Date: Sun, 20 Feb 2011 18:13:12 -0800 (PST) From: bunthorne Subject: Wet Dream At Lethe This narrative relates true events with the names of individuals changed and the location of the story left purposely vague. It is a tale of children interacting in the nude. There is mutual touching and innocent exploration but no overt sexual activity. I and my playmates were young and the adults who supervised us allowed this type of discovery. I doubt anyone will be offended, but then I am always wrong about such things so you better proceed carefully. I have posted 4 other stories thanks to Nifty allowing my writings onto the site. 3 are in Young Friends - White's Shed 11/06/10 Getting the Feeling 02/02/11 Taste of Bully Urine 03/31/10 1 is in Urination - Paramount Pisser 03/31/10 I enjoy getting responses and feedback - bunthorne69@yahoo.com WET DREAM AT LETHE I am going to go back very far now. I never sucked my thumb. Well, not that I remember. But I constantly sucked the first two fingers of my right hand (pointer and index). And while I sucked those fingers my left palm was always either in my underpants cradling my crotch, or over my nose and hand while I continued to suck my two fingers. I was addicted to the smell of my genitals, which must have been pure piss aroma coming from my tiny cock. In fact, I think the reason I sucked my two fingers (oral fixation certainly) instead of my thumb was because with my two fingers in my mouth it was easier to place the palm of my left hand over my nose without the bulk of my fist getting in the way. One of my earliest memories is of my older sister overtly mocking me by imitating, in a mimetic fashion, my constant movement of the left hand from my genitals up to my nose. She did this by placing her hand over her vagina (without inserting it into her clothing of course) and then moving her hand rapidly up to her face. Back and forth she did this in front of my parents in an attempt to get them to make me stop this behavior that was so devastatingly embarrassing to her. But I was never corrected, which is surprising, and my intoxication over the smell of warm boy urine combined with the joy of sucking on bony flesh in my mouth was my constant joy. So I kept refreshing the scent by thrusting my hand into my pants and rubbing my little penis and balls until the moistness of my pubis permeated my palm so that I could carry that pungency up to my nostrils. Yes, I loved the smell of piss from my days in the cradle. And it wouldn't take long before I decided to taste it. Now the summers of my youth were spent in the sort of indolence that would have been expected for a boy of my social standing. Later would come two summers at a sleep-over camp by the sea run by catholic clerics where naked boys were spanked on their bare asses as they went into and emerged from the showers; the adult handprints burnished in red outline on the white flesh and lingering for some time after the slap. And as we swam at that camp as much as three times a day, each swim followed by a trip to the communal showers, much swatting of boy backsides occurred. But the first holiday I ever enjoyed away from my family was the summer I spent with David and Caroline, the twins. Lethe Plantation lay alongside a tiny horseshoe lake that geologists tell us was once a bend in the great river to the east until a change in its course fifty thousand years ago left this little sliver of water isolated in the wilderness. The indians worshipped it as "Little Moon" because they believed that once the moon lived here until, jilted by a faithless lover, she flew up to the sky leaving behind her crescent bed filled with tears. Verabelle lived in the big house with her older son Creighton and the twins, David and Caroline. Creighton was a dashing young playboy who had joyously flunked out of the state college and took on a life of idleness and inebriation. I never really saw him except when he dashed in for a cocktail with my parents on his way to a fraternity party or other social obligations that campus life demanded; for though he was no longer matriculated he kept his apartment near the college. David and Caroline were my age and at about age eight I was carted off to stay with them on the plantation for the summer. David and Caroline's father, Verabelle's husband, apparently no longer existed. He was never mentioned and, though being a single mother was unusual in those days, being a single mother with no story behind where the man had gone to was unheard of. Which leads me to believe there was scandal involved; suicide, or divorce, or worse, homosexuality. Whereas a respectable fatal heart attack or heroic death in combat would have merited inclusion in conversation the fact that nothing was ever said about this missing male could only mean the truth was too horrid to contemplate. Lethe was run as it had been run since the days of Reconstruction, I presume. There were tenant farmers, both black and white families, who worked the land and lived in a row of houses that were overseen by Mr. Frank Forbes, Verabelle's alcoholic foreman. But really it was James, a large and deliciously friendly black man who was "straw boss" that really kept up the day