down my back, over my ass, and
began gently fingering my hole.

"You're a virgin, aren't you?"

"How do you mean?"

"You've never been fucked."

"Uh, I guess not.  I'm not sure just what you want to do, but whatever it
is, I want it."

"I'm going to put my dick in your asshole.  That's what fucking is."

The light dawned!  His finger was now exploring the place where, hitherto,
nothing had ever gone in.  I was dumb-struck!  I well knew how big his dick
was; while it was far from the size of Gary's, for example, what he was
suggesting nevertheless seemed quite impossible.

Yet, I did SO want to please him.  He was gentle, caring, understanding,
patient.

"Will it hurt?" I asked, contemplating the possibility.

"No."

"Sure?  I want to please you, but..."

"Trust me."

"What if I have to poop?"

"Do you?"

"Uh, not sure..."

"I could give you an enema."

"Aw, gee, I haven't had one of those since I was tiny!  Can't say I enjoyed
it, either."

"Another time, then."

I filed away the notion that Frank wanted to see me again.  He took a tube
from the bedside table, and squeezed something out of it.

"TOOTHpaste?!"

"No, a lubricant to make it easy."

Reaching beneath me, he pulled me up and stuffed a pillow under my tummy.
My virgin ass, exposed and vulnerable, pointed upwards.  He spread the lube
liberally around my asshole, then began working a finger inside.  He was
slow, gentle, but persistent, and before long I sensed he had most of a
finger inside.  I can't say it hurt: it just felt VERY different from
anything I had experienced.  He worked the lube around inside.

"Relax, little one," he crooned.  "Just relax."

Feeling safe, I tried my best.  But when he removed his finger, and I felt
his cock at my hole, I found it difficult not to tighten up.  He simply
rested the head of his dick there, with just the slightest pressure. I
relaxed.

"Now push, like you were taking a dump," Frank said.

I pushed, and to my great surprise, the head of his cock slipped right
inside.  I pushed again, and a bit more of him slid in.  It was not
painful, just strange, like I had a big turd going the wrong way.  I kept
pushing toward him, and he to me; after a while, I felt much more of his
body in contact with mine.  I sensed his breath on the back of my neck, and
presently his full weight against me.

"Oh, Brucie-baby, that feels so GOOD!"

For my part, I just felt, well, "full".  But I was full of HIM, and as I
thought about that, I realized we were fully coupled, joined, as one.  It
was a good feeling.

Frank wrapped his arms around me, and began the slowest of motions, in and
out,just a trifle at first, kindly letting me get used to him there.  I did
my best to match his motions, and before long he was humping me fairly
vigorously.  My hard-on, which had flagged somewhat during his entry,
returned, trying to stuff the pillow beneath me.

Then, with a slight shift downwards, Frank aimed a little higher in my
backside, and his prick hit something that sent a shock right down to the
tip of my dick.  It felt like I was cumming, yet I knew I wasn't.  But the
sensation was exquisite, and each time he pushed and hit that spot, there
was a flash of feeling, so intense I cried out.

"Am I hurting you," he asked, tenderly?

"No! You're hitting something in there, it's like I was cumming, only I'm
not."

"That's what you are supposed to feel," Frank said.  "Relax and enjoy it."

Relax?!  How could I?  Every time he hit that spot, lightening shot through
my loins.  It was an incredibly wonderful feeling, so new, so exciting.  My
cock bored into the pillow, his cock bored into me.  He was taking longer
strokes, now, and his pace was quickening.

"Oh ... Gawd ... Bruce ... Lover-boy!  Oh, I'm gonna shooooooooo..."

His hands pulled my hips up to him powerfully; he plunged into me, deeper
than ever, and froze. Time stopped! My dick exploded, just as his was doing
deep in my bowels.  As I shot my load into the pillow, my asshole
contracted, clamping down on his throbbing pecker; though there was a small
burst of pain when I did so, the act of cumming masked it perfectly.  Our
mutual orgasm seemed to last forever, the two of us essentially motionless,
conjoined in flesh and spirit. It was thrilling!

How long this took I've no idea: it seemed to go on forever, but eventually
my throbbing prick relaxed.  So did his, and so did we.

At length, Frank spoke huskily, "Brucie-baby, oh, cutie-pie, that was
fanTAStic!  I don't think I ever came so hard in my life!"

"I'm glad you enjoyed it.  I wanted to please you."

"Oh, you did, you DID!  Was it good for you?  Did you cum, too?"

"Yes!!  Your poor pillow must be saturated."

"Don't worry about it."  Ever so slowly, he moved the two of us on to our
sides, we curled up spoon-fashion, he still inside me, and were soon fast
asleep.  It was about four in the morning, and after my wild night at the
dance, and Frank's revelatory introduction to fucking, I was dog-tired, but
satisfied as never before.

Frank and I "went steady" until shortly after he graduated, a year ahead of
me.  I wore his class ring on a chain around my neck, and reserved by saucy
butt just for him.  His parents always seemed to be "away", so we had the
run of his big place.  He taught me to swim in their pool, and we
skinny-dipped all through the summer.  He also taught me to drive and
helped get my learner's permit, though I had only his car to use.  Though
we were lovers, Frank had no qualms about my proclivity for cocksucking,
and even promoted me to some of his buddies.

