Jack Edwards



My earliest memories of my sandy-haired cousin, Quincy, was that he’d been a little mean to me. I think he was jealous that I was the favorite grandson, even though he was the oldest. He wasn't really horrible to me, but he did like to pull pranks on me and the other young cousins. That changed when I was four or five and Quincy was nine.

Mom, Dad, and I lived several hours from my grandparents’ farm, but we were down for a visit. All my cousins lived within about a mile of the farm, and were over there all the time, including Quincy.

Even though Quincy had been mean to me, I idolized him the way little boys idolize older boys. I tried to hang around him, and our first full day there, when he took his bicycle behind my grandfather’s barn, I followed him.

My granddad had built a small wooden bike ramp and I watched Quincy jump it. About the third jump, he came down, not on the seat of the bike, but on the crossbar, right between his legs. He fell to the ground.

I ran over to where Quincy lay, holding his crotch, and I bent over him in concern.

“Are you hurt, Quincy?” I asked.

He glanced up at me, looking annoyed, but then the briefest of smiles passed over his face before he took on a wounded look.

“I’ve hurt myself, Jeffy.”

He stood up. Holding his crotch with one hand, he laid his other arm over the back of my shoulders and turned me toward the barn.

“I really need someone to kiss it to take away the hurt,” he told me in a pained voice, “but it’s embarrassing to tell anyone because I hurt my peter.” He stopped us, just outside the barn door and leaned down toward me. “I’m not embarrassed to tell you, though, Jeffy.” He made a face. “It’s really hurting. Would you kiss it for me to take away the hurt?”

“Okay,” I told him, cheerfully. Quincy was being friendly to me, and I could do something nice for him.

“Thanks, Jeffy,” Quincy said, leading me into the barn. “Let’s go inside where no one can see.”

I followed Quincy into the barn and into the back of a stall used to store hay bales. The stall was half-empty along one side and well-screened from the front of the barn. It was partially screened from the back of the barn. But screening really wasn’t an issue because no one came out there very often during the day.

A canvas tarp covered some of the hay. Quincy pulled down his pants and sat on the edge of the canvas.

“Kneel here, Jeffy,” he said, pointing to the ground between his legs.

I dropped to my knees, looking closely at his peter. He had a stiffy. I’d had those, but never from hurting my peter. For a nine-year-old, Quincy’s stiffy was probably normal size, but to a little kid, it looked big. I was impressed.

“Kiss it for me, Jeffy,” Quincy encouraged in a quietly pleading voice.

I bent down and kissed it. He had a boy smell between his legs.. It was a good smell, and the skin on the underside of his stiffy was soft.

I looked up at him. “Is it better now?”

“A little,” he said, nodding with a pained expression. “Kiss it longer, okay? Really press your lips against it.”

Again, I bent down between his legs, and this time, I planted my lips firmly on the underside of his stiffy. Quincy put his hand behind my head, holding my lips in place.

“Oh, yeah, Jeffy. That helps a lot!” He stroked the back of my head. “You know what would help even more?”

I lifted my head and shook it.

“If you would just suck on it a little, Jeffy, you’ll make it feel a lot better.”

That made perfect sense to me, somehow sucking out the pain. Very carefully, because he was hurt, I closed my mouth over Quincy’s stiffy and gently sucked.

“Oh, yeah, Jeffy. That helps a lot,” Quincy commented, cradling the back of my head with his hand.

“Try moving your mouth up and down on my peter, okay? Like this… ” He took my head in both hands and moved it up and down, which moved my mouth up and down his stiffy. “Keep your tongue under it,” he encouraged. “And don’t drag your teeth on my skin.”

I did my best to do what he wanted, letting him move my head up and down with his hands. I liked it. I liked everything about it… me helping Quincy, us being really close buddies, his hands on my head, and even his stiffy in my mouth. It gave me a stiffy, too.

I got the hang of what he wanted and bobbed my head without his hands moving me, being careful not to gag because his stiffy was long enough to reach the back of my throat.

“Tickle my balls, too, Jeffy,” Quincy said in a slightly strained voice. “Not too hard. Just use your fingertips.”

I did. I sucked on him and tickled his balls until his body stiffened up and he moaned softly.

“Okay, okay, stop,” he said.

“Did I hurt you?” I asked concerned, pulling off him.

“No, Jeffy. You made me feel really, really good! But I’m done now.”

I grinned; happy.

Quincy got up, and pulled up his pants. I followed him out of the barn, and he let me hang around him all afternoon. Then he really surprised me when he asked our moms if I could sleep over with him.

Quincy’s family took me home with them that evening, and I got to take a bath with Quincy. When we stripped to get into the tub, I eyed Quincy’s peter, hanging limply between his legs. “Does it still hurt?” I asked.

He lifted it on his palm. “It’s still a little sore, Jeffy,” he said.

I dropped to my knees in front of him, beside the tub as it was filling, and, without him even asking, I sucked on his peter again. It became stiff almost instantly. So did mine.

