Date: Sun, 24 Mar 2002 14:01:43 -0700
From: Cotton
Subject: A Year With Russell

My father died of a heart attack when I was eight years old, leaving my
mother -- an elementary school teacher -- to raise a teenage daughter, my
brother, age ten, and me.  As a child I thought we were living a pretty
good life in Rosehill, our small town.  Despite the death of my father,
nothing much seemed to change.  I went to school, I went to church, I
played, and I watched TV; but I now realize that those few years before her
remarriage were a struggle for my mother.  Times were tough.  This was in
1961 and Rosehill was a very small community in the mountains of North
Carolina.  Teaching in the local school didn't pay that well and raising
three kids by herself must have been a challenge.

Within three years of my father's passing, when I had just turned eleven
and my brother thirteen, my mother remarried a local insurance salesman.
My brother, sister, and I were thrilled at first but soon soured on the
whole thing.  Mr. Collister had never been married, despite being nearly
fifty, and knew nothing about kids.  As one would expect, he made a lot of
mistakes -- but we didn't think of them as mistakes at the time.  I
resented some of the stuff he was pulling, and it took many years for me to
get over the bitterness.  In retrospect, I needed a strong father figure.
Instead, I got someone who was self-centered, authoritarian, and not at all
interested in the emotional needs of young boys.

Unaware of the problems my stepfather and I would have over the years, I
was at first glad to have a new parent.  It made our family seem more
normal.

We continued to live in the same home I had always lived in -- a large,
gray, wood-frame house built on the side of a hill on the outskirts of
town.  It was two stories in the front and three in the back and had a
large wrap-around porch.

I think it had been built in the 1890s.  We had spectacular views of the
mountains from our bedroom windows and we lived right on the edge of the
Nantahala National Forest.  White-tailed deer, rabbits, raccoons, and quail
were frequent visitors to our yard.  We had miles and miles of wooded land
at our disposal, and my brother and I would spend long days hiking, playing
soldier, and just having a good time.  My brother also loved to read and
would haul his favorite books with him into the woods.  Sometimes -- after
hours of searching -- we would find him engrossed in a story while hiding
up in a tree nestled among the branches.  I liked to read too, but wasn't
quite the fanatic.

Just a few months into the marriage, my parents announced to my brother and
me that my stepfather's cousin Russell was coming to live with us.  This
was quite a surprise, but we were excited by the prospect of a new kid in
the house.

We had never met Russell.  In fact, I had never even heard of a cousin
named Russell.  We were told he was fifteen years old, but we otherwise
knew next to nothing about him.  I later learned that his mother had died
when he was very young and his father was in a VA hospital for some reason
-- I never found out why.  For several years my stepfather's parents had
been raising him, but they were now in their seventies.  They could no
longer handle a teenager, especially one like Russell, so my stepfather and
mother agreed to take on the challenge.

Russell stepped off the Greyhound bus from Asheville several days later.

He was tall for his age -- over six feet -- and slender.  He had blue eyes,
short brown hair (we all had short hair in those pre-Beatle days), and fair
skin with only a few freckles.  His teeth were a little crooked, but he
never needed braces.  He was from coastal South Carolina and had a deep,
buttery drawl, a far cry from the hillbilly twang my brother and I had in
those years.  I was certainly no judge, but I recall thinking that Russell
was good looking.

After the initial chaos of Russell's arrival, life in our household fairly
quickly flowed into a regular routine.  My sister had recently gotten
married herself and had moved with her new husband into a mobile home.
Russell took her old room.  He made it his personal space almost
immediately.  He put his collections of arrowheads and stamps on display,
and he liked to keep a small aquarium.

His grandmother had given him a framed picture of President Kennedy, which
he kept on the wall over his desk.  He enjoyed listening to WLOS in Chicago
late at night, he collected record albums of California beach music, and --
incredibly -- he would sit for hours listening to recordings of the sounds
of the Daytona 500.

As a newcomer four years older than I, Russell held some fascination for
me.  My older brother was something of an oddball, a real genius, who was
always reading.  Russell, on the other hand, was cool and quickly became
popular at school.  He wasn't particularly good at sports, but the jocks
liked him anyway.  He was a little shy at first, but gradually we came to
know each other very well and I enjoyed spending time with him.  In a lot
of ways, he became my oldest brother.

				   * * *

Having shared a bedroom on and off for our entire lives, my brother and I
were casual about dressing and undressing in front of each other.  Russell,
on the other hand, had never had brothers so he was reluctant, at least on
the surface, to take his clothes off when one of us was in the room.
Seeing my brother nude was no big deal for me, but for some reason I found
Russell different.  He was, of course, four -- almost five -- years older
than I was.  He was already well into adolescence; and he was tall and
good-looking.  To put it simply, I had a strange desire to see him
undressed -- a feeling I had never had before about any male.

I don't recall any particular emotions I had about Russell at first other
than curiosity.  What did the body of a more mature boy look like?  Did he
have pubic hair?  What did a larger penis really look like?  I was still a
few years from eighth grade, so gym class was not available for me to find
answers to such questions.

In our neighborhood the only places to swim were the public pool and the
small state park down the road, so skinny-dipping with older boys was not
an option either.  I was curious, and Russell was going to be my first
opportunity to solve these mysteries.

I distinctly remember when Russell first undressed in front of me.  At the
time, it did not seem dramatic -- it was really very easy-going -- but in
retrospect Russell must have been trying to convey a message of some sort.
Perhaps his emotions were confusing him as much as my emotions were later
to confuse me.

Russell and I, still eleven years old, were sitting in his bedroom --
talking, reading comic books, and generally clowning around, as boys will
do.  Russell suddenly announced, "I'm going to take a shower."

He walked across the room and started removing his clothes, throwing them
into the basket my mother had placed in his closet.  He pulled his red
cotton shirt off first, and then he stripped down to his underwear -- white
briefs -- while standing in front of his closet, his back to me.  He
wrapped a towel around his waist, turned around, and headed to the
bathroom.  He had clearly opted to keep his body out of sight, but that did
not keep me from eyeing him slyly.  For some reason I knew I wasn't
supposed to be admiring his body, but I couldn't help but sneak a glance.
He had a muscular chest, even for a boy his age, and a flat stomach.  He
was slender, but not scrawny by any means.

Several days later Russell again took the opportunity to change clothes in
front of me.  This was soon to become a ritual, but on that day it was
still something new.  Russell told me he needed a shower, and began
undressing, heading toward the closet as he did so.  He removed his blue
jeans, his socks, and his shirt -- just as he had done before -- but this
time he quickly pulled his briefs off.  He still kept his back turned to
me, so I saw his firm buttocks, his long muscular legs, and broad
shoulders, but nothing else.  Since he couldn't see me, I looked at his
body for several seconds.  I was strangely fascinated.  What did his penis
look like?  I knew I wanted to see it.  But why?  Somehow I wasn't ashamed
of the thought, but I knew it was not a desire I could share with anyone
else -- not even with Russell.

Over the next several weeks, Russell gradually got more comfortable being
nearly nude in front of me and with me being nude in front of him.  After
my shower at night or before I'd get dressed in the morning, I would freely
walk into his room without a stitch of clothes on.  This was not
exhibitionism; it was the casual way my brother and I had always been with
each other.  Russell didn't seem to mind my nudity; in fact, he was always
glad to see me.

One afternoon -- it must have been on a Saturday -- he was again getting
ready for a shower.  (Russell liked taking showers on afternoons when my
folks weren't around.)  It began as usual.  Russell simply -- as if it were
nothing special at all -- took off his shirt and socks, and pulled off his
pants.  He grabbed the bundle of clothes and tossed them into the corner,
ignoring the basket in the closet.  Then, standing by the closet door, he
quickly and casually shucked his briefs, wrapped a towel around his waist,
and headed out the bedroom toward the bathroom across the hall.

For a brief moment, I saw his dick.  I finally saw it, and it was huge --
at least it seemed so to me, not yet five feet tall.  The length of his
soft, circumcised penis was probably normal -- three or four inches -- but
I was impressed all the same.  He had brown pubic hair, something I lacked
and my thirteen-year-old older brother was just now growing, but Russell's
dense thicket was a lot more intriguing.  All these observations came
within a split second; it's not as if I was intently study Russell's body.
As he quickly walked by me, I couldn't help but notice a slight pulsating
bulge in the towel where his dick bounced gently as he walked.

By the time he finished his shower, I had gotten bored sitting in his room
and had gone downstairs to watch TV.