Summer vacation arrived, and I got a job at the post office sorting mail.
It was a boring job, partly because there was no one else in my age group
except Shawn, a lithe black kid about 20 years old, I guessed.  He was not
much taller than me, but infinitely better built.  In his skin-tight jeans
and snowy tee-shirt, he cut quite a figure. I wanted him badly, but he
seemed always too busy slinging sacks of mail into trucks, with no time to
fool around with a skinny white boy like me.  That is, until the day we
both stepped into the john for a whiz at the same moment.  There was only
one toilet, so I was prepared to wait, but he said, "Oh, come on, it's just
us two."  He opened his fly, dug out his dick, and there before me was my
first black one, thick and uncircumcised, with a LOT of loose foreskin.  I
was fascinated, watching him pee, our streams hitting the water noisily
together.

"Gosh, you've really got a whopper, there," I said.

"Old-fashioned plantation dick," he replied: "nuthin' special."

"Bet it gets really big when it's hard."

It was beginning to do so, as was mine.  He shook himself vigorously when
he finished pissing, then simply stood back and let me watch him work it
up.  His gland emerged from all that loose skin, damp and shiny.

"You can touch it if you want."

In my hand, it felt like no other I'd held: all that foreskin gave it a
"looseness", like a soft piece of hose on a greased iron rod.  Every time I
moved my hand up, the skin rolled over his cockhead, obscuring it
completely; when I moved my hand down, the head reappeared.  I toyed with
it for some minutes, admiring its length and proportions.  Then I knelt
down and slipped him into my mouth.  I ran my tongue all around and into
his bundle of foreskin.  It was yet another new sensation, very different,
very exciting.  I'd scarcely got really started on sucking him, when he
grabbed my head, pushed in as far as he could, and came. Way too soon, for
my preference, but he dropped a big load which I gobbled up as usual.

"Wow, kid, that was GREAT!" he exclaimed.  "You suck like a pro."

"I AM a pro," I said, "and I'll do you any time you want.  Your cum is
delicious."

"Wanna watch ya jack off."

Horny as usual, and excited by swinging on this cute guy's dick, I whacked
off quickly and shot a white load a yard or better across the floor as
Shawn watched.

"You shoot like that every time?" he asked, apparently impressed.

"Don't you?"

"Naw, mine jus' sorta dribbles out, no' much fuss about it."

"Well, it sure tastes fine!  I'll look forward to it again and again."

We were lucky the entrance to the john wasn't where it was easy to see who
went in or out: Shawn and I went there two or three times a week all
summer.  I loved to suck him off, and would pull his jeans down to feel his
tight buns and powerful, glabrous thighs as I worked.  But he was always
"quick on the trigger", cumming far too soon to suit me.  I decided his
loads tasted "black", though I knew his jizz was as white as my own.  He
never tired of watching me shoot, which I was always ready to do.  I told
Frank all about him: he would get all worked up from my descriptions, then
throw me over a pillow and fuck my behind like there was no tomorrow!

But there's always a tomorrow.  The summer was soon over, and I entered my
Junior year at CVHS.  I'd grown some, filled out a little; Dan and I soon
returned to our daily routine under the stands, and life went on.  My
lover, Frank, decided a replacement for Bennett's parties was needed, and
he had the perfect place.  While the weather remained warm, these took the
form of Saturday afternoon pool parties, where (usually sooner than later)
all the guys would be skinny-dipping and horsing around before settling
into the pool house for some serious sex play.  Without Bennett, I had no
compunction about sucking dicks.  The voyeur in Frank came out: he loved to
watch me bobbing on a hard prong!  When swimming became unwise due to the
cold weather, the parties started in the pool house, often as impromptu
wrestling matches or tumbling in the nude, progressing to circle-jerks and
other antics.

Dan showed up at many of these.  Usually, he'd "haddafewbeers", though
generally he was far more sober than when I'd seen him at the dance.  What
few inhibitions Dan had disappeared entirely under the influence of beer,
and I saw him in a very different light than in our daily jerkoff sessions
at school.  For one thing, he sucked cock every bit as enthusiastically as
I did, which should not have been a surprise, since he'd sucked on my dingy
often enough. I just didn't realize I had any competition.  Nor did he mind
getting fucked!  By no means all of the horny guys liked corn-holing, but
those who did found Dan's willing hole worth their effort.  He did things
I'd never thought of, and Frank had never taught me, like climbing into a
chair and effortlessly sitting on a guys rigid tool.  He'd bounce up and
down on his tightly muscled legs and get the guy off.  The others would
gather around and watch, tugging at themselves, or getting sucked by me.
Frank only watched, like Bennett, but after everyone had gone home, he'd
plug me and fuck himself silly.

Despite the inordinate amount of time I spent being Frank's little
"whore-about-town", I managed to keep my grades in the "B" range: learning
came easily to me.  I found my professional "calling" that Junior year, in
Chemistry.  So easy was it for me, the teacher made me his "lab assistant",
doing odd chores in the chem lab, rather than attending his lectures.
Again, the word spread, and I was asked often to tutor other students,
sessions that nearly always ended up like my tryst with Shelly.  He had
left school, though, and I never saw him again.

