Date: Sat, 30 Oct 2021 21:22:32 +0000 From: kleiner.gespenst Subject: I Was A Teenage Cock Goblin | REVISED A young teen learns sweet new ways to celebrate Halloween. It's no trick: treating Nifty with a donation will keep the lights on: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html == == == == OK, here's how it happened, on a Halloween weekend in 1982. I was a kind of shy 10th grader, one of those little late bloomers that get pantsed and pick on. But, somehow, I managed to occasionally hang out with a posse of cool kids. They were juniors; had weed; they were sort of rebellious, and most came from LA. I was from a small town in Northern CA called Beaverton (yeah, I took shit for that, too), so they seemed sophisticated to me. What more could you ask for at an all-boys boarding school, like Southern Sierra Academy? That Friday afternoon, I finished my swim team team workout, and there were a couple of hours before dinner. Most of my regular amigos left for the weekend, so I ambled up to the dorm where those juniors lived. But they'd mostly cleared out, too. Still, Blaine was in the courtyard, engrossed in a thick book. Now, lemme tell you about Blaine. Dude was fine. I mean, he was 16, about six feet tall, and a wide receiver on the varsity football team. He was a seriously mansome piece of boy flesh, and smart as fuck. Totally self-confident dude, he was also nice to most everyone, despite being one of the cool kids. And he had a girlfriend, so I just assumed he was totally straight. Oh, sure, at all-boys schools, most boarding students bang the shit out of each other. And Southern Sierra was so far from civilization, even the straightest kids there got so crazy horny, they'd end up in other boys' beds. And I was definitely getting my share, with my best friend, Cam, and occasionally my friend Jimmy. All three of us were 15-year-olds still lagging behind in the pube department, and we'd gravitated together the previous year. But ever since we first made out in 9th grade, Cam and I made no pretenses of being straight, at least with each other. We had hetero coatings for the rest of the world, but take a few licks and you'd reach our chewy, gay centers. Still, in the early 80s, few openly admitted to even trading handies-of-desperation, much less being into cock. Homosexuals were still pariah, and adolescent boys had to go through all kinds of complicated rituals to simply drain their nuts with one another. Anyway, I'd never hung out with Blaine alone, but I mustered the courage to plop myself on the bench next to him, pushing aside all thoughts of how much I wanted to get into his pants. "Hola, Rierson," Blaine said, closing his book and looking at me with a sincere smile. I was entranced, and intimidated, and stumbled trying to find something "funny" to say. "Trick or Treat, dude," I joked. Blaine gave me a mischievous look. "Treat," he said, quietly. With dramatic innocence, I asked, "What's my treat? Do you have some candy?" Now, back then, "candy" was still a slang word for "drugs," and I hoped he'd have some weed. Instead, this allegedly straight dude shocked the shit out of me. "Let's have sex." It was so casually direct, like he might have offered me a soda. And still, I froze. I mean, he was in a Venn intersection of wise-ass rebels, star athletes, and boys on the Dean's list, and I was just late a squeaky voiced nobody, an art kid with a few strands of pubic hair not more than 3 months old. I probably blushed, first wondering how he could see through my straight-veneer, then worried he was setting me up for ridicule if I said "yes." Did he know about the boys I messed around with? But something in his expression signaled he was dead serious. Was he just that confident he didn't care if I told anyone he'd hit on me? Jeez, it was so complicated, back then. With broad shoulders leading to a total gun show, and a lean muscular body, Blaine was so hot, I didn't care. His dark brunette hair hung low, and his grey-blue eyes twinkled and mesmerized me. Yeah, I wanted to mash that guy, but bad. All these thoughts flashed through my panicked brain pan in less than a second. "Yeah, ok..." I replied, with poorly-feigned nonchalance. "But...uh...I don't know how to do much." Time dilates between a boy's mind and his penis. In the objective seconds it took me to lie that I'd rarely touched another boy, my filthy flesh had whipped itself upright like a spitting cobra. I remember Blaine grinning warmly, yet staring so hungrily into my eyes I had to turn away. When I did, he grabbed my hand, and, without a word, pulled me indoors. While we walked down the dorm hall, he held me by the hand - something teen boys didn't do openly back then. Every time he squeezed my hand, it seemed to pump more blood into my ridiculously rigid unit. Blaine closed his door behind us, and turned toward me. I remember his lips were plump and pink. He licked them slowly, like a predator, making them glisten. Hesitantly, I asked him what we should do. I mean, with Cam or Jimmy, it was easy to just start making out, getting naked and sucking each other off. I don't even remember how I started up with those guys. But with Blaine, I was so nervous, I almost shook, and this would be a first to remember.
