Date: Sun, 16 Jul 2000 13:24:49 -0400 From: Reiter Mann Subject: STORY: "Charles" T/b, bond, mast, cons CHARLES A Boyhood Memory by Reiter Mann Charles was my Senior Patrol Leader in Scouts. I really looked up to him, admired him, and was jealous of the time that I got to spend with him. Some time after my adventures with Jimmy had started Charles seemd to become even more friendly towards me and I basked in his sometime attentions. One night after our weekly Scout meeting he caught up with me as I walked home. Jimmy had missed that meeting, so I was walking alone. There was some small-talk and then he asked me if I might be willing to help him with a project he was working on. Of course I was eager to do anything at all for Charles, sometimes called Chuck, and agreed immediately--even before I knew what his request involved. He explained that he was teaching himself to draw and wanted to know if I would pose for him. I was tremendously flattered that he would ask me, of all the boys in the troop, to pose for him. He further explained that he wanted to draw me as if I were an Indian and that I would have to wear a sort of costume that he would provide for me. Would that be all right? Of course, I replied. That was fine with me. We made a date for the next day after school. At the appointed time I presented myself at Charles' house. He was apparently watching for me as he opened the door before I even had a chance to knock or ring the bell. They lived in a very nice house almost a mile from my home, and this was the first time I had ever been inside although once his parents had hosted a barbecue party for the Scouts in their big back yard. He took me upstairs to his room and then closed the door behind us. It was a nice big room, L-shaped, with built in desk, closet, and beds at each end. One of the beds was a bunk bed with sturdy ladders on each end for getting into the top bunk. The other was a big old double bed. I liked his room very much. It seemed like a very special place to me. He showed me what I was to wear. I noticed immediately that it was very similar to the loincloth that I wore when Jimmy and I played "Tarzan" only this one was not leather, but a light-weight cotton of an off-white color. He asked me if I would be embarrassed to wear such a thing and that if I were I did not have to. He said he would ask someone else in the troop. No way was I going to allow this! No, I said, I didn't mind at all. He then said that maybe later, if I like posing for him, I might let him draw me with nothing on at all. I didn't know what to say to this. The idea didn't repel me, but I wasn't eager to do it either. Maybe, I said, and we both let the subject drop. There was something in the air there in that room. I felt it, without knowing what it was. Something. He said that "if I was shy" I could change in the little bathroom next to his room. I didn't want to admit that I would have preferred to do that and decided to change into his little loincloth right there in his room. I stripped down to my underpants and then began to wrestle with the loincloth. He had given me a length of rawhide bootlace to tie it on and I was having trouble tying the thong while holding the cloth in the right position at the same time. "Here, let me help," he said. And knelt in front of me to hold the cloth up while I tied the thong around my waist. For a brief second, as we fumbled with the cloth, it slipped away and left me completely exposed to him, his face no more than ten inches from my crotch. I froze, not knowing what to do. "Wow," he said. "You're really big for your age." Did he mean it? I have no idea, but I know that I flushed with ridiculous pride when he said that. Like most twelve-year-olds I was unsure about my body, and self-conscious, too. I was still without a single hair save for those on my head, and while I was privately proud of my slightly broadening shoulders and the more and more defined muscles of my chest, abdomen, and thighs, I was more than a little doubtful about the "thing" that hung between my legs. It was a source of great furtive pleasure for me, and of course there had been the wonderfully filthy games that Jimmy and I played. But Charles was only the second person in my life who had made any reference whatsoever to it. The fact that Charles even noticed it, much less commented on it favorably sent a strange new tingle down my spine. "You really think so?" I said. "Oh, gosh, yes! That's a really nice one for sure!" I may have actually puffed out my chest, he made me feel so good. I felt some of my shyness and reticence slip away. But he went further. "Golly, I'm really glad you agreed to pose for me. You've got a really good bod, you know?" No, I didn't know. But it felt good to have him say that. I felt in some way changed, different. We picked up our task again and soon had the loincloth in place. He got his drawing pad and some pencils and had me stand in the middle of the room as he sat on his desk chair and started to work on the pad, looking up at me every few seconds. I felt both embarrassed and exhiliarated by his studious and intently long looks at me. He had me hold my arms a certain way, and move my legs and torso into positions he liked, and continued to scratch on the pad with his pencil. I was enjoying this. You wouldn't think there would be anything to enjoy in it, but I liked being there, being dressed like I was, being alone with Charles, and having him make me the center of his attention as he seemed to be doing. Like many boys that age, I think I was a little bit of an exhibitionist. We