The only time I got caught in flagrante delicto was one afternoon at the
Roxy Theater.  Even in those days, it was a sleazy dive that showed
horrible "straight" movies of simulated sex.  The place was haunted by
tired old men and derelicts, but not a few horny teen-agers went there as
well.  I was always let in, despite my "underage" appearance.  That day I
found myself seated next to a lanky youth I'd never seen before: he must
have been from out of town.  We played "kneesies" for a while, then I put
my hand on his leg, which he didn't move away.  As I worked my hand up
toward his basket, I encountered his cock, stuffed down his pants leg, and
it promised to be a deuzie!  He settled down in his seat, legs spread wide,
inviting me to open his fly, which I did in a trice.  I soon had his pecker
out of his pants; he made no move to stop me.  Yet, when I bent over and
licked the head of his dick, he pulled me back up immediately.

"Too dangerous here," he whispered.

"Where, then?"

"Top row, balcony."

He stood up, stuffed his meat back in his pants and headed back up into the
darkest nether regions of the theater.  I followed a few minutes later, and
found him as my eyes adjusted to the miserable light, seated exactly as
before but with his prong out and ready.  I collapsed myself into the small
space in front of his seat and plunged down on his cock: this dude seemed
to want it badly, but also seemed afraid of being caught.  The possibility
had never crossed my mind, yet it's just what happened.  I was sucking
furiously on his tantalizing meat when we were suddenly bathed in light:
someone had switched on the night lights, and there we were, no possible
question about what we were doing.  The manager was on us in a flash, and
escorted us both none to kindly to the door.  He did not, however, make any
noise about reporting us, and I'm sure it was because little ol' under-age
me was NOT supposed to be in the place.

Out in the street, in the clear light of afternoon I appraised my "find".
He had the appearance of a rough country farm boy, not a whole lot older
than myself.  His magnificent cock was back down his pants leg, very
obvious, and still in need of a good draining.  "C'mon, uh..." I said.

"Charlie."

"C'mon, Charlie, I know a place we can go."  It was a short walk to the
local park, where there was a seldom used toilet.  Ten minutes later, we
entered.  It was seldom cleaned, as well, and the powerful stench of stale
pee penetrated our nostrils.  To Charlie, it was evidently an aphrodisiac:
his dick swelled up in his pants, and it was only with difficulty that I
managed to extricate it.  Long and straight, it went down my throat in a
trice, and soon rewarded me with a HUGE load of sweet cum propelled with
such velocity that I almost choked.

"Needed that," he said, stuffing his drooling dick back in his pants.
"Thanks."  And he was gone.

I spent a while studying graffiti on the walls, hoping another horny dude
might show up, but the place remained deserted: after firing a wad at the
wall for later visitors to view, I went home and told Frank all about it.
We fucked again, as if we'd never done it before...

If Frank had any failing, it was that the ONLY way he would cum was in my
twitching backside.  He got vicarious kicks when I shared my
extracurricular exploits with him (which I always did), and I could play
with his tool any time I liked, awake or asleep.  In the foreplay
department, however, Frank was more inventive.  We showered together
whenever possible, and this usually involved some piss play, right up to
drinking from each other's tap.  And while he didn't care at all if his
dick came out of me brown, he often gave me enemas; he enjoyed
administering them, and once I got used to them, I rather enjoyed
receiving.  Even piss enemas were in our repertoire.  So long as he didn't
interfere in my whoreishness, which he NEVER did, we had a great time
together.

My folks divorced that year, and I elected to stay with Frank.  We were
going steady, after all.  Alas, the DeMolay dance that year was a bit of a
bust: word went out that chaperones would be stationed in every toilet.
There had to be a way around this, and Frank found it: he borrowed a large
van from a friend, and parked it in a far corner of the parking lot.  It
wasn't as commodious as the toilet had been the previous year, but I
managed to turn quite a number of tricks: as usual, the girls were happy to
dance close and feel hard-ons pressing against their bellies, but when it
came to taking CARE of their dates, they left it to me.  Not they had any
idea what was going on, I suppose.  The "star" that year was the captain of
the football team, a big brute of a fellow, not at all the sort I would
usually go for.  By the time he got to me, he'd already dropped one load in
his pants when his date felt him up on the dance floor, but he had no less
than three more for me as the evening wore on.  Pulling down a pair of
shorts, finding them already soaked in familiar-smelling jizz was an
unexpected turn-on.  A real hyper-stud, he had a dick to match his frame,
and apparently manufactured cum like a candy factory.  His first load was
already soaking through the pants of his tux, though it scarcely showed on
the black fabric.  I took his second less than an hour after his
"accident", and found the quantity amazing.  He was back an hour later,
ready to get off again.  It took a bit longer, but I managed to get one
small hand through his fly to fondle his balls, which sent him over the
edge quickly.  In the final melee as the dance wore down, I gave this stud
a hand job, and wore his load home on my shirt along with several others.
Why his girl wouldn't service the guy I'll never know: she could at least
have "given him a hand", better yet, learned to like his pearly loads.  But
as usual, I slurped up all but his first, and enjoyed every drop.

Naturally, I had to attend Frank's graduation ceremony, and I was surely
proud of him as he walked across the stage in his cap and gown.  We dropped
in on the bash afterwards; Frank introduced me as his "date", which raised
a few eyebrows.  Still, I'd had sex with a large number of the guys there,
and I suppose the word "on the street" was that we were a couple.
Predictably, booze flowed freely, rendering me acutely uncomfortable, so we
left early.  To my surprise, we were accompanied by Howie Jones, the
school's "token black" that year, still only a Sophomore.  I'd seen him
around and admired him from afar, but had never managed to find an excuse
to get "next to" him.  He was a superb swimmer, taking our team to victory
in the intra murals earlier in the year.  He was also, as I would soon
discover, an all-around "nice guy", personable, pleasant and articulate,
with a deep mellifluous voice.  I wasn't at all sure why Frank asked him to
join us, except that Howie seemed to be as disgusted as we were by the
drunken antics of so many of the guys.  So, quite sober, the three of us
repaired to Frank's place.