 "How about a kiss?" Blaine asked, as casual as can be. The next thing I remember is his steely arms around me, caressing my back, while he bent down to lock lips with me. We kissed gently, at first, you know, with tender smacks that started lingering. While our tongues danced in each other mouths, playing tag and wrestling, Blaine's fingers squeezed my buns firmly. He dragged his lips to my ear. "For someone who doesn't know much, you kiss like a champ," he whispered, and he gave my lobe nibble that made me squirm and giggle. "And you've got a sweet little ass." Kneading my butt cheeks like loaves of bread, Blaine was making me melt, and I caressed his big boy buttocks in return. He must have hit the gym a lot, because his ass felt as solid as granite. At the same time, Blaine pulled me into him, and it felt like a power boat hull dragged plunged into my tummy. I couldn't wait to wrap my hands around something that felt so massive. But I let Blaine take the lead, and he kissed my neck, and jaw, and then suckled on my lips some more. My whole body was thrumming by the time we separated, just far enough so that Blaine could peel my team sweat shirt off. Seeing my pallid chest, he grinned, and traced his fingers from my shoulders to my nipples. I can't remember his exact words, but he liked my "swimmer's body." He rubbed circles around my little pink nipples, making them hard, and then he pinched them. Not titty-twister hard, but close, and I loved it! He sucked moans of blissful helplessness out my mouth with his lips, while playing my tits like a musical instrument. Blaine untied my team sweat pants, letting them fall in a bunch at my ankles. His eyes scanned from my slender chest, to my shins and back up to my groin. He grinned and studied the quivering rise in my green-and-blue striped swim briefs. The 16-year-old licked his lips again, and said something like, "You look so hot in your little Speedo," but was probably more poetic. To be honest, I'd never thought the tiny triangular swim suit were anything but a kind of embarrassing cost to swim competitively, but I made a note to check myself out in the mirror, that night. My cock pulsated through the snug material, stretching forward and back, and a coin-sized spot of dampness darkened the material. At the same time, I had to fight my hands from reflexively shielding my little boyhood. It was like a twig compared to the log lunging up the front of Blaine's trousers. But I mustered the courage to stay vulnerably exposed in total horniness. While he pulled off his sweater and unbuttoned his long-sleeve shirt, I fumbled out of my sweatpants, shoes and socks. Then, I gazed at his sculpted torso in awe. It was my turn to play, and I softly felt up his firm pectorals, and his well-defined abs. He was warm and solid. I can almost feel those muscles right now, so firm under his smooth, flawless skin. I'd expected a treasure trail or something, but except for his pits, Blaine's upper body was like milky glass. Blaine reached down and cupped me with his big hand, and my body jolted. He chuckled, and rubbed my rock hardness though my Speedo with his palm, making me shiver and gasp. "Do you want your treat now, little boy?" Blaines joked. I snickered up and said, "Yes please, Mister. I'm real hungry for treats." The next thing I remember, I was on my knees, impatiently unbuckling his belt, undoing his trousers, and yanking them to the floor. Sitting back on my heels for a second, I drank in his toned splendor. I can't compare the memory of his alabaster flesh to Michelangelo's "David." Blaine's body was more realistically adolescent and lean. More importantly, he wasn't cursed with a baby's pecker. Not by a long shot. The whopper stretching his tighty whities reached up to the blue-striped waistband. I stared at it for a minute, watching it throb, moistening its cotton wrapper at the top. It was a barely concealed weapon, and threatening and beguiling. Besides tree house explorations and summer camp circle jerks, I could've counted my really intimate boy-on-boy encounters with one lightly experienced hand. So I'd never seen such a magnificent tent pole, teasing me like a metronome with Blaine's heartbeat. I wasted no time, grabbed his steamy length and rubbed it hard. I remember him telling me to stop, throttle down and take my time. Slow, teasing foreplay was new to me. I don't think Jimmy and I spent more than a couple moments tickling each other through our undies, before getting nude and