This story is intended for adults who wish to read it where it is legal to do so at your age at your location in your circumstances.  This story is based on real-life events as related to me by another who has given permission for it to be presented as is.  All names have been changed.
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James' First Time

I was fourteen when I was becoming fairly sure that I was gay. Girls were scary, boys were cute. I loved looking at the boys in gym class, and the girls, well, I sometimes forgot to look where they were doing whatever they were doing. I loved changing in gym, and I loved showering, and I was often the last out of the showers and the locker room.

I learned how to jerk off from my cousin, who was a year older than me. We lived near each other, and we were very close friends. We spent a lot of time at my place, since it had a large television in the den and my folks didn't get home until late. We had other friends, not many, either of us, and we sometimes did things with them, but we seemed to gravitate to each other. I was always comfortable with him, and we always had a good time together. I was sometimes torn, as I found myself attracted to him. He was my mom's sister's son, my first cousin, and I had always heard you shouldn't have sex or marry a first cousin. I didn't want to have babies with him, or marry him, I just wanted to play sex with him.

At the start of the summer, I had asked him if he had hair on it yet. He got red-faced and laughed, but to my surprise, said yes and unzipped his jeans, then pulled them down just a little. Just enough that he could show off his pubic hair. It was red, like his other hair, and I got so  hard at the sight that I worried I might show through my jeans. I was pretty sure I was gay, but I didn't want him to know. I loved playing and hanging out with him, and I knew if he found out that he would probably hate me, like everyone else would. Especially my parents. They hated, "Dirty faggots," and said they should be, "Shipped off to their own island and left alone there to fuck each other all they wanted until they starved to death."

That short glimpse of his red pubes had finalized what I had been only fairly sure of; I was gay. I was hard all afternoon, and I ended up turning everything into a joke about sex or dicks. He made jokes about things too, and he moved his hand in a motion that I replicated as soon as he left to go home. I went up to my room, knowing my parents wouldn't be home for a few more minutes, dropped my pants in front of the long mirror on the bathroom door, checked myself out, then held onto my dick and moved my fist the way he had.

I remember shivering and laughing, and feeling the most incredible and wonderful things, and then my whole body shuddered and I couldn't stand up. My knees folded and I sat on my legs, shivering, grinning, and feeling as if the whole world had changed. There was sticky, slippery, slimy wet stuff oozing out of my hole. I got my breath back and cleaned up. Later, lying in bed, I toyed and played with it before I jerked it off, and I made a bigger mess that I rubbed in around my few pubic hairs. I hoped it would make them grow. Silly, I know, but that was fourteen-year-old me.

That was months ago, and now I was lying on the floor with my cousin again, and I could tell he was hard, too. We made jokes about tits and pussies, and soon he rolled on his side a little and put his hand down the front of his pants to adjust it.

"You hard?"

"No shit."

"You got more hair now?"

I wanted to know, but I asked in the hopes he would show me. He did. As if it was as normal as talking, he unzipped and pulled his jeans down, and this time far enough that his pecker popped out and bounced up, hard and red. His red hair was filling in a complete triangle, almost, but was short and a little sparse, still. We both had seen porno magazines, so we knew what a man looked like, and he was getting closer. Closer than me, for sure.

I felt my heart racing and the blood roaring through my neck like a waterfall. My stomach tingled and I had to almost fight myself to not reach out to touch it. It was maybe five inches, maybe, but it seemed like a foot long. It bounced with his heartbeat.

"Wow."

I almost whispered it in complete awe.

"How much do you squirt now?"

"Lots more."

"Enough to make a girl pregnant?"

I had no idea how much it took, it just seemed a reasonable question to keep his pants down as long as possible.

"Don't know. Maybe. How's yours coming?"

We laughed at the pun, and I raced to undo my pants and show him. I wanted him to see, and I hoped he wanted to. I almost tore my pants off and lowered them further than he did. My balls fell out, and I didn't care. I was exactly four inches, as I had started measuring it before I had learned to play with it. The only hairs I had were a scraggly circle at the base, and a few wild, long ones on my sack. At least my balls were beginning to really grow some by then.

"Dude, neat. You got hairs too."

I almost died when he reached over and touched them, pushing them around with his fingers. I had black hair, and they seemed to be more than they really were. It tickled, a lot, and my dick bounced as he moved his fingers along the side to touch my ball sack and then feel my balls for size.

"Dude, they started making sperm yet?"

"Yeah."

How I wanted to show him, but only after he showed me how much he came. I almost asked, but I didn't have the balls.

He grabbed my dick next, and started moving the skin on it, back and forth. I shivered and I remember how my breath was short and rapid, like I had been running. It felt incredible. Not just his hand on my dick, but inside, the emotions and feelings, they were overwhelming.

I worried what he would do if I grabbed his, but I only worried for a second before I did it. It was hard, and felt so much bigger than my own. His was smoother than mine, the edges of his head rounded and less than mine. I was more mushroom shaped, where he was more of a streamlined missile shape.

We were laying a little on our sides, facing each other, and it wasn't very comfortable. He let go of my dick, to my worry, and then scooted closer. We laughed at each other. I never let go. Not for a second. He would have had to fight me to get my hand off of his dick. He stretched out on his back and pulled his jeans further down. His balls were so much larger than mine, it was almost amazing. I heard myself gasp. He laughed.

"Not bad, huh?"