It was a hot summer night; since Howie was a swimmer, it seemed natural the
three of us would take a dip in the lighted pool.  If Howie was surprised
when Frank and I plunged in nude, he didn't show it, but he came out with
one of the spare suits on he'd found in the shower.  He was wonderfully
built, with wide powerful shoulders, an unusually narrow waist, and
glabrous legs of polished ebony.  We all splashed around for a while, then
Frank and I ganged up on Howie, intent on getting him out of that bathing
suit.  It wasn't easy: Howie could swim away from us with a single stroke
of his strong arms.  Eventually, he tired of the game, and stood, waiting
in the shallow end of the pool.  From below the water's surface, I could
see his suit standing out: it could have been trapped air, but it could
have been a hard-on.  I resolved to find out, and casually surfaced in
front of him.  Feigning losing my footing, I fell against him: it was hard,
alright!  As he planted me back on my feet, I simply reached out and gave
that suit a mighty tug: old, worn and affected by long immersion in the
treated water, it ripped easily, and what was left of it he shucked and
kicked out of the water.  I wondered if he had ever skinny-dipped before,
but as a champion swimmer, surely he must have done.  Howie pushed me
aside, flopped forward, and swam the length of the pool and back as
effortlessly as an otter.

"Now I see why you guys swim nude," Howie exclaimed.  "I never could at
home; my mother would have been mortified!"

"You couldn't possibly do it in competition, though," Frank said: "that
wang of yours would slow you down."

"This?"  Howie said, stepping out of the water on stairs at the shallow
end.  He was not fully hard: his prick pointed at the ground, dripping as
if he was peeing as water ran off his body.  It was large and fleshy,
supported by two hefty balls, and surrounded by short curly hairs.  He was
stunningly beautiful, standing there like a bronze statue, reflections of
the pool lights dancing over his glistening body.

"My gawd, you're handsome!" I exclaimed, unable to stop myself.

Frank swam up, put his arm around me: "Isn't that the most beautiful thing
you ever saw?" he asked, breathlessly.

"Delicious!" I whispered. "Can I have him?"

"I brought him home for you, sweetheart, but I don't know if he goes for
guys."

"But, tonight's YOUR night: you're the new graduate, YOU need something
special."

"I'm working on it, loverboy, I'm working on it."

Howie still stood, watching us.  Statuesque, with a hint of puzzlement on
his face.

"Hey, guys, no talking behind my back!"

We joined Howie on the pool steps, small waves lapping at our shins.

"I was wondering," Frank said directly, "if you had any interest in either
of us sexually.  My little buddy here thinks you're absolutely gorgeous,
and I have to admit he has good taste."

Howie's dark eyes swept over us both.  "I've never done anything with a
guy," he said.  "But Bruce is a mighty fine looking boy. What exactly did
you have in mind?"  I noticed his heavy-hanging pecker beginning to fill
out.  Goose bumps were rising on his firm flesh.

"Not so much what WE have in mind as what you might be inclined to do,"
Frank said.

"First off, I want to get warm.  This night air is getting chilly."

We repaired to the pool house, scooping up big towels.  The three of us
stood together: as Frank wiped me down, he comment on my form as he went.

"Look at those nice, smooth arms: they'd feel good, wrapped around you.
And this firm young chest, too soon to become that of a man, but still that
of a youngster. These sturdy legs: they hold everything up so well. Or
these tight little buns, hiding the most WONderful dark place.  And this
nice young cock, juicy, sweet, eager (I was hard as a rock by this
time). It's all yours for the asking."

His peon was embarrassing, but it certainly had the desired effect.
Howie's gorgeous prick was now at half mast, and rising fast. "Yes, he's an
exquisite little guy alright. Very promising, indeed. But he'd have to
teach me what to do: like I said, I haven't ever done it with a guy.

"With a girl," Frank asked?

Howie hung his head.  "Well, to tell the truth, I haven't done it with
anybody yet.  Coach seems to think it would reduce my stamina.  Frankly,
I've never even had an offer.  Until now..."

This was hard for me to believe, as I drank in this polished bronze
beauty. I would have thought he'd have to fight the women off with a club,
and he certainly had the "club" for it.  But, you never know.  Frank gave
me a little nudge, and I moved closer to Howie.  "At least, you manage to
get it hard for me," I said, as I wrapped my small hand around his
tumescence.

"Oh, that feels good."

"I can make you feel things you can't imagine," I stated boldly.  To my
surprise, Frank moved closer to us both and began massaging Howie's
shoulder, chest and tummy.  We moved around and around, running our hands
here and there, clutching, tweaking, patting.  Howie closed his eyes: I
knew he was hooked, discovering feelings he never knew he had.  Pretty
soon, we were both licking him, slurping at his skin, doing our best to
turn him on.  I got down on my knees and tongued his thighs, muscular,
strong, still smelling faintly of chlorine.  Above me, his dick stood
straight out, bobbing now and then, a droplet of clear fluid at its
tip. Frank squatted down and worked on Howie's gluteus maximus, then leaned
towards me and in a quiet whisper said, "I want to watch him fuck you,
Brucie-baby."