Soon, Russell became much more nonchalant about these same activities.
But, I wonder, how nonchalant was he?  After all, he often seemed to wait
until I was in his bedroom before he decided it was time to take a shower.

He usually did this when only I was around.  My brother was rarely present,
although being a bookworm he was usually hidden away in some corner poring
over a science fiction book.  Was Russell's interest in getting ready for a
shower when I was nearby simply a coincidence?  And for that matter, why
would he be taking a shower in the middle of the day, when both my parents
were out of the house?  Of course, I wasn't thinking about any of this at
the time.  I just knew that I was coming to admire Russell.  I wanted to
hang around with him.  I wanted him to like me.  And I was very curious
about what he looked like naked.

Other things got more familiar as well.  Being of a certain age, we talked
about sex.  Most of the conversation was just silly jokes about beating
off, girls, and so forth.  This was what we were doing in his bedroom one
afternoon.

Russell had his shirt off and was wearing only a pair of cutoffs.  He had
been doing some yard work and his fair skin had gotten slightly sunburned.
As we fooled around in his room, he asked me to rub lotion on his back.  I
did so gladly.

He was still sweaty from cutting the grass, but I jumped at the chance to
touch his back.  But why was I so happy to do it?  And why did he enjoy
having me do it?  All I know is that I got pleasure from rubbing the creamy
lotion into his skin -- his back, his shoulders, his neck.  It made me feel
good and it seemed to make him feel good.

				   * * *

One night, all three of us boys were sitting in the family room, watching
TV.  My brother and I were on the sofa; Russell was sprawled in a large
wicker chair placed off to one side.  My parents had gone out for the
evening.  Russell was left behind as the one in charge -- essentially a
babysitter.  We were concentrating on the TV show -- a western -- when
Russell suddenly said, "Look!"

I turned around to see what he was doing.  (He was always showing off about
one thing or another.)  This time Russell was lying back in the wicker
chair, both legs stretched taut in front of him and with his hips thrust up
and out.  He had -- what seemed to me -- a huge erection pressing up
against his jeans.  I was flabbergasted.  I gave him the response I'm sure
he wanted -- "Golly!"  I thought he had been big before, but this was
incredible.  Perhaps it was only six inches, but it seemed amazing to me,
and it was without a doubt far more than I would have been able to muster
had I been so inclined.  And, of course, it was funny -- why would someone
get a hard-on while watching TV?

It was over the next few weeks that Russell and I started other games.

Usually, it would just be a case of his displaying the bulge from his
still-hidden erection.  We'd joke around about it and laugh.  I thought it
was pretty strange that he liked to show off like that, but I didn't
protest.  In fact, I liked it.

Occasionally, I would show my own bulge, but it was still relatively small
and Russell would just laugh at me.  I didn't mind.

One afternoon, we were in his bedroom, and he was sitting there in his
underwear without a t-shirt.  I was wearing shorts.  I was gazing out the
third- story window toward the pale blue wall of mountains far across the
valley.  The wind was blowing and the tops of the pine trees were whipping
back and forth.  I was paying little attention to him.

However, Russell wanted some attention and began his by-now- predictable
routine.  He announced --- "Look at this!" -- and I knowingly turned to
admire his erection.  But Russell was in his briefs and this time the red
tip of his cut penis was peaking out over the elastic band.  I laughed.  It
was really hilarious, and again I was amazed at his size.  I had never had
a hard-on that actually came out of my shorts.  And on this occasion, I was
more that willing to keep my eyes on his dick.  I found it fascinating and
neither he nor I were embarrassed.

After a few seconds of watching his display, I asked, "How big is that
thing?"

Russell replied, "I don't know; I've never measured it."

I gladly offered to do so.

"Okay," he said.

He stood up, lowered the elastic band of his shorts, and gave his dick the
freedom he had wanted to give it for all these weeks.  It sprung out at
about a forty-five-degree angle from a mass of curly pubic hair.

I exclaimed, "Your dick is huge!"

Thinking back, what fifteen or sixteen year old would not love to hear
someone say that about his own manhood?

I hurried to his desk -- piled high with books and papers -- and found the
twelve-inch ruler he used for doing his homework.  I brought it over and
placed it along the length of the shaft from the pubic hair to the tip.
His dick had a slight curve, so -- without asking -- I pressed two fingers
up against the bottom of the shaft to straighten it against the ruler.

"Six and a half inches!  Wow!"

Russell chuckled, obviously enjoying it.

I then wondered out loud, "How big around is it?"

Russell laughed again.  This time I used a more straightforward approach.

Without being prodded, I simply placed by thumb and forefinger around the
shaft, finding that they could barely close around it.  It had smooth, hard
skin that was strangely warm.  I was amazed at the circumference.  Looking
back, I can just imagine how Russell felt while I took the measurements.
He must have been in ecstasy.

That night Russell came upstairs -- I had an earlier bedtime -- and he
strolled into my room.  Both my parents were downstairs watching TV.  We
started chatting like we sometimes did at night --about TV shows, school,
how much he disliked my stepfather, and so on.  I enjoyed these friendly
talks in my darkened room and they often lasted a half-hour or so.  I would
be lying on my back under a thin blanket; and he would be sitting on the
bed next to me.  This particular chat started like any other, but suddenly,
without any warning, Russell bent down and kissed me -- placing his lips
squarely on mine.  I was shocked.  I had never seen or heard of one boy
kissing another.  Russell was not an expert and I didn't like it at all.
He held the kiss for a long time, forcing me to comply, nearly suffocating
me.  In retrospect, I can't really imagine it was very enjoyable for him
either.  But over the next several months, he frequently came into my room
at night to kiss me.  I suppose if he had taken the time to coach me a
little, I might have learned to enjoy kissing him from the very first.
Instead, it took me many months to learn how to give and to receive.

The more physical games continued as well.  At one point near bedtime, he
was in the bathroom.  I was in the bathroom too, brushing my teeth.  He
must have finished a shower because he was wrapped in a towel. I could see
his blurry reflection in the foggy mirror.  I can still picture his flat,
muscular stomach and the burgundy terrycloth.  With no indication that he
was about to do so, Russell undid the towel and was standing there
completely exposed, the towel falling to the floor.  His dick grew rapidly,
and his erection was soon as large and impressive as the last time I had
seen it.  I was standing next to him, and he was completely naked.  I was
finally able to see his entire body.  This was really exciting, and I
started getting an erection as well.

I was getting used to seeing his erect penis.  In fact, I'd have to say
that I liked seeing his erect penis.  It seemed so long and hard that I
said to him, "I wonder how strong your dick is."

Russell laughed, and said, "I have no idea."

I asked, "Can it hold up the towel?"

I picked the bath towel off the floor and -- as a joke -- draped it over
his dick.  It bounced up and down slightly a few times but held firm --
supporting the weight of the towel.  Russell had an odd grimace on his face
as he looked down at the towel -- obviously concentrating on lifting the
weight -- but smiling all the while.  Soon he and I both started laughing
hysterically and the towel fell back to the floor in a heap.

On occasion, Russell would sometimes pretend he was masturbating in front
of me and I would pretend in front of him.  We used to joke about beating
off -- which we knew all boys did occasionally, but we would never have
done it in front of each other.  One Saturday night we were clowning around
in our pajamas.  Again we were in the bathroom.  Russell pulled his dick
out -- it was still soft -- and started whacking off.  I assumed he was
just pretending, but he wasn't.  His organ got long and hard very quickly
and he started masturbating furiously, panting hard, and tensing his legs.
I was fascinated by the intensity of the effort -- I never worked this hard
when I was beating off.  Of course, I was not yet old enough to get the
same benefit, either.  He jerked off harder and harder, gradually raising
himself up on his toes, leaning his shoulders back slightly, and thrusting
his hips forward.  With almost no warming, he ejaculated, fortunately
aiming into the sink.  His dick throbbed up and down, back and forth as it
spewed cum onto the porcelain.  Milky globs of the stuff spurted out, some
onto his hands, a little on the purplish head of his dick, but most of it
onto the porcelain.  I, of course, had masturbated a few times, usually at
night, but I could not possibly produce the quantity of liquid that he did.
I just watched -- mesmerized.  I was tempted to touch the cum, to feel it
-- but I didn't.