We moved into the tub when the water was ready, and I sucked on him until he held onto my head and his legs got shakey. After that, he bathed me, washing my stiffy and tiny ballsack gently. I scrubbed his back and bottom, and washed his stiffy for him.

He dried me and then himself. We took a piss together, and then put on our pajamas before making a dash to his room and into his bed. Quincy took a small bottle of baby oil with him, but I didn’t think anything of it.

A few minutes later his mom and dad leaned in to say good night and turn off the lights, leaving only a nightlight.

“No staying up too late, boys,” my aunt said.

“And no making a lot of noise,” my uncle added.

When they closed the door, Quincy rolled up on his side next to me. “Wanna learn a new game, Jeffy?”

“Sure,” I nodded happily.

Quincy threw back the bed sheet and sat up beside me. “First,” he said, “we have to pull down your pajamas.”

He tugged my pajama bottoms and underwear down to my thighs and pushed up my shirt. My peter was getting stiff, so Quincy played with it until it was completely stiff.

“Okay, now roll over,” he told me.

I rolled over onto my tummy.

Quincy retrieved the baby oil which he had brought back from the bathroom, and then he pulled down his pajama bottoms and underwear to his thighs. His nine-year-old peter was stiff, too. He poured a little of the oil into my buttcrack and rubbed it soothingly between my butt cheeks. It felt good. Then he climbed on top of me. I felt the hard end of his stiffy between my butt cheeks and then against my butthole. He pushed in.

At first, his peter up my butt was a little uncomfortable, but then he laid down on me and hugged me, and that felt really good. So did his bare skin against my bare skin. So did the weight of his body on mine.

He hugged me, his head right behind mine, and he whispered that it felt really good for him. It was beginning to feel okay for me, too. Quincy began moving his stiffy around inside me, and that felt even better.

The longer he did it, the better it felt. But after a while, he stopped and got off me.

“That was great, Jeffy!” he said. Pulling his underwear and pajama bottoms back up. He lay down beside me, but didn’t pull the sheet back up.

“Pull up your pajamas, Jeffy,” he said.

I lay there because my bare bottom felt good, and I wished he hadn’t stopped.

“Can we do some more?” I asked.

He looked at me and at my bottom, then grinned. “Yeah. Sure.”

Quincy pushed down his underwear and pajamas again and this time, took them all the way off, but he left them on the bed in case we had to pull the sheet up quickly. That left him in only his pajama top.

He fondled himself to stiffness again and poured a little more oil into my butt crack. He climbed back up on top of me. It felt good when he put his stiffy back inside me. It felt good when he lay down on me and hugged me again.

My own peter was still hard and when Quincy started wiggling on top of me again, it ground my stiffy into the bed. I wiggled my butt, because it felt so good to.

Quincy wiggled harder and started bouncing on me, moving his stiffy forward and back inside me. It felt increasingly better until I had the first dry orgasm of my young life, and, driven by Quincy’s stiffy up my butt, it was a whopper.

“Aw!” I murmured when Quincy got off me again. “Can’t we keep going?”

Quincy laid his head down on the pillow beside me. “You really like this, Jeffy?” he asked.

I nodded emphatically.

He grinned and patted my back. “I gotta give my peter a rest, Jeffy,” he said. “Let’s go get a drink of water.”

I pulled my pajama bottoms back up and Quincy pulled his back on. Then I followed him down to the kitchen.

“What are you boys doing out of bed?” my aunt called from the living room.

“Jeffy needed a drink of water,” Quincy called back. He glanced at a bowl of grapes sitting on the kitchen table. “Can we have some grapes?”

“Sure,” my aunt replied.

Quincy filled one cup of water for me and one for him, and we sat at the table eating grapes while he told me about some fun places on the farm he could take me.

When we went back upstairs, I got up on the bed, pushed my pajama bottoms and underwear down to my knees, and fell expectantly, onto my belly.

Quincy climbed up on the bed and took off his bottoms again. Then he poured more oil into my buttcrack. He didn’t have to get himself hard again. He already was. He climbed back up on top of me, putting his stiffy back up my butt, and he wrapped his arms under me, hugging my chest again.

I wrapped my arms with his and closed my eyes contentedly as he started wiggling inside me again. I didn’t get the feelings again that I had with my first dry orgasm, earlier, but it all felt really good, nevertheless, and I would have had him keep going, but we were both getting sleepy.

“Is your peter still sore?” I asked Quincy as we stood next to each other at the toilet the next morning, taking a piss.

Quincy glanced at me and shook his head. “I sorta lied to you, Jeffy. My peter wasn’t really sore yesterday. I just wanted to get you to suck it.”

“I liked doing that,” I told him. “I’ll do it any time you ask.”

“Cool,” he said.

We shook off, and tucked our peters back in. “You know,” he said as we headed back to his room. “You can have fun too, Jeffy. Let’s find Meg this morning, and I’ll show you.”

