Jack Edwards



Blake and I had been friends from the first grade. We went to the same church. But I don’t think I understood all there was to him until many years later, looking back.

His dad was a high school coach, and Blake was a natural athlete. He loved sports. For the longest time, it didn’t register with people that he also loved other boys.

We were best friends, and often slept over with each other. He and his little brother wore only pajama bottoms when they slept, and I remember him, in about the sixth grade, laughing and laying back up on his bed, pulling on his pajama bottoms, and his cock and balls looking so big already, like a pink nest between his legs.

It was the first time the sight of another boy’s genitals sparked something in me.

He was always a bit of a nut, and I remember when we got our first jocks for sports, him wearing his like a face mask to clown around. Somehow, that sparked a little something as well; some vague thought of smelling another boy’s privates.

Blake was several months older than me. He showed me proudly when he got his first couple of pubic hairs. That was about the seventh grade and only a month or two before what I’m about to relate.

We lived in a small town, and back then, in the sixties, the local supermarket down on the corner, was the closest thing we had to a local news stand. They had a magazine rack, off in a front corner, and Blake and I would sometimes kill time there.

There were no gay magazines back then, especially in a small town supermarket. But it was surprising what was there. I remember Playboy magazines being on the shelf for a while, but they yanked them before I was old enough to have a genuine interest. They had “body builder” and sports magazines, and there was one title that always had young guys posing in jocks. Blake used to read that one.

I figured his interest in that magazine with nearly-naked youths somehow tied in to his interest in sports. For my part, I tended to look at comics, or Life and Look magazines, and Sports Illustrated, of course.

One Saturday morning, just out of the blue, I glanced at him looking at that magazine, and I said, “Hell, I’ll model my jock for you.”

Maybe it wasn’t entirely out of the blue. I was turning twelve. I didn’t have my first pubes yet, but my balls had gotten big and egg shaped, and my dick had gotten longer and thicker. I’d started to get hard-ons all the time; big ones. And I’d had my first, thin cum, in a wet dream about Brenda Fischer, one of the girls in our class. But I think what prompted my remark to him most was that my body had begun to get shape and definition. That very morning, I had admired myself in the mirror, posing in my underwear, much like the guys in Blake’s magazine posed in their jocks.

Blake looked up at me and laughed. He came over beside me with the magazine and pointed to a high-school age looking guy, in his jock, hugging a door frame like a dog hugs a leg. It was a still photo, of course, but it looked like the guy might be rubbing his boner on the doorframe. His butt was clenched and his leg muscles were tense. Another youth stood behind him in a jock with his eyes on the first guy’s butt.

Looking back, I wonder if the store owner ever looked inside those magazines.

“Like this?” Blake asked with a laugh, pointing at the picture and elbowing my ribs.

“Sure,” I said, bumping the side of his hip with the side of mine. “I’ll pose my incredibly muscular body any way you want.”

Blake laughed and turned the page. The next photo was a large one of a youth, again in only a jock, down on all fours, looking up at the camera.

“Like that?” Blake asked grinning.


He turned the page. Two youths, in jocks, lay side-by-side, at a slight angle, on their backs, on a wooden floor.

“Like that?” he asked.

“You’ll have to, too,” I said, pointing. “That picture has two guys.”

Blake grinned.

He turned more pages and glanced at me, from time to time, as if sizing me up for a pose. I glanced over, from time to time, to see what the poses were. It occurred to me that he was probably going to joke about taking me up on it. I started to get a hard-on at the thought of posing nasty in my jock. I thought about actually posing for him.

I didn’t have long to wait for Blake to ask. His mom was a hospital nurse and she worked that afternoon. His dad was off playing golf or at the gym, working with high schoolers. His brother was off playing with friends.

College football was on TV, but Blake motioned me to follow him back to his and his brother’s bedroom. He closed the door behind us and sat on his bed, laughing nervously, like he didn’t expect me to do it, and said, “Okay, time to pose for me.”