				   * * *

Perhaps a week or so later -- again on an evening when my parents were busy
at church -- I was taking a shower, getting ready for bed.  Russell was
"babysitting."  I was probably singing to myself or daydreaming, I don't
remember.  I just know that I heard neither the bathroom door open nor his
footsteps.  All of a sudden, the glass shower door slid open.  I was really
taken by surprise and jumped with a start.  Russell was standing there
totally naked, his dick erect.

I cried, "What are you doing?"

Russell said simply, "I've got to get a shower."

"Well, wait your turn.  I'm taking one."

He replied, "I'm a busy man.  I can't wait for you all night."

I can't believe that I fell for a line like that, but I didn't argue when
he stepped into the shower with me.  I was embarrassed about this invasion
of privacy and not real happy because . . . because it was crowded.

He stood in front of me, letting the warm water rain down on his body.  His
dick stayed hard.  He took the bar of soap and quickly washed his arms and
stomach and face, turning around to get fully soaked.

After a few minutes, Russell innocently asked, "Can you soap my back?"

I saw no reason not to; it would be just like applying suntan lotion.  I
grabbed the bar from his hands and rubbed it up and down on his back, the
shower sending small rivulets of soapy water down his skin toward the crack
in his butt.  I soaped up his shoulders, which had a few red pimples, then
worked down his spine to the edge of his cheeks.  But I treated his ass
like a forbidden zone.  The smooth skin of his buttocks was all of six
inches from me, but I wouldn't cross the line of actually touching it.

Russell then turned around to face me and asked, "How about washing my
chest?"

He obviously did not need my help for that, but I gave him a hand anyway.

He had just turned sixteen and had only a little hair on his chest.  I was
curious about what his chest hair felt like, and I ran my soapy fingers
through the short wet strands.  He was at least a foot taller than I was,
so while I was able to soap his chest easily, I had to stand back a little
so his hard dick would not hit my stomach.  Despite this precaution, the
pink cap once or twice grazed my skin.  I looked down, and contemplated the
color of his pubic hair.

Several nights later, Russell again surprised me by opening the shower
door.  I was still startled when he did it, but this time I did not object
when he stepped into the shower with me.  I knew exactly what he wanted,
and I knew I wanted it as well.

At his request, I again soaped up his back and chest, then washed his long
arms all the way down to his fingers.  This time I brought the bar of soap
down further on his back, touching his butt crack.  I brought it up, then
down again, this time onto his cheeks.  When he didn't say anything, I
placed my left hand on his left buttock, and used my right hand to rub soap
all over his rear end.

He then asked me for a massage, so I stopped what I was doing, put the soap
in its tray, and kneaded the muscles in his shoulders.  It wasn't easy with
his skin so slick from the soap.

A wet, naked eleven-year-old massaging a wet, naked sixteen-year-old -- the
vision arouses me to this day.

He turned around again.  After a few seconds of my rubbing his chest, I
started on his stomach.  Grasping the soap bar, I slowly ran it around his
navel, over and over.  He told me it felt good, and I loved feeling the
hardness of his stomach muscles.  I also eyed the thin band of hair leading
from his navel down to his pubic area.  I couldn't help but stare at it.

Russell then asked me if I would wash his dick.  I didn't see any reason
not to since I had touched it before.  I soaped up my hands, getting a good
lather.

I put both hands around his erect penis.  I had never done anything this
bold before, and by the way Russell actually gasped, I knew he liked it.  I
slowly ran by hands up and down the length of his shaft.  Back and forth I
moved, feeling the firm muscle, sensing its warmth, and enjoying its
smoothness.  It was slick, and it didn't take long for Russell to
ejaculate, as I knew he would -- thrusting his hips back and forth and
spurting cum onto my chest.  I thought it was gross and funny at the same
time.  The shower was streaming down on the two of us.  The cum disappeared
down the drain in seconds, but not before I had a chance to rub my fingers
through a spot of it on my skin.

Over the next month, we showered together on several occasions.  By now, it
had become something of a habit.  Things seemed to progress slowly,
although I'm sure Russell had a long range plan.

On one other occasion, after I had soaped up his stomach, I just started
beating him off, knowing he would be asking me anyway.  I had become quite
skilled at the maneuver.  I didn't mind doing it, but I was still too young
to have any seriously erotic feelings.

As I stroked him, out of the blue, Russell asked me.  "What do you think my
dick tastes like?"

"How in the world would I know?"  I was shocked by the suggestion.

"Why don't you taste it and tell me?"

"That's sick!"

I thought the idea was completely gross.  Why would anyone do something
like that?  I refused and he dropped the matter -- for now.

A week or so later, he asked me again.

"Why don't you taste it?"

Again I refused.

"Why not?"

"It's got germs on it."

"No it doesn't.  Its got soap all over it."

Still, he couldn't convince me.

The next weekend, we were once again showering together.  I was soaping him
up as usual.  First his back, then his chest, then his arms, then his
stomach.  By now, I had no problem washing his butt or his thighs.  I would
even occasionally let the bar of soap move down between his cheeks or run
it up under his butt and between his legs so that my hand would graze his
balls.  He obviously enjoyed what I was doing.  The first time I did this
it really surprised him and he almost jumped when he felt my hand on the
inside of his thighs.

Again he asked me if I would wash his dick -- by now a euphemism for
jerking him off.  We didn't do it every time we showered together, but I
agreed this time.

I have to confess that I actually enjoyed giving him pleasure.

I soaped up my hands to a lather.  This was no pretense of getting him
clean.  I knew that he enjoyed the slipperiness and I liked Russell enough
to want to give him something to enjoy.  I began stroking his dick back and
forth, slowly at first because he preferred it that way, and I was
expecting him to cum any second.  His eyes were closed as he concentrated.
I liked the sense of power I had over him.

Then he said almost in a whisper, "Suck it!"

I, of course, replied as I always did, "No, I don't want to."

He again pleaded, "Please, I want you to suck it."

I hesitated.  Then he said, "I'll pay you ten dollars."

"Ten dollars!"

"Come on.  I'll give you ten dollars if you put your mouth on it."

In those days, ten dollars was a lot of money to a kid.  My allowance at
the time was only two dollars a week.  I was reluctant, but the money was
appealing.

Finally, I said, "Okay . . . but you've got to pay me right away."

He agreed.  "I've got it in my wallet in my bedroom."

I already held his hard, soap-covered penis in my hand.  I bent over, and
gave the tool a quick peck on its head.  Close up -- eye to eye -- it was
large, pink, and soft.  It tasted of a mixture of skin and Ivory soap.  The
soap made it mildly unpleasant.  I immediately stood straight again,
spitting out the bitter taste.

Russell said, "That wasn't long enough.  You've got to do more."

"You wanted me to kiss it, so I kissed it."

"If you want your ten dollars, you're going to have to do more than that."

I moaned, but said, "Okay."

I leaned over again and once more pecked the tip of his dick.  I did it a
second time, holding the kiss a little longer.  Then I kissed it about
halfway down the shaft.  I stood upright again.

"Is that enough?" I asked.

"I guess so, but it's hardly worth ten bucks."

He waited a few seconds.  "Finish washing my dick," he commanded.

I went back to stroking him and he shot his load in a matter of seconds.

This time the cum shot out to the yellow tiled wall of the shower, missing
me since I was standing to one side.  He moaned as he thrust back and
forth, his penis throbbing in my hand.

In a few minutes we were out of the shower, drying off.

				   * * *

It was only a few weeks later that my family took our summer vacation.  It
had been almost nine months since Russell had come to live with us.  We
rented a house on the Gulf Coast of Florida for two weeks.  It was right on
the beach.

Since the group included my stepfather, Russell, and my grandparents on my
mother's side, my parents had rented a big house.

When we got there after a long drive, the house turned out to be two
stories, with a bedroom and bathroom on the ground floor and the rest of
the bedrooms, the kitchen, and the family room on the second floor.  The
roof was flat.  Most of the second story stood on pilings.  It was wood and
painted dark brown with white trim.  The circular driveway was paved with
shells.  Houses virtually identical to ours, except for color, were on both
sides.

My parents had rented a place with a private bedroom and an extra bathroom
for my grandparents' benefit, but my grandmother was worried about having
to climb the stairs to get to the kitchen and family room.  My parents
decided to have them stay upstairs, but this meant giving up one of the
second- floor bedrooms.  Russell, being the oldest boy, was allowed to
shift to the downstairs room and then my stepfather decreed that either my
brother or I would have to move down there too.  We both wanted to do it,
but Russell was allowed to make the choice.  He picked me.