took a little rest after about fifteen or twenty minutes and he showed me the drawing he was working on. In it a boy, practically naked, stood as if looking out into a great distance. His body was muscular, strong. Was that me?, I asked. Sure is, he answered. "I just wish I could get your muscles right. You're a lot better looking than this," he said, and I felt my heart beat faster from the compliment. Then he wanted to change the pose and do something different. I was to be a Indian captive brought back from a battle. Right away I felt the same little thrill-chill that I felt when Jimmy and I played our private games. The thought that Charles might tie me up was exciting to me, but I hoped that I would not disgrace myself with the same sort of reaction that usually occurred when Jimmy tied me up. "Is it OK?" he asked, "to tie you up, I mean?" "Yeah, I guess," I said, trying to be as casually noncommital as I could. "Come over here, then," he said, and I went over to where he sat on his chair. He reached over and took a length of rope from the rucksack he usually carried to Scout meetings. "Turn around," he ordered. I did so and faced away from him and then felt his hands on my arms, at the elbows. He gently tugged my arms behind me, letting his hands slip easily and smoothly down my forearms to my wrists. He turned my wrists so that my palms were facing each other and began to tie me with the rope. I held my hands still to make it easy for him and tried to stifle the intense excitement I felt as he bound me. I could tell that he was doing a "real" tie, slowly and carefully rendering me helpless. I did not even need to try the knots to know that there was no way I would be able to get them loose. When he was finished tying me he had me kneel in front of him and, taking a deep breath, set my chest and belly muscles for the drawing. I felt wonderfully vulnerable with his eyes darting from the paper to me and back again. "You know what would happen to you?" he asked. I wasn't sure what he meant. "What?" I said, and the way I said it must have tipped him that I hadn't followed his meaning. "I mean if you were captured by Indians, like this?" Of course I knew, at least in theory. After all, this had been one of the themes of the "dirty" games that Jimmy and I liked so much. But I didn't indicate this and merely shrugged noncommittally, as if I was disinterested in the question or the answer. In secret I wanted him to continue, to take this discussion forward a little more if he would. This was getting very interesting, I thought. "The Indians liked to torture their prisoners, you know," he said."They were real experts at it, too. I used to read about it." He paused and I thought I should at least say something. "I read some stuff like that, too. I wouldn't like that I don't think," I said. "Oh, yeah?" he said, after a pause of a few seconds, while he seemed to be studying his pad. "I thought you might like stuff like that. Make-believe only, I mean." I froze in an icey rush of semi-panic. Why would he think that? Did he know something about my terrible secret? If he did would he think I was weird or bad or something like that? I didn't know what to do or say. "Why would I like that?" was all I could think of to say. "Oh, I don't know. Seems like most of the guys like to play games sorta like that. I thought you might, too." He paused. I didn't know what to say or how to respond. "You and your pal Jimmy, maybe." Now I felt the panic begin to solidify into something real and palpable. Jimmy? Clearly, it seemed that Charles knew something. Had Jimmy betrayed our secret? Betrayed me into Charles' hands, so to speak? Why would he do that? I was torn between anger and a kind of excitement that I had never felt before. Added to this was the fact that I was on my knees, in a skimpy loincloth, with my hands tied securely behind my back. What would happen now? He changed the subject, or seemed to. "Sweat," he said. "What?" "Sweat. I need some sweat. That would be good for the drawing. Maybe I could see and draw your muscles better that way." He put his drawing book down and left the room, leaving me kneeling there with my hands tied. In a few seconds he was back, a bottle in his hand. I saw the label. Mineral oil. He knelt on the floor beside me. "Is it OK? I mean do you mind if I put some of this on you?" he asked. I didn't trust myself to do more than nod my head up and down to tell him it would be OK with me. But would it? I was very familiar with being rubbed down with baby oil by Jimmy and these massage sessions always ended with me having a boner and Jimmy having a handfull of it. I was afraid that the association alone would be enough to push me over the edge. But I was almost at the point of not caring. It seemed to be clear to me that Charles knew something, and if Jimmy had told him about our secret games then there was hardly any point in my "playing hard to get" so to speak. I really didn't know what to do, and in the spirit of the situation I found myself in I guess that by default I just slipped into a mental state that made me receptive to whatever Charles cared to do. He rubbed the oil slowly into my chest and stomach and thighs. Very gently he pushed me back so that I was lying on my folded legs, chest up, shoulders against the floor. He took quite a long time, it seemed to me, rubbing me slowly and carefully with the oil, adding more from the bottle from time to time. It began to feel very good to me and I felt myself becoming indifferent to whether or not Charles saw the lump that I was certain was plain