Date: Mon, 04 Aug 2003 12:59:32 -0700
From: Bob Stardog105 <stardog105@hotmail.com>
Subject: My Sexual Childhood: Cousin Malcolm -- Part 2 of 3

Malcolm and I were growing all the time, not just getting bigger bodies but
getting bigger dicks and nuts too. We probably came into a full flood of
hormones just at the best time: we got to sleep in the same bed, one made up
on the floor -- no squeaks! It was heaven. It was like being newlyweds every
night.

The days were a different story.

Never a scholar, Malcolm was getting further and further behind in school.
He'd eventually drop out. I wasn't getting exceptional grades myself but
relished study, homework, new subjects. It was fairly obvious that I'd wind
up in college, which I did. Malcolm was deep into shop, mechanics and
engineering, which is where he found a successful life niche. That was way
in the future though. Now his home life was showing strains. His growing
truancy, his older and equally delinquent friends, put him on a collision
path with his father who had a talent for imparting devastating discipline
with a belt. Malcolm took up biting his fingernails.  He kept them stripped
down to the quick, his only obvious way to bleed off tension. I started the
habit to emulate him. It was something I carried around to remind me of him.
Still does. My family was cracking up some too but nothing so dramatic, just
  continuing health problems from my mom, which relegated me and my
interests way below my parents' visual horizon.

Both our families were constantly tied up over problems with our
grandmother. That kept my parents bringing me to weekend visits with
Malcolm's family more than ever. Our child play games fell away quickly as
we grew. When we did hang together, it was with a deck of cards and box of
plastic chips, but most often we'd settle in around our visiting parents,
watch what they did on TV. As it got dark, as everyone nodded off during the
hours of dull programming, Malcolm and I understood we were getting closer
to our sensational performance with each other.

xxx

In a matter of seconds after the TV got shut off, a pad, a set of sheets, a
blanket and two pillows appeared magically assembled on the floor of the
living room. Then the two of us, sans shirt and pants, materialized laying
on our sides facing each other under the covers. We talked quietly about
nothing. Different family members wandered by to the kitchen, to the
bathroom, but little by little, lights turned off, bedroom doors closed for
the night, and the house became dark and silent.

We had not waited though. Our white briefs got slipped to our knees as soon
as we lay down. And our hands immediately crossed that narrow gap between
our two blanked forms to tease and comfort our bare organs dangling in such
abject neglect.

In the darkness, in the silence, we shifted positions. The briefs got pulled
off entirely. The pillows got moved closer. We lay on our backs, shoulders
and heads almost touching. We separated our legs, raised our knees to tent
up the covers avoiding any sound of movement against the crisp sheets. Our
hands kept at each others genitals.

They were noticeably bigger, heavier, especially the scrotum which hung
pendulant between the separated thighs. And for both of us the penises had
elongated now into columns topped with fleshy knobs, four plus inches tip to
base.

Handling them was like a conversation. Apart from the regular masturbation
rhythm we experimented with touching, rubbing, grazing our partner's
complete genital area. We'd copy the other's technique, returning the favor.
We'd do unique sensual tricks and have them played back on us. Then we'd
return to straight jacking to build up our partner's erection only to
abandon it to give attention elsewhere.

One night Malcolm continually returned to dandle and roll my nuts in their
loose pouch. It had a dramatic effect with the scrotum tightening up so the
hard balls seated flush up to my groin on either side of my bursting
erection. Malcolm rolled them against his hand, pressing them firmly to keep
them excited. It was sensational to me. I began fingering around his
dangling sack to give him an indication when suddenly he whispers in my ear,
"Where'd your ball go""

"You pushed it inside," I whispered back, surprised he'd not known of this
feature in his body.

I demonstrated by gently pressing one of his testicles up through the
channel so it could seat hidden under the layer of fat along side the base
of the penis. After he could feel it would stay by itself, I lightly pressed
on his stomach and the ball dropped back into his bag.