Thinking back, there's no question that one of the reasons I wanted to
share a room with Russell was the chance to do fun things like we had been
doing at home.  I knew that the privacy would give us freedom.  Somehow,
over the course of the previous couple of months, I had gone from
embarrassment and reluctance to actually enjoying our games.  I had just
turned twelve, and I think, with Russell's help, my sexuality was emerging.

Of course, most of our time for the next few days was spent at the beach,
playing in the water and sand, checking out the snack bars, and visiting
the arcades a quarter-mile from the house.  But after dinner and as
darkness fell, there was clearly more to be anticipated.  Russell and I
usually went down together sometime after we had eaten and watched TV.  I'd
get ready for bed while he would usually go outside to enjoy the night, the
smell of the salt air and the sound of the waves washing ashore.
Typically, around ten o'clock, he would return, strip off his shorts and
shirt, and climb under the sheet wearing only his briefs.  It was too hot
for a blanket.  We shared a king-sized double bed.  I would lie on the
right side of the bed reading a comic book, while he would crawl in next to
me, usually taking up two-thirds of the bed.

For several nights, I expected Russell to ask me for a massage or
something.  I would even get an erection in anticipation.  When he would
come in later in the evening, he would notice my hard-on pressing up
against the sheet and make a wisecrack about it.

But nothing else happened.  Russell didn't seem particularly interested.

He usually just collapsed on the bed and soon fell asleep.

I was worried and confused.  I had come to enjoy our little escapades, so
why was he less interested now than when we were at home?  I confess, for
the first time in my life, I was horny.  I wanted to have some fun.
Finally, after several nights, I had to ask him.

"Russell?"

"Yeah."  He was lying on his stomach, still dressed, but his eyes were
closed.

"Are we going to be doing anything this summer?"

"Doing anything?  Like what?"

I was embarrassed to talk about it, but I pressed on.

"You know, . . . like . . . taking showers."

He chuckled.  "You like taking showers, huh.  Well, go take one."

"You know what I mean . . . I mean taking one together, like . . . like we
do at home."

Russell again laughed.  "You like doing that?"

I tried to sound like it was no big deal.  "Yeah, it's . . . it's sort of
fun . . . I guess."

He was wide-awake now.  "Well, it may have been fun for you, but I don't
like it anymore."

I was stunned.  That really hurt.  "Why not?"

Russell began to look angry; "Because you wouldn't do things that I liked."

"Like what?"  I honestly didn't know what he was talking about.

"Like when I wanted you to suck my dick."

"But I did," I whined "No you didn't!  You just barely kissed it!"  Russell
sounded really upset now.  I was panicking.  Why was he getting mad at me?

"Well, . . . uh . . . I was going to but . . . it was . . . sort of
. . . gross."

Russell didn't say anything for a minute.  He was now sitting on the edge
of his bed, flipping through a hot rod magazine he had picked up at a
store.  He stood up, tossing the magazine onto the bed behind him.  He
walked over to the window and peaked through the blinds toward our
neighbor's house.

Without looking at me, he said, "I guess we can take a shower now, . . . if
you insist, . . . but only if you promise to suck me off."

I had never heard Russell use that expression before, but I knew what he
meant.

I wanted to take a shower with him really badly, but the idea of putting
his dick in my mouth still grossed me out.  I moaned like a little boy
forced to put on a tie for church.

"Oh . . . alright."

"You've got to promise."

"I promise."

Russell walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower so the water
would warm up.  He kicked off his sandals and started pulling his t-shirt
over his head. Over the past year he had filled out.  His biceps were
bigger and his shoulders and chest were broader.  He still had only a
little hair on his chest.

I was already in my pajamas, so I just ripped them off in seconds.  My body
felt flush with excitement and my small penis was erect.  This was going to
be fun.

Russell looked at me and laughed.

"You look like you're already having a good time."

I was embarrassed, but said, "You look ready, too."

And he did.  His pants and underwear lay on the floor in a pile.  His dick
was already at more than six inches sticking out at ninety degrees.  It
sounds odd, but by now his dick looked like an old familiar friend.

We stepped into the metal shower stall together.  It was much smaller than
the one at home, but we still fit.

The bathroom echoed and Russell whispered, "Don't make a lot of noise; we
don't want anyone to hear us."

"Okay."

We did the usual.  With almost no preliminaries, I grabbed the bar of Ivory
and soaped his back and his chest, rubbing in a circular motion that I knew
he liked.  He was equally familiar with the routine and turned as I covered
his body with no need to give me any directions.  This went on for several
minutes.

I had always been the one with the soap, but this time I took a chance and
asked Russell, "Could you soap my back?"

He obliged.  He took the bar of soap from my hand and started rubbing it on
my shoulders.  I was thrilled.  He was finally doing to me what I enjoyed
doing to him.  His large hands gently rub my back and shoulders.  I could
occasionally feel his erect penis tapping against my spine as he moved
around.  It almost tickled.  Once or twice, he would press up against me
and I could feel the length of his shaft running vertically up the middle
of my back.  Russell seemed to hold me there longer than was necessary; he
would reach over my shoulders with both arms and soap my stomach from
behind.  I could feel him quiver slightly.

Russell said, "Turn around."

I did so, not really knowing why but hoping that he would continue bathing
me.  Russell now washed my chest and stomach, slowly rubbing back and
forth.

It felt wonderful, and I could sense electricity down into my loins.  So
this was why he enjoyed it so much!  Then, for the first time, he brushed
his soapy hand quickly against my dick and balls.  It lasted for only a
second before he pulled his hand away.  It was as if he was afraid I would
complain.

"Wow . . . that feels good."  I was nearly breathless.

"Does it?"

He reached down and again started playing with my erect penis.  He kept
rubbing his hand across my groin.  At first it was somewhat awkward and
even hurt a little, but then he wrapped his hand around my dick and moved
in and out, jerking me off.  My penis was already erect, even at only four
inches, and I'm sure my dick could not have gotten any larger, but it felt
that way.  Before now, our showers had brought me a certain amount of
pleasure.  This was more like passion.  I was thinking only of how good it
felt; nothing else mattered.

After a few more seconds of this, Russell said, "Okay, now it's your turn."

His hands still cupped around my balls, I immediately grabbed his dick and
started rubbing soap on it.

"Don't do that; you're supposed to suck it."

I didn't really know what to do, but he was insistent.  I started to bend
over, but I could tell that in the small shower stall I couldn't hold that
position for any length of time.

"I can't bend over like this for very long.  It makes my back hurt."

Russell replied impatiently, "Well, get on you knees."

I did as he suggested, my feet actually sticking out from under the shower
curtain onto the bathroom floor.  I tried to keep the plastic curtain in
place, but soon realized it was hopeless.  There I was, staring at
Russell's hard, wet dick only a few inches from my face.  I grabbed it with
both hands, holding it like a lounge singer grasping a microphone.  I
hesitated.

"Russell, do I really have to do this?"

"You promised."

I had indeed, and -- being a Boy Scout -- I thought it was important to
keep my promises.  Plus, I really didn't want Russell mad at me again.

The water from the shower came down, hitting my head and shoulders.  It was
dripping from my hair into my eyes and I had to squint.  Russell's pubic
hair was covered in soap bubbles and a small stream of soapy water wound a
crooked path along his dick, resembling a vein.  I reached over, and --
keeping my eyes open -- kissed the very tip of his hard dick.  The kiss
seemed strange, but not unpleasant.  Of course, I had done it once at home,
but in some way this seemed more . . . exciting.

"Put you mouth around it."

"Don't shoot off in my mouth." I told him.

"Don't worry about it."

"You got to promise me you won't."

"Okay, I won't."  Now, Russell sounded really impatient.  I hoped he wasn't
going to get mad again.

I opened by mouth.  His dick had always looked big to me, but that was
before I had considered putting it in my mouth.  Now it looked massive.
How could I do it without choking?

I held his dick gently and slowly encased the head with my lips.  The edge
of the glans was a natural stopping point, so I only took in about an inch.
I was careful not to bite down since I knew it would hurt. I held it in my
mouth and -- now knowing what else to do -- began to suck.  Russell stood
rigid and gasped.

Suddenly, he placed both his hands behind my head and tried to force more
of his dick into my mouth.  I started to gag, but I was holding onto the
shaft and wouldn't let him push any deeper.

I took his dick out of my mouth and said, "Don't push.  You'll make me
choke."

Then I asked, "Is that enough?"