getting it on. Admonished, I pulled my hand away like I'd burned it on the stove, while Blaine introduced me to living in the moment, building anticipation for both of us. I rubbed my face all around his steamy member, tilling furrows in my cheeks with his cotton-covered plowshare. Yeasty dampness seeped from his oozing nozzle through his undies, onto my skin, leaving faint snail trails. Instinctively, I kissed it, again, and again. Listening carefully to my guru of the groin, I dragged my tongue up and down his rigid tool, and so slowly, I don't know how he could stand it. But as I found out over time, Southern Sierra Academy demanded rigorous practice to achieve excellence. Blaine caressed my hair and sighed, letting me soak the front of his bone-white briefs with my saliva. He didn't really moan until they were practically see-through, and the contours of a circumcised head were cameoed in wet cotton. While I wanted to suck that cotton covered knob like vanilla ice cream, Blaine had me kiss and suck discrete sections his quaking length with my small mouth, up and back, and then work on his balls. "Never forget the balls." That's the Golden Rule: don't neglect the nuts. I couldn't get all of his full cotton pouch in my mouth, so I took turns sucking each side. Probing with my tongue, I could almost feel each nut through his briefs. While I suckled his scrotum, I slowly rubbed his wetly cloaked member, with my palm. Eventually, I gripped him with a fist once again, and stroked his hot wet hardness for just a few moments. Damn, that thing felt so powerful in my pounding fist, I lost any sense of time, and I sucked his nuts feverishly until he suddenly sucked in his breath and groaned. Blaine quickly pulled my hand away, and lifted me to my feet. "I almost blew, Rierson," he said, breathing hard, "you little shit." As I was learning, the journey was more important than the destination. Today, we have a word for it: edging. Until that afternoon, I'd never encountered such ruthless teasing. I don't think he ever wasted a drop of jizz on a quickie in his life. Caressing my face, Blaine smirked. "You're gonna pay for that," he murmured, and shoved me onto his small, single bed. Spreading my feet where they were planted on the floor, he knelt in between. I don't know how long he caressed my thighs, but he spent a long time tickling the inside, then my tummy, making me wriggle, giggle and gasp. I just wanted him to touch my quaking bone; to jerk it; to make me cum hard -- but he was totally avoiding my junk. It was so mean and so awesome! Finally, he rubbed a finger up and down my rigid length, so lightly it was like a current of electrons travelled between us. And then, with his other finger, he teased the outlines of my tiny balls. It was torture. Delicious fucking torture. He dragged his tongue up and down my quaking prong. My speedo had barely dried out after practice, and in minutes, it was soaking again, clinging to my rock hard thing like a second skin. I wanted his tongue directly on my flesh, and this stupid piece of ass-gripping lycra was in the way. I begged Blaine to suck me off. Then, he did...sort of. Pursing his lips sideways along my length, Blaine dragged his head left and right, back and forth; he masturbated me with his lips and tongue through my spandex prison. Then, he sucked on my tiny grapes for a few moments, before licking me from stem to stern. At the same time, his fingers traveled through my spread thighs, to squeeze and tickle my buns. Eventually, a thumb pressed into my Speedo, into my crevice, threatening to drill through my back door, and I squealed. Somehow, he knew I was on the precipice. It might have been my moans, or the way my body shook. Doesn't matter, because he pulled away from my crotch, and simply rubbed my hips, until I settled down. Then, he repeated process, until I begged him to jerk me off. He chuckled, enjoying the sight of my raw, wracked need, and left me flopping like a flounder. Blaine climbed up next to me and flopped down, flashing that totally intoxicating smile, while we rolled on our sides to face one another. Even though we both had volcanoes in our loins ready to spew lava all over us both, we kissed quietly, and caressed each other's hips and torsos. It was quiet and comforting moment, and my threatening climax receded. It was the first time I realized sex could be more than just a pounding rhythm section: it could be a complex symphony. Eventually, our lips parted, and he bent my knee up, to gently squeeze all of me with a warm, cupping hand. He cocked up his own knee, giving me access to copy his motions. However, he was so big, I could only curl my fingers around his nuts, while pressing the lower half of his turgid bone with my palm. I don't know how long we caressed each other like that. I do remember Blaine's black leg hair contrasting against his