I was astonished!  We had this pact between us, that my bung was reserved
for Frank alone. I'd never betrayed his trust, and he knew it.  Now, here
he was, offering his prize possession to this handsome black buck who
seemed to have no idea what was in store for him. "Teach him, lover-mine,"
Frank whispered, reading my thoughts. "You know I'm just a horny voyeur. I
won't mind taking seconds to this gorgeous guy.  Teach him, Brucie-baby.
I'll help all I can."

I stood, wondering how to proceed.  Howie's eyes were glazed, his mind lost
in a wash of sensations wondrous and new to him.  Frank disappeared into
the shadows, leaving me essentially alone with Howie.  In a trance, he
reached out, enfolded me in his powerful arms and squeezed me to himself.
He radiated heat, as if on fire, as I suppose he was in a sense.  So was I:
Frank's permission had set my fires glowing, too, and the prospect of this
stud's prong slipping up my ass had me in a dither.  I knew it would have
to be slow, so big was he.  I gently nudged him towards the small bed and
pushed him down.  He stretched out, too long for it, and I straddled his
legs.  I bent down and applied my tongue to his thighs, working my way
slowly up to his balls.  I could tell his thighs were erogenous zones, for
his muscles twitched in response, and his cock swayed in rhythm to my long
wet strokes.  When I thought he could stand it no longer, I put my mouth on
his erection: his reaction was immediate, and almost violent, so I backed
away, not wishing to have him erupt so soon.  Frank appeared momentarily,
and handed me a tube of lubricant, then disappeared again.  Applying the
ointment to that magnificent cock almost sent ME over the edge.  I took my
cue from my old friend Dan: I would have to sit on this thing first; there
was no way I could risk him splitting me open with too sudden a thrust.  I
leaned way over and kissed Howie: he returned the favor, sticking his long
tongue into my mouth sensuously.  While occupied this way, I reached back
and guided his dick into my cleavage, spreading the lube around, and then
took aim: with a mighty push, I got the head in, and began to ease back,
trying my best to relax enough to get all of him inside.  Frank reappeared
at the side of the bed, put his arm around me and kissed me.  He reached
out and tweaked Howie's nipple, and gripped what there was still exposed of
Howie's dick, added some lube, slathered it around.  He played with Howie's
balls as I ever so slowly sank further and further down, until I felt my
buns resting on Howie's massive thighs.  "He's ALL inside you, lover-boy,"
Frank breathed in my ear as he nibbled at it.  I knew you could do it.
Now, send this stud to heaven!  I'm here, I'll help.  It's magnificent!"

I rearranged my legs; Howie's powerful hands gripped my shins to steady me,
and my young legs worked hard to force me upwards until I felt Howie's
cockhead at my ringpiece. Then I relaxed and sank back, taking all of him
inside again.  Frank ran his hands over every inch of Howie's prone form,
and bent to kiss me often. I threw my arms around Frank, which helped me
rise again, sink again, rise again.  There was not the slightest pain, just
that wonderful feeling of his massive cock slipping in and out.  But in
this position, his dick was not striking that important point inside.  When
I thought Howie might be ready to come, I stopped a while, then finally
rose up and off him.  Frank knew what to do, and he coaxed Howie to roll
over on his stomach, creating room for me to lie down on the pillow Frank
shoved under me.  Then he gently guided Howie, almost in a stupor, up into
position.  Howie's natural instincts took over: with Frank's well-lubed
hand guiding, he aimed at my bung and pressed in.  I pushed back, and his
meat slid into me smoothly, where it struck my nerve center and sent
delicious pangs right out to the end of my cock.  Howie pulled out, then
pushed in, no more than a few times, and popped his cork. "Oh, my gawd!" he
cried out. "Holy cow, WHAT a feeling!"  With a massive effort, I held
myself back for Frank.

Howie went soft quickly.  He rolled on to the bed beside me, panting
heavily.  Frank was on me in a trice, in a frenzy.  He shoved himself into
me hitting "that spot" with his customary accuracy.  Not two minutes after
Howie had erupted, Frank pulled me to himself as he always did, froze, and
we shot our wads simultaneously.  This time, I was far enough from the
pillow to grip myself and aim my young spurts out over Howie's heaving
chest where my pearly white cum sparkled in the low light against Howie's
darkness.  It was a climax to remember!

The three of us lay quietly for a while, coming down from our sexual highs.
At length, Howie stirred, my cum all over his chest slowly drying up.  "You
guys sure know how to make a lowly Soph feel good," he said.  "I never came
that way before, but I sure will again, I hope."

"Any time," Frank said.  With some effort, we all got up and repaired to
the shower, where we washed each other in fragrant soap.  I was soon hard
again, turned on by running my soapy hands all over Howie's muscular form.

"Horny little guy, isn't he?", Howie chortled, seeing my little pecker at
the ready once again.

"Horniest kid in the school, I think," Frank replied.

We saw a lot of Howie over the next couple of weeks.  Instantly addicted to
swimming nude, Howie spent long hours doing laps, keeping in shape, working
on his form.  I could watch him for hours, and did.  He wasn't highly
sexed, however.  I managed to suck him off at the pool side one afternoon,
as Frank watched.  Howie then looked on in amazement as Frank plugged me
once again, bent over in thigh-deep water.

