From: Mike W Subject: Michael's Sexual Awakenings, vol. VIII Date: Mon, 14 Sep 92 10:42:52 EDT Summary: Michael is a senior, and has another encounter I am posting this, the final installment of Michael's sexual awakenings, anonymously for the author. He would really appreciate any feedback, which I will happily forward to him. I am cross-posting this to motss due to the subject matter. Volumes II-VIII have now been posted to alt.sex.stories. I'm afraid that I can't honor email requests for these stories, but enough insistance via email (I don't read motss, and only skim a.s.s.) and I might be persuaded to repost the entire series. I will gladly post stories anonymously for you if you wish to pen some erotica but don't wish to be acknowledged, for whatever reason (some employers are SO tight-laced...) Your mileage may vary ======================================================================== authors note: Originally this volume (VIII) was intended to be a story unto itself, with flashbacks to events which I eventually wrote as volumes II-VIII. Then I started on volume II, intending to finish this story as volume I. After much rewrite I couldn't make the story flow correctly that way, having already "published" volume II (and then II and IV). I have surrendered, and there will be no volume I. I have retitled it as volume VIII and thus the chronicles are, well chronological. Picky reader can renumber them from I-VII instead of II-VIII, but, to put it bluntly, who gives a f---. The instigator in my writing my stories is that there has been a dearth of stories dealing with young peoples sexual awakenings. While there have been many stories, most just simply didn't meet my expectations. I wanted to write a story that was more "real", surely I wasn't the only kid who grew up a little in awe of sex rather than the rev'd up sex machines I have been reading, or the blatantly bad sense of youth (i.e. she was 11, no pubic hair and tits the size of grapefruits. And they're fucking by the tenth line in the story - it just isn't that way - is it?). Anyway, if you agree with my perception of youth, and like the pacing of my stories (which is intended to be much slower than most on the net), please let me know, it is nice to hear, and much thanks to those who have already written to express this. Those of you who have related an empathy of your own youth, thanks it was great to hear. This is the final chapter in the chronicles. Although I fornicated my way through most of college and had some wild experiences I am not inclined to bore the net with such tales. Many college experiences have already been writen and posted (some better than others), and I think my college stories would be more pornographic then erotic, which is what I hope these "Michael" stories have sustained. Thanks for listening ... STORY Michaels Sexual Awakening (Volume VIII) as told by `M' The following chapter in the Michael Chronicles is true. Names have been changed to protect the innocent -). It is non-copywrited and may be reproduced and re-distributed providing it is un-altered in any fashion. Enjoy Michaels Sexual Awakening (Volume VIII) - a true story It was the winter of my senior year. I was sixteen, almost seventeen. I had grown a lot in the last year, both physically and emotionally. Though still somewhat shy, and normally the last to start a conversation I had put behind most of the ackward traits that had been associated with my earlier years. My self esteem and self image had improved to where I no longer worried about my masculinity or looks. I was in the top ten of my senior class (and it was a large class), a letterman, and known throughout the school. As co-captain of a very successful hockey team, my picture made the local papers and girls noticed me. I was a clean lad - no drugs, didn't drink, but still knew how to have a good time. Though drinking occured at many of the parties I attended, it was not hard to pass, in fact most kids did. Maybe it was a different era then. Some of the parties were wilder than others, especially when Dieter attended (remember him from volume III?). I was making out regularly in those days with a parade of willing females, some would do more than others. It was at one of these parties that I first felt an old stirring, one mostly dormant since my encounters with John (volume IV). The party was all older kids, seniors and juniors, save one. This boy was a softmore, small for his age, not much more than five feet, slim build, dark black hair with that 'italian' look about him. He was trying hard to be "cool" and it wasn't working. I could sense all the insecurities I used to see in myself when I used to try and act "older". A couple of the girls thought he was "cute" but several of the senior boys were on his case from the start. It was common for the seniors to raze the softmore class and it was rather bold for a softmore to show at this party. The party was well into the