Date: Thu, 19 Jun 2003 22:39:14 -0700 (PDT) From: Dscreet Dude Subject: Jake's Story Chap-1 Copyright 2003 by Jacob Pritchard. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, except in the case of reviews, without written permission from the Author. Jacob Pritchard is a pseudonym for the actual author who wishes to remain undisclosed. He may be contacted by emailing ihaveaview@yahoo.com This is a fictional story involving alternative sexual relationships. If this type of material offends you, please do not read any further. This material is intended for mature adult audiences. Names, characters, locations and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. ~ Prologue ~ I'm not sure when or how I first became aware of sexuality in my life. Time for me before I was ten years old is only recollected in bits and pieces of flashbacks that have vague meaning. I suppose it was because I was a naive little boy, only interested in those things that were immediate in my life. I lived in a small circle of life and only those things that fed that life were acknowledged. There were but few items that kept my interest and I lived moment by moment, not looking forward nor living in the past. I suppose that is typical. Until the spring that I was twelve years old. Things changed for me then, and have never been the same since. My name's Jacob and I'd like to try and bring forth a part of the story of my life. Or, to be a little more specific, my sexual life, and maybe the beginning of awareness for me; the situations I was involved in that may explain how I came to have the sexual desires that I possess today. There is definitely a sequence of happenings that brought me "enlightenment", but I feel there also exists a certain nature to a person that they tend to succumb to and is difficult to deny. That nature is part of everyone's continual existence and is manifest in his or her ability to survive, or not. Not just a physical survival, but an ability to overcome the mental obstacles that lead us to the different types of destruction that we are capable of within ourselves. This story is essentially true, to the best of my memory and how well I recall the events that happened, especially from the onset of discovery. Certain events remain vivid in my mind because of their significance at an impressionable time in my life. Others are somewhat less clear because of other "items" I was involved with, and shaped my life at any particular tie. But the essence and results are still there. I believe some of it has also become exaggerated with the passing of time and my replaying the event in my mind. I may have flavored it somewhat as my tastes became more specific and my desires and passions evolved. Curious as to varied aspects of my sexuality I've read quite a number of similar stories that have been posted in online Internet archives, my only anonymous source for this type of behavior. There, a number of like-minded individuals have described their fantasies and quirks, and I have come to discover that I am not alone in how I feel and act, in my thoughts and in the varied things I do. It seems that the world is truly made up of many kinds of people, and with them, many variations of sexual desires, most of it hidden away from a disapproving world. Maybe I'm normal after all. Or, just maybe I'm not as abnormal as society would want me to believe. I will no doubt regress here and there, branching out to different aspects of my youth and my relationships. The time period that I am starting in is etched in my mind because of the certain events that took place and the certain things individuals did, or that I did. Separately they may have not meant much, but collectively they combined to bring about the person I have evolved to. So bear with me and hopefully I won't get too far off track to confuse ya. Like I said, my name is Jacob. I was named after my grandfather who wore many different hats in his lifetime. From a butcher and farmer, to a road construction foreman. And lastly an owner of a surface coal mining operation. I admired my grandfather, though I wasn't very much like him. He was a grand old guy and much loved by us all. I'm currently forty-seven years old, have a wife and two kids, hold a respectable job and am involved in the community in various volunteer roles. Quite normal, by all appearance. I'm your neighbor, I'm the guy next to you in line at the movies, his kids screaming for popcorn. I'm the guy that was running your scout troop last year and this year I took two of your kids to my private camp with me. But they were okay. I behaved myself. That time. ~ Chapter One ~ I grew up in a little town in the Appalachian Mountains of West Virginia where coal ruled and, as the old adage goes, "men were men and women were damn glad of it." My father was a coal miner, worked long hard hours and was for all intents and purposes a dedicated family man. At least in regards to where we lived and how real men were expected to act. There were six children in my family. I had 4 brothers and one sister, with me being the second eldest. I should also mention that I was a twin; not identical but fraternal. That in itself had a bit of a role to play in shaping who I was to become. We were all pretty typical as far as kids for that time and place would go. We played hard, fought with each other and often ratted the other out when it was to our advantage. We loved each other, as children do, and knew it to be no other way. We all had chores in our own time, were expected to get good grades, show proper manners and were told often to respect our elders. I think that sounds fairly typical for a rural, small town family of the time period. I was