to day operation of the spread. Lethe even had its own plantation store where the tenants could buy canned and dry goods, tools and household needs on credit; the bills to be settled at the end of the harvest with the purchases being deducted from the earnings of each family's share of the profits. James kept up the store as well, since Mr. Frank Forbes was always suffering from "gout" or "the rheumatism" and rarely came down from the overseer's house except at the end of the month to do some paperwork with Verabelle. Of course, all of this farming was totally unnecessary as Lethe Plantation sat atop the Tuscaloosa Trend, an oil reserve that stretched from Alabama across three states to the Texas border. Verabelle's property rested on a particularly rich pool of this valuable crude, and as her acreage was so vast, hers was the sole name on the lease with the oil company. So whatever the plantation generated from the actual crops of soy, corn, alfalfa or cotton was just a drop in the bucket compared to the barrels of cash that flowed into her bank account from her oil wells. My father would frequently come home laughing having seen Verabelle downtown and reporting how she was complaining bitterly about the difficulty they were having plowing the fields this year because the tractors had to keep swinging wide to avoid the oil derricks. But plow they did, and Verabelle kept that plantation active and generating the livelihood of those families, some of whom had worked on the plantation since her grandfather's day. And so Lethe lumbered along a juggernaut of agrarian idolotry, even down to the cotton crop which no field in the south had cultivated since the end of the second world war. But Verabelle thought king cotton looked so splendid on the property that she always had it planted in a field near the big house and then, at harvest, donated the yield to the state university where they were still ginning it as part of the agricultural college curriculum. So into the big house at Lethe I was plopped down that summer. Perhaps my parents wanted me to have a taste of the privilege of my ancestry that had slipped away in their lifetimes but that Verabelle had rigorously preserved in hers. Or more likely, they saw this as a summer experience for their baby at no cost to them. But I couldn't imagine a happier place to be, and even though I was very young and had never been off on my own for such an extended time, I was eager to go. David and Caroline had visited my house on occasion and they were fun to play with, and also their older brother Creighton frequently dropped in unannounced whenever they were around and my attraction to him was unexplainable, but palpable. David and Caroline were twins and may have been a bit younger than me, I cannot recall our respective ages. David had an aristocratic profile, like his brother Creighton, and was elongated and very dignified in his carriage. His toes were elegant and fingerlike, and his blue eyes and blond flowing hair made him easy to focus on when we talked. Caroline, I am afraid to say in my estimation, was just tagging along; she was always present but not really engaged with us. I guess the southern gentility that permeated Lethe induced that ante-bellum distinction: the menfolk did things together and the ladies attended but didn't really participate. Verabelle, on the other hand, was a force to be reckoned with. First off she made it clear I was to call her "Verabelle," an unheard of familiarity between and child and the lady of the house even in my generation. And she was very free with us as far as how we played. Mornings always began with a big breakfast, no southern household began any other way, followed by the arrival of James on one of the old tractors to check in with "Miss Verabelle," as he called her, and see what particular chores she might want him to attend to that day. His first assignment was to go and open up the plantation store and make sure it was ready for business. Caroline and David and I would always tumble into the cart James dragged behind that old tractor and lumber down the drive with him. He would make sure Miss Josie was in place at the store as it was her job to tally up the credit slips as folk came in to get supplies. But there was also ice cream at the store and so we were always first in the door in the morning to get a fudgesicle or an eskimo pie, or some dairy treat to round off our breakfast. Then we continued with Jim through the morning, playing in the barn or the corn crib or wherever he stopped the tractor to do some work. By lunch he had dropped us back at the house and in the afternoon we usually went swimming. Not in the Little Moon, which though a recreational center for water skiing and fishing, was too muddy for children to swim in, or so thought Verabelle. So we swam on the patio in what was called "the pool," but in reality was just a place to wade. It was probably laid out originally as a goldfish pond and at only three feet deep really didn't give much opportunity for swimming. It did have a spraying fountain at one end and, as it lay beneath the shade of the majestic oaks that encircled the house, it was a cool spot to linger in during the