evening, I was relaxing with my buds' downstairs when the comotion started on the main floor. After a while my friends and I gravitated upstairs to "check it out", as one by one, kids were floating upstairs and not coming back. When I got upstairs there was a lot of jeering going on, and laughing, and carrying on. And I could see why. What a spectacle. The "hip" softmore was in the center of the room. He was tied to a kitchen chair (dragged into the living room for this purpose I suppose), one foot to each chair leg, his arms over the back of the chair and tied to the spindles. He was blindfolded, gagged, and stripped to his white cotton underwear. Apparently the hazing had gone one step further. And it was Dieters' work again. Dieter always seemed to have it for anyone smaller than him, and his buddies were always backing him up. This poor kid had probably done nothing to merit this deed, but there he was. And there was something erotic to it. I couldn't help but be intrigued by the sight and couldn't pull my eyes from it. While the others were in hysterics and hurling insults I watched quietly fascinated, and innocent bystander. Though I didn't get hard, there was still a little bit of that "strange" feeling in the pit of my stomach. And of course it reminded me a lot of my own "bondage" experience at Dieters hands (also volume III) almost three years prior. Only he had it worst. This poor lad was left to be teased in that chair for nearly the duration of the evening. As soon as one guest should feel sorry for the lad and suggest "enough" Dieter would intervene - no one was going to spoil his fun. I think the girls in attendence were most sympathetic, save one or two, and they were with Dieter and his friends. The guys ... well there were several who "got off" on hazing the sophs, but most were basically indifferent to his plight. And me, I was quietly turned on by the scene, secretly even a little envious maybe? No that was too warped. Still ... As the evening wore on, people passed in and out of the room. From time to time came a little flurry as the youngster tried to free himself, but Dieter kept close tabs, tightening the bonds whenever they appeared loose. Still later, the party was breaking up, most had left. There were just a few diehards remaining, I was one of them, and things were starting to heat up. Full attention had been turned to "hogey", as they were calling him, and he was in trouble. The game had progressed to more specific forms of humiliation. The blindfold and gag were gone and the boy was begging, amost crying. The few remaining girls were taking turns "peeking" at the submarine, pulling back the waistband, etc. Oh, they were fairly mild, and not especially brave in front of the small remaining crowd, but with Dieter urging them on it wasn't long before the boy was sporting a major erection, what with girls kissing him, blowing in his ear, rubbing their chests against his. I don't know if the kid was in heaven or hell or both, but I knew I was getting hard and just didn't know why. One girl put her hand down his shorts. He flinched, I almost came. In a while a little spot appeared on the front of his jockeys. Not an ejaculation, but the pre-cum was "lubricating". This of course invited still more ridicule, but also finally found empathy in the girls. They let him alone after that much to Dieters dismay. If it were me tied up there I might have been disappointed. But I felt sorry for the kid, obviously in dismay and in a rare act of boldness, stepped in and announced the game was over. Dieter of course protested but the "mob" as it would seem just needed one voice of reason at this point. Everyone sided with me and Dieter backed down as I released the soph from his misery. I couldn't tell if it was a look of relief or gratitude in his eyes as they searched my own, and I felt a little ashamed. I was certainly no hero, if anything I had gotten more out of this little sport that any, and I was troubled by my interest and fascination. Once freed, that kid got out of there fast, without a word. That night I couldn't help myself. Under the sheets I fanatasized, that it had been me tied to that chair, and the girls of course would go further. There was something about that feeling of helplessness and loss of power ... how do I explain it, I didn't understand it myself. It wasn't like I needed permission to get sex. I was getting plenty on my own. It was ... unfathomable. I saw that kid in the hallways at school from time to time after that, and always took notice. I would say "hi" and get an uninspiring "hi" back. Eventually I took no more notice of him. That spring I was approached by the track coaches. Would "the Flash" be interested in running sprints for the track team? I was one of the fastest in the school. And it was my speed on the hockey rink that won me the name Flash. I had played baseball up until the tenth grade and had never seriously considered track. My