to see under the thin material of the loin cloth. Charles had good hands, maybe even better than Jimmy's, and he was paying particular attention to my stomach muscles, which I was alternately clinching and relaxing as his slippery hands drifted and stroked over them so pleasurably. I was an average sized kid for twelve. Summer beach pictures of me at that age show a pretty good looking lad with nicely proportioned legs and slightly broadening shoulders. A definite little cleft-line shows between my pecs and the nipples are small and medium brown. A trim, flat tummy shows the beginnings of a "six pack." "You've got really nice muscles," Charles said, very softly, as he gently swirled his hands and fingers in the oil that covered my torso. I could tell he especially liked my hard belly. "Thanks," I said. "You like this, don't you?" he asked. "What?" I said, playing dumb. "This. Me doing this. And being tied up, too. You like it don't you?" I just shrugged, as if to say that I didn't care one way or another. I was not yet to the point where I could admit to my strange yearnings. "I know you do. I can tell" he said, ignoring my reticence. He stopped massaging my belly and wiped his hands on a cloth he had brought with the bottle of oil. Then, without saying a word or even making eye contact with me, he began to undo the thong that held the loincloth around my waist. I did not protest or struggle, but simply waited there to see what would happen next. "Is it OK?" he asked when he had the thong undone. I didn't say anything, but just nodded my head. My eyes were closed now. He pulled the cloth away from me and I felt a little tickle of air brush across my erect penis. Somehow I felt no embarrassment at all. "Jesus!" I heard Charles mutter. I opened my eyes and raised my head just enough to be able to see down across my glistening chest and belly. Charles was squatting next to me, his hands on his thighs, looking down at my hard penis. Was something wrong with it I wondered? Was it weird or something? "Wow, that is one great boner!" he said and I felt a rush of relief and a tingle of pride from his words of praise. After all, he was fifteen and I was a lowly twelve. I have a battered 3x5 card from that time, on which I wrote my measurements at that time. Down at the bottom of the card is a note that says "hard 4 1/2." "You're like me," he said. "I'm circumsized, too." Then he moved so that he was knee to knee with me. He pushed my legs apart and scooted forward so that his knees pressed against my inner thighs. I was lying in a basically uncomfortable position, lying back over my lower legs, hands tied, legs now spread widely apart. What he did next surprised me, but in retrospect I don't know why it should have. He poured some more oil into his palm and took my very, very hard penis into his fist and began to pump it very slowly up and done. He varied the pressure of his hand, now very soft, now very hard. The slippery pleasure was enormous. He did not tease me. He simply gave me a scrumptious, slow, very good hand-job. Jimmy could never resist the temptation to tease and torture me with the pleasure (and the pleasure withheld) from a hand-job. Charles just worked away at jerking me off slowly, but directly. I lay there unable to think about anything but how wonderful it was. In a few minutes I began to squirm and wiggle and groan as I drew closer to my orgasm. Charles continued to work on me. "Come!" he said. "Go on and shoot! I want to see you come!" Oh, those words were probably the most exciting I had ever heard. I wanted to impress him, but I knew my few thin drops would seem ridiculously childish to a fifteen-year-old. But I was beyond the point of caring, and Charles' relentless hand was carrying me along. He reached forward and touched me with his other hand for the first time, lightly running his fingers under and along my tightly-tucked and hairless balls. The pleasure from those fluttering fingers did the trick and I was suddenly heaved into a powerful, violent climax that caused me to moan out a long, guttural "Unnhhhhhhhhh!" as I sprinkled my tummy and chest with a sudden burst of my thin seed. It was too quickly over. I sank back breathing heavily like a long-distance runner. "Oh, man! That was fun!" I heard Charles say and opened my eyes to see his smile, genuine, with no hint of teasing or sarcasm in it. "Yeah," was all I could muster in my breathlessness. He reached forward and took me by my shoulders. I could feel the oil on his right hand slip at first until he got a firm grip on me, his fingers down in behind my bicep. He pulled me up so that I was upright, slipped both arms around my back and brought me close up against him. The top of my head was about level with his chin. I felt his left hand come up from behind and tangle itself in my unruly hair and then the slightly painful tug of it as he pulled backwards, dragging my head back so that I was looking straight up at the ceiling. Then his own face came down until his lips were against mine! He kissed me! His lips hard against mine and then his tongue in my mouth, pushing and probing. I was so surprised that I had no idea what to do, and then I realized that my prick was suddenly steely hard again--oh, youth!