This was so intriguing Malcolm positioned and retrieved both my balls
several times to get the knack of it. I'm sure he was giggling inside the
whole time that he could reform my sex parts.

After this learning interlude, we resumed the serious business of
masturbating each other to a hopelessly sex-crazed state.

Either because he was doing more to retract his foreskin for washing, or
just from all the handling he was getting, or maybe from his fucking me
until his skin was forcibly stretched, by now I could routinely peel him
back to the shaft with comfort and he could do the same to me.

Comfort yes, but the sensitivity, especially if unexpected and a bit rapid,
broke the rhythm leading to ejaculation. This was very useful, especially on
me since I was on a hare trigger a lot of the time.

So apart from all the added attention Malcolm lavished on my scrotum getting
it to tighten up until my nuts were on either side of my erection, he kept
my dick in perturbed confusion from a skillful interplay of gentle jacking
to next, and without warning, being completely peeled bare, the skin
gathered at the base leaving the flush head taunt from the pressure, and
keeping it that way until it had learned its lesson not to spit too soon,
after which the skin was gathered up along the shaft to cover the head in
preparation for another session of jacking beguilement.

I doubt Malcolm designed this care of me, but that was how it turned out.

Well so far all this has just been conversation between us. We had yet to
"do" anything. At some point when either of us had stopped the other from
tipping us over into spontaneous ejaculation enough times, one of us would
ask in a whisper, "What do you want to do""

The choice was fuck or suck.

Often early on the first answer was "suck." We'd trade sucking on each other
a while, then Malcolm would ask to fuck.

Whatever he asked for or wanted I would do automatically, which I'm sure he
knew, so his asking was a courtesy. Malcolm was unfailing adroit in sex with
me. Regardless of enthusiastic handling, he never hurt me. And surely those
mechanic's hands had something to do with the absolutely most erotic touch I
have ever experienced. He could do the slightest movement across me and I'd
be on the verge of orgasm. Now you might think that I was so wound up that
if he had waved to me from across the street I'd come in my pants. True
enough. Nevertheless he had an unerring touch with me every time. I can't
imagine that I was able to provide him with anything equally thrilling. But
I enjoyed trying.

xxx

Masturbation began every session and usually ended it. We never tried to
time oral sex so the other would withdraw at the point of ejaculation. Even
when we'd been fucking we would often save the ejaculation to be in our
partners hands. By then we had built up and pulled back many times -- at
least me -- until our -- or just my" -- genitals were temporarily numb. In
some unspoken way we knew now was the time to put me out of my misery.

We traded masturbation back and forth, one of us lying docile under the
other's insistent handling. At the end of my turn as the active partner I
rolled on my side facing Malcolm, who lay flat on his back, knees up, legs
separated. My left hand went beneath his behind to cradle and manipulate his
ball bag, getting it to crinkle up tight to his lower stomach. I let a
finger stray all over the area underneath the bag. It was taught from the
spread of the legs, a great target for my fingertips to brush at odd
moments. The hole in his behind was not included in this finger molestation.
It was reserved in our activity as the place my stiff dick could squirt
into, and the reverse was true of how he enjoyed me.

My right hand had an easy grasp on his lengthy erection, keeping it under a
constant pulling and peeling along the rigid shaft. The steady rhythm on his
penis with lots of fingering over and at the margins of his tight scrotum,
then on the stretched inner parts of his thighs at the groin, pushed him
toward orgasm.

He raised a hand to touch mine. Time out.

I immediately released him and pulled my hands away. I got flat on my back,
legs opened like Malcolm.