"No, no . . . you've got to do more," he panted, "Suck on it like a
Popsicle."

So I put his dick back in my mouth -- this time with only slight hesitation
-- and started moving my head forward and backward.

Russell started repeating, "Oh shit!" over and over again.  Even from my
position, I could tell he was enjoying it.  I even let my tongue lick
around the edge of the glans.  The pitch of his voice went higher, the
breathless words came faster. "Oh shit! . . . Oh shit!"  I stopped.
Somehow, I knew he was about to ejaculate.

"Don't . . . don't stop . . . don't stop!"

"I don't want you to shoot your cum into my mouth."

He started to say something, but couldn't get the words out.  He suddenly
shot off -- spewing cum onto my face, my eyes, my nose, and my lips.

"Hew!  What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry," he panted, "I . . . I couldn't stop."

I had smelled cum before, but this was far more intense since it was in my
nostrils.  I had never tasted cum before, but now I could taste the salty
muskiness on my lips.  It wasn't as bad as I had expected.

Russell -- his hard-on diminishing -- glanced down and caught me barely
running the tip of my tongue across my upper lip.  He smiled.

"I see what you're doing," he said, between breaths, "How does it taste?"

"Not too bad, I guess."

"Was it gross?"

"No."

I stood up, and got completely out of the shower.  I grabbed a nearby
towel.  The floor was covered in a pool of water.  As Russell shut the
water off, I said, "We better clean this up, or we're going to get in
trouble."

				   * * *

For the rest of our vacation, Russell and I never seemed to get much time
to ourselves.  There were a lot of family activities that kept us busy.
But one night, my parents decided to go out to a fancy restaurant with
another couple.

We weren't invited, so they bought us hamburgers and milkshakes before they
took off.  They were going to be real late, but my grandparents were
staying with us.

My grandfather and grandmother were both in bed by nine.  By ten o'clock my
brother had fallen asleep in front of the TV.  When he started snoring,
Russell and I looked at each other.  He smiled and suggested we go for a
swim.

I liked swimming at night, so I followed him over the dunes near the house,
through the oatgrass, and out to the hard-packed beach.  It was a very low
tide and it was a good hundred yards to the water.  The wind was blowing
gently, and I could hear the sand squeaking under my feet.  I occasionally
stepped on a periwinkle, but otherwise the sand was clean.  There was no
one else out there.

Russell and I stood there staring at the waves.  Suddenly, he lowered his
swimsuit, kicked them aside, and took a few steps into the surf.  I was
really surprised -- skinny-dipping!

He turned to me, "Are you going to come?"

"What if someone sees us?"

He laughed, "It's dark and there's no one out here."

"Someone might come walking by."

"Then get in the water and they won't be able to tell."

I couldn't argue with his logic.  I undid the cord, let my trunks fall to
the sand, and stepped out of them, feeling the breeze on my erect penis.
It felt very cool and looked strange in the moonlight.  I slowly walked
into the water glancing from side to side to make sure no one was watching.
I jumped when I heard a dog barking, but it must have been a long ways
away.

By now, Russell had wandered out farther and I struggled to catch up.  It
was about waist deep on me -- only scrotum deep on him -- and the waves
were strong enough that I had to grab his arm for support.  He then knelt
down so that we could talk face-to-face.  In that position, he started
rubbing my body just under my arms.  It was very comforting.  Then he
gently grabbed my balls and fondled them.  I held onto him and enjoyed the
firmness of his hands.  I could feel his erection pressed hard against my
chest.

Russell finally said, "The folks might be getting home soon.  We'd better
head back.  We had been in the water for less than ten minutes.  We slowly
staggered out, put our trunks back on, and walked back to the house.  We
went straight to our bedroom, without checking in upstairs.

				   * * *

The next day was a Saturday.  My parents and grandparents wanted to visit
some historic churches in the surrounding area, something that seemed
incredibly boring to me.  After giving us strict instructions to stay out
of trouble, they took off in the Pontiac.  Russell, my brother, and I hung
out at the beach for a while, but it was unusually hot, so we soon headed
back to the house and air conditioning.  As usual, my brother picked up a
book and went to his room.

Russell and I hurried outside bounding down the wooden steps leading from
the porch.  We were both wearing swimsuits and sandals.  Neither of us had
a shirt on.  Russell opened the door to our bedroom, threw himself on to
the large bed, and announced that he needed a nap.  That was fine with me,
since I was tired as well and just wanted to read.  The air conditioner was
humming.  The blinds were closed and only my reading lamp provided any
light.

Russell fell asleep immediately, so I just lay next to him, propped up on a
pillow, slowly flipping pages in my book.  After a few minutes, Russell
turned over, propped himself up on one elbow, and looked at me.  He was
awake after all.

He announced, "My sunburn hurts."

He had picked up a bad sunburn the day before.  His skin now was bright
red, but he hadn't started peeling yet.

"Could you rub some lotion on my back?" he asked.

I enjoyed rubbing his back, so I said yes.  I hopped off the bed and walked
over to the chest-of-drawers to find the sunburn lotion.  I then went over
to his side of the bed, and squirted the cold, white liquid directly onto
his back.  He jumped up with a start, yelling, "Damn you!"  He tried to
grab me, but I scampered out of the way, laughing hysterically.  On his
second attempt he got my shoulder with one arm and wrapped his other arm
around me, holding me from behind.  I was trapped, but loved the feel of
his arms.  I struggled, but just a little.  His crotch was pressed up
against my butt.

"Let me just rub it in," I laughed, "It'll get warm soon enough."

Russell lay back down, and I kneeled on the bed next to him.  The lotion
had run down his back and had started to soak his swimsuit.  With my right
hand, I smeared the lotion across his back.  Then I rubbed it over a large
area from his shoulders down to the band of his trunks.  I rubbed back and
forth, adding a little bit of lotion now and then.  I even used my
forefinger to write my name.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm drawing a picture . . . of you." I joked.

"Well, it tickles.  Stop it."

I promptly erased my work of art and got back to the business at hand.  I
slowly rubbed some more, first his shoulders and neck, his upper arms, then
down his back and the sides of his chest.  I rubbed the lotion right along
the band of his swimsuit.  After a minute of this, I carefully let one
finger slip just barely under the elastic band, running from one side of
his back to the other.  I did this two or three times, hoping it did more
than just tickle.

Without any warning, Russell suddenly stood up, nearly making me fall off
the bed in the process.  He loosened the drawstring of his swimming trunks
and shimmied out of them, leaving them on the floor.

"Take yours off, too," he suggested.

I liked the idea, so I jumped off my side of the bed and took my trunks off
as well, throwing them through the doorway to the bathroom.  I felt
liberated -- I loved being naked with Russell.

Russell lay back down in the same position and I got on the bed next to
him.  By now, my penis was as hard as a rock, but I wasn't embarrassed
about it at all.  I continued rubbing the lotion from his shoulders down to
his lower back, but now I let my fingers drift down closer to his butt.  He
didn't seem to respond, so I let my index finger just barely graze the top
of his butt crack.  I was so excited I felt a chill running through my body
and I shivered for a second, sucking in my breath ever so slightly.  With
my free hand I rub some lotion on to my dick and balls, at the same time
gently stroking the edge of his crack with my other hand.

Russell said softly, almost in a moan, "That feels good . . . Keep doing
it."

I put a little more lotion on my hand and placed it on the small of his
back.

I rubbed it first in a circle and then brought my hand down to his cheeks,
rubbing both sides first and then molding each cheek in one hand.  From his
breathing I could tell he was enjoying the massage.  When I finally got up
the nerve, I slowly slipped the side of my lubricated hand between his
cheeks, drawing my right hand from the top of his crack to the bottom.  I
was doing this very, very slowly, and Russell was breathing very, very
deeply.  I could sense him tensing the muscles of his buttocks every time
my hand moved back and forth, but he was silent.  All I could hear was the
air conditioner and my own heart beat.

After a while, he rolled over and lay on his back facing me.  He looked
almost as if he were in a daze, but his dick was standing at attention.  I
knew when I saw it, that I wanted to caress it.  No, I wanted to put it
into my mouth.  I wanted to taste it, to kiss it, to suck it.

But not yet.

I told him simply, "I knew you'd like that."  Saying those words took some
effort; I could feel and hear a quaver in my voice.