“My jock’s at home,” I told him, actually almost disappointed.

“You can use mine.”

I’d never thought of that. Funny, but the thought of wearing another boy’s jock was a bit of a turn on as well. I started to get hard and quickly tried to think of something else. Hard-ons at that age just never go away.

Blake got off the bed, pulled a jock from a dresser drawer, and tossed it to me.

“Wait,” I said. “You were going to wear one, too… for that pose with two guys.”

He grinned and reached into the drawer to pull out a second jock. “I’ve got two.”

He looked at me, waiting. “Well?”

With a shrug, I turned my back to him. I kicked off my shoes, and dropped my pants, and then, quickly, my underwear. I pulled on the jock. My thickening cock was prominent, no matter how I tried to arrange it. I tried pulling the front of my t-shirt down and faced him. The shirt came only to the waistband of the jock.

Blake hadn’t changed from his clothes yet; he’d been watching me. He looked me up and down and motioned for me to turn around. I did, slowly, and faced him again.

“Shirt, too,” he said, looking uncharacteristically serious. “Only one guy in the magazine had a t-shirt on.”

I pulled it off. It hid nothing anyway.

Blake came closer, looking me over. We’d been friends for ages, but he looked at me very differently that morning. I wouldn’t call it outright lust – not at twelve, or he may have been closer to thirteen – it was more like admiration mixed with an undefined desire.

He took my hands and put them behind my head, elbows out to the sides. He spread my feet and had me stand with a slight twist at the waist, tensing, like a body builder picture. I tried to render a passable, twelve-year-old version.

Blake walked around me, again, without his characteristic grin. He behaved more like he was studying a statue, critically. I noticed a lump in the front of his pants.

He maneuvered me through several posses before he cupped my ass with his hand for the first time. It was when I was down on my hands and knees. He patted my butt as if patting the rump of a horse, then rested his hand on my right butt cheek.

“You’ve got good muscles,” he observed. His hand lingering, squeezing.

I was on my feet again, hands on my waist, in a shoulder-wide stance, when he laughed nervously, not looking at me, and cupped the front of my jock for the first time, lifting it.

“You’ve got a hard-on,” he said with a grin.

“Do not.” I didn’t pull away. His hand felt good there.

He moved his hand, and my pouch, around. “Almost.”

“Not almost, but if you keep doing that, you’re gonna give me one.”

His smile faded a little. He dropped to his knees in front of me. “Some of the pictures in the magazine are from down low, looking up,” he said, bending even lower to look up at me.

He rolled onto his back to look up between my legs. “Kneel down on either side of my head,” he instructed.

I did, feeling my cock stir even more as the pouch of the jockstrap hid all but his chin from me.

“The straps are twisted,” he said, and I felt his fingers between my legs, down at the bottom of the jock, where the pouch joins the straps that go back under the buttocks. His fingers worked behind my balls and against my perineum, tugging on the straps.

Next, he grabbed the outside of my hips and he lifted his face between my legs, almost up to the underside of my jock. I heard him take a big sniff.

“Not as bad as a locker room,” he said with a forced giggle.

He wrapped his arms around the back of my waist and I felt his nose, and then his mouth, press the underside of the jock. He held me and rubbed his face there. I couldn’t believe he was doing it, but I wasn’t about to stop him.

“Bend forward,” he said in a surprisingly thick voice.

I fell forward onto my hands and knees. When I did, I could clearly see his boner inside his jeans, pointing off to the side. It was bigger than mine.

With his arms around the back of my waist, he pressed his face to the front of the jock, and rubbed it there. It was uncomfortable because I was pretty hard by then and not pointing right, but it also felt good. I reached into the front of the jockstrap and pulled my cock up straight. The tip of it came higher than the wide band of the jock.

I felt his mouth, feeling over the outlines of my twelve-year-old erection, gently feeling my balls; he nuzzled my perineum. My eyes drooped. I moaned softly.

