Date: Mon, 29 Dec 2003 09:48:04 -0500
From: David Waugh
Subject: Looking for sex 4

Copyright c 2003 by David Waugh.  All rights, except those
expressly transferred by the author, are strictly reserved
to the author alone.  No part of this work may be
reproduced, except for single copies of the work and
excerpts used by a reviewer, by any means whatsoever, unless
a written permission is provided by David Waugh.
This is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to actual
people, whether living or dead, is strictly coincidental and
unintended.  The story contains material directed to an
adult audience and involves gay relationships, including
sex, between adults and minors.  It is not intended to
promote or otherwise condone such relationships, only to
describe them as they may exist in reality.
If this kind of literature offends you, or if you live in a
state which places age limits on your right to access this
type of material, please read no further.

Looking-for-Sex-4


     I was eight when my parents decided to send me to a
summer camp.  The reason:  in their opinion I was
undersocialized.  This was very true:  I did not find it
easy to be friends with my "contemporaries."  But I blamed
it all on my contempos, it surely wasn't my fault they liked
soccer and baseball while I preferred the history of
architecture.
     Anyway, I was sent "down" for the month of July and
told in no uncertain terms to stay there.
     "Don't even think about coming back before the month is
out," said Dad.  "Make new friends, learn to get along, and
forget about architecture, at least until the end of July."
I tried to beg off but to no avail.
     The trip to the camp confirmed my worst fears:   it was
a zoo.  Boys fought, teased, and swore at each other, and
the camp "leaders" - those responsible for our wellbeing and
good behavior -- were useless.  They simply ignored us.
They tried to make some semblance of order in the beginning,
but quickly gave up and huddled together at the end of the
bus talking and joking among themselves.  Someone even
pulled out a pack of cards, and before long they stopped
paying us any attention.
     When we arrived in the camp, the director divided us
into companies - there were nine, ten boys per company - and
had us parade in front of the leaders.  Ours was the oldest,
a 32-year-old engineer (as we found out later) who had a
daughter on the girl's side of the camp and came as a matter
of habit each year.  His name was Peter, and he probably had
some Gypsy blood because he was very dark, very thin, and
very strong.  He was also very handsome - black curls,
liquid onyx eyes, bright smile.  But I didn't like him
because he was rough, especially with boys that he suspected
of being "soft," and I was a prime candidate.
     After the parade we were allocated housing, a room for
each company.  A typical one (actually, they were all
typical) was crammed with ten beds.  And a corner was sealed
off from the rest of the room by a few wooden planks, sort
of a large walk-in closet that contained the leader's bed, a
chest for his bed linen, and wardrobe for his things.
     As usual, I preferred to be as far as possible from the
powers that be.  I chose a bed in the farthest corner, as
far away from Pete's closet as possible, but he had an
unerring nose for "softies."  When I think about it now, I
suspect that he waited until a "softie" chose the farthest
bed and then told him to take the bed nearest to the closet.
Whether this was indeed his policy I don't know for sure,
but right when I dumped my things on the bed I had chosen,
in the farthest corner, I heard Pete's voice addressing me,
"Anthony, where do you think you are going?  Come here. With
your things, you are going to sleep here."  And he pointed
at the bed on the outer side of his closet partition.  I
realized that arguing was useless and simply followed his
instructions.  He seemed a bit disappointed that I was not
more upset, but I was not going to give him that
satisfaction.
     When the gong announced bed time, I discovered that my
position gave me an unexpected privilege:  When Pete
switched on the lamp on his night table, I could see
everything going on inside the closet through tiny holes
left by tacks (I think those were announcement boards at one
time).  I could even see him undress.
     I could not believe my luck.  Right the very first
night, although I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes
open, I watched in silence as Pete took off his shirt.  His
chest was powerful and, like the rest of him, covered with
dense curly growth that formed the most delicious black
ringlets.  Then he kicked off  his shoes, unzipped his pants
and pulled them down displaying his strong muscular legs and
his washboard tummy.  And then he took off his trunks
exposing his fluffy black bush, a very impressive thick
member with prominent veins and a pair of big balls that
were barely visible in the thickness of the bush.  He then
slipped under the blanket:  evidently, he slept in the buff.
I immediately thought about Gene.  As much as Gene had been
disappointing in "that" department, Pete was impressive.
     A couple of nights passed in my contemplation of Pete
and his "treasures."  Then, on the third day of my stay in
the camp, after breakfast, Pete called me and said he wanted
to talk to me in the privacy of his little nook.  Uh-oh, I
thought, he had somehow found out that I had been peeping.
It had to be someone from among the boys who told him, there
was no way he would know.
     And so, while the rest of the company went to the pool,
I followed Pete to his closet and waited for my execution,
standing.
     Pete sat down on his bed and clapped his hand on the
blanket indicating that I should also sit down.  I did.
     "Well, young man," he said with a smile that wasn't at
all nasty, as I had expected, "I know that you have been
peeping at me at night," he said.  "I hope it was worth it."
     "It was," I said, to my surprise.
     "Didn't anyone ever tell you it's bad?" asked Pete.
     "Yes, I guess," I said.  "But I was not going to tell
anyone."
     "Oh, I see, it's ok as long as you don't tell anyone."
He was grinning.
     "No, it's not ok, but it is. more decent than talking
about it."
     "Didn't you ever see your dad naked?"
     "No, never."
     We remained silent for a couple of minutes.
     "Now I want you to get into the wardrobe and undress,"
he said.  This will be your punishment.  It's my turn now."
