Date: Mon, 04 Aug 2003 12:59:32 -0700
From: Bob Stardog105 <stardog105@hotmail.com>
Subject: My Sexual Childhood 5: Jamie

When Jamie told me a dirty story I was so shocked I later prayed for
forgiveness and promised never to do that again. The joke went along the
lines of: "Question: What did one ball say to the other ball" Answer: Why
are we hanging" Dick did all the shootin." I laughed when he told it. It
brought up my fascination for smut, spoke forbidden words. After the
realization of what I'd participated in, gotten enjoyment shame closed in on
me. This was evil. It was against what I knew was right. I'd have to confess
it to a priest, just as if I lied or stole, but I didn't do those things. My
sins in the confessional were of impure thoughts and actions.

Jamie did not know, like my priest confessors did, that I had recently begun
masturbating, those "impure actions." I was all of twelve and in the sixth
grade. I had no one, just no one, around me who I could talk to about my
newly discovered secret. I had no siblings my age to hang out with. My local
cousins were far more devout than me, were even altar boys. My cousins out
of town had never shown interest in things like this. My one earlier
childhood playmate, Johnny had dropped me totally and permanently as a
friend. Other neighbor boys my age were also Catholics and even went to
Catholic school so I could not talk to them about so delicate a matter. I
was walled in with my new self-knowledge and feelings, until Jamie arrived
on the scene. Once he was there and once we stepped into the world of
partnered sex, we clicked. We got glued together.

Jamie was a summer visitor of the next door neighbors. He seemed older to
me. He wasn't that much my senior grade wise, but he had a certain
assertiveness that drew the control to his side of the relationship. He had
recently lost his father, something we did not discuss. I'm sure that gave
him in my mind certain gravity. And without a doubt his range of
experiences, from that death to his natural affability gave him several
years maturation ahead of me. In great part this was due to his mother, an
educator, and very accomplished lady. She indulged him, her only son, gave
him a permissive childhood, something I could not imagine. Casually
Protestant, a smooth talker, and personally confident he was everything I
was not. In a sense we were made for each other. Our meeting up forced a
crisis in me.

Despite my being a confirmed masturbator and confessing the sin most
Saturdays, there was something transitory in the identification. I had not
yet abandoned the idea that with grace, with prayer I could "come through"
this crisis and still be a saint, my goal in life. I'd been conscious of my
spiritual aspirations, which were fostered and reflected throughout my home
and family. Beginning with the dirty joke and leading in a remarkably short
time to robust sexual experimentation with Jamie I could not hope to
reconcile my religious ideals with my erotic impulses. It was not like I
could chose between them.  Regardless of the consequences or the guilt, I
knew that I would continue into sexuality. Like the force of gravity it was
inevitable. I resented it terribly. Who would not prefer being a winged
angel to an earthbound creature?"

At our next meeting he referred to his earlier joke and said to me with full
sincerity, "No offense" Right""

I guess he could see some of the chilled atmosphere I was being raised in.

"No, none at all," I answered.  I certainly wasn't going to discuss Catholic
guilt with him, was I" I wanted his friendship. I was flattered by his
concern. Why push him away"


Jamie and I resumed whatever conventional play scenarios school boys think
up during long summer days. Every now and then he'd bring up a subject that
was less socially approved, maybe talk about girls, or bodily changes in
puberty, especially dick size, and I'd soak it up, an eager sponge. These
were confidences he was sharing. It was novel for me to have someone's
trust.  When it got dark we continued together in our conversations. Early
on, might have even been in the first week, Jamie had determined that I was
susceptible to more direct sexual attention. He could see I had no regular
friends, let alone companions, that I focused on him as much as he was on
me.

He pressed his persona of a much more experienced person with me. Within
that context of mentoring me he found it necessary to make certain physical
measurements both soft and excited of my boyish dick, all in the interests
of confirming my appropriate development. These examinations were furtive, a
hand slipped down my waist band into my shorts, a warm cupping of my
genitals, being rewarded with an erection. It was all more clinical than
affectionate. For a young boy whose father shook hands with him, who fancied
himself a future scientist or doctor, this was the most effective approach
possible, fitting as the right key into a lock, I clicked open.