hot summer afternoon. One afternoon at the pool David suddenly whispered he needed me to go with him into the cellar of the house and he ordered Caroline to stay at the pool. When we got into the house David pulled down his swim suit and I saw he had taken a shit in his tiny Jantzens. Now I think I should have been shocked, at home I would have been, But then my parent's house was oppressively strict and at Verabelle's everything seemed so easy and natural. David just said he had an accident, didn't seem overly embarrassed about it, and left the little bundle on the floor near the washing machine and told me to follow him into the shower. Without hesitation I did what he said. Well I think I suggested we put his not-so-little turd in the toilet and flush it but he said the maid was coming down to do laundry later and she would take care of it. There was a sense of regularity in the way he was dealing with this so I followed his lead and dropped my swim suit on the floor next to his and we went into the shower together. I had never been naked with another human. I had never been in a shower or a tub with anyone else in my short life. I was separated from my siblings by a number of years and though I had been bathed by our maid (and perhaps my mother, though I don't remember that happening), I had never been touched by another man other than the doctor. Now David was soaping me up and I was returning the favor. He took a swipe up his butt crack, I guess to make sure he didn't have any pooh smeared back there, but once again I was surprised at how natural all this seemed at the time. I knew, somehow, I should be shocked, even resistant to all of this, but instead I felt so comfortable and warm inside. I loved putting my hands on his wet soapy body and I remember soaping up his hair and shampooing him. I definitely washed his little cock, as he did mine, and we giggled and started peeing in the shower. When our fingers started to prune we decided to get out and dry off. While we were toweling, I was beginning to worry about what was going to happen next. My wet swimsuit was lying on the floor next to David's which still had a shit log slung in it. My nearest dry clothes were up in the bedroom. How was I to get to my clothes without going through the house naked? Just as this problem was bubbling up in my brain, Caroline burst through the door and caught David and I naked as jaybirds. David screamed like a banshee and took off out of the basement and up into the garden, dropping his towel as he departed. I instinctively ran after him sans towel as well. Caroline followed in hot pursuit. Now the three of us began to circle the house, two naked 8 year old boys screaming with as much delight as indignation, followed by an 8 year old girl in a one-piece bathing suit. We orbited the house three times at least. On one pass I looked up and saw Verabelle standing in the front parlor looking out of the plate glass window. I figured we would be getting a scolding any minute, but I couldn't stop now to consider any excuses. Finally David dove down the stairs into the basement from which we had emerged a few minutes before and soon the two of us were back in the laundry room next to the bathroom where David and I had showered. David and I grabbed our towels and wrapped up just as Caroline joined us, all out of breath. Caroline announced that she knew David had pooh-poohed in his bathing suit - an easy deduction to make seeing as how the evidence was still in full view on the floor. David, his insouciance in tact, waved it off and summoned us all into the bathroom and immediately closed and locked the door. All was quiet now and I was waiting for Verabelle to show up and impose some sort of punishment for our nudity in the yard. David and Caroline were whispering to each other. She seemed reluctant to agree to whatever he was saying to her but I saw her nod and then David came over to where I was standing. "Caroline has seen us naked so it is only right that we see her naked too." Well that made sense to me. "So," David continued, "we are going to step out of the bathroom and Caroline is going to take off her bathing suit and then we can come back in and see her naked." As if the high court had ruled, David unlatched the door and out we passed. A moment later we heard the door lock again, and then again, just as suddenly, we heard it unlock. We walked back in and Caroline was sitting on the edge of the tub without a stitch of clothing on. But she sat with her arms thrust down through her legs with her hands dangling below and she had her knees held tightly together. I don't guess I knew of any difference between boys and girls bodies, so she looked just like David and me as far as I was concerned. Then David barked at her: "Hold your hands up above your head." She did but her knees were still locked together. Then David glanced at me and said with a smirk: "Look at this." He strode over to Caroline and pushed her knees apart. She blushed as I gulped. Something was wrong, something was missing. Where was her pee-pee? It looked to me like she had somehow pushed back onto the porcelain rim and managed to have part of her butt crack slip forward and up to