-- thrusting up between my tightened thighs, hard and throbbing almost instantly and I knew that it had happened because of the kiss, the weird, awful, hideous, wonderful kiss! Later--very much later-- I would realize that what had happened was my first instance of love-making. Charles had made love to me, taken me as a lover takes a lover. Of course, he had raped me: tied me up and taken me as a conquering warrior takes a helpless captive, or as a high-born lord might have a bound slave delivered up for his pleasure. But he had not taken me against my will. He had taken me without my will, but not without my silent permission, my silent but enthusiastic acquiescence in what he did. The kiss was something else. Strange. Yucky. Beyond my ability to comprehend. I only knew that it had felt good, and that it had seemed to make me instantly hard again, immediately after a spectacularly breathtaking orgasm. It was a mystery, but a strangely pleasant one. I suppose in retrospect I was a very sexual boy. By six I was an almost daily masturbator and by eight I was indulging in marathon self-pleasuring sessions. The games that Jimmy had begun to play a year or so earlier had become very important to me, but they were also games or so we disguised our randiness and the sensuality of what we did together. We were certainly not "making love" or anything like it: we were playing "torture games" intended to pit the ingenuity and patience of the captor against the courage and endurance of the prisoner. Of course, they also felt good and were good, dirty fun for both of us. What had happened with Charles was different. "Do you want me to untie you?" he asked, his hands flat on my tensed and still slippery thighs. "Do you want to?" I evaded answering him directly. He smiled. "No," he said, "I think I'll just keep you like this. No one will know where you are. You'll be my slave or something and I can do that to you all the time. Would you like that?" He drew two fingers lightly over my still distended glans and I shivered a little from his touch. I could tell that he was teasing me now, and I liked it. "Sure!" I said. "You can do that to me any time you want!" And then I was suddenly a little taken aback by what I said. It seemed that I had alowed myself to commit to something without really meaning to. My careful reserve was breaking down. "You liked it, didn't you? Was it good? Was I any good at it?" "Oh, yeah! It was great. And you're really, really good, too!" I said, meaning every word and suddenly unconcerned about being careful and reticence. Perhaps his almost shy lack of confidence was what had tipped the scales for me. I rushed on. "Would you... I mean... Do you want me to...You know...do... something for you?" I stammered. He thought for a moment or two before he replied and when he did it was without words. He stood and reached down and helped me to my feet. I was a little wobbly because of the position I had been lying in for some time. There was a small, very shabby couch in one corner of his room and he half shoved and half carried me over to it. He pushed me down on the center of the couch. Quickly he produced two short lengths of rope, knelt on the floor in front of me and looped one piece of rope onto each of my ankles. Then he pulled one leg over to the right side of the couch and tied off the rope to the couch leg. He did the same for the other leg and I was now sitting on the couch, leaning back against my still bound arms, with my legs almost painfully spread widely apart and tied to the front legs of the couch. I was not afraid. His actions had caused my erection to become even harder. The position in which I was tied seemed very sexy and pleasurable, despite the tension on my strained muscles. I had become almost addicted to the amazingly intense feeling of being pleasured while helplessly bound. There was something about it that magnified the feelings of physical, sexual pleasure to an almost unbearable degree. But I was about to be taken to another level. Still kneeling on the floor between my widely spread and tensed legs, Charles inched up closer to the couch, his hands on my tensed thighs. Then he leaned forward and I watched the top of his head as he began to lightly flick at my right nipple with his tongue. The surprise caused me to suck in my breath and hold it, pushing my chest even more tightly into his tongue. The sensations of his feathery tongue flicking were causing a fluttery feeling in my chest and groin. He paused and I saw him pull his lips away from his teeth and lean into me again. He took the little nub of my nipple, slightly distended now from his tonguing, between his teeth and slowly and carefully bit down on it. The pain was gradual, sweet, and intense. He bit and released, bit and released, held it tightly and pulled it away and then held it while he flicked his tongue back and forth across it. The combination of pleasure and pain was intoxicating to me and I threw my head back on the couch and moaned out a long helpless groan. He turned his attention to my other nipple and repeated the delightful, agonizing process. And then he pulled away from me, dropped his head, and in one unexpected, sudden downward movement took my twitching cock completely into his mouth! For the next few minutes he sucked, seemed to chew lightly and carefully, slid his mouth up and down--sometimes very slowly and sometimes very quickly--and played with my penis, both shaft and head, with his tongue. The warmth, slipperiness, and suction of his mouth was almost overwhelmingly pleasurable. Meanwhile one hand was holding my balls and cock at the base, very tightly, while the other lightly teased and tickled my hairless balls and sack. I came again, more quickly than I had wanted to. I don't think I had anything left to squirt into his mouth, but it was another excruciatingly good orgasm. Suddenly Charles seemed almost frantic. He stood up and