He rolled in close, facing me, put one hand on my penis, rubbing and
pinching the glans between his thumb and fingers. My erection bristled under
the fresh attention after minutes of drooping unattended. He began jacking
the stiff column, every now and then peeling the skin back to the base in a
slow methodical movement before recapping it to continue the steady
jacking. His other hand snaked up between my legs, the fingers lightly
rubbing my balls in a circular motion. They almost instantly pulled up
tight. He continued the rubbing, getting them to seat so snug to the base of
the penis root they couldn't bulge. This did not get Malcolm to stop. He let
his finger tips drift over the wrinkled scrotal pouch, lightly brushing the
surface in one direction, up, again and again. It was like electricity was
poured into me, a maddening tingle radiating through my squeezed nuts into
the rest of my body.

My penis was getting more than it could handle too. He had positioned his
hand so the top ring of thumb and finger rubbed the swollen flange of the
head against the foreskin cover at every stroke. The same super-sensitive
area was getting all his action.

My mind flashed that Malcolm will keep petting my tender nuts and jacking my
battered dick for as long as it takes to get me jizzing for him. It was an
irresistible thought. I felt the coiling up of muscles inside and the spasm
to violently eject the first streamer.

Malcolm, monitoring my hardness, felt the imminent orgasm, peeled the
foreskin back from the head to increase the strength of the shots of sticky
sperm as they spewed over my stomach, drenching the sheets, dribbling
between his fingers. He kept jacking the penis at the base as it wilted in
utter exhaustion from it hours of excitation. Once I was soft, he released
me, rolled away onto his back.

Now it was his turn.

Despite my orgasm, I was still keyed up enough to carry me forward to
engineer Malcolm's sexual cataclysm.

I did everything to him he'd done to me, not letting his erection have any
respite from the persistent jacking. His ball bag shriveled good and solid
making his sore nuts ooze out sperm with every brush of a fingertip. He
built up tension in no time. I had his erection skinned back when he put out
his first shot. His dick throbbed in great racking spasms along its full
length. Spurt spurt spurt. I kept my other hand pressing his scrotum,
getting it to empty to the last drop. Slowly, much slower than me, Malcolm's
erection deflated. It kept withdrawing until it was tiny again, could be
covered in three fingers. All sticky, as was his belly. I carefully released
it, let it curl into place, steep in a pool of semen.

I rolled away, my back to him. Settled into a comfortable position to find
sleep.

Malcolm did not move. He might have fallen asleep in the same position he'd
come in. Maybe if I did not drop off soon I'd hear him roll over, his back
to me. But more often than not I'd be asleep before he changed position.

Sometime in the middle of the night I awoke, remembering I was with Malcolm.
I scooted over next to him, lay beside him touching practically head to
foot. Put an arm around him letting my hand pick up his penis, totally soft
and small. I rubbed it gently, especially at the foreskinned tip getting it
to react. Malcolm would slowly awake to the touch. I kept busy until he was
fully erect.

Acceding to the growing sexual pressure, he rolled onto his back, toward me.
He reached over and took hold of my erection, jacking it in smooth strokes
now that I had lost my skittishness of a rapid ejaculation. I settled onto
my back, leaving off handling him. He warmed to his work on me, slipped a
beguiling hand between my thighs to give my scrotum his special touch. I
built slowly but irresistibly to ejaculation. After a brief recovery, I
tackled his sexual parts, making sure his ball bag tightened up to
invisibility before he too spurted all over.

We had another session before light, wrenching out the final of three sticky
ejaculations for both of us.

xxx

Malcolm enjoyed being sucked as a warm up for the rest of the night's
activities.

He said, "Let's suck," in my ear.

I slipped under the covers next to him at the middle of his body, the
bedclothes tented above me so I had free reign of his already
masturbation-hardened erection. I steadied him in my right hand, took it
deep in my mouth sucking it right down to the root. It would get sucked in
slow motion from base to tip. Over time I put pressure on the shaft with my
lips so the foreskin would peel back more with each stroke. Finally his
penis head would be bare in my mouth. I reversed the process, covering it
up. I'd peel it back again. I did not use my tongue. I did not handle his
scrotum, possibly figuring that he could not help but come then, or possibly
because the position at his side did not lend itself to my reaching him with
a second hand.