I glanced down again at his boner. I thought about touching it. He hadn’t touched mine, except with his mouth, and, as incongruous as it might seem, I wondered if he’d be offended if I touched his with my hand.

I laid my hand over it and felt the outlines of it.

Blake scooted out from under me, and I was sure he was angry, but instead, he knelt up in front of me while I sat back on my haunches.

“I’ll put on my other jock,” he said, “and you can investigate me at the same time I investigate you.”

I frowned. “I’m not going to rub my face there.”

“It’s great,” he said. “It smells really good. Here,” he said, moving closer. He grabbed my shoulder and leaned his face close to mine. “Smell my face.”

“I’m not smelling that,” I said, trying to pull away. Truth was, I liked the smell between my legs. I smelled it often, when I got hard-ons, and it always made me harder. So I didn’t try to pull away too hard. I simply sat back on my haunches. I actually was curious how it smelled on him.

But Blake quit trying. He sat back on his hauches.

“Okay,” I relented, rising up on my knees again. “I’ll smell it.”

With a grin, Blake rose on his knees and moved almost belly-to-belly with me. He grabbed my shoulders again, and this time, he rubbed his face back and forth against my mouth and nose. I smelled him more than me. I smelled his familiar breath. I felt his soft cheeks against my mouth. But then, just like that, his lips were on mine and he held my shoulders firmly.

I sat back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “You kissed me!” I said, going off my haunches, sideways, onto my butt with my legs out to the side.

Blake came with me, coming off his haunches with his legs out to the side, facing me, staying close.

“Haven’t you ever wondered what kissing is like?” he asked, his brow furrowed, earnestly.

I frowned. “Yeah, but with a girl.”

“It’s gotta be about the same. We could practice,” he said. “We could see what kissing’s like and be ready for kissing girls when we get a chance.”

I frowned, skeptically.

Blake didn’t wait for an answer. He leaned forward, laying a hand on the side of my waist, and, when I didn’t back away, his lips pressed mine.

It’s funny, but the reason I didn’t pull back from him, wasn’t because I was worked up and had a hard-on. It was because he was my best friend, and, at twelve, there’s a physical closeness between best friends that comes out in butt slaps and arms over shoulders and wrestling. Granted, a kiss held a sexual charge, but at that moment, Blake seemed natural to try it with.

Our lips simply pressed, but it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation.

“Wanna try Frenching?” Blake asked.

“What’s that?”

“That’s when you put your tongues in each other’s mouths.”

“You’re kidding!”

“No. It’s supposed to be really hot.”

I frowned.

He tried to come in at my mouth from a different angle, but then pulled back.

“Lay down,” he said.

I lay down onto my back. I wasn’t at all sure about this, but oddly, sticking tongues inside each other’s mouths sounded… interesting.

Blake bent down over me, and again, his lips settled onto mine. This time, though, we worked the kiss; it came somewhat naturally. When I felt his tongue on my lips, I opened my mouth a little, and his tongue came in.

There was a detached moment, where I couldn’t believe that Blake had his tongue in my mouth, but then, I was overwhelmed by the sensations.

Blake moved over me, laying his clothed body onto my almost naked one. His tongue probed into my mouth; I probed into his mouth with my tongue.

Many years later, just after I married my wife, she and I visited Blake and his partner, Jeremiah Oak (always struck me as an odd name for a gay guy). Blake and I stayed up late, talking after the others went to bed. It was the first time he confessed to me that he’d been dreaming of doing things with another boy, long before that Saturday afternoon – dreaming of things he would do if he had a completely willing buddy. He told me he had dreamed of doing things with me.”

“Because we were best friends,” I said, nodding.

“No, because you were damned cute,” he said, laughing.

My wife was wise enough not to ask why I didn’t come to bed with her until almost dawn. If she smelled semen on me, she didn’t let on. She knew how close Blake and I had been, all through school.