her front. But where was her thingy? She slammed her knees together again, but David would have none of that and he pushed them apart again and held them fast as I stared at her prepubescent vagina. Now surely we had gone too far and Verabelle needed to come in and stop this. But it didn't happen. Still it was all innocence and it ended immediately. I wasn't impressed with whatever it was I had seen, and I really wasn't sure I had seen anything. David and I made our way to the bedroom to put on some underwear and shorts. Caroline went to her room and dressed as well. That night at supper I was waiting for the axe to fall, but all Verabelle said as we sat down and waited for the cook to bring out our salads was; "David, Cleo tells me you had a B.M. accident today." "Yes, ma'am." "Are you feeling alright?" "Yes, ma'am." "Well you tell me if your stomach hurts, honey." "Yes, ma'am, I will." And that was it! A brief confirmation about David shitting in his bathing suit and then we said grace and started eating our salad. I was astounded. Nothing about running naked around the house three times! And I knew that if I had poohed in my pants at my house, off to the bed I would go with nothing short of suppositories and paregoric to follow me there. And from that day on, for the rest of my stay, David and I played at the pool in the afternoon naked while Caroline joined us with her bathing suit replaced by panties. On one sultry afternoon Verabelle sat with us under the oaks and shelled peas while we gamboled naked in the spray. What a wonderful summer! One other new experience occurred while I was a guest at Lethe Plantation. David and Caroline had separate bedrooms, well why not? - the house was huge and there were scads of rooms including servants quarters on the third floor. But David and I slept together in his room. I cannot remember whether I had stopped wearing pajamas to bed by this age, but down south no one bothered with them in the summertime anyway. So David and I would bed down at night in out tighty-whiteys. One night I woke up and realized that David had grabbed on in his sleep and was spooning me. I was on my left side and he had thrust his right arm under mine and was hugging my chest while his crotch was pressing against my butt and our legs had become entwined together. I had never shared a room or a bed with anyone in my life; this was completely new to me. I couldn't be sure if we hadn't been sleeping in each other's arms like this on other nights of my visit, but this was the first night I awoke and realized that we were in Morpheus' embrace. I was enthralled. It was the most amazing and comforting feeling to have this pretty young friend holding me and softly snoring in my ear. I realized that with our legs pretzeled the way they were, I couldn't really tell where my leg ended and David's began. It was such an odd feeling of melding with another person. I gently moved my legs to feel them rub against my bed mate's. Then I felt the top of his feet pressing against the soles of mine. I used the balls of my feet to stroke the length of his fingerlike toes. Then, just as suddenly as I had discovered myself in his arms I started to feel a warm and wet feeling growing on my butt. I couldn't imagine how this warmth was being generated at the center of our beings. This warm and wet feeling was growing and traveling down onto my hip. Then it hit me, David was pissing on me. I began to smell the tang of his strong night urine. Once again, to my surprise, I didn't move. I didn't jump up and scream. I just let his warm wet emission glue our panties together. I think I wanted to spin around and hold him face to face. Since he had already wet the bed I thought I would like to pee on him as well. I wasn't a bed wetter myself, but I did enjoy playing with my pee and pissing on my leg when I took a leak out in the woods. And my naughty secret was that I had been peeing in my chest and face whenever I took a bath. So I was not disgusted by pee, I had come to really like it. But I didn't want to wake him, I didn't want to disturb this strange fluid bonding. Of course as the pee became cold and the sheets grew clammy, the thrill of this new experience waned and so I carefully untangled from our night embrace and got out of bed. I slipped out of my underwear and tiptoed downstairs and dropped them off by the washing machine, which seemed to be the procedure in Verabelle's house. Then I put on dry underwear and fell asleep on the couch. The next morning Verabelle asked me how I ended up on the couch near the TV and I told her I didn't really know but that sometime at night I walked in my sleep, which was true. I think she figured it all out when Cleo stripped David's bed that that morning and later in the day Verabelle quietly asked me if I would like to have my own room to sleep in. But I said no, I liked sleeping in David's room. And he never peed in the bed again while I was there that summer, even though I did find him snuggling up to me at night a bunch of times and I was happy to snuggle back. In all my adulthood, I have never slept so easily and comfortably with another person as I did with David over that long summer on the plantation.