Autumn-pale skin, and bleach-white briefs. He wasn't hairy, but what he had was jet black. By contrast, blond peach fuzz had only started to blossom on my skinny legs. The next memory: Blaine gripping me firmly on either side of my little prick, with a thumb and index finger. He rubbed me slowly, from tip to root, through my slobber-sopping swim suit, I just shut my eyes, letting the sparkles build. And then: something insane. The smooth, stretchy lycra polishing me with every stroke was like nothing I'd ever felt before. It seemed to pull every nerve ending in the wake of Blaine's fingers. It tickled and itched all over. That part was so radical, that after Lights Out the same night, I swapped out my briefs for my Speedo, and got hard instantly. It only took a couple of rubs to shoot my meager boy load. It was so weird and tingly that I did it twice the next morning. Unfortunately, for the next couple of years, while my hormone addled cock rose with any gentle breeze, pulling on a Speedo had the same result. I had to jerk off before every swim practice, every day. I'm just glad I didn't take up wrestling. Anyway, I started shaking and moaning, and Blaine released me. I whimpered, tempted to violently rub it out myself. But I caught my breath and watched him get up to peel off his tight, saliva slathered briefs. At long last, he revealed what I wanted to see and taste. He unsheathed it from his underwear like a heavenly gladius, dripping rather than flaming. Springing with the older boy's heartbeat, it had to be 7, maybe 8 inches of thick and angry, veiny gristle. So pink and beautiful. It was the first big boy erection I ever saw, and it would be the scepter of my sexual emperor for the next two years. "I think you like it," Blaine observed, with a grin. "Uh-huh..." I muttered, sitting up and reaching for it. But Blaine pushed me back. "Nope, dude," he said, "you're not there, yet." Wherever "there was," it was driving me fucking bonkers, Slowly, he stripped my Speedo off. By then, I was sweaty and dizzy, and now not even remotely humiliated by my naked, pubescent flesh. And Blaine wasn't laughing, but smiling, like he'd found treasure. He muttered, "Fucking beautiful," or something like that, as if my junk was a strand of diamonds, rather than 3.5 inches of slender sausage. But It was flailing against my pubic mound like a rug-beater, probably in the Morse Code for "S.O.S." My blood-engorged boy hood was less than half his size, ringed at the base by a strand of sparse, silky hairs, which had only started to sprout around Labor Day. Laying down next to me, he stroked my face. "I wasn't sure if you had any pubes," Blaine said. His earlier joke bubbled up. Was he into little boys? At that point, it didn't matter, because I was vibrating, and my nuts were aching. I convinced myself we weren't that far apart in development. Sure he had a broad bush, but it looked like his scrotum was as bald as mine. I got confirmation by filling my fist with his warm, slightly sticky sack. I clutched it lightly, and rolled his huge nuts around, impressed with the mass in my hand. I wrapped my other fingers around his swollen, oozing anaconda, and it was thick and hot, with a thin layer of soft skin stretching over rippling steel. Blaine closed his eyes, and his breathing grew deep, while I slowly stroked his massive tool. Like a first-time driver, I concentrated on not crashing his vehicle, and kept it slow and steady, while delicately squeezing his overly enriched sperm bank. After a minute or two, Blaine gripped my boy cock firmly with his thumb and forefinger, and I moaned loudly from actual skin-on-skin contact. When he started to rub it, I was in quivering paralysis, my hands frozen on his junk. No doubt, I was vocal, but not protesting. Wham! I was thrown on my back by that hungry tiger boy, and he knelt again between my widely spread legs. God, I love surrendering my naked, vulnerable loins to another guy. Blaine's lips shrink-wrapped around my knob, and his tongue swam around it like a barracuda, sucking on it with a 4/4 beat. But he was also a scientist, carefully inspecting each of my nuts individually between two fingers, rolling them ever so slowly. His tongue lashed across my tip, then tried to burrow into my piss slit, and I squealed so loudly Blaine momentarily froze. When I had my wits together, he bobbed his head from my glans to my base and back a few times, and I relaxed into a sensation very familiar from nights with Cam, and afternoons with Jimmy. But after a few laps, all similarity ended. When he pulled back, he sucked hard, corkscrewing his head, then he slurped back, slack jawed, still rocking his head. At the same time, his tongue slid from side to side underneath. Then, he rubbed one side of my rigid boy pole along his inner cheek, and then the other cheek, before sucking again. Every so often, when