born in the latter part of 1956 and my youngest brother was born seven years later on my birthday in 1963. So we were all fairly close in age. I wonder sometimes how my mother kept her sanity. My parents were from a traditional school of thought for the time period. Our father worked long hours to bring home the bacon, did the "mans" chores around the house and was the authority figure where, "the buck stopped here", when it came to the more extreme discipline that might need rendered. He was the Ozzie in our little "Father knows best" household. My Mother worked very hard at keeping house, holding reign on her boys and trying to give us all a decent "fetchin' up" and was a unique version of Harriet in her own right. All in all we weren't rich, but we were well fed, had a good roof over our heads, had discipline in our lives and were loved. It was our world and we each had our own vision of our place within it. We were a Catholic family in a Methodist community, the only Catholics along with my Uncle's family and my grandparents. They had moved there in 1959 from a neighboring state when William, my older brother, was only one year old. There was a fair share of prejudice towards us because of our religion, but there were also some very good-hearted people with true love and compassion, that welcomed us and brought us into their lives. But, that's another story. My twin brother, Jimmy, and I slept together in a double bed in a room that was shared with my older brother, William, or Willy as I had always called him. I had, for as long as I remember, slept in my BVD's, clean white cotton briefs, as did my other brothers, except for Pat, fourth eldest, who seemed to be a clean freak. He always slept in a pair of two-piece pajamas. When I was eleven William was twelve and would turn thirteen later this month. On a cool evening in the latter part of spring that year, shortly before this important birthday, it had gotten late, and we had just gone to bed. There were two double beds in this upstairs room of our large house. The windows were open, as it had been warm that day. My twin brother had quickly fallen asleep and had cuddled next to me as he often did. I had my arm slung behind me lying on his hip. I enjoyed the closeness we shared in this way. His body was warm, and we fit so well together. "Spooning", we called it. I suppose now that this snuggling was from sharing our mothers' womb together and it felt very natural, and comforting to me. I never really thought about it, and it wasn't something we did elsewhere other than at this time of sleeping. There is truly a mystical bond between brothers that are brought into this world on the same bus. I was a little restless and rolled over to lay on my back and listen to the night sounds coming in the open window, feeling the cool breeze across my bare skin. As usual I had many thoughts racing across my mind. It was wandering, re- enacting one of the typical scenes from a TV show we had watched together that evening. Fantasy was a favorite past-time of mine and the many comic books I owned was a testimony to that. Cable in those days was what you used to yank your car out of the mud and had nothing to do with the modern miracle of today that brings the world into your home. William slept alone in the double bed on the opposite side of the room, not five feet from us, next to a set of windows that gave a view of the street. To describe my oldest siblings' personality at this time period I feel I would need to separate my feelings, as a sibling from what would, in my recollection, be reality. He was typical of an eldest child; authoritative over us, inquisitive, knew everything, exceptionally bright, and got away with murder. He was almost thirteen and I reckon of average size for this age; blonde hair, big grin, typical kids' physique. He enjoyed sports, was well liked and was a bit of a roughhouse with the other kids in the neighborhood. For a big brother he was okay to me, though he did have his moments when he could be a bit of a prick. There wasn't too much that we shared in common as far as interests go. He seemed to be more interested in social stature among his peer's and that stuff really didn't matter to me at the time. So a lot of his time was spent running with his gang and little brothers weren't usually part of that crowd. Unless of course ya needed and extra blocker or tackle for his ragtag football games. He hung out with the other "older" kids in the neighborhood and didn't always have time to hang us with us "stupid lil shitkids". "Willy" could cuss admirably and when he was with his buddies they all used words that gave me a feeling of being let in on something mystical, and special. It was like I was hearing a secret language no one else was supposed to know about. Well, if my Mom had ever heard him saying the things he did he'd have my Father's belt on his butt wearing blisters. But somehow they always knew when to use the lingo and as far as I knew he never got caught. He loved sports and was quite good at baseball and basketball. There always seemed to be a pick up game going on somewhere in our small town and kids from all over would gather at the sports field to play their games. Us "stupid lil shit" kids always got invited to play since you really can't play a good game of baseball or football without the right amount of players. Those were some of the best times for me since there was always a coupla of the older kids that stuck up for me and encouraged me to play. Willy even liked me to play baseball with them since I seemed to be an exceptional hitter and fairly decent catcher for my age. I sucked royally at football and basketball though. In just about