That evening, munching hamburgers picked up at the drive-in, Frank
confessed there was news, something he wanted to tell us.  He seemed
uncharacteristically ill at ease.

"Now that I've graduated," he said, "I've decided to join the Navy."

It took a few minutes for the implications of this revelation to sink in.
Life without my Frank suddenly loomed before me, and I did not like the
idea at all.  Frank saw my chin begin to tremble as tears welled in my
eyes.

"Don't cry, Brucie-baby," he said, almost on the verge of tears himself.
"It's bad enough having to leave you behind, don't make it worse."

"But Frank, I LOVE you!" I exclaimed, and put my head down and bawled.  It
was a terrible moment for me, who so far had sailed through life with
almost no serious misfortune.

Howie pushed a napkin under my face and stroked the back of my head.  I
sobbed uncontrollably.  "Don't cry, little brother: I'll look after you,"
he said quietly.

Frank jumped up, and in an unusually overt expression of joy threw his arms
around Howie and hugged him.  "I sure was hoping to hear you say that," he
exclaimed.  "I know my little Bruce will be in good hands."

I straightened up and mopped away a flood of tears.  Looking from Frank to
Howie and back, I could see that both were satisfied with what would soon
become the status quo.  Frank filled us in on details of his departure, to
take place in a week, when he would be off to boot-camp in Southern
California.  Howie explained his status: he lived alone in a small
apartment, having been "imported" to the school from back east to "beef up"
the swimming team.  All too soon, the two of us were hugging Frank at the
Greyhound station, beside the bus which would carry him out of my life.
"Goodbye, Brucie-baby, and Godspeed," he said tremulously as he wrenched
himself from my clutches and turned towards the waiting bus. "You're in
good hands, now: take good care of Howie.  I know you will..."  He stepped
onto the bus, the door hissed and closed, and he was gone.

No job at the post office, that summer was spent mostly getting to know
Howie and familiarizing myself with his likes and dislikes.  We slept
together always: snuggling next to his gorgeous body always turned me on,
and I would fall asleep with his fleshy soft-on clutched in my hand, my
hard-on nestled under his balls.  In the morning, his piss-hard raging, I
would bring him awake pawing at his frame, kissing him, sometimes sucking
him. Howie, for his part, would hug me back, and eventually pick me up
effortlessly and carry me into the shower, where we'd wash each other and
get ready for the day to come.  We had sex only now and then: Howie's
sex-drive was far below Frank's.  But, like Frank, he didn't care when I
went out searching for cocks to suck, and also like Frank, he loved to hear
of my exploits.  These would often get him stirred up to the point where he
could stay hard long enough to fuck my backside with great vigor.

Deprived of Frank's pool, Howie now worked out at the Y.  Their regulation
pool, far larger than Frank's, was ideal for him.  Despite his coach's
worries about stamina, occasional sex seemed to improve it.  I would
accompany him to the Y now and then, splash around in the pool for a while,
and repair to the steam room, reputedly the only spot in town where
"hanky-panky" took place.  But, whereas I often drew appreciative glances
and occasionally got groped there, the uniformly "older" clientele left me
unimpressed.  Besides, my close association with Howie was well known, and
I didn't want to embarrass him in any way.  I enjoyed the steam room for
its steam, and nothing else.

On the other hand, I'd noticed the toilet in the park had gotten a
face-lift, and wandered in there one day to see if anything was going on.
The cosmetic improvements inside consisted only of hosing the place down
and adding a coat of cheap white paint: already, there were yellowing cum
stains on the stall walls, and graffiti of every sort.  But there was
something I hadn't noticed during my brief tryst with Charlie: a hole in
the wall between the two stalls.  Its purpose was immediately evident, and
I thought I'd just settle in and see what might happen.  Only a few moments
passed before someone entered the other stall: I bent over and peered
through the hole, and there was my old buddy Dan!  "Come in here," he
hissed.

I pushed open the door; he was there, fully dressed.  "I saw you go in," he
said: "I have this place staked out: it's MY territory, and I don't want
you horning in."

"Gee, Dan, I only wanted to see what's going on."

"What's 'going on' is I'm the resident cocksucker here," Dan replied, his
voice dark and mildly threatening.

"OK, OK, OK!"  So much for "friendship" where sex is concerned, I thought.
"I'll leave you to it."

My path back to Howie's that afternoon took me past the local Junior
College.  Mulling over Dan's transformation into a "bitch", it occurred to
me there must be some toilets on the JC grounds.  "Hmmmmm," I thought to
myself. "I wonder if any of them have holes."  But, it was summer: there
weren't many students around, and many buildings were closed.  I cut
through the campus to the big football field and walked along the track.
The bleachers were beside me, and naturally I glanced in between the seats,
knowing there was probably some hidden space back there. Still smarting
from Dan's rebuff, I soon found a spot where I could go underneath the
stands, and far at the back I found all sorts of interesting "evidence";
wads of tissue, some rubbers (the first I'd ever seen).  Clearly, this was
a favorite spot for someone; I wondered who.  Visions of studly college
dudes ran through my mind.

"Looking for something?" a deep voice behind me spoke softly.

I turned around, startled.  "Uh, I think I lost something at the last
game," I lied.

The speaker was a bit older than me, of course, with a nice athlete's build
showing through the ever-present jeans and tee-shirt.  He groped himself
lasciviously.  "Will this do," he asked?