That first Saturday afternoon, our kiss grew hotter and hotter. Twelve-year-olds can get pretty worked up. And then, Blake really surprised me. He backed down my body, his hands and face tracing over my torso, until he was straddling my legs.

The head of my cock still peeked out the top of the jockstrap, and he kissed it.

I swallowed hard.

He pulled the jockstrap to one side and extracted my balls and my hard-on, laying my hard-on up my belly. Holding the sides of my hips, he rubbed his face on it and my balls, surprising me. It felt good, real good; and I was already worked up so much, I shot, hips pumping, squirting thin cum up my belly.

Blake sat up astride my legs, looking down at my wet belly while I caught my breath. He ran a finger through my cum, and tasted it. That didn’t really surprise me; I’d tasted it before, myself.

“Wait,” he said, getting off my legs.

I lay on the floor, my mind settling, and I wondered what the hell we’d done. I really knew nothing of homosexuality. I only felt the same vague guilt that I often felt from simply jacking off. What I’d done with Blake was simply stranger.

Blake returned with a washrag and he wiped the cum from my belly and chest. He pulled the jockstrap down and I lifted my hips, allowing him to take it completely off me. Then he sat beside me for a few moments, simply fondling my balls and dick while I lay with my eyes closed. It felt comfortable. And of course, before long I began to grow hard again.

Blake had another surprise for me. He bent over my middle and took my hard-on into his mouth. My eyes flew open at the sudden feel of his warm wet mouth, and teeth. He simply sucked on it, like a baby suckles. When I was fully hard, he stood up and undressed beside me.

As he stood over me, his long, thick boner wagging over me, I had my first look at another boy’s erection. When he dropped to his knees and straddled my face, facing down my body, the way I had done to him in the jockstrap, earlier, I got my first close look at his hairless balls and thick, pink perineum.

He bent forward over me and took my dick into his mouth again. When he did, I wrapped my arms around his waist and lifted my head to smell behind his balls. He smelled good; good as me. I rubbed my face there, the way he had me, and I took another deep breath.

I fondled his balls, stretching the skin of his scrotum. It was soft and moist. I moved the skin up and down his shaft, marveling at how soft the skin there was and how hard his boner was underneath.

I licked his boner to test the taste. And then, steeling my courage, which didn’t take all that much steeling since Blake’s mouth had me pretty excited, I pulled his shaft downward and when he backed his hips, I took the end of his cock into my mouth.

I sucked like he sucked, and when he came, his cock was so far into my mouth, and I was sucking anyway… I swallowed, as a reflex. His thin cum wasn’t so different tasting from my own.

After he finished coming, I kept sucking, gently, because I knew his crown would be sensitive. I kept sucking because he kept sucking me.

We sucked for a long time, but it didn’t seem like we’d, either of us, come that way again. We weren’t very good at it yet. Finally, Blake got up, reversed body positions, and straddled my thighs so that our balls and cocks were together.

He took both cocks in his hand and stroked them up and down. That didn’t do much, but looked really incredible. So he lay down on me and kissed me again; this time with both of us naked and rubbing hard-ons on each other.

We kissed and held each other and rubbed our hard-ons. It got good when I opened my legs and his settled between mine.

We both came that way.

Blake rolled off, onto his back beside me, with a sigh.

“UT plays at four,” he said. “Let’s get some Cokes and watch.”

I rolled my head to look at him. He grinned, rapped my tummy with the back of his hand, and got up. He offered me a hand up, and I let him pull me to my feet. We were face to face then; eye to eye.

He bit his lip. “Can we jockey-strap model again sometime?” he asked.

My eyes dropped to his lips. I’d never really noticed his lips before. They were deep pink and had a natural curl-up at the corners. I nodded.



I've heard from a couple of interested readers, so I'll add another story or two. Be sure to let me know if you'd like more of the series. And let me know if you're enjoying it. Reader emails are the only pay we Nifty writers receive. :) My email address is jnuanced@gmail.com.