I then rubbed my greasy hands together, clasping each finger to cover them
completely with the lotion.  I was still kneeling next to him.  I placed my
thumb and forefinger at the base of his penis and slowly ran my fingers up
the length of his shaft, bringing them together at the very tip as if I was
going to pinch it.  He sucked in a long, slow breath, giving quick little
gasps as I reached the apex.  Then he exhaled just as slowly, as I brought
my fingers back down to the base.  I did it a second time, more slowly than
the first.  Then a third time.  I was ready to move closer and place my
mouth over the red cap.  I was almost in a trance, knowing that at that
moment, that was all I wanted to do.  I leaned even closer.  I continued
stroking him with my fingers, but my lips were only a few inches away from
their target.

Before I could reach my goal, Russell interrupted, "Why don't you lie on
your stomach?"

I was disappointed, but I liked the idea of trying another experiment with
him and did as he suggested.  Russell got on his knees next to me.  He
squirted lotion into his right hand and started rubbing my back, not
wasting any time on a prank like I had played on him.  It felt wonderful
. . . cool at first, then warm . . .

back and forth . . . back and forth, his strong hand running across and
then up and down my spine.  Russell did this for a few minutes and then
complained, "This is awkward.  I need to change position."

He raised himself up and threw one leg across my body so that he was
straddling my thighs.  I could feel his balls resting on the base of my
butt.  The hair on his balls tickled a little bit.  He probably outweighed
me by more than fifty pounds.  I could feel his weight, but it didn't hurt.
He continued rubbing the lotion in, this time using both hands.  He started
by concentrating on my shoulders, then my neck, then slowly he worked his
way down to the small of my back.  His firm hands felt incredibly powerful
and comforting.  He would push his hands back up to my shoulders, kneading
the skin and running his thumbs against my backbone.  It was not so hard
that it hurt.  In fact, it was so pleasurable that I was nearly drifting
off to sleep.

Then, silently, he leaned forward -- still straddling my body -- and gently
ran his lips down the middle of my back.  It was like a breath.  He shifted
his position slightly as he brought his lips lower . . . lower . . . to the
top of my butt.  I gasp a little, my eyes closing as I concentrated on what
he was doing.  His tongue flicked the skin at the top of my crack.  Then
Russell shifted again, moving his legs straight back so that he was lying
directly on top of me.  I suddenly could feel his hard, hard dick pressing
against my butt; it was sandwiched between my cheeks.  It felt like a rod
of warm steel.  He still used his arms for support, so the weight wasn't
too bad.

Russell asked gently, "How does that feel?"

"Okay. . . nice . . . What are you doing?"

"I'm going to try something new."

I felt his penis -- now covered with suntan lotion -- slide deeper between
my cheeks.  It was incredible.  Up and down he slid, the full length of his
shaft traveling along the crevice.  Every nerve felt like a lightening
bolt.

I gasped, "Wow!"  I was panting now.  I didn't want him to stop.  Please,
. .

. don't stop.  He was breathing equally hard -- I could feel his breath on
the back of my neck.

Russell stopped.

"I want to stick it in your hole."

"No way!  Your dick's too big."

"Okay, I don't want to hurt you."

He re-positioned himself once more and then was sliding his dick back and
forth between my cheeks again, but without penetrating.  He did this for
what seemed like an eternity -- I was paying attention only to the
incredible feeling -- the slick shaft rubbing against the inside of my
cheeks.  Then he cried out, "Oh! .

. . Oh!"

By now I knew exactly what had happened.  I could feel his jerking body and
the sticky cum hitting my butt and lower back.  His spasms continued for a
few seconds and then he collapsed, pinning me to the bed.

"You're . . . too . . . heavy . . . I . . . I can't . . . breathe."  My
voice was muffled in the pillow.

He rolled off me, and stood up on shaky legs.  I continued lying on my
stomach, contemplating the warm, sticky mess on my back and in my butt.

Russell grabbed a beach towel from the back of a chair and tossed it on my
back.  He then came over and blotted the cum off.  After cleaning me up, he
said, "Turn over."

I rolled on to my back.  I still had a four-inch hard-on; his was now
retreating.  Russell leaned over, placed one hand on the side of my neck,
and kissed my lips.  This time he did not force anything -- it was a gentle
one.

"That was really good.  Maybe we can do it again," he said.

"I think I need to get a shower.  I still feel sticky."

"Just a minute."

I was still lying on my back on the edge of the bed.  He kneeled down on
the floor, and leaned over me.  He softly placed one hand on my thigh and
the other on my chest.  Then he bent down and kissed my stomach, licking my
navel so gently it tickled.  I giggled.  Then he kissed me again, this time
halfway between my navel and my dick.  Then again, another inch farther
down and well within the area where one day I would grow hair.  And another
inch.  I was breathing harder.  Finally, Russell placed his lips on the tip
of my dick.  He had never done this before.  As I lay there -- my eyes
closed and my mouth slightly open -- his tongue licked around the head of
my cut penis.  I could not believe how good it felt.  This was paradise.

He opened his mouth wider and abruptly engulfed the whole thing.  I
couldn't believe the sensation.  He sucked on it briefly, the entire organ
surrounded by his warm, moist mouth.  He sucked harder.

I knew that I was going to climax soon, but it was not to be.  Russell
stood up -- as if to taunt me -- and said, "I'm going to go watch some TV."
As I watched, he started pulling his swimsuit back on.  He closed the door
behind him and headed up the stairs I couldn't believe it.  But I knew that
more was to come.  I would just have to wait.  In the meantime, I headed to
the bathroom to beat off.

				   * * *

Only a few days were left in our vacation.  I was only twelve, but somehow
I knew that what Russell and I had that summer would not last once we went
back home to the mountains.  We would never have enough privacy.

We were to leave on a Friday so that my father would be rested from the
long drive before he started back to work.  Tuesday . . . nothing happened.

Wednesday . . . nothing happened.  On Thursday I was getting desperate.

After dinner, Russell was sitting in a folding chair on the porch.  I stood
by the chair and put my arm on his shoulder, gently tickling his ear lobe.
He brushed my hand away and whispered, "Don't do that where someone might
see you."

I knew he was right.  This had to stay a secret.

I said to him, barely mouthing the words, "I need to talk to you."

"Wait until it's dark and everyone's asleep."

"I can't wait that long." I pleaded.

"Go away!"

I felt dejected, but I had a plan.  I knew what I wanted to do with
Russell.

Everyone else conked out fairly early, but my mom seemed to stay up
forever.  First she washed the dishes, then cleaned the kitchen.  She had
washed and dried clothes earlier and was now folding them and putting them
in suitcases.  She complained there was a lot of cleaning and packing to do
and she was the only one who would do it.

She asked Russell and me a few times if we were going to shut off the TV
and go to bed.  Around 10:30 Russell stood up, stretched his arms out,
yawned, and announced that he was heading downstairs.  I didn't move right
away.  I chatted with my mother for a little bit.

"You really like Russell, don't you?" she said.

"Yeah, he's cool."

"I'm so glad.  We were worried at first.  He had gotten in a little trouble
in South Carolina.  That's why he moved in with us."

"What kind of trouble?" I asked.

"Oh . . .never mind.  It's grownup stuff."

"What did he do?" I insisted.

"Well . . . ," she hesitated, "He and another boy got caught doing some
things they weren't supposed to be doing."

"Like what?"

"Go to bed."

"Tell me," I whined.

"No!  Go to bed!"

I could tell she wasn't going to say anymore.  She was wringing out the
dishrag, a sure sign that she had finished all her chores.

"Oh, alright."

My mother started turning out the lights, and I went out the door, being
careful that the screen door didn't slam.  I went down the stairs, skipping
over the step that always creaked.  I opened the door to the bedroom and
walked in.

"Hi, Russell."

Russell was lying there on the bed wearing nothing but his underwear.  He
had only the lamp on his nightstand turned on and he was reading the same
hotrod magazine he had bought several days ago.

"Hi, . . . has you mom gone to bed?"

"Just about."

"Well, come here."

I walked over to his side of the bed and stood over him.  Russell rubbed
his crotch and my eyes followed his hand.  He sat up and placed his feet on
the floor.  He patted the bed next to him.

I sat down and he put his arm around me.  He gave me a hug with his left
arm and with his right he reached over and gently turned my face toward
his.  As I sighed in pleasure, he reached over and kissed me on the
forehead, then between my closed eyes.  With both hands he barely clasped
my neck under my jaw.  He kissed me on my cheeks, and then on my lips.  My
eyes were closed and my lips slightly parted.  He slipped his tongue into
my mouth.  I was surprised but didn't protest.  We held this position for
several minutes.