Did Jamie possess a particular insight in how to initiate me" He did not do
so with others. Let's suppose I was just lucky.

I would be felt, getting an erection, frequently during each day. It became
routine both to me and my dick. When we were around Jamie, he'd check us
out, often.


He once took me to a neighborhood pharmacy to show me its paperback spinning
wire rack. I'm sure I'd walked by it countless times thinking such a
display, along with its magazine section, was just something adults wasted
time looking over.

I hushed tones he disabused me, "Look at this."

He found what I had mistaken as a Romance Novel, flipped to the right page
and had me read the scene: a man and woman are kissing each other
passionately on the bed. The woman pleads, "Take me. Now." The man has her
look down. She sees that he is already in her.

I was stunned. I had no idea such ideas and words could be printed on paper
without the page bursting into flame.

"See"" Jamie said, "This is the sort of stuff you can read about. And look
over here. This is Sexology Magazine. It has a lot of information. I get it
every month."

I glanced through it quickly. Wow. They can talk about everything.

Out now on the street, lest we get chased out by the clerk, (we could not
have been more obvious in what was supposed to be a clandestine operation)
Jamie drove the lesson home explaining: Everybody was Doing It. The whole
world was having sex one way or another all the time. It was me that had to
catch up, get with the program.

Maybe he knew I was a hard sell, maybe he just wanted to keep me connected
with his message, so at any opportunity he would reinforce just how easy and
natural sex was, presumably a philosophy complements of Sexology Magazine.
Had my parents even seen me with a copy I'd be in serious trouble. Jamie
bought it every month, keep a stack for reference at home.

I was a devoted student. This whole sex thing seemed like something adults
(well my adults) wanted to keep secret from kids because it was so much
darned fun. Luckily I had Jamie to help me along. I couldn't learn enough
about sex from him.

And the lesions progressed from discussion to action, like a lab after the
lecture.


It was dark and still hot out. Jamie and I could stay out till our (my)
bedtime and no one bothered to find us. During this time he had the chance
for more extensive handling of me.

In the back yard of the house he was visiting there was some sort of garden
furniture, a webbed patio chair that laid out flat. We were small enough
that we could lay on it together side by side, hip touching hip. He'd put a
hand down my pants get everything ready, then ask me to slip my briefs down
into the crotch of my slacks. I would. Then he'd reintroduce his hand now
having more room for his manipulations. He focused on my dick, how it
erected, how it responded to leisurely jacking. After a day where he might
have handled me ten or more times already, you can be sure that by dark I
was erecting at the first feel of his fingers.

So we would lay there, looking up at a starry night. Him fondling me, me
arms at my sides, drinking in the sensations.

Apparently, ejaculation was not a particular goal for Jamie. He was
eminently gratified with the accessibility he had to my genitals and with my
predictable swelling erection from his attention. I too did not feel
impelled to suggest or otherwise engineer that he get me to shoot jizz.  It
was enough for me to lay there feeling him work on me.

After a while we'd figure it was time to go in, each to our respective
homes. I'd rearrange my clothes, getting limp quickly. We'd say goodnight. I
did not rush to masturbate to orgasm, or later that night when I did
masturbate myself to sleep, associate that directly with anything Jamie had
talked to me about or had done with me. Possibly this was a necessary
disconnect in my mind having to do with the identity thing I was working
through, my Catholic sinner problem.


But on occasion I did ejaculate with Jamie.

On the other side of where Jamie was staying lived a family with a daughter,
a classmate of mine. Jamie mentioned one day that he'd checked her bedroom
window and found that he could see in enough to make out her getting
undressed for bed. "Saw her in just bra and panties."

When it got dark we stood so we could see if she left her window blinds open
again to get some breeze from the hot summer night. We were covered by the
overhang of a dense tree as we ogled the black window.  Jamie mentioned he
better check me again. I got erect. We waited a while; nothing seemed to be
happening in the house. Jamie got me to walk further back and away so he
could talk to me quietly.

"You are getting pretty excited, guess by hoping you'd see [name of
classmate] undress. You can't leave this way and get in trouble. Let's go
over here."