everything he did he wanted to be in the middle of the action. His friends were important to him, as was his ranking among them. He was witty and able to hold his own so his friends had quite a bit of fondness and respect for him. Even the older kids didn't mind him hanging around them since he acted more mature, or older than other kids did his age. I think he just felt older because of his role within our family that then carried into his social life. He was a laid back kinda kid and still is to this day. Running through my mind that evening as I lay on my bed, and my twin brother was snuggled up next to me, I was Opey Taylor of Mayberry, RFD. The show had been on that evening and it was one of my favorites. I was pondering what I would have done if my father, Sheriff Andy Taylor, of Mayberry (RFD) had accused me of something I hadn't done, and how I would feel about it. This same thing had happened to me in maybe the last week, so I knew where poor little Opey was coming from. I could relate to him. Gradually I became aware of a different kind of noise coming from my elder brothers' part of the room, not five feet away. It was a sound as if he was having trouble breathing, like he was panting or even wheezing. It was unlike the little moans he would make when he was dreaming, and not like any of the muted snores that I knew he made. No, this was similar to the sound which he, and myself, would make as we lay across our Mothers lap while she would lightly run her fingers over our shirtless backs, tickling us and making chilly bumps, only a little more intense. These were sounds of pleasure. I was looking at the ceiling as these sounds came to me and I just slowly rolled my head towards him. Not slyly like you would when you were trying to catch someone do wrong, but deliberately with what I'm sure was a quizzical look on my face, my eyes squinting to see better. What the hell was going on?! Soft light was coming in through the double windows, broadcast from the streetlamp across from our home. I was quite awake and could see Willy lying there on his bed, the dark-colored sheet pulled down below his waist and his underwear was down. And he was doing something to, what we called, his wiener. Now what was he doing over there, I thought? Maybe he had an itch like Jimmy had gotten when he'd been bitten all over by the dog's fleas. It didn't seem like he was itching though, and I wasn't sure he was scratching. No, it looked like he was playing with his thing, his penis. The light coming through the windows dimly lit his prone body in an eerie glow, the white of his body contrasting boldly with the dark colored sheets. He was using his right hand, which allowed me to see clearly that he had a boner! Now, let me tell you that at this time in my life, being na^Ėve as I said before, I had hardly a clue as to what was going on. I knew right off that this had something to do with sex; I'd heard the older boys talk about it. But I really didn't have a clue what this sex thing was all about. Nor did I give it much thought or associate it with my penis and getting boners, or the feelings I had when I was erect. I had gotten erections a lot and had even rubbed myself down there with no idea of what I was doing, other than it felt good. Of course I had also seen my brother naked many times and had even seen him with a boner once in awhile. But nothing seemed out of place and again, I never gave it much thought. That evening, as I listened a little more intently to what was happening just a short distance away I noticed that the sounds he made were getting a little louder, and that the bed was shaking somewhat. In a sneaky little brother sort of way I knew something was going on that I wasn't supposed to know about, but I had no idea what it could be about. Was he sleeping or maybe having some weird dream? My Mother used the word "nebbing" for when someone was sticking his or her nose into other peoples business. And so, I was nebbing into what William was doing, although I guess it could be closer to simple curiosity along with the innocence of my youth. And somehow I knew it had something to do with that stuff "sex" that him and his buddies would talk about when they thought they were being so cool around us kids. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe there was something really seriously wrong going on here. Maybe he was sick or having one of those fits that Bobby Joe Plumber had in school all the time. Just the day before in my elementary class I'd heard one of the girls' shriek behind me in the back of the classroom. I yanked my head around I saw old Bobby Joe laying on the floor between the desks, his mouth a' foaming like the raccoon my father shot out in our garden last spring. Everyone knows how dangerous rabies is and that ya stay the hell away from that crap! I saw how he was kicking his legs and flailing his arms around just like all of Satan's devils had possessed him. Well, I just got right up on the seat of my desk and flailing my arms above my head I screamed loud enough for the Governor down in Charleston to hear, "Get the hell away from him! Bobby Joe's done got rabies!! Save yerself! Save yerself!" And with that I jumped down from my desk and lit out for the door to the hallway and sure freedom from this scourge of all good and fine raccoons. I got in a hell of a lot of trouble for that. As I lay quietly, trying to figure out what was going on in my brothers bed, surrounded by one of my mothers hand made quilts, I saw my brother's body go rigid, heard him catch his breath, gasp and moan. Well, I knew what had happened right there and then; my brother had done had a heart attack like the one that my Uncle