"Russell," I whispered.  "Let's get our clothes off."

He didn't answer directly.  Instead, he got down on this knees on the floor
and said, "Stand up."

I did as I was told.

"Lift your arms."

I did so.

He grabbed the bottom of my T-shirt and raised it over my head.  It got
stuck on my ears and he had to pull at the inside-out collar to get it
around my head.  He let the shirt drop on the floor.  Then he gently let
his middle finger run down my chest and stomach, making me shiver.  His
hand stopped at my shorts, He pulled at the snap; it came loose with no
effort.  Then he used his thumb and forefinger to lower the zipper.  He
pulled the two halves apart and said, "Step out of them."

As he held my shorts off the floor, I raised my legs to step out, first my
left and then my right.  I had to hold onto his shoulders to keep my
balance.  The shorts he dropped directly onto my T-shirt.

I was now standing there in my cotton briefs, my penis pressing hard
against the fly, Russell's arms loosely around my waist.  Russell had a
serious erection as well.  He leaned his head forward and breathed gently
on my stomach, then kissed it, letting the tip of his tongue trace a path
down to the elastic band.  By now, I was panting.

Russell then lifted his head. He hooked his thumbs into the band of my
shorts and slowly pulled them down to my knees.  My dick sprang out.  I
would have sworn it had grown another half inch just in the past two weeks.
He studied it as if he was seeing it for the first time, then he kissed the
tip and delicately licked the glans.  I closed my eyes again and sighed,
"Oh . . . man!"

He lowered my briefs all the way to the floor.  I stepped out of them and
he threw them into the pile.

There I stood before him -- completely naked . . . aroused like I had never
been before.

Russell now said, "Do it to me."

He stood up, and I got on my knees before him. He was wearing only his
briefs, the white cotton almost luminescent in the darkened room.  His dick
-- like mine -- pressed hard against the cotton.  I leaned over and kissed
the bulge -- feeling the warmth that emanated through the fabric.  I kissed
it again.  I then ran my hand up the inside of his leg until it touched his
balls.  I reached two fingers through the elastic around the leg and
touched his testicles, feeling a few hairs.  I just barely touched them; I
didn't squeeze.

"Ahhhh!" was all he said.

I then raised by head and kissed his navel, holding the kiss for several
seconds.  With my lips parted, I gently let them follow the narrow trail of
hair leading from his navel down to this shorts.  When I reached the
elastic band, Russell grabbed the back of my head with one hand, but he
didn't force me into any position.

I reached for the elastic band with both hands.  I pulled, slowly lowering
his briefs just low enough to expose a third of his dick.  The elastic
still held it tight to his stomach.  Seeing it standing erect, unable to
move, I leaned over and kissed his dick right on the glans.

"Ahhhh!" he said again, following it with a long deep breath.

I kissed the tip of his circumcised cap, then with my lips followed the
length down to the band.  I then lowered the shorts a few more inches.  His
balls were still enclosed but Russell's dick sprang out, bouncing as it
struck my face.  I gave a brief chuckle.  Then, placing one hand on his
hip, I reached with the other for the base of his penis.  Holding it steady
I place my lips around his dick.

For the first time, I really enjoyed the taste.  I enjoyed the feel.
Russell's dick was still too much for me to handle, but I was willing to
try.  I started with my lips around the glans, but as I sucked, I move it
deeper into my mouth.  It couldn't go much farther, perhaps an inch more.
I slowly brought it out, almost completely, then licked around the tip and
moved it back in.

I did this repeatedly, trying to get it slightly deeper each time.  Russell
was thrusting, but I was in control.  His shorts were still around his
thighs, my left hand on his hip.  I moved my hand further back to fondle
his butt crack with my fingers.  At the same time I swallowed more of his
dick.

"Jesus! . . . Oh, God!" Russell exclaimed.  He could barely breath.

I briefly took his dick out of my mouth.

"Russell?"

"Yeah"

"It's okay if you shoot off."

"Okay."

I put his dick back in my mouth.  He kept thrusting, faster and faster.  I
still held him so that he wouldn't go too deep, but I was still trying to
bring it farther in.

The firm muscle felt smooth against my lips.

Suddenly, Russell snorted and gave an extra strong thrust.  I felt the cum
hit the roof of my mouth.  He came . . . and came.  I swallowed as fast as
I could, but some spilled out my mouth.  The taste was still salty and
musky.  It was mixed with my saliva and was not as sticky as I expected.  I
loved it.

Russell's thrusts slowed down and soon halted.  He was still hard as a rock
but I knew it wouldn't last.  I ran my tongue around the tip, still in my
mouth.

"Don't do that!  It's sensitive,"

"Sorry."

I let him pull his dick from my mouth.  He stepped back, his underwear
still around his thighs.  He lowered them and kicked them away.

"My god!  That was incredible."

"I thought it was pretty good, too."

"Did you really like doing that?"

"Yeah."

"What does it taste like?" he asked.

"I didn't like it at first, when we were in the shower.  But now I like it.
It tastes a little salty and sort of like it smells."

Russell stood there, all six feet of him.  Broad shoulders, long arms and
legs, flat stomach.  Short brown hair on his head, his chest, and his
groin.  His dick still glistened from my saliva in the light from his
bedside lamp.  Most of the room was darkened.  He looked golden.

He reached over with his right hand, and rubbed the side of my head.  He
looked wistful.

"What's wrong."

"Nothing . . . I was just thinking about things."

Russell went into the bathroom to get a drink of water and wash up a little
bit.  He came out a few minutes later and announced, "Now, it's time to go
to bed."

"But we can still have some fun."

"It's too late," he said, "It's after eleven o'clock and we've got to get
up early."

He was right, of course, but I was disappointed.  He had fulfilled his goal
for the evening, but I was still aroused.  I couldn't put it into words,
but I wanted some action.

"Russell, come on, I want to try something else."

"No, I want to go to sleep."

He pulled the top sheet back and hopped into bed.  Well, I'd at least get
to sleep with him in the nude.

I went into the bathroom and took a quick shower, just to clean some of the
stickiness off.  I thought about beating off while I was in the shower, but
decided not to.  I wanted more.

I stepped out of the shower, dried myself off with a fresh towel, brushed
my teeth, and walked into the room.  Russell had turned his light off.  The
bedroom was dark except for the light shining from the bathroom.  He was
asleep.

I sighed, threw the towel down, flipped the light switch off, and in the
dark groped my way to the bed.  I found it without injuring myself and
crawled under the sheet.  Russell was snoring softly.  I wanted to go to
sleep but my mind was racing.  I couldn't believe all that had happened
over the past two weeks. I had always been shorter, less athletic, and a
little less mature that other boys at school.  I felt like I was finally
growing up.  My friends all bragged about their girlfriends.  Of course, it
was more fantasy than fact.  I didn't have a girlfriend, but I had Russell.
Unfortunately, I knew that I could never say a word about our summer to any
of my friends.

I lay in bed for a long time, thinking about Russell, me, the fun we had
had.  I could not get to sleep.  I looked at the alarm clock.  The lighted
dial told me it was half past midnight.

Finally, I whispered, "Russell?"

No answer.

"Russell."  Slightly louder this time.

Still no answer.

I sat upright and said in my regular speaking voice, "Russell."

This time his body jerked.  He turned himself over and open his eyes, but
just barely.  He must have been in a deep sleep.

"Wha . . ?"

"Russell?"

"What d'ya want?"

"Russell.  Could I give you a massage?"

He groaned and said, "Come on, let me sleep."

I gave up.  Maybe some other time.  I sunk back down and eventually fell
asleep.

				   * * *

I woke up about six.  It was very quiet, because most everyone else didn't
arise until seven.  I had always been an early riser.  As I lay there
thinking about the coming day, I suddenly realized that Russell wasn't in
bed with me.  It was at that very second that I heard the shower come on.
I just lay, listening to Russell noise -- pissing, a flushing toilet, a
cough, the shower curtain being pulled back, and then his off-key singing.
I don't remember the tune, if there was one.

He took a long shower.  I already had a morning erection from needing to
pee.  I couldn't hold it any longer, so I jumped out of bed, found my
pajama bottoms, slipped them on, and crept out the door.  No one was
stirring outside.  I scurried over to a sand dune in my bare feet and
emptied my bladder on a pile of shells someone had once collected and
discarded.  I figured it would be dry by the time anyone came by.