I followed him further back to the back access area, largely out of sight
from our homes and now lit only indirectly by the distant street lamps.  We
stood together, leaned back against a utility drum.

Jamie put his hand back in my pants, fishing up my dick and rolling and
rubbing it until it stuck up in an erection. He took a position at an angle
from me, his hand easily working in my pants, falling into a smooth rhythmic
jacking motion. He stopped movement for a while, peering down into the gap
he'd made between the waistband and my stomach seeing the head on my
erection peeping up out of his fist. Reassured, he settled back, resumed the
easy jacking.

He had a very exciting grip, with the ring of thumb and index finger rubbing
the sheathed corona at every jack. It was so refreshing to me that Jamie was
not concerned let alone bothered by my having a foreskin. That he did not
(and how I knew at this point is lost to me) was made up for by his generous
acceptance of me. He never mentioned mine. I felt like "just one of the
boys" with him.

"That's good," he said to himself, went on to explain to me, "You're
building."

"What's that"" I asked.

"You'll be squirting jizz," he replied.

"Oh. Ah, should I squirt"" I asked.

"Yeah, you need to jizz. You have to do it since you got too excited. I
could tell."

"Oh."

He kept up the same rhythm with me. Spoke as his hand worked, "Any time you
get excited you need to jack off till you jizz. That way you'll stay
comfortable. You soon might have to jack of three and four times a day,
doesn't matter, just keep jizzing. That's what your dick is for."

"Oh."

He stopped and again looked into my pants, no doubt seeing the glans bulge a
violent red from his skillful handling.

I could feel myself slipping further along toward ejaculation.

"It's getting late, maybe we should stop," I said.

Jamie took up the rhythm once more: "You can leave anytime after you squirt
Bob, but you are just going to have to stay until then. The longer it takes
the better cause you are building up pressure, you'll just squirt more then.
Fine by me. I'm gonna keep working on it till it does"

The sense came over me that I'd have to shoot jizz now. No way out of it,
that he'd keep masturbating me and would not quit. The feeling that I had
zero choice, that even if it took longer I'd just be producing more semen
for him, became deliciously exciting.

"Yeah Bob, you'll have to show me just how you squirt and how much jizz you
been carrying," Jamie added.

Along with the hand working on me it was the trigger to me coming.

I felt a rapid burst of powerful throbs starting under my tight balls and
racing along my dick pumping out gobs of hot sperm. Luckily I was braced
against something or I'd have fallen over.

Jamie continued urging my dick to spasm out the last drops to dribble over
his hand and into my shorts. When he could tell I was through he looked in
the gap again, saw everything festooned in glistening sticky liquid.

He'd barely pulled his hand out when I said, "I godda get in now. See you."
And I raced to my back door hoping that I'd make it to the bathroom without
being seen where I could mop up before it seeped through to my pants.

This was no a breakthrough which Jamie would capitalize on. He resumed the
checking, getting me erect and then letting it alone for a while. That was
alright with me. I still had not connected all the dots to see I was in fact
having sex, per se. Maybe it was like practice to me.

We practiced a lot.


In between checks Jamie talked about sex every chance he could. He even
shared several of his fantasies with me. Here are two.

At his school there was a club of boys who had an initiation ceremony for
new members. There were two rooms with a glass partition between them on one
side were a group of girls, all close friends of the club gathered looking
through to the other room. In that room the new boy would have all his
clothes taken off and he'd have to be naked in front of the girls.

Because I accepted the tale as true, I was shocked at the idea: "Couldn't
the boys stay close to the wall or over at the sides so they would not be
seen""

"No," Jamie answered. "There are other boys in there with him, and they keep
him right in front of the window so he has to show the girls everything."

"Everything" was a big word to me. It boggled my prepubescent brain. If he
just said what they showed that would have been less than "everything." I
was overwhelmed by what all might have happened. It was so cool.

Another fantasy.

Jamie would be sitting on the living room couch with a younger cousin, a
girl (who I knew, she being my neighbor), on his lap. She liked to wear long
full skirts and that was what she had on now, but the back of it was raised
up so that there was nothing between her and Jamie. Jamie had his dick out
of his pants, planted firmly into the girl. When the rest of their family
members came into the living room they would not notice anything. Jamie
could still keep his dick inside in her.

