From: Mikey_Mark@hotmail.com (Mikey Mark) Approved: moderated.stories@bigfoot.com Subject: Cottage Youth (t/t) Date: Sat, 19 Sep 1998 01:22:29 GMT WARNING: The following text contains scenes of textual nudity and graphic sex between consenting teenaged males. If you are offended by such material, or are under the legal age of consent to read such material please do not read any further. All persons and events depicted in the following story are entirely fictitious. Any resemblance to those living or dead is purely coincidental and a product of the author's over-active imagination. * * * "Cottage Youth" by Mikey Mark * * * I have the fondest memories of growing up as a youth with a cottage in the family. The place originally belonged to my grandfather, but over time he used it less and less and eventually he just gave it to my parents. This was the place of my best memories of my grandfather; sitting on his knees, the smell of his pipe, my first fish, learning to whittle, an English accent, a perfect foil for my youth. Winters were long and cold, hockey the only pleasure. And even then, the spring was better for hockey. We were suburban kids and playing road-hockey was definitely preferable in the sunshine and melting snow of March or April than in January or February. The melting snow also heralded the beginning of cottage season which I anxiously awaited every year. The first trip to open up the cottage after the winter was always exciting. My mother and father would slowly but expertly walk about the place and assess the condition of the cottage. They would call out to each other as each when through a checklist of `things to look at'. They would cross-check their mental listings with crisp little statements to each other and knowing nods of agreement as though it was exactly as they expected. I always treaded along behind them trying to make sense of their cryptic statements, the cottage usually looking exactly the same as when we left it. It was always a thrill when my dad succeeded in getting the electric water pump working. Many a time this ingenious contraption would temporarily cease to function for the sole purpose of irritating my father and the cottage would have its precious supply of water cut off. No showers and no toilet. There was an old hand pump in the yard as well as an old out-house. The cottage was about sixty years old and only got electricity many years later. With the electric pump for water and a sceptic tank for sewage they put a small addition on to the side of the cottage for a tiny bathroom and kitchen. They even got a telephone. I liked to fantasize about living at the cottage without the electricity or water pumps. Just the hand-pump, the outhouse and the lake. There was a old pot belly stove that served as the furnace for the cottage and plenty of wood about. I imagined that I could hunt and fish enough for myself and live like a trapper in my log cabin. In my innocence I thought a nuclear war to go off and I would survive at my cottage. Yes, many of my fondest memories of childhood relate to my family's cottage. Exploring the woods, canoeing, and endless hours in the cool summer sunshine. In the spring and in the fall we would drive up for the weekends. The holiday weekends were better and usually included guests. With guests around, that kept my parents busy and gave me more freedom. They would be pleased at my disappearance. The best time was always the summer. My mother and father would drive up to the cottage in both of the cars loaded up. My two sisters and I would stay there with my mother and her little car while my father would head back to the city each Sunday night for work. This would go on for most of July until my dad's holidays when he would drive up to the cottage and stay there. Eventually as we grew older the pattern began to change. Once they hit high school, neither of my sisters wanted to spend their summers up at the cottage and our family visits were limited to weekends and my dad's holidays. I always begged to be allowed to stay from one weekend to the next, but it wasn't until I was fifteen that I got that privilege. But I am getting ahead of my story here. What I was going to tell you about was my first sexual experiences that occurred at my cottage. This was back in the 70's when everybody had long hair and wore tight revealing clothes. Around the bay from our cottage was the William's cottage. Craig Williams was a year older than me, but when we were ten and eleven this didn't matter much since there were very few other boys our age around the lake. We were summer friends in that we only saw each other when both of our families were at the cottage. When we were both up at the lake we would fish and swim together and generally just hung around. The summer that I turned twelve was particularly noteworthy in my memory for the occasion of my first orgasm. Craig and I were playing with his new air rifle. In all of our games Craig always liked to be a cop or a forest ranger or someone of authority. That summer Craig discovered terrorism. It was all in the news then. He stuck his rifle in my face and marched me off, the innocent bystander, to his hideout, which was the unfinished basement of his cottage. There in the cool dark cellar Craig tied me to a post and terrorized me. He wore a black scarf around his face all the while he waved his gun around and threatened to kill me. Every once in a while he would sneak around to look out for anybody coming to rescue me. Once he was satisfied that no one was coming he returned to me and threaten again to torture me. I pretended to be afraid of him, but I actually did get scared when Craig from standing behind be reached around and pulled my shorts down to my knees. I got scared because I didn't know what he was doing and because he was bigger than me and my hands were tied to a post. Craig then proceeded to give me a serious wedgie. He stuck the point of his rifle in my face when I howled in protest. I was his prisoner and I was supposed to be quiet. With that he then left me for a moment to check again for rescuers. Satisfied that there were none, Craig returned to the cellar where I stood, tied to a post, with my shorts down around my ankles and my underwear pulled up the crack of my ass. I felt very silly, self-conscious and half-excited by it all. I didn't know what Craig was going to do next. He threatened to stick his rifle up my butt, but settled for pulling on my wedgie again until it hurt. When he finally stopped he asked me if I wanted him to fix my wedgie. He did this by pulling downwards instead until my he had pulled down my underwear to my knees. I stood there with a boner, very embarrassed and excited. Craig touched my boner with the cold tip of his rifle. When he reached out with his hand and grabbed it tightly and squeezed, it was an incredible sensation. Craig then proceeded to jack me off right there until I shot a load of cum onto the hard-packed dirt floor of the cellar. I had no idea at the time as to what happened. I thought I was going to piss but instead white stuff shot out. It was really intense and felt incredible. The sound of footsteps hastened the end of our game, and Craig whipped my pants up very quickly and rushed to see who approached. As it turned out no one was coming, but our game was over. Craig untied me and never said a word. We went out to the sunshine and Craig suggested that we go out in the canoe. Out on the lake Craig asked me if I liked it. I remember blushing when he asked this. I could only nod my head, but Craig seemed pleased. Nothing like that happened again that summer, but then again, summer was nearly over when it happened and I didn't see Craig much after that. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- The above post is the sole responsibility of the poster ASSGM Moderator - Mykkhal - moderated.stories@bigfoot.com Archive: http://www.assgm.com Info: http://www.geocities.com/WestHollywood/Heights/8885 Discussion Forum: http://www.customforum.com/assgm -------------------------------------------------------------------------