I was reaching the back of his throat, he rested, and swallowed two or three times, mashing my knob with the root of his tongue. When my climax loomed, he somehow knew, and pulled off my cock for a minute, and light feathered it with his fingertips, barely making contact with my spit-drenched stem. After a moment, I felt his tongue tickle one nut, and then the other, and my hips shot up. When my ass flopped back on the mattress, he enveloped all of my sack in his mouth. He sucked and licked my boys like they were candy, and he sounded like someone enjoying a gourmet meal. I must have been making a lot of noise, because I remember him shushing me, despite the near empty dorm. Blaine swapped out his fingers with his mouth, but I felt something new happening. One of his fingers was worming between my perspiration-dampened buns, and then it circled around my clenching anus, slowly opening it. I loved every bit of it! Except for my pediatrician, no one had touched my sphincter since 7th grade, when a friend and I last traded anal. But the next year, my butt buddy grew too large for comfortable entry, and we'd abandoned our fast and furious rutting. Thing is, neither of us had ever thought of the rectum as anything more than an awesome hole to rub your dick, and certainly not as something that could be a source of pleasure. Shit, was my mind blown. I didn't know what was more intense: his mouth or the way he played with my tender tunnel. When his digit popped through, I gasped. And then, he found my prostate, and I must have convulsed. Sucking me a little harder, he rubbed my button two or three times, and it was all over. Everything in me contracted, and I think I blacked out. Next thing I knew, Blaine was cradling me in his arms, kissing my cheek. My eyes fluttered open, and he was grinning. "Dude, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were so sensitive in there." "Neither did I," I gasped. "What was that?" "I was playing with your prostate, my man." Blaine chuckled, and explained this new facet of biology to me. I told him that had never happened when my 7th grade buddy had fucked me in the ass. He explained that if you were young, and maybe not very big, you might not reach the prostate. Mysteriously, he added that, depending on the position, you should also aim for it, when you penetrate another guy. I wanted to know more, but his wet monster was tapping against my thigh, demanding attention. Taking his pulsating pounder in my hand and gently stroking it, I kissed Blaine lightly on the lips. "Do you want to try fucking me?" I whispered. It was wishful thinking, but if, by some miracle, he could cram his sledge hammer in me, I'd get to feel that amazing sensation again. My cock twitched at the thought. Blaine smiled, but shook his head, telling me we had less than an hour before dinner, we both had to get changed, and loosening my boy hole would take much longer. Instead, he clambered up and straddled my chest, with knees on either side of my skinny rib cage. Resting his hands on the wall behind me, he leaned forward, and his drooling limb bounced against my cheek, stretching a strand of pre-cum from my face to his nozzle. I clutched his shaft in my fist, and guided his knob between my lips. His precum wasn't much stronger-tasting than what I was used to, so I washed his knob with my tongue, and swallowing his goo. Then, I engulfed it. It was so thick, it almost filled my mouth like a warm, spongey jaw breaker. I wanted to work him like he worked me, but I couldn't immediately remember all the ways he'd tenderized my meat. Besides, there wasn't much wiggle room in my little mouth. So I slurped onward, and got a couple more inches in, then started bobbing back and forth, rhythmically sucking with my cheeks, and licking his underside when I remembered. "Breath through your nose," Blaine whispered, and caressed one side of my face with his fingertips. Without the need for a reminder, I caressed his nuts, gently rolling them, and pulling on his scrotum. Thinking about what Blaine had done to my hole, I reached in between his muscular buns, and found his pucker with my index finger. I wasn't nearly as gentle when I impaled him, and he grunted. "Go easy, Rierson," he gasped. "MmmHmmm," I mumbled with a mouthful of savory teen tool. Blaine gently pried my other hand from his nuts, and at his suggestion, stroked his shaft ahead of my lips, bringing friction to his entire length. At the same time, he told me where to dig with my impaling finger, and I found his firm acorn. I pressed it gently for a moment. "That's it, dude," Blaine said. "Now do this to it.' I looked up, and he was making a "come here" motion with his forefinger. When I did, he moaned and his eyes shut. I rubbed his button with the same cadence I brought to his rod. I remembered to corkscrew my head, milking and swallowing more of his