This image struck me as intended, the sense of doing anything you want
anywhere and getting away with it. Quite alluring to me.


I remember one night us laying side by side, hip to hip on the patio
furniture. Jamie had gotten me to slip my shorts down inside my pants. He
then asked, "Take your dick out through the zipper. It'll be OK."

Even in the dark this seemed too risky to me. I demurred.

He insisted.

I knew I didn't have a choice. To put up a challenge to Jamie could lead to
our falling out as friends. I did not have any regular playmates and Jamie
was well above that level of casual companionship. I could not afford to
lose him.

With mixed feelings I drew my erection out. It poked blindly up through my
pant's opened zipper.

Jamie gave it a thorough handling. "Let's get on our sides and you put it up
against my ass."

We changed positions. I adjusted my boney erection to the cleft in the seat
of his pants.

"Whoa, that isn't your dick. You're putting your thumb against me," he
complained.

"Nope," I answered, as I put both hands on his shoulders. "See""

He reached back, and took my dick in his hand to confirm it really was that
hard. Mollified he returned it to his crack to get the sensation he'd asked
for.

Now, this was just one unremarkable incident in a long string of
explorations he did with me, and easily forgotten expect that when I began
compiling this narrative it provided a valuable clue as to sequencing events
between Jamie and my cousin Malcolm (in the next and final section). They
were contemporaneous in my life and my sexual encounters with them both
happened about the same time, soon after I began masturbating.

Which was my first partner?"

When I first had my contact with Malcolm and pressed myself against his bare
rear I used my thumb as an insulator for my stiff dick, allowing me the
psychological security of not having actually completed sexual contact. This
action (not the twisted logic) came from Jamie's comment to me.

Jamie came before Malcolm, by a thumb.


His mom, a very special lady as I said before, was generous enough to drive
the two of us a long way to a new amusement park. We three had a wonderful
time doing all the usual things one would in such a place. But Jamie and I
had a little addition.

At some point in our long day we both had to go pee. We went together into a
restroom, chose adjacent urinals which had no partitions. We looked at each
other getting our dicks, both piss-proud, pulled out from the pants and
through cotton briefs. Jamie said to me, "Oh if its gonna stick up like
that, better cut it off." It was just the sort of silly comment I found very
funny and laughed along with him as I began to get a flow. He did too. We
saw each other streaming a yellow line, thin due to our erections, into the
porcelain basin.

I had never directly watched another boy pee, never been watched, had never
used a public urinal when a stall was available. In short I had (and have to
this day) a full-blown case of "bashful kidneys," but peeing for Jamie to
see was a pleasure. Had we the opportunity I'd have done it eagerly for him
daily. It was not just the erotics of displaying myself to him at the
amusement park urinal. There came with it a delicious sense of personal
freedom.

This was the first of two times in memory I saw Jamie's penis, erect or
otherwise.

It of course was circumcised, a bare full knob, with a distinct flange
before the shaft, which could be described as very much a rod cylinder with
easy bends both up and then to the left. It was generally about the same
length as mine, in the neighborhood of three to four inches, but not as
thick giving it more a hotdog profile than my column. I thought it looked
just marvelous, had more personality than my dour appendage. This sense of
exuberance was enhanced by its coloring. Generations back Jamie had picked
up some Native American characteristics giving his penis a deep tone, not
coppery, not red, but some mixture in between on a richly textured skin,
giving the impression that it would feel similar to suede.

Our one little peeing adventure trickled to an end. We returned to the day's
other entertainments, saw the rest of the park then came back our homes
tired and very happy.


Jamie had several sets of cousins around, one of whom, a boy, was also a
classmate of mine. He lived several blocks away but I would see him and his
little sister frequently. Jamie said that Donald, his name, and he had once
bathed together, both getting hard in the process I immediately asked how
Donny's dick had looked, its size.

"That's private between me and Donny," he curtly replied.

I sure wanted to know but understood Jamie had his standards.

Those standards were not violated however when he later confided in me what
went on between Donny and his sister. She was maybe 8 or 9 at the time. The
two of them shared a bedroom together. During the night when the house was
all quiet Donny would get into her bed for sex.