older brother (by three years) had been quite the track star when he had passed through this school. With some smooth talking by the coaches, I agreed and that final spring of my high school years began with a new sport. On that first day of practice I met him again - Hoagy. Actually it turns out his name was Mike Hogan, Hoagy for short. He was still the goofy soph he was the last time I saw him but after a couple of days of practice I began to gain respect for him. He was fast ... real fast. Not quite as fast as the fastest seniors but easily the fastest tenth grader. He was very quiet, not the way I remember him at the begining of the strange party, but more the way I remember him when he left it. He was a young soph too, still only 14. There was so much about him that reminded me of myself when I was 14 ... we even shared the same name - "Michael". And seeing him out there on the track during practice, barechested (for we always shucked these in practice, they just accumulated sweat, otherwise), perspiring, ... just his shoes and shorts. Ah, but how I noticed him in the same way I had noticed John when I was 14 myself. And I kept picturing him over and over again, tied to that chair and that girls hand going into his underwear ... These were private thoughts of course, but I wanted to get to know this kid better. He ran sprints, just as I did, so we practiced together. Fate seemed to throw us together that spring. When practice was over I found myself hanging around the showers, as I had with John. And it turned out he lived only three blocks from my house. We began walking home together after practice, and became good friends, despite our age difference. I think he was flattered, that the "Flash" would want to be his friend. I wondered if he remembered me from that party a few months back but didn't want to bring up the subject. I got to know him well. He was from a big catholic family (they were all big in those days, us catholics sure knew how to proliferate), the only boy, with six younger sisters. He was shy around girls (as I had been), and somehow just seemed to radiate sexuality to me, stirring those same confusing feelings I had about John. And maybe it was my imagination but it seemed he was looking at me the way I was looking at him. Wishful thinking? I didn't think so. He seemed to time his trips to the shower to match mine and I would look up and see him look the other way, quickly. When we had track meets (and we both ran varsity that summer) he would be there at the starting blocks, to hold my warmup sweats (worn between races for those who are unfamiliar with track and field), when I took them off right before a race. Actually, it was customary and tradition that the younger classmen did this for the seniors, but he always found me, and never any one else. Once, when I looked back I thought I saw him "smelling" my sweatpants. I got hard in an instant at this thought but eventually dismissed it as my imagination. In a strange way I felt flattered by his attention as well, and bathed in it. Okay, so I was attracted to him, maybe he was attracted to me. What next? Ah, how to move this relationship along ... and did I want to move it along? ... it wrong to have these thoughts - wasn't it? As would be the story of my life, the opportunity finally arose to break the ice, without my creating it ... Now off and on, during the track season I kept misplacing, or losing "things" here and there. Like articles of clothing. One day after practice I couldn't find my underpants, another time it was a pair of running shorts. This day, when I returned from the shower, (timed with Mike's of course), Mike made a pit stop in the john. I continued to my locker, which was near Mike Hogans. I was out of deoderant, and having borrowed from Mike in the past, and him being momentarily detained I decided to help myself from his locker, as I knew he wouldn't mind. But when I reached into his duffle bag I was startled - my jockstrap was in his duffle bag. The one I had just taken off before heading for the showers. How'd he get that? No, I must be mistaken, it just looks like mine, a jocks a jock, right? ... RIGHT? But I looked further and saw a second one, which I recognized as his. I looked it my own locker (where I now remember hanging it) and mine was gone. What the f---? I took my jockstrap back and said nothing, while I pondered this new developement, and started making the connection with certain other "personal" items that had been disappearing the last couple of weeks. I knew there was a connection. I decided to test him. I re-hung my jockstrap where it had been, and poked around, waiting for him to get back (must have been some shit!). Eventually he got back. He didn't notice my jockstrap right away, so I really poked around waiting for him to see it. I watched him carefully, searching his eyes when he began packing the his towel and last few articles in his duffle bag. I think