Having given him good service for say five minutes, I lay back to get mine.

Malcolm did well, better than our early sucking sessions. I suspect he had
come to terms with the self image of someone who sucks cock. If so, this was
because after he had got my dick up his ass regularly, there was not much
room for scruples receiving it at the other end. Then again, he might not
have thought out anything at all.

My full penis head was always well half out of the foreskin when I erected.
Malcolm did not avoid it as his mouth sank down the shaft. His cheeks were
sucked in and the strokes up and down a deep pleasure. He did not peel me
back or show other enthusiasm for the work but it was wonderful regardless.

In less time than I gave him, he took his mouth from me, laying back down.
We crossed our arms in mutual masturbation to get inspiration for the next
pursuit.

xxx

More often than not Malcolm at that point would say, "Let's fuck."

I'd agree, of course.

Malcolm rolled away from me onto his side, drawing his knees up and moving
his head closer to the edge of our sleeping mat to help line things up for
entry.

I rolled on my side snugging up to his hips, my erection ever-vigilant for
his tight bottom hole.

He reached back to guide my errant pilgrim to the mark.

I pressed in.

Nothing.

"Spit on it," he whispered over his shoulder.

Trying to work up some spit, I put a glob in my hand, transferred it to my
bare head -- bare because we learned through practice that only the
uncovered head will go in.

He held my shaft, getting the head to match up with his indentation.

I pressed.

Malcolm worked the shaft, correcting as it bent or wanted to slip off
target, until the head sank in the first delicious inch. He took his hand
away, settled into a totally passive state as I began my labor. And it was
labor, due to recent added girth to our erections.

I kept maneuvering my hips as well as the angle of approach to make headway
through the ring. With a constant pressure that needed my steadying hand so
as not to veer off, the head made it through into the delicious interior.

I rested.

The sudden sense of being engulfed in a hot grip rippled through me. It was
heaven.

I dared not withdraw this close to the opening so hard won. With small
increments I leaned into Malcolm, felt my erection traveling in deeper,
slipping inside. There was a sense of oiliness against my bald dick head.

I rested.

Having made such great progress, for the first time I allowed a slow rocking
withdrawal and return plunge to the same place, sort of easing any
discomfort as Malcolm adjusted to being stretched and filled. Any resistance
now faded. I ventured in deeper, sinking myself in a single stroke to the
depths. It was wonderful. I pressed up against his behind, flattening it
against me. I'd come home.

Malcolm laid inert.

I did not put an arm over him. We stayed apart despite being connected. Not
now nor ever was their anything that could be taken as an embrace. We of
course could not imagine anything smacking of affection, even a nipple rub.
To have brushed lips to a cheek would have been deadly poison between us.
Our focus was on getting as much sensation as possible to our genitals from
each others hands and openings. Period.

I pulled my hips away from him to give me stroking space. For the next few
minutes he felt me pumping him with first even then erratic strokes, keeping
him guessing what would happen next to his well-traveled chute. The
sensations it gave me feeling my full erection rubbing against different
areas at different angles was electric, though I would not come.

This was only the first half of the encounter.

When it seemed I had plugged his bottom hole sufficiently, that I had
nothing left in my little bag of tricks, I withdrew, feeling the last smooth
slide out of him, a pleasure all to itself.

I rolled over, back to Malcolm as he moved in next to me. Again the fumbling
of an entry, the use of saliva to ease in a bulbous head. I reached around,
touched his hip, to signal he needed to slow down, allow me to accommodate
him. He stopped pressing in. I began to feel better. I took the hand away.
He leaned in more. The way was open so he took the full plunge, until he was
snug up against me, his erection completely buried.