"He puts it up her behind," Jamie gleefully reported. "You know what his
sister says about that""

I did not.

"She says, "It tickles.""" He paused and repeated the statement to me again,
saying it distinctly to let the words find their target, "It tickles!!"

As intended, I was bowled over by the image. This brother my age, pumping
his dick in his little sister's behind and her encouraging him. Wow, how
lucky is that" [Sometime later a mutual neighbor and classmate of mine and
Donny's  confidentially told me that while he had some experiences with his
little sister, Donny could "do everything" with his, so Jamie was not yarn
spinning in his report to me: Donny really was a lucky boy.]


Jamie continued his checks of me with great regularity and frequency.
Anytime we were not under direct observation or at least his hand could not
be seen, he'd slip it down my pants. We would be in the most exposed of
places in broad daylight and he'd angle his body blocking any view of his
holding me, getting me hard. Once in such a predicament he told me, "No body
can see us. Take it out your zipper and give it some air."

I quickly caved, resistance having been worn away much earlier. I let my
stiff dick peep out my pants to receive a vigorous if quick jacking before
it was put back.

Even at the time Jamie's phrase, "Give it some air," seemed not be something
made up casually for me but to have some reference or significance to Jamie,
maybe in his own private masturbation world.

Jamie was more forthcoming on another of his private habits.

"You ever do a jelly check"" he asked me.

"What's that?"

"Oh, you put a finger up your ass and see how much you got. It changes,
sometime you got more sometimes less," he explained.

I took his word for it. The subject unnerved me then. I was quite concerned
about health issues, worried that I'd poke a hole through something if I
ever tried. Only years later would I find solace in a digital rub. No jelly
though.

I didn't share that information with Jamie. I would have felt compromised. I
was not shy though about telling him that I was having sex, all kinds, with
my cousin Malcolm.

"What do you do"" Jamie asked.

"Different stuff, like we put it into each others butts, even come that
way," I answered.

"You mean you "Queer Off"""

"Yeah," kind of proud I caught him off guard for once.

All these rectal images seemed to be wearing heavily on Jamie's mind as I
discovered sometime later.


I had one of the very rare days when everyone would be out of my home,
leaving me to my own devices. I prepared. I put my desk lamp on a shelf in
the closet and snaked the electric cord under the door. That completed, I
luckily found Jamie outside and got him to follow me back. I took him
directly to my room, shut the door, than into the closet, shut the door,
then snapped on the light.  It was so cool.

We simultaneously and immediately unzipped and bought our hard dicks out for
each other, here in the light and in private.

We stood close at right angles to each other. In the best of fraternal
symbols our hands crossed as we jacked the other's erection. He grasped me
with the thumb rubbing the underside of the shaft, watched as I bristled in
excitement. He squeezed. "You are [so] hard," he said more to himself. I had
his erection in my fist with the thumb on top, giving it an equally vigorous
jacking. Though firm and with a delicious velveteen surface feel Jamie's did
not have the diamond-cutter hardness I could manifest back then. It flashed
through me that he had not compared himself to many other boys and that he
would not welcome now learning through me of that disparity.

He was not phased. He went on to further discoveries with me: "Oh, yours is
flat. Do you lay on your stomach a lot"" His hand pressed my dick shaft
feeling the contours. It was obviously more wide side to side than top to
bottom.

It was true I slept on my stomach. Maybe my penis had been damaged.
Something more for me to worry about later. Now I was more interested in
what Jamie had. I released his erection in the middle of jacking, watching
as it bounced like spring steel from the shock of being suddenly free. It
was charming. I quickly got it back in my fist to jack it as a reward.

Jamie was not yet done with the exam: "Your dick has a bend in it."

It did at that, a graceful, scimitar curve to the left.

"What about yours," I replied, letting his erection bob excitedly in space.

"That's cause I wear it here," He drew a line from the groin up and over his
left thigh, obviously the preferred way to maintain one's penis.

His penis did have those bends, and if free would fit along the exact path
he indicated.

We resumed jacking each other again, relishing this special opportunity
where we could see every detail in leisure and privacy. Jamie's dick became
especially livid, as if it would go into apoplexy. The grove between shaft
and meaty head grew pronounced. I too was inundated by great sensations from
his hand on me.