He was obviously proud of them. and rightly so. They were about the size of a full-grown man's, I was sure, and he wasn't even sixteen yet. His sack was a little darker a pink than the rest of his body, except for the head of his dick in my hand. It was getting darker now, and pre-cum was dripping out of it. I wiped at it with my thumb and he jerked and hissed and grinned.

"Nice," he said, then grabbed mine and did the same thing.

It felt so great! I was on fire, all over, inside and out. I was shivering all over, inside and out. It was just so incredible. We laid out on our backs and started jerking each other off. It was insanely incredible! I never suspected that I could feel like that, or that such thrilling and exciting feelings existed. Compared to jerking myself, this was a million times more intense and pleasurable.

I only wish it had lasted longer. Way too soon, I felt it happening, and I barely said something like, "Going to squirt," when I let go with the largest shots ever. He stopped jerking it and I worried it wouldn't finish, but, oh, God, did it! It felt like my balls themselves were being pushed through my dick. He held the skin back tight, and it felt like my dick was stretching the skin over itself every time I shot. I remember trying not to be loud, but I couldn't help it. I know I squealed, or groaned, or something. I remember arching my butt up off the floor and feeling my cum charging out of me.

I was breathless.

Then I remembered his dick in my hand. I looked over and he was smiling really nicely, and I laughed, and sat up and jerked him off. I watched my hand do him, and saw his pre-cum leak out and around his head and my fingers. He kept saying, "Fuck," over and over, and smiling, and playing with my almost soft dick and my balls. It felt great, the way he was smearing my cum all over me. I got harder and harder, and thought I was going to be able to do it again when he said, "Going to!" and closed his eyes. He put his hand on mine, holding mine still on his dick, the side of my hand in his pubes, and pulled his shirt up to his neck with his other hand.

I watched as his dick sort of bent once in my hand, then a big drop rolled out of his narrow slit. He groaned, then his butt came up off the floor, and I felt it bend again, and I watched a white blob shoot out of it and land near his nipple. I heard it go 'splat,'

I was amazed. I had never shot that far, and could barely get to my navel. The drops on my shirt proved that, even when it was the most intense one ever. So I was even more amazed when it shot again and landed almost as far. This one sort of stretched out into a long string. The third one landed over, in, and just short of his navel. I watched, completely fascinated, as more shot out and landed in his bush of red hair, then more rolled out over my fingers. His dick bent and swelled every time, and it felt great to hold onto his dick as he came.

He let go of my hand, and I moved it. He hissed and sat up a little, but didn't stop me. He grinned at me and let me play with it for a while. When I started jerking it again, he grabbed my hand and said, "That was pretty wild!"

I agreed. A lot! He sort of scraped at his semen, and looked around. I took off my shirt and told him to use it to clean it up. He did, then wadded it up and handed it back to me. I wanted to keep his semen on my hand, but I didn't want him to notice, so I reluctantly wided it off onto my shirt and then threw it on the couch. We grinned at each other. I was hoping he didn't figure me out and hate me.

"Man, it's so much better when someone else does it!" he said, all cheerful.

"No kidding."

I wanted to ask him if we could do it again sometime, and soon, but I couldn't. I was too afraid he would figure out I liked it too much, and that I was gay. We went back to watching television.

We never talked about it, or did that again, not for a while.

Later that summer, I told him I was gay. We had gotten into dad's liquor cabinet one weekend while my folks were in Florida. We got messed up, and ended up watching a movie that had girls running around in tight t-shirts with huge boobs. He got worked up, and I liked the blonde guy with the tight jeans that showed he had a big one hanging down one side.

We talked about sex, and what we did over a month ago came up, and I hoped he was going to ask to do that again. Instead, he asked why I didn't talk about girls. I was drunk, so was he, and I started crying. He scooted over, as we were lying on the floor, like always, in front of the big screen television, and he put his arm over my shoulders and asked what was wrong.

We were close friends, way more than just cousins, or best friends, and I wanted to tell him the truth about me. He deserved to know. So, I stopped myself from crying, looked him right in the eyes, and told him that I liked boys. He was surprised. His mouth opened and his eyes got big.

I was waiting for him to get up and leave. I started to cry some, again, but not so bad. The worst was over, I hoped. He didn't get up and leave, he didn't even take his arm from my shoulder, and he didn't scoot further away.

His face changed, and he grinned at me, and his arm got tighter around my shoulders.

"I don't care, James. You're my cuz, and you're cool, and we're friends even more than family. I don't care. Just stop crying about it, okay?"

He put his forehead against mine and kept smiling at me, and I suddenly felt as if the whole world had been on my shoulders, but he had swiped it away. 

"I'm a fag, man!"

"So? You're James, first. My bud, second. My cuz, third. Maybe a butt-ranger, fourth, but so what?"

I laughed, and I felt free, and I felt great.

"Hey!"

I remember how his face got that grin he got when he thought of something to do that would be fun, or likely get us in trouble.

"What?"

I sniffled and stopped crying, and really just wanted to hug him back.

"Does this mean you'd give me a blow-job?"

I gasped.

"I don't know if I can do one back to you, I ain't gay or nothing, but, I'll sure jerk you off again. I know some things to do to make it different, too! Like using hand lotion. And ice. And I know this trick with a coffee stirrer."

I gave my first blow-job that night. I sort of felt I owed him something for not hating me for being gay and telling him and I really wanted to a lot. By the time school started we used hand lotions, butter, oils, ice and other things. And that thing with the coffee stirrer? Oh hell!

Thanks for reading,

James

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Thanks for reading!

Ray

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