Never one to miss a trick, I fell to my knees.  He unbuttoned his jeans
slowly, one by one, from the bottom up, then moved towards me.  It was I
who undid the top snap and peeled the fly back: heavily stained shorts came
into view.  I buried my face in these and inhaled deeply: they smelled
strongly, a mix of sweat, dried cum and piss, a combination I always
enjoyed.  I dug out his dick and plunged it deep in my throat.  It was
average in size, nice to work with.  Before long his hands gripped my head,
and he powerfully drew me off.  His cum shot forth all over my face, spurt
after spurt, his dick rising with each.  This dude hadn't cum in weeks, I
thought, licking up what I could reach with my tongue, even as he continued
to spurt in my face.  When he released his grip, I went back down on him,
savoring the last exudate oozing from his softening cock.  I wiped as much
of his load into his shorts as I could, but when I stood, I still had jizz
dripping from my chin.  I cleaned my face as a cat does, licking my paw and
collecting what was left of his load to bring to my mouth.  He watched,
putting his cock back in his pants and buttoning up.

"Like that stuff, doncha kid?" he said.

"Sure do," I replied.

"Lots of it available down here."

"I'll be back for some of it," I promised.

"See ya, then."  He turned and sauntered away.

I spent many afternoons under those stands: it seemed better than sucking
cock through a hole in the wall.  I could see who I was sucking, and feel
their steamy bodies.  It was a popular trysting place, and I had occasion
to witness a guy screwing a girl one day: they never knew I was there.  It
didn't turn me on, and seemed a terrible waste when he stripped off his
rubber and casually tossed it aside.  I examined that rubber when they'd
gone; it had a HUGE load in it.  Ants were already after what I'd missed.
I looked forward to the start of classes, when I figured the place would
get really busy.  Fate had other things in store, however.

Back at CVHS as a Senior, I found my attention turning to the new class.  I
recalled my terrible frustration as a freshman, horny ALL the time,
attracted by so many handsome boys: perhaps I could do something to reduce
their misery.  The gym was a good place to scout for new conquests: the
classes were mixed grade.  I soon noticed a little boy named Freddie. He
was one of the least mature kids I'd ever seen at the school, with just the
faintest bit of hair on his pubes. It was plain to see he didn't like PE at
all, and no wonder: he was the subject of much ribaldry, towel-snapping and
other hijinks.  He needed a "friend and protector" in the worst way.  I was
in the same class as Howie (of course!), so tipped him off.  The next time
Freddie became the butt of bigger boys' antics, Howie's deep voice boomed
out in the shower: "Leave the kid alone! You jerks wanna pick on someone,
pick on someone your own size!  ME, for example!"  I backed him up with a
loud cheer.

Freddie shrank back, looking like he wanted to die!  Here was this huge
black upperclassman standing up for him, someone he didn't know, and
probably didn't even want to know.  But, the ribbing stopped.  A few days
later I sat at Freddie's table in the cafeteria.  He was alone, of course:
nerds always are.  "How's your hammer hangin'?" I asked him as pleasantly
as I could.

"What?"

"You know, that thing between your legs: how's it feeling these days?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Look, kid," I said as paternally as I could, "I was a freshman once, just
like you, and I was miserable most of the time.  But it doesn't have to be
that way.  There's things you can do..."

"Such as?"

"This ain't the place to go into it," I replied.  "But maybe you'd like
some help with your studies; I'm offering you that, and my friendship."

"Well, yes, everything is awfully new to me.  I'm having a really bad time
in algebra."

"Oh, that's easy enough.  Look, why don't you come to my place this
afternoon, and I'll give you some pointers."

"Uh, I guess I'd like that."

Settled!  "See you later."  I left him, stunned that a Senior might take
any interest in him.

He showed up at Howie's promptly at 3:30: Howie was a the Y.  I put my arm
around his shoulder affectionately as we climbed the stairs to our
apartment.  He was small and cuddly, perhaps a trifle scared.  He wore
loose pants and a sweater.  He had a bag of books: we never got it opened.
We sat down on the bed.

"You wanted to know about my hammer'," he said forthrightly.

"Yeah.  When I was your age, mine was hard ALL the time.  Bet yours is,
too."

"Yes, it is.  I don't know why."

"It's cause you're starting to grow up.  When it gets stiff, it's called a
hard-on.  Or boner.  If it's the first one in the morning, it's a
piss-hard."  I saw a slight rise in the front of his pants.  "Betcha it's
hard right now, isn't it?"

His hand flew to his lap, too late.  I reached over and felt his crotch:
sure enough, he was hard.  So was I.  He gasped.  "Well, you can feel it
is, so no use lying about it."

"No use lying about it, ever.  Hard-ons are as normal as blueberry pie.
All boys get them.  I've got one now myself."

As that information sank in, I fondled Freddie through the cloth of his
pants.  "You need to get some jeans, Freddie: pants like these are out of
style."

"I don't - um - fill them up right," he said.  Ah!  He'd already noticed
baskets, a good sign.

"You'd be surprised, I think.  Tight jeans make you hard most of the time,
which helps you 'fill them up', as you put it."

"I'll try."

I opened the clasp on his pants and inserted my hand.  Through the lighter
fabric of his shorts, I could feel his hard little prick, about four inches
long, maybe.  It throbbed alluringly.  "You've got a nice start, there," I
complimented him.