After a time he asked, "Will you put it in my ass"?

I was not prepared for this change in the proceedings: "I've only done it at
night and under bed covers."

"Ah, come on," almost pleading.

This exchange by now had broken earlier momentum. We put ourselves back in
our pants, zipped up and went out of the closet into my bedroom.

"Come on, at least put it down my crack"" he said.

I had to admit to myself that would not be too obvious if my mom suddenly
came back in the house. We could disengage in time, escape detection.

Jamie lay on his side on top of my bed, curled up with his back toward me.
His pants were loose enough for me to slip my limber dick inside his briefs
following somewhat the most crack of his behind, which I rubbed against. He
lay totally inert, soaking up what he could.


Well I've written this so far as if it happened all in one condensed period
in only summer when we were both pre-teens. I'm sure a lot happened that
first season, but our contact continued with variations through several
summers as we matured until there was a time when Jamie and his mom came to
live in my community, and Jamie and I went to the same high school.

By that time our sexual connection had broken.

I felt less identification all the time with being straight. The intensity
of my relationship with Malcolm had shown me that I was not going to
suddenly find girls attractive. I did not want to bring my baggage into how
I related with Jamie. It would have killed the previous role of my presumed
mentor. I could have been just a fag to him. That led to the next issue: I
would have become vulnerable to him as he developed more contact in my city
eventually going to my school. He could have blabbed. Rumor among classmates
would have been very difficult to deal with in itself but worse is that the
word could have spread eventually back to my parents.

How the split worked out was that I'd just decline when Jamie thought I
should be checked. He was annoyed by the change but knowing my new-found
independence spoiled the dynamic of the contact, he did not press. We
drifted. When we did find ourselves in private together there was no opening
to take up where we had left off.

The ending of our sexual partnership did not diminish what it brought. I had
been desperate in my isolation for any form of validation that I was OK.
This feedback was totally missing from my home. Getting someone who accepted
me, especially sexually, was a huge benefit. He was a refuge. Suddenly I was
not sinful, not homely, not degenerate. I was good enough to be fondled and
made to ejaculate. Made. It was not like I had a choice. My mind clicked on
the idea sex was a requirement in my contact with Jamie, something he could
impose for my own good. He understood that sex for me should be done
constantly, getting me to erect over and over throughout the day. He
understood that once I became excited I must be masturbated methodically and
unceasingly until I'd spurt for him. The traits of forced sex, and of
frequent and unremitting sex, became important as I found sexual partners in
my later life. They weren't the only thing I brought to bed, but they were
there in the mix.


The best and last

My memory of the last time I handled Jamie is quite vivid. We were in the
back yard, under a black summer night, laying side by side, hip to hip, in
the patio lounger. Jamie was handling my erection as usual. I was a doll, my
arms limp at my sides. I turned my head and asked, "What me to masturbate
you""

"Sure. That's why its called mutual masturbation."

I put my hand into his briefs, found his dick stiff and excited. Holding it
on the shaft below the head I began a good jacking rhythm, pretty much
matching what he was doing with me.

Minutes passed in this delicious wordless exchange.

I could feel I was getting closer to ejaculation. His grip was just perfect,
sending sensations radiating out from my groin.

Jamie stopped, rubbed the flat of his thumb over the bulbous and very
slippery. "Hey, have you come yet"" surprised at the huge amount of
lubricant oozing out of the pee hole.

My orgasm continued to build. I squeezed out the word, "no" for him as he
took off the thumb and started back in with jacking me.

It didn't take more than two strokes for my dick to suddenly erupt with
grouts of jizz, welling up as if a geyser, pumping out throb after throb of
sticky product.

"Uggh, yeah," Jamie said with a laugh acknowledging that this was the real
thing and more than he needed in confirmation, as he slipped his hand, awash
in semen, out from my pants.

His little laugh, that bit of playful deprecation over my unrestrained
display, combined with the great sense of sexual release making me feel
absolutely perfect. I was whole. I accepted all of me.

Questions, comments, your experience welcomed. Send to:
stardog105@hotmail.com