pulled off his shirt, then undid his jeans and dropped them. His underpants followed and for the first time I saw his penis. Erect, circumsized, measured by me later in our relationship at just slightly under six inches. A light-colored bush of fine hair spread across the top of his penis where it met his belly. He knelt again and untied my legs. He pulled me off the couch and put me face down on the floor. He got the oil bottle and poured some of it on my tied hands. Then he mounted me from behind and placed his boner into my oiled hands. I understood immediately and took him into my hands, kneading and pulling and stroking his thrusting cock. He moaned against me, thrusting faster and faster into my hands. When he came, after only a few seconds, I felt the light licking strokes of his shots on my back and even as high up as my neck. Then he collapsed onto my back, his lips against my neck, and I felt his total weight pushing down on me there on the floor. It had probably taken no more than fifteen seconds, maybe less. Despite the weight of him on me I felt wonderfully fulfilled to have given him pleasure. I could tell that Charles was a little embarrassed and in the post-sex letdown was trying to deal inside himself with what had happened. I suspected that he felt a little bit guilty. I just lay there, feeling his breathing and touching the flat of his heaving belly with my bound hands. After a few moments he pushed himself up off of me and reached down to untie me. "I thought you were going to keep me," I teased. He didn't say anything in response. "I won't tell anyone," I said. "Not ever." Something made me say that, told me that it was the right time to say it. "Did I hurt you?" he asked. "No!" I said, with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. "I really liked it! It was terrific, really." "I probably shouldn't have done that," he said, and I could tell that he was feeling guilty and a little shamed, now that his lust had been slaked a little by a good climax. "I'm glad you did," I said. "Do you think we could do it again sometime?" "Would you like to?" he asked, as if he didn't quite believe me. "Really?" "For sure!" I said. He was through untying me now and I turned over and sat on the floor while I rubbed my wrists where the ropes had made little criss-cross marks. He dressed while I sat there, still naked. After he was dressed I got up and found my clothes and started to slip into my underpants. Charles said that I probably should take a shower to get the oil off of me and showed me how to work the shower in the bathroom next to his room. When I came back into his room he was sitting on his bed, as if waiting for me. "Look," he said, "I don't know why I did that. The...uh...kissing stuff, I mean. And the other, too. I just..." "I didn't mind," I said. Even though it was the first time I had ever been kissed like that I felt that I almost had to play the part of the experienced one, and reassure him that what we had done was OK, at least as far as I was concerned. "It was kinda fun, actually." And I added, "Like I said, I won't ever tell anyone!" He just nodded slightly in reply. "Had you...you know, ever done...that...before?" he asked. "No," I said. "Never. I was surprised at first, but it sure made my dick harder!" I saw him blush quickly at my remark. "I didn't think I would at first," I continued, "but I liked it. It felt...good, you know. Real sexy, too." "Yeah," he said, very quietly. "I liked it, too." I continued to get dressed, only my shirt to go now. "Thanks for saying you wouldn't tell anybody." "That's OK. Why would I tell anybody? That would be stupid." There was a pause and then I took a chance. "How did you... I mean, did Jimmy say anything to you. I mean, like..." "No," he said. "Remember the Camporee three or four weekends ago? You guys were in the last tent down by the pond?" "Yeah?" "Well..." he blushed some more. "I sneaked down there after lights out and I... heard stuff. That's all." "You heard us messing around?" "Yeah." "That's OK. I just thought that maybe Jimmy had told you stuff, that's all." "I won't tell either," he said. "Thanks," I said. "You want me to pose for you some more sometime?" "That would be great! Would you?" he seemed gratefully eager that I would offer to pose again. "Sure," I said. "It was fun. I'd like to do it again." And then I teased him again. "As long as I get to be tied up," I added, grinning. He smiled back, a little shyly and nodded OK. "Listen, " he said. "How about coming over for a sleepover this weekend. I could tell my folks it was something for Scouts. It would be OK with them, I know. What do you think?" "Great!" I said. "That would be fun. Which bed would I get?" I asked, nodding at the selection of beds in the room. "Well, whichever you want," he said. 'But maybe...I don't know...if you wanted to, maybe we could, you know, like...share a bed? The big one, I mean. You think? Maybe? Maybe we could be friends, too." He was blushing again and avoided making eye contact with me. "Yeah," I said. "That would be great!" My careful weighing of words seemed a thing of the past. And so we made our plans for our sleepover. But that's another story altogether and this one is already much, much too long. I read back over it and even though this all happened a long time ago I think I have done pretty well with the details and the dialogue. No one could possibly remember the exact words spoken so long ago, but I really feel that I have succeeded in capturing the essential truth of what happened and what was said. I hope I haven't bored anyone.