he saw that his "treasure" had disappeared, he was kind of rummaging around in there. Time to step up the pressure. "Oh, Mike" I began, " I borrowed your deoderant, "here, take it back". And I tossed him the stick as he looked up. I don't think he made the connection right away, as he put it back in his bag. Then when I was sure he was watching, I took my jock off the hook in my locker and stuffed it in my own bag. I looked up as he turned his eyes. He was flushed, face red, strange look. AHAH! Caught with his hand in the cookie jar! I said nothing more while we were in that room. We got the rest of our things, exited the locker room, the school, and were on our walk home. The silence was ackward for him, I could sense his guilt and confusion. Obviously I knew he had had it, and he was waiting for me to say something. And I was searching for the way to say it. I couldn't fathom his interest in my jock exactly, (I learned about fetishes later as an adult), but I felt sexual, him wanting it, and it must be something sexual with him. Did he want me as much as I wanted him? It would seem so. Once safely away from the school grounds I confronted him. "Mike" I queried. "Yeah?", he was nervous. He knew it was coming and he could tell from my tone of voice the day of reckoning had arrived. "What were you doing with my jockstrap in your bag?" "Huh?", playing dumb, but it wasn't going to work with me. "My jock. I found it in your bag when I was looking for the deoderant." I said it unambiguously. Okay, get out of that one Hoagy! His face was flushed and he was avoiding eye contact with me. God, this kid reminds me of myself! He was speechless, ignoring my last statement, but I wasn't going to let it go. And I could feel a certain "nervous energy" in my body building up. And I was going to see this to the end. And I remembered this little patch of woods a few blocks ahead (yes, for those who read Volume II, it was THOSE woods). "I said you STOLE my jockstrap. I found it in your things." He just would not look up, eyes on the ground, his pace quickened, we were walking fast, it was work to keep up with him. "I don't know what you mean," he stammered, and after a pause, "if it was in my bag I must have got it by mistake." "Bullshit! It was hanging on a hook in my locker". This lad was in misery, and if we were walking any faster, we would break the school record for the mile -) "Slow down Mike", I ordered, exasperated with his denials. He slowed, as commanded, but was still not going to talk about it. We were almost to those woods. "Mike, why did you take my jock? And another thing. I've been missing a lot of stuff lately. Did you take a pair of my underpants?" Dead silence, lots of squirming. Finally I took his shoulder and stopped him in his tracks. His body was tense and he looked like he was going to collapse, or start crying or something. He were standing right next to where the trees started into those woods. "Fuck Mike! I had to go home without any underwear that day. What kind of prank are you playing?". I knew it was no prank, but I would cut him a little space here, get him to admit it. He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know". I don't know. How many times had I said that. I remember that night under the sheets at Johns (still Volume IV), pretending to be asleep while John fondled me and when confronted by him, "I don't know". Mike didn't know. I didn't know. There was just something there that neither of us comprehended, that we were different somehow, that this troubled us, confused us as we would struggle through adolescence searching for our identities. "Mike, Are you gay?" I asked. "NO!" he shot back without hesitation. A pause ... "Its just that... its ... I don't know. Sometimes I feel wierd. Thats all ... "I'm not GAY!". We both paused to reflect. "Come here," I finally said, turing up towards the woods, "lets talk about this somewhere private." He was slow to follow but he did. He seemed somewhat relieved, and glad to disappear from public, as if the world were watching him try to explain what he didn't understand about his sexuality. In the trees I began in again, somewhat more earnestly, "so what do you do with my things?", as if I had to guess. His reluctance to talk was getting to him again, and once again we had lost eye contact as he watched his feet play with a stick on the ground. "Nothing." "Uh, huh. You know what I think?" I was getting bolder, "I think you jerk off with them or something. I think you like to smell 'em or something and play with yourself". He must have felt my eyes burning through his skull. His features were even redder, it thats possible, and I ... I ... I was getting hard, just picturing him doing what I had just accused him of, yes, there was no mistake, this situation, the intimacy - I was getting turned on. ADMIT IT DAMNIT! He didn't deny it, nor did he admit it. His head hung and he was on the verge of tears. "Mike", I