Date: Thu, 18 Jan 2007 21:53:21 -0800 (PST)
From: high5fiveme (at) lycos (dot) com
Subject: First and Last Real Friend

Ok...I am sending this in.  I have shown it to one person and says I should
continue.  I dont know.  I dont know if I can write or not.  Someone sent
me and email on my last piece and said I should leave the writing to the
professionals. that I am not. I dont write very erotic but I write from my
heart. I will finish this if anyone is interested.  I'll try to be erotic
if I can. So fiction or not and all disclaimers of protecting the innocent
should be attached but who the hell is innocent anyway.

Its been along time since my youth and much, of course, has happened over
the years that I dont remember and dont want to remember.  The hurts, the
relationships that didnt work out for one reason or another. The
relationships that worked out for awhile, a short while but broke down for
whatever reason.  Especially who wants to remember the relationships you
wanted to work but the other person just wasn't into you.  These probably
hurt the most for me because I wanted so many to happen, but I just didn't
seem to be the one for that person. And you know it's ok....I don't
remember any of these relationships. But there is one and I mean just one
that I do remember.

This was one relationship in my life that seemed to work. Everything seemed
to go just fine for the entire time we were together. It involved
everything that a relationship should have: Love, caring, sex when wanted,
commonality of interests and no arguing, fighting, or bickering.  Well, of
course, this was a relationship with a guy. It was a relationship with a
boy, a young boy, my best friend and boyfriend. He was nine when I first
met him in fourth grade and no I wasn't his teacher, I was in fourth grade
with him.

It had been two years since my first sexual realization in second grade
when I entered a new elementary school in Shreveport, LA. That experience
stripping down to my tighties in front of a beautiful Indian boy and
getting a hard on staring at him clad the same gave me a sensation that I
can only say was the sign I was gay. I never had felt like that with a girl
before then and for that matter..never since then. I entered this new
school looking at all the boys in the class and wondering which ones I
could get to come over and spend the night. My parents gave me much leeway
in my relationships, and I was able to make friends with many of the boys
and have sleepovers regularly with most anyone who would come over.
Invariably i would get a hardon with each of them and parade in front of
them or rub up against them in bed. Wrestling, of course, produced an
ongoing erection that could last throughout the play.  I dont have many
memories of how many boys this worked with but there was no one who really
reciprocated and no outward touching went on.  However, I do remember one
boy's mortified look and total petrification when I dropped my shorts and
walked straight in front of him across the room proudly displaying my
boner. I believe that was our only sleep over. What was funny as I think
about it now is how no one ever made fun of me or called me queer at that
time but it is probably because absolutely none of us in those days had one
iota of a clue what anything at all meant; No talking about sex, looking at
magazines, noticing that the girls had anything but "cooties." We just
played sports, hide and seek and cowboys, indians and robbers.  And
me....well what did I know?  I just looked at every boy in a special way
that gave me a hardon.  If the boy was cute, I would think about him and
"pop went the weasal."  Even the older paper boy would be someone I would
go and help fold his papers cause he would make me hard being with him.
Did I have any thought as to what any of this meant? Absolutely not! It was
just something that felt incredibly good and gave me a neat relaxed state
of mind.

One day at my grandmothers, I found a little white massager that vibrated
and you put these suction cups on them.  I plugged it in and put on one of
the white cups and rubbed it around. Of course, I got hard as it approached
my groin area and when I put it on the back of my dick, it sent me through
the roof.  I could barely hold it there but for a second. So I took it off
and put it back on my three inches of what I discovered to be my pure
pleasure zone.  I'd like to say four inches but damn I was only nine and it
never made but six finally anyway so I wont try to fool anyone. Never been
much into size anyway and really dont remember anything about anyones dick
size. Finally, I was able to hold the massaging cup onto my dick in the
frenelum area and keep it there.  As the sensation increased more and more,
I began to breathe and moan a little. Finally I orgasmed with the shooting
of all my mental electrons and tinglings throughout my body.  Holy shit!
What is that!  Something came out of my dick. My dick was oozing what I
thought was blood or something. It wasnt much and it didn't last so I
cleaned it up quickly and checked to see if it was still coming out.  I
looked in the mirror and I was white as a ghost and almost faint. What had
I done. I better not do that ever again.  I cant tell my mother about this
and what if something is wrong.  My mother pretty much was a hypochondriac
when it came to me and called the doctor if I sneezed. Well, I must have
checked my dick ten times the rest of the day but it was amazing...
eveything seemed to be perfectly normal. I hadnt harmed it but would never
do that ever, ever again. I presume, of course, that i must have stimulated
some semen at this young of age in the seminal vesicles located near there,
but to me it was bleeding and I was traumatized.

Traumatic experiences have lasting effect on all of us.  The problem is
that we have to perceive them as traumatic. My experience because of my
ignorance was traumatic to me because of the guilt and fear I felt.
Knowledge about my body and what was happening to me, if my parents or
friends had told me, would have saved me from what I perceived was a bad
thing. Where have parents and culture gone so wrong not to prepare us for
these events at any age?

I, however, after this experience, stopped looking at the boys, stopped
trying to put myself in situations where I got erections and basically I
stymied my budding sex life that I would probably have had over the next
couple of years.  Now you may say..."what! you were nine" what sex life?
Well I have to remind you I was precocious, out-going and forthright with
my fellow boys.  Somehow, I think I would have started jacking off with
someone, maybe even the paperboy if I had kept up my aggressive nature.
Instead, now, I was doomed to two years of cluelessness; I had now to
endure two years of religious celebate pergatory. The boys didn't look the
same. I had to start having girlfreinds to keep up the front of interest in
culture, marriage and eventual enslavement in holy matrimony. Having no
sexual experiences caused a complete lapse of my hypocamus functioning in
the fifth grade, and I dont remember a thing about that year except crying
over missing a spelling word and once being put in the hallway for talking.
I didn't miss the word; it was my handwriting, and I cant believe she put me
in the hall. I was her pet!

Sixth grade did cause the memory to start functioning again because it was
there that "he" was in my class. His name was Tom. My god he was gorgeous.
Anyone, I show my sixth grade group picture to can pick him out.  I just
say who is the best looking kid in this picture and everyone picks him.  He
was a cherub with blond curly hair.  Never needed to comb it.  It always
looked good. He was my size or just a little taller; we were short and
headed to only 5' 9" eventually. He dressed impeccably, chose all his
clothes well and was totally into dressing well. It seemed like his mother
must have pressed his shirts everyday. We wore collared cloth shirts in
those days. And he was stylish.  He would always know the latest fashion
and if he rolled up his shirt cuffs twice so did all the rest of us.  If
jeans were cuffed, then we cuffed.  If he came straight legged, then it was
away with the cuffs. Tom. Tommy...Thomas...it didnt matter I liked all of
them and called him by all of them.

Boing!!!  Its up again.  Time to start the sleepovers with this beautiful
kid. I guess time had healed my trauma and I was ready to start preparing
for puberty.  Bring it on and give me that exquisite feeling. The feeling
that relaxes you after a hard days work. The feeling that bonds you with
the person who presumeable gives it to you. Give me dopamine or give me
death was my battle cry after seeing Tom.  Ok....ok....I didnt really learn
that word for another thirty years but if I had known it I would have
yelled it out!  I was a kid who knew what he wanted and how to get it and
besides I always wanted to be a psychiatrist.