Meg was another cousin; a blond-haired girl cousin who was four or five years old, like me. We found her at my grandparents that morning with her mom and little sister. They had come to see my folks.

Quincy led Meg and me out behind the barn and into the same stall he and I had been in the day before. “Take off your clothes,” he told us.

He didn’t have to tell me twice, and he didn’t have to tell Meg twice either. It was obvious that she had played “special” games with him before. I’d seen my mom naked, but, because of her pubic hair, there hadn’t been much to see. Meg had no hair. My eyes went to the little dimple between her legs, the same way her eyes went to my rising stiffy.

Meg wasn’t chunky the way many five-year-old girls are. She was thin like me, with slender arms and legs and a flat little belly. Thinness ran in our family.

“Sit down here, Jeffy,” Quincy told me, after our clothes were off. He patted the spot of canvas where he sat the day before.

I sat down on the edge the way he had.

“Suck his dickie for him, Meg,” he said, encouraging my cousin to the ground on her knees between my legs.

She didn’t require much encouragement. Meg sucked up my peter as if she enjoyed doing it as much as I had liked sucking Quincy’s.

I suddenly realized why Quincy liked having his peter sucked so much.

While Meg sucked and bobbed on my stiffy, Quincy knelt beside her and rubbed under her bottom with his hand.

“Does it feel good, Jeffy?” he asked.

I nodded. It did feel good.

“You know what else feels good?”

I shook my head.

“Fucking,” he said in a whisper. “That’s when you put your peter inside a girl’s pussy. You wanna try it with Meg?”

I looked down at Meg’s bobbing blond head. She looked up at me with my peter in her mouth. I nodded.

Meg spit out my peter and got up from her knees. Quincy had me get up, too, and then he told Meg to lie back down on the canvas. When she did, Quincy knelt on the canvas beside her and pulled her knees up and out, planting Meg’s feet on the canvas, out to the sides. I came around to see her more closely.

“Look here,” Quincy told me, reaching between Meg’s legs.

I bent closer to where Quincy was holding apart the lips of Meg’s puffy little labia.

“Look here,” he said, pointing down to the bottom of her little slit where I could a sliver of damp, pink membrane. “She’s got a hole there,” he whispered. “That’s where you put your peter. Lay down on her, and I’ll help you put it in.”

I glanced at Meg’s face. Her eyes were on my peter in such a way that it looked like she wanted me to put my peter in her. So I climbed up on the canvas-covered hay bales, between her legs, and then I lay down onto her. I felt Quincy take my stiffy in his fingers and he tugged me to the right spot. I felt Meg’s small opening accept my crown, so I pushed my hips forward and Quincy pulled his fingers out of the way.

Meg and I tightened up, hugging each other, cheek to cheek, and I pushed my stiffy all the way inside her.

“I like Jeffy,” I heard Meg say. “His peter doesn’t hurt like yours does, Quincy.”

I wiggled my peter around in side her, and then began to move it inside her the way Quincy had moved his peter inside my butt. That felt very good, and I began to pump my hips, and that made it feel better than when Meg sucked my peter. It felt good, pushing it into her. Meg wiggled, too.

It was awkward and jerky, but it felt good. Meg made little grunting noises when I pushed in hard.

“You like it, Jeffy?” Quincy asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

Meg hugged me harder. “I like Jeffy,” she repeated.

Quincy’s fingers ran up and down my back and Meg and I pumped our pelvises together. It felt better and better. And then Meg squeezed me real tight and I could hear her breathing and she wiggled up against me hard. And then I had the second dry orgasm of my young life.

It wasn’t as intense as the one I had the night before when Quincy’s peter was up my butt, but it felt good.

“My turn,” Quincy said, patting my butt.

I got up off Meg and watched Quincy take my place. He was much bigger on her, of course, and I could she her small hands clutch the sides of his waist tightly as he shoved himself in. Then he lay down on her like I had, and the two of them hugged each other while he “fucked” Meg.

“See, I told you that you could have fun, too,” Quincy told me after Meg went back inside. We were behind the barn, leaning back against the barn back wall.

“I liked our game last night better,” I told him.

“Really?” he asked surprised.

I nodded. “Can I spend the night with you again?” I asked.

Quincy grinned. “Sure!”

When I was about twelve, Quincy quit playing with us. By that time Meg’s little brother, Robby, was playing with us. He was three years younger than us, and he liked it all. He didn’t care who was doing what to whom. Robby and I continued playing around until I was fourteen. Meg and I stopped not long after Quincy stopped, while I was still twelve.


As I've prepared these accounts, I've heard back from more than one guy, after I have posted his story, that I've done an "amazing" or "uncanny" job of presenting his experiences "so much like it happened". I think I might be getting good at this. :)

Thanks to those of you who've written lately. Remember, emails are my pay for this work. :) My email address is jnuanced@gmail.com.