said softly. "Thats okay. I'm not going to tell anyone about this. I do it too. I mean, I've never taken anyones jock or anything, but I jerk off sometimes, you know, like when I'm between girlfriends", and every other day as well. -) Was that relief I saw on his face? "You do?" he asked a little disbelievingly, testing me perhaps. "Sure. One in a while". "What do you think about?" he asked, interested, and more at ease. Glad to be off the subject of the jock and onto something ... better? "You know, when you're doing it." "I don't know. All kinds of things. I like to dream I'm fucking some girl ... somtimes I imagine I'm getting a blow job." All true. "Yeah, me too You think a girl would ever give you a blow job?" Hoagy asked. I smiled. "Already has. I came in her mouth and everything." I was boasting. "Man" was all he could say. "I can't believe anyone could do that do you? I mean suck on a guys dick ... I wonder what it felt like ... for her, you know, I mean ..." his voice trailed off. His voice expressed genuine curiosity, maybe more. Yes, I had thought about this before too, what was it like to blow somebody. Once in a while in my dreams I had imagined John and I did that too each other (though we never did), but I tried to keep such perverted thoughts from my mind. I looked up, and saw that Mike was staring at the erection in my jeans. He looked away when I looked up at him. Then I looked at his own crotch. Seeing me do this out of the corner of his eye he deftly moved his arm with the duffle bag to conceal - but he was too late, as I saw the same betraying bulge in his trousers that was raging in mine. There we were, two lads, horny, confused, waiting for the next move. In uncharacteristic fashion I made the next move. I started fondling myself, casually. (Yeah, right!) "I'm kind of horny right now, just talking about sex" I admitted with some trepidation. There was nervousness in my voice now, I could feel it shaking as I uttered those words hoarsely. And my tone left no mistake of my intent. It was up to Mike Hogan now. Was he ready like I was. Was he prepared to let that slumbering image from the back of his mind awaken? There were butterflys in my stomach, and the ever familiar weakening in my knees as the anticipation built. "Yeah, me too" he admitted. Silence. Okay. I'll make the next move. "Mike, we could jerk off right now. You know, get some relief." My heart was pounding. And I could picture him sitting there in that chair, tied up, MY hand down his underpants. IT was getting to me. "Yeah, we could." he said simply. "Lets do it" I whispered. His hand was on his fly. He was thinking about it. He wanted to but was afraid to let go. I took a chance - I unzipped my pants and sat on a fallen log. "Come on. Sit here" I urged. He touched himself. He was on the edge. "Come on. You know you want it. I'll let you have my jock if you do it with me." Oops. Wrong thing to say. He was over the jock issue, shouldn't have brought it up. "I don't want your jock" he replied, but he did come over and started tugging at his pants. Encouraged, I pulled mine done, pants and underwear to my ankles. And then I started pulling slowly on something else. At last he surrendered to his lustful heart, and joined me on the log, pants down to his ankles, pulling on his own member, only with a little reluctance. He was fascinated watching me and me of him. I wanted more though. I wanted what I had with John. "Maybe we could do each other" I suggested. He paused for only a moment. He did not fight it this time. He gave in, just as I used to do. "Okay". I moved closer, seizing the moment lest he have a change of heart. I spit into my palm, and reached down, grasping his pole firmly. I rubbed my palm over the top, and my thumb along the rim. He let out an appreciating gasp, and a little juice oozed out. I collected this as well, working it into the lube. He began to move his hips with the rythm of my hand. I took his near hand and placed it on my own throbbing staff. That was the deal. There was no hesitation from him over this. Instinctively his strokes on my shaft matched my own strokes on his phallus. Had anyone happened upon us this afternoon we would never have heard them. We were lost in the moment. My eyes were riveted on his penis, my mind imagining it was back at the party, him straining against the bonds as I tantalizingly teased his aching cock. I could sense he was getting close and so was I. I was transfixed. I had held Johns penis in my hand before but it was different this time. Before everything was in the dark. This was in the open, Mike's thing hanging out there. I fell in love with this boys wonderful penis. Call it a compulsion. An urge. A basic instinct. Call it perverted. But something came over me at that point. I stopped my movements and gave it one last thought. Then, as Mike Hogan sat spellbound, I leaned over, and took the head of his penis in my mouth. He seemed frightened