"It so small: I see all those big ones in the gym, and I can't believe how
BIG they are."

"Just a matter of time: those big ones are on the older guys.  Many of the
freshman are just like you.  And they are all probably worried about the
same thing.  Would you like to feel a bigger one?"

"Yours?"

"Sure."  I unbuttoned my jeans.  "Go ahead - it won't bite."

He reached over and fumbled with my fly.  With a bit of help, he soon had
my dick out, standing proud, and he ran his fingers lightly up and down on
it.  "It's not as big as some I've seen," he said.

"I'm still growing myself.  But they come in all sorts of sizes.  Some guys
are just bigger than others."  I slipped my hand out of his pants and back
in, under his shorts.  His skin was smooth, and his little prick felt warm
to the touch.  I wrapped my hand around it and jacked him slowly, hoping
he'd follow my lead.  He didn't: he just kept running his fingers up and
down, tickling my pecker.

"Stand up."

He stood; I reached out and pulled his shorts and pants down over his hips.
Exposed, he was really very cute.  There was just a small bush of curly
pubic hair, but everything around it was covered with fine short fuzz.  His
balls were still small and nestled high up under his stiffie. There were
still traces of baby-fat on his thighs.  I remembered looking very much
like him, not so many years previously.  "How old are you, Freddie?"

"Fourteen: but I'll be fifteen next month.  I entered school early, when I
was only five."

"You're a fine looking boy!  You'll be tall, I can see that.  And this (I
fondled his prick) will probably be bigger than mine when it's fully
grown."  Flattery never fails.

"You think so?"

"Yes. And you need to give it lots of exercise."

"How?"

"Playing with it."

"Oh, I do that all the time!"

"You have to play with it the right way: I'll show you: lie here beside me
on the bed."

I fingered his dick, now only partly hard, and pumped him slowly.  "This is
called 'jacking off'," I told him.  "Try it."

His fist was too large, so he took it between his thumb and two fingers.
"Up and down, Freddie, like this."

I took myself in the same combination of digits and showed him how.  He got
the rhythm quickly.  Then I ran a hand up his glabrous thigh, and tickled
his little balls.  I knew he could do it to completion, and probably make
at least a little sperm.

"I don't feel anything."

"Keep going, you will."

As his dick became harder, he was able to get his fist around it; he picked
up the pace, and I could see a look of wonder creep into his eyes.  I knew
he was getting the feeling.  His leg muscles tightened up and thrust his
pelvis up.  Wide-eyed, he pumped himself vigorously.  When I reached over
and gripped his taught little thigh, a long, thin stream shot from his
prick, high into the air, and splashed down on his tummy.  Another small
spurt, and that was it.  His first ejaculation, I was sure.

"Gosh, Bruce," he said breathlessly, "what's that?"

"It's what makes babies, for one thing," I said, recalling Unca Bob's
words.  "But until you're ready to use it for that, you have to get rid of
it, and jacking off will do it every time."

"Sure felt good!"

I scooped up what I could of his little puddle and lubed myself with it.
"Watch this, Freddie," I said.  I jerked myself quickly to my usual
multi-spurt orgasm.

"That's a lot of sperm!" he exclaimed.

"You'll be making that much, maybe more within a few months, my boy.  Now
that you know how, you'll probably do it every day, just as I do, just as
all the older boys at school do.  No reason you younger kids can't have the
same kind of fun!"

"I really appreciate your telling me this," Freddie said, as I mopped his
tummy with a hanky. "I don't think I'd have figured it out by myself."

"Oh, everyone does sooner or later.  But you might as well know about it
now, when you really need it.  And if you have any friends you think need
to know, send them to me."  I escorted Freddie down to the lobby, and
watched him scamper off, happier than I'd ever seen him.

That evening, I told Howie all about it. "You're a dirty old man!" he
said. (I had just turned 18).

 "Well, you can't be a dirty old man without being a dirty YOUNG one
first," I said.

My encounter with Freddie led to the resumption of Bennett-style parties.
Our apartment was so small, we could not accommodate more than a few, but
most Saturday afternoons soon found one or both of us hosting four or five
horny lads at a time.  Freddie was a regular, growing like a weed, and
"filling up" his jeans in fine style.  When he'd matured into a
full-fledged teenager, I introduced him to sucking cock, and he took to it
as a duck to water.  I showed him my favorite place on campus, under the
bleachers, and soon he was regaling me with tales of the guys he serviced
there.  Through it all, Howie "championed the underdogs"; hazing of the
younger kids diminished: no one was willing to take Howie on.  He became a
champion swimmer himself, again leading the team to victories state-wide.

When that year's DeMolay dance rolled around, I took Freddie with me. Once
again there were no chaperones in the toilets, I suppose because nothing
"untoward" had occurred there the previous year.  (It had all happened out
in the parking lot!)  Between us, we serviced every throbbing dick that
came along, and I approached graduation secure in the knowledge that my
protege would carry on.

At my graduation ceremony, I cut the bottoms off a pair of pants, secured
them with rubber bands just above my knees, and paraded across the stage
otherwise utterly nude under my cap and gown.  The flowing folds of the
gown kept me hard through the whole exercise, putting a fitting end to my
high school years.

I focused on college.  And on those bleachers beside the running track...

*****

COPYRIGHT BRUCE BRAMSON, 1999