I came back into the room and saw Russell standing there.  He was toweling
his hair, but otherwise was completely naked.  The morning sunlight
filtered through the blinds. He was tall, muscular, and had his legs spread
apart a little farther than normal.  His soft penis and balls hung down,
jiggling as the dried his head.  His organ was beautifully backlit by the
morning sunlight.

"Russell, we're going to have to get breakfast soon."

"Yeah, I know, I'll be dressed in just a minute."

"I don't mean that," I said, "I just wanted to . . . "

". . . to what?"

I didn't know quite what to say.

"I . . . just want to say that last night was great."

"It was great for me, too.  I had a lot of fun."

"Russell, we've still got a little time before breakfast.  Could we maybe
do something?"

"We don't have a lot of time."

"How about a massage?"

"That would be real nice."

Great!  At least, I would have a little bit of fun before all the packing
and driving and nagging started.

I went over to the chest-of-drawers to find the old reliable -- suntan
lotion.

The bottle was nearly empty.  I wondered if my mother would wonder why,
since neither Russell nor I had gotten much of a tan.

He tossed the towel aside and lay down in the middle of the bed.

I pulled off my pajama bottoms and hopped next to him.  I kneeled down and
then squirted the lotion into my palm and rubbed my hands together to warm
it up.  I again had a hard-on, and to add a little stimulation I first rub
lotion on my dick and balls.  I rub down, pass by balls, and between my
legs until I could just feel my anus.  I did this several times, until --
without opening his eyes -- Russell asked, "What's taking so long."

I stopped my self-absorption and started focusing on him.  I rub the lotion
into his back, and then began massaging his shoulders.  After a few minutes
I was becoming a little impatient.  Since I was feeling adventurous, I
said, "I want to try something."

"Just give a massage."

I got on my knees and hands and straddled him like he had straddled me
several days before.  My dick was still hard.  I rubbed a little more
lotion on it, making sure it was well lubricated.  I continue massaging his
shoulders, then his back.  I would bend far forward pushing his muscles up
toward his neck, and then bring by fingers down, down, almost to his butt
crack.  Then up again to his neck.  Then down again.  Russell's breathing
was steady and his eyes were closed.  His mouth was slightly opened and
small bit of drool was hitting the pillow.

I looked down at his ass.  I knew he might complain but I couldn't resist
the temptation.  I placed one greasy hand on his right cheek and the other
on his left cheek.  I massage his buttocks for a minute, feeling myself get
more and more excited.

Finally, I worked a few fingers between the cheeks, back and forth.  I move
them up and down liked he had moved his dick a few nights ago.  But this
time I had to find out more, I let my fingers dawdle right at the rim of
his asshole.

Russell exhaled a huge breath.  He didn't lie still; instead he told me to
move back.  I did so, still straddling his calves, and he propped himself
on his elbows and knees, raising his butt in the air.  I couldn't resist.
I leaned over and kiss the top of his butt crack, at the same time reaching
around is waist and fondled his balls.  He moved his butt back and forth.
I let my tongue slip out and licked the edge of his butt, then I worked it
down between the cheeks.  I could hear him panting in time with his
thrusts.

I knew instinctively what I had to do.  I repositioned myself.  I used both
hands to spread his cheeks apart and looked at this asshole.  I touched the
rim gently with my moist fingers.  Russell's body jerk.

He said hoarsely, "Stick it in"

He needn't say more.  I moved my hips up against his cheeks and worked my
penis into the hole.  He jerked a few times, but my dick was small enough
that it must not have caused much pain.  He was holding his breath, but his
whole body shivered.

The tightness of his rectum around my dick was surprising.  I moved back
and forth; I had never felt anything like this in my life.  Back and forth.
Russell tightened his muscles and the constriction got even better.  Back
and forth.

"Keep going . . . deeper."  I couldn't go any deeper, my dick wasn't long
enough, so I went harder . . . harder.  I started grunting with the effort.
Russell gave deep hard, short gasps, timed perfectly with my grunts I knew
I about to come so I thrust even harder.  Then . . . "Oh, God!."  I shot
off inside his ass.  This orgasm was more intense than any I had felt
before.

I pushed as hard as I could.  Russell arched his back, and gave a massive
shudder that ran through his entire body.  He jerked once more.  I gave one
final thrust -- I was completely drained.  I fell forward onto his back.
My dick got limp almost immediately and it slipped out of the hole.

Russell fell forward onto the bed with me on top.  Panting, I rolled off
him and lay on my back next to his body.  My flaccid penis was still bright
pink from the exertion.  Russell had his eyes closed.  We both lay there
breathing like we had been running.

Russell turned to me, opened one eye and said, "Well, that was a first for
me."

I laughed, "Me, too"

"Where did you learn to do that?"

"I don't know; I just did it."

"Well . . . it was great."

				   * * *

We both got showers -- not together.  When we were dressed, we headed up
for breakfast.  My mother was fixing scrambled eggs and bacon.

"You boys must have been tired; I was about to give up on you."

Russell sat at the counter, and I climbed up on a stool next to him.  My
mother put a plate in front of each of us.  My brother had already eaten.

Mom looked at Russell and then at me.

"Russell, did you tell him?"

Russell shook his head.

"Tell me what?" I asked.

"Russell isn't going to be living with us anymore; he's going to move in
with your father's sister in Wilmington."

"Wilmington!  That's a thousand miles away!"

I was stunned.  Why was he doing this?

My mother looked at me with sad eyes.  "No it's not.  We can drive there in
a day."

"Russell, don't you like living with me . . . us?"

Before he could answer, my mother said, "It wasn't his decision.  We
decided that Russell would fit in with her family a lot better."

"But I thought her kids were all in college or something."

Her youngest daughter, Patty -- you remember Patty, you met her last
Thanksgiving -- Patty goes to Chapel Hill.  Her son is already out of
college; I think he's a lieutenant in the Air Force."

Russell still hadn't said anything.

I just sat there.  I knew I was going to cry but I couldn't do it right
there in the kitchen.  I ran out the door, down the stairs, and on to the
beach.  The sun had risen about an hour earlier and the morning wind was
still strong.  A couple of old folks were strolling nearby and there was a
man surfcasting.  In the far distance I could see the town pier in the
haze.

I sat down and started crying -- not sobbing, but just letting tears run
down my face.  I sat there miserable for a few minutes; my nose started
running and I had to wipe it on my sleeve.

"Hey."

Russell had walked up behind me.

"Can I sit down?"

"It's a free country."

Russell got down in the sand with me.  Both of us sat on our butts, resting
our arms and chins on our knees.

"Don't get mad at me.  I didn't want to move.  Hell, I thought we had a
great time."

"Russell, why are you going?"

"The old folks were getting suspicious.  They thought we were too . . . too
affectionate."

"Why can't boys be affectionate?"

Neither of us said anything for a minute.  Then he continued.

"Before I came to North Carolina I had gotten in trouble with another boy."

I looked at him.  I was feeling a little jealous.

"He was about your age, but I was younger then.  We were neighbors.

We would sometimes do things like you and I do."

"Really?"

"Well . . . sort of.  We used to beat each other off, and once he sucked my
dick.  I never did it to him, though."

"How'd you get in trouble?" I asked.

"We got caught -- by Tommy's dad.  He beat the shit out of Tommy.  I ran
off and hid in the shed behind the house.  Later, my grandparents came out
and told me they just had a long talk with Tommy's dad.  They were pretty
upset, but they didn't punish me or anything.'  "Is that why they sent you
to live with us?"

"Yeah, so now they're shipping me off to Wilmington."

I felt awful.

"Russell, I wish you didn't have to go."

"I know.

He looked over his shoulder back toward the house.  Seeing that nobody was
watching, he leaned over and quickly kissed me on the lips.

"Let's go finish breakfast."

We walked back to the house.  Later that afternoon we drove back home and
two days later Russell was on the bus to Wilmington.

				   * * *

I didn't see Russell again for over a year.  He was never a letter writer
and my stepfather rarely permitted long distance calls.  I saw him briefly
at someone's funeral, and then we received an invitation to his high school
graduation.  Three months later he was in the Army.

Russell died in Vietnam.  My mother told me that he was killed at Khe Sanh.
By then I was in college and protesting the war.

I don't know if Russell had other relationships like ours.  I know I
didn't.

When I was about fourteen I discovered that girls could be a lot of fun,
and stayed pretty straight from then on.  A few times in college I had
one-night stands with men I met -- but it was never the same.  Russell was
the first and the best.