I was not specifically driven wild by anal/rectal maneuvers, but must admit
that the sensations from a fire-plug of a dick moving in and out back there
are intense. And I know I felt an emotional communication with Malcolm from
receiving his coupling that was absent in the other configurations we
practiced. Taking a page from Malcolm's playbook I lay dead, a receptacle
for however he wanted to wield his truncheon. He was considerate. Whether
the effort was aimed at my pleasure or his own, he used all his skill in
fucking me with shallow to deep strokes, different tempos, different angles.
Like when I fucked him, no attempt was made to hold or touch the partner. He
kept his hands to himself.

After Malcolm had gotten his fill, he withdrew and in a continuous movement
rolled over and pulled his knees up, waiting for me to connect up with him
again. No saliva necessary this time.

We traded roles for three or four times before masturbating each other.
Dropped to sleep in exhaustion.

In looking back now I regret we had not tried other positions, especially
laying prone one covering the other, a favorite of my adult life. No doubt
such a change would have brought out more energetic activity. But we opted
for subtle encounters that could be interrupted by one of our parents
wandering by and not noticing any funny business.

xxx

There was funny business a plenty too. It was just kept out of their
potential view.

I'd developed another vice, auto-asphyxiation.

The son of a close family friend, years my senior --all of 16? -- had
demonstrated and taught me the technique in his back yard. It was a way of
inducing a temporary black out, loss of consciousness, that gave a few
seconds of euphoria and hours of later headaches if repeated too often. You
didn't fall on your face if you propped yourself up against something. I
took to the practice as with all my habits, making it an instant addiction.
I taught the trick to Malcolm too, part of our secret life with each other.
And we did it together, he with much less drive than I, when we were alone,
often at the same time as we handled each other briefly for a little
appetizer before our night's sexual banquet.

Malcolm and I had been excused from the family table. We slipped away to the
back bedroom, knowing that no one would get up from dinner to go look for
us. We had maybe 5 minutes in private. That was enough. We shut the door
partially, did not want the sound of a bolt action giving us away.

Standing at an angle to him, I put my hand down his pants, getting a feel of
his genitals, soft, warm, moist, as delicious to me as cookies fresh baked.
I handled him briefly, getting his penis to stiffen so it could peer up at
me with a questioning eye as I positioned it flat to his belly.

"Take it out," I asked, one of my constant private requests, and irritating
enough by now that Malcolm could ignore me without explanation.

I removed my hand, leaned my back up against the wall and induced a black
out, wanting to get in at least that bit of pleasure before our private time
was over.

Malcolm took this in stride, knowing by now my total lack of self-restraint
or even self-respect.

As I returned to consciousness, got my vision back, I saw Malcolm in front
of me.

I had expected at best that Malcolm may have grudgingly unzipped and hauled
out his erection through the fly of his pants to poke out in a lewd display
that so delighted me. Probably I had assumed that Malcolm would have done
nothing at all while I was "away" just marking time until we rejoined our
parents who would call us in minutes to help clear the table. But no.

Malcolm had undone his belt and jeans, pulling them and his white briefs
down to the top his thighs, revealing not just his belligerent penis,
flushed and pulsing, now ringed with black pubic hair, but his full behind,
so tan and smooth as to be irresistible.

My oxygen-starved brain boggled at the sight. I had not seen Malcolm this
nude since our first show-and-tell adventure years back. He had grown a lot
since then. He was handsome. Closest approximation would be to say he was
Tom Cruise handsome, an early Tom Cruise, say in Legend.

And here he was in front of me, his dick and butt there for my touching.

I touched.

My hand went to a luscious bare cheek, still boyishly flat, resting there
while I ogled the erection and pop-eyed balls trapped snug between his
stomach and the bunched up clothes. I gave that dick a friendly jacking as
Malcolm held his position for me to drink it all in.

I was in a spell, a vision.

Chairs in the dining room started to scrape on the floor.

"Let's get out of here," we whispered to each other.

Malcolm put everything away, zipped up. We tucked in our shirts, tried to
look normal, went out to help in the kitchen before we were yelled for.

Comments? Questions? What to share your experience? Write me at
stardog105@hotmail.com