     I didn't argue.  I went inside the wardrobe, moved the
hangers with his things to one side, turned around and
pulled down my shorts together with my underwear.  An
unexpected smile appeared on Pete's face.  "Cute," he said.
     "Come inside," I said.  "I want to touch you."  My
cheekiness amazed me.  I half expected he would kill me on
the spot, but he did not.
     "No, someone may come in," he said.  "If you want more,
come to the showers."
     "There's always someone in the showers," I said.  "It's
better here.  Why don't you lock the door for a few minutes,
you have the key, and if anyone asks, you can always say
that we were having a talk because I had misbehaved or
something."
     "All right, good thinking," he said.  He took out the
key from his pocket and went to lock the door.  He then came
back, got inside the closet, and closed the door.  And then
he joined me in the wardrobe.
     "Well, let's get acquainted," said Pete and put his
heavy hand on my head.
     I didn't waste time either.  I touched him where his
legs met, right in the groin.  At first I felt lumps of
flesh inside his shorts that reminded me of cousin Bill.
Then he bent slightly, and the next instant I felt his hand
on my penis.  My dick immediately stood at attention.
     I pulled down on his zipper and put my hand into the
opening.  It was warm, sweaty and very interesting.
Meanwhile, he found my testicles.
     I got hold of his underwear and pulled on the elastic,
then explored the inside.  My hand got lost in his luscious
bush.  While I was exploring his pubic hair, he got hold of
my perineum.  That was ticklish, and I giggled.
     "Sorry," he said.
     "It's ok," I said and tried to encircle the base of his
penis with my thumb and index finger - and couldn't.  I
could barely hold on to the middle of his shaft with my
entire hand.  He was so big and thick!  I loved it.  But he,
evidently, had other things in mind.
     "Take it by the head, it feels good," he told me.
     "The head?" I asked, innocently.
     "Yes, the tip of the penis is called the head," he
explained.
     I did and heard him moo with pleasure.  That gave me a
little more courage - to touch his hairy scrotum.  I have
always had a particular fascination for testicles, first of
all because they are so vulnerable, when you hold someone's
balls, you literally "have him by the balls."  And then, it
is so pleasant to roll them on your palm.  Well, Pete's
balls were fantastic:  heavy and loaded, they were so big, I
could barely hold one in the palm of my hand.  And then I
put my hand in his perineum and discovered that it was also
very hairy.
     "Wait," I said getting on all fours, "I want to see you
from below."  I felt that this look from below afforded me a
special view, and it did:  I found myself sitting at his
feet, looking at his muscular legs meeting together far
above my head, in an arch of his groin, and right at the
point where they met, his heavy pendulous scrotum and his
prick with a a large naked head.  I stretched my arm and
touched him, first the scrotum which contained two huge
testicles and then, when I remembered that he liked his
"head" to be touched, I touched that.  Once again he mooed
in pleasure.
     "Let me show you how to jerk off," he said.
     "How to what?" I asked.
     "How to jerk off, to masterbate."  He took me by the
shoulders and raised me.  And then he started to do
something to my penis, sort of moving the skin on it back
and forth, that made it feel heavenly while I was holding on
to his balls for dear life.
     A couple of minutes passed.  Suddenly a wave of
pleasure that I had not anticipated rose in me and swept me
away.  I could barely contain cries of ecstasy.  I bit my
hand.
     "Such self-control," said Pete, amazed.
     I looked at him in surprise:  I have shown enough naked
emotion, certainly enough to make it seem highly indecent,
at least to me.  But what was naked emotion to me was
evidently total self-control to Pete.
     "That was orgasm, what you just felt" explained Pete.
"Dry orgasm, because your body does not produce sperm yet.
Now you want to do it to me."
     I took hold of his powerful thick organ and started to
"move skin" as he had done.  As I started jerking him off,
in order to help me, Pete put his large rough hand on mine
and guided me through the first three or four movements.
Then I took over.  While I was jerking him off with my right
hand I was playing with his testicles with the left one.
How I wished I had at least two more arms, one to hug him,
and the other one to "comb" his thick bush.  However, things
were going at a fast pace.  Barely a minute after I started,
Pete tensed all over, said "A-a-a," that really scared me at
first and then let go a Niagara of milky white, semi-
translucent fluid from his penis.  It sprinkled the floor,
hit my arm, left a glob on my knee.
     Meanwhile, Pete fell down to his knees leaning on me.
To my surprise, despite the difference in size, I could
support him.
     I kissed him.
     "You must never do that," he said, out of breath and
still leaning on me.  "Only sissies do that."
     I already knew what sissies were, but I was surprised
that he would bring them in at such a moment:  making love
and being a sissy, to my mind, had nothing to do with each
other.  But I did not contradict him.  I felt so good!  I
didn't want to talk.
     We stayed in the wardrobe for a couple more minutes,
and then Pete got out, opened the door of the night table
and, took out a box of Kleanex.  While he was getting the
box, I could inspect his behind.  To my surprise, his ass
was as hairy as the rest of his body, even his asshole grew
black tufts of hair.
     While I cleaned myself, Pete opened the closet door,
and I saw through a glimpse in the window several kids from
my company heading to our house.  They were at some
distance, and Pete managed to get dressed and open the door
before they found it had been locked.  If they were
surprised to find me in there - I had slipped out of Pete's
closet and pretended I was looking for something in my night
table -- they did not say anything.  But I don't think they
gave it a thought.
     Pete and I did it three more times, about once a week.
No one ever found out about us.  I hoped to talk to him
before leaving the camp, but he avoided me the last few days
of my stay.  It was then that I realized that this was not
love, only sex.  But it was great while it lasted!