Jules had and we'd be carrying him down the stairs in a little bit wrapped in an old blanket with everyone bawling their eyes out and someone telling everyone ta shut up and to quit making such a scene 'cause he was deader'n a doornail! His tongue'd be hanging outta his head, his eyes would be rolled back in his head and before ya knew it there'd be a priest coming in throwing holy water all over the place. I know my eyes were bugging outta my head, my heart did a flip flop and I just blurted out in a loud whisper, "William! You dead over there or what?!" And there I was, peering through the dimness of the street glow trying to see if the corpse was gonna move or not. And he did, thank God. Not only that, he spoke to me, "Will you shut the hell up! Ya wanna wake everyone in the house up or what?!" "I thought you were dying over there or maybe having some sort of conniption fit or sumpthin'! I thought you done died. What's going on over there? You all right or what?!", I whispered back. "Well, jus' shut the hell up and quit makin' so much noise and I'll tell ya about it tomorrow, sheez! Can't a guy have some privacy?" He said. I loved it when he said hell. It wasn't the way the priest said it when he was talking 'bout where we were going 'cause we were sinners and the only salvation was through our Lord Jesus Christ, Amen. William would give a little bit of a rasp to the "H" and cut short the "ell" part. It was almost like he really didn't wanna say it 'cause he knew the priest was right. And the way he said it that night I could tell he wasn't too happy. When he wasn't too happy with me it usually meant I'd get a bop on the head or a knuckle in the arm, neither of which I really wanted. As I look back on that now I remember cringing, just like the dog would do when my Grandma took after it with the broom after it shit on the kitchen floor. So, I jus' gave a quiet "OK", shut the hell up and kinda hunkered down in my bed, cuddled in next to my twin. I wasn't about to go to sleep though. In fact I was wide-awake, my heart was still pumping and I think my eyes were still bugged out, though I kept them kinda squinty. And boy was I wondering just what the heck was going on. Like I said, I think I knew this had something to do with sex, and I couldn't figure out what would cause ya to act like you were having a conniption and shake and groan and moan like that. Yep, I was pretty naive and pretty clueless. No idea. I could still see Willy in the glow from the street, just lying there. It looked like his eyes were closed and he was breathing easier. Maybe he didn't realize it, or maybe he didn't care, but I was able to see that the covers were still down past his waist and that he still had his wiener in his hand. But he for sure wasn't dead. And he didn't have a boner no more. Funny though, I had one and my hand found its way to it, though I never fully realized it until a little while later. After a minute or two Willy reached under the covers and pulled out a sock he'd had there and was rubbing his wiener with it, like he was wiping it off. 'What in the heck was he doing now?' I thought. He only did that for a minute, folded it somewhat and threw it off the side of his bed. 'This is really weird' I remember thinking. With that he pulled up his underwear, glanced over my way, pulled the covers up to his chin and just lay there looking my way. I could see the soft glow of his blondish hair and the glint of light from his eyes. My own eyes were squinting, as I wanted him to think I was asleep. "Hey shithead, you ain't fooling no one over there pretending to be sleeping." He said, not with malice but with some bit of amusement. "So what do ya think ya saw me doing over here?" "Don't really know," I whispered back. "I thought you were having a conniption fit or sumpthin'. I know you were doin' sumpthin' with yer wiener like ya had a flea itch. But what was you moaning about?" It was an innocent conversation, at least to me; the kind of things brothers would talk about when no adults were around. "It's something really good, but probably something you can't do yet," he said. "It's called whacking off. Greg showed me how to do it this week." Greg, hmmm, figures. If there was anything new going on Greg seemed to be the one to know about it. He had an older brother who seemed to know everything and was more than glad to tell it all to his ever eager younger brother. He was also the one who liked to talk about the ghosts in their basement. I never did figure out if that one was true, and I was scared ta hell to go down there by myself at that age. I asked Willy, "Why were you moaning then? Did it hurt you?" And I could hear him chuckle. "Tell ya what squirt," he said, "I'll tell ya all about it tomorrow and maybe even show ya. Right now I'm beat and we've got school tomorrow. Let's get some sleep." And with that he rolled over and that was that. I was left with questions running through my mind, Opey's dilemma had been forgotten, and now I was wondering what new thing Greg had come up. Willy had always called me "Squirt" and I liked it from him. It was a way I felt endeared to him I reckon and I knew it was meant in a mean way. Jimmy shifted behind me swinging his leg over mine, his arm wrapping around me. I could hear music passing by from a cars open window, a dog barked in the distance warning the nighttime bogey man, and the smell of milk cows wafted on the night air from the dairy farm on the hill. And, I had no way of knowing at the time, but I had just gotten a glimpse of something that would obsess me for the rest of my life. My boner and I fell asleep and dreamed of Opey in his blue denim jeans not knowing what tomorrow was to bring.