manna. I could feel it pulsing in my finger tips, and the warm, tight membranes sealing around my finger flexed and relaxed. "Gonna blow, Rierson," he heaved. "Gonna shoot in your hot little mouth!" Blaine grunted, and his hole cinched around my finger like a vice. A hot blast of thick lava shot into my throat, and I pulled off, gagging. Lightening fast, Blaine held my stroking hand with both fists, furiously beating himself off. While I coughed and swallowed his very salty load, he moaned and shot again and again, all across my face and hair, until I was a dripping mess. At last, he dragged my fingers along his joint, squeezing the last drops out. Blinded, I couldn't see, but he told me later that his whole body shook. I was dragging his viscous seed from my eyes, when I felt the mattress shake. A moment later, I could feel Blaine sitting against me, and he carefully cleaned my face with a towel. "Sorry about the facial, dude," he said, when I could finally peel open my sticky eyelids. "That was fucking intense," I chuckled, telling him it was ok. He asked if I liked swallowing cum, and I answered honestly that it wasn't my thing. I'll do it with someone I love, but it's still gross. "I love jizz," he remarked, helping me over to his sink to wash my face. While I did, he told me mine was kind of sweet. "I haven't tasted a young dude in a while." "You can have more anytime you want," I replied, laying back down on the bed beside him. Then, I remembered my earlier suspicions. "Hey, man," I said, carefully, staring down at his forearm, while I slowly brushed it with my fingertips. "When you said I was pretty or whatever...what did you mean?" "Just that, dude," Blaine said, lightly caressing my caressing hand. He told me I was beautiful, and had a "hot little body." "So...are you into little guys?" I whispered, not daring to look up at him. People frequently mistook me for a twelve-year-old, and I hoped that wasn't the reason he wanted me in his bed. The answer was, of course, complicated. It turned out he was attracted to guys younger than he, but not little kids. As an adult today, his husband is 20 years younger. I guess youth really is an aphrodisiac. But another thing he liked - and still does - is androgynous-looking dudes. I'd never thought of myself that way. Yet it explained why Dean, willowy and exotically sexy, was more than his best friend. Dean was one of the few guys on campus who were almost openly gay, and definitely effeminate in his mannerisms. And yet, because he was part of the cool crowd, no one ever gave him shit. That guy lead the charmed life of a rainbow unicorn, back then. "But I'd do you no matter what you looked like, Rierson," he said, "You're rad, and you've got a sexy aura." I giggled at that, sure he was bullshitting. And what the fuck was a "sexy aura." But as we lay there, enjoying the well-earned after glow, he swore me to secrecy, and listed off all the guys still at school he'd boned, and my jaw dropped. Some of the most legendary off-campus poon hounds had had Blaine's cock in their mouths, and sometimes asses. It seems like he'd done a quarter of the school, and at least one teacher (though he wouldn't say who). He also liked boning girls, but not as much as dudes. Preferences aside, he seemed to just really be into sex. I guess when you don't have to worry about getting your dick wet, you can focus on studies and sports, and that's probably the reason he would eventually be the valedictorian. Since he trusted in me, I returned that trust, and told him about the two guys I spent time with. He'd already guessed as much, assuring me it was just simply his experience that clued him in. Today, we'd say he had really good "gaydar." Quietly, he admitted his distaste for body hair, and envied my "smooth skin." In fact, his nuts weren't naturally bald, nor his navel. Every few weeks, he used a depilator to rip those hairs out, and used scissors to trim his pubic bush. It sounded horrifying, but he said it wasn't too painful - after the first couple of times. In fact, he confided that if he didn't have to share a locker room for football and baseball, he'd be be completely hairless from chin to toe. While I was shocked at that revelation, what remained was a simple truth: we trusted each other. When we were both in college, I visited him several times, and by then, we were both out of the closet. The first time, when we undressed, I smiled at his utter smoothness. He'd had every last body hair lasered off, and he looked like a sculpted god. But that was years in the future. As I opened the door, Blaine asked if I had plans the next afternoon. "It's Halloween, and I can fill you up with more treats." Oh, he did. It took most of the afternoon, but he cored me like pumpkin, and filled my bowels with his goodies. And that's how I got hooked on filling myself with big treats on Halloween.