for a moment but offered no resistance to the "Flash". It was so exciting. The taste, the smell. There was a sort of pungeant odor, despite the fact that we had showered less than thirty minutes before. His throbbing boyhood, actually was tasteless, but as more pre-cum oozed out there was a salty, pleasant taste. His breathing was in gasps, he was in heaven. His own hand slipped off my dick as the suddenly blirted "Mike! Take your mouth off!" I knew what he meant, considered only for a moment to ignore his warning, and released his captive prick from my lips just in the nick of time. His semen jetisoned twelve to eighteen inches. From up close where I was it looked like a flood. After the initial pulsation, more oozed out, as his hips bucked underneath him. His initial squirt caught me on the cheek, and it was dripping down my face. I quickly grabbed my wet towel from my athletic bag anmd removed it in one swipe. He sat silently, me still hard, him slowly softening into a wet slippery sausage. I rubbed myself slightly, as he watched intently. I could see the wheels turning in his mind. Should he or shouldn't he. But he was seduced beyond the point of return. He started to bend over, hesitated, straightned up, bent over again, and grasped my erection with both hands while he contemplated. Gently, I placed my hands on his head, and guided it down to where he was looking. Taking a deep breath, he relaxed, and swallowed me whole. He was as inexperienced at this as I was, gently milking me with his mouth, careful not to catch me with his teeth. "Tell me when you're gonna come", it was a pleading kind of voice. I thought how nice it would be to spill me seed into his warm mouth but gave in when he repeated his request. "Okay" I promised. I kept my promise, and it took only moments. "Its coming" I whispered. He yanked his mouth off my dick like lightening struck him and moved his face out of the way. But his hands continued to caress my throbbing erection, and I ejaculated into the palms of his eager young hands, with an itensity known only by new experiences. He watched spellbound as I gushed my soul into his youthful hands. At last it was over. I felt no shame at that moment, just a quenched lust and the feeling that a long aching need had been met. Mike Hogan ... I don't know what we felt. I recognized the same guilty look in his face I felt that time I fooled around with John, and the expression of sexual awareness and awe was written from ear to ear. "Don't tell anyone about this" Mike cautioned. "No, you neither". We sealed the agreement with nodding heads. Once cleaned up, we resumed our walk home. We talked about many things those remaining few minutes, but not about what we just did. It was as if we needed to re-assure ourselves that it was no big deal, that we were okay, it was just one of those things. But it wasn't just one of those things. Mike and I repeated that encounter a few more times, always in those same woods on the way home from track, over the rest of the spring until track and school both let out about the same time. I became comfortable with myself, Mike was always a little more nervous. I never pressed him again about why he took my things, and my things stopped disappearing. It became a mute point given our relationship. Our friendship tailed off over the summer months, as each of us aquired girlfriends. I went back to the drive-in makeouts, Mike and his girl did it where ever. We would often compare notes that summer, when we did see each other, getting each other worked up as we told of our sexual exploits with the girls (some real, some exagerated I think), convincing ourselves that we were "okay". I felt a little guilt coming out of that relationship, telling myself that I had seduced him, but then arguing still with myself that he was more the culprit, given his propensity for stealing my underpants and stuff. It doesn't matter. And it was my last bi relationship. I don't know that it is something I outgrew. My college years would be one fornification after another, and a string of girls and "dorm encounters", but I never really met any "guy" in college that caused me to think of him in the sexual way I had with Hoagy or John. I think deep down there will always be a bi-side to me, one that lays dormant some how, for though many years have passed since those times with no further bi-encounters or string bi-urges I still look back at those youthful experiences, not with shame anymore, but with a genuine fondness. I met Mike again recently, and that was the instigation for writing these stories. Actually, I ran into one of his little sisters at a work-related party. She filled me in on all the things he had been doing over the years. Like me, he was married, and a father. I was intrigued to meet this "old" friend, and having purloined his address and phone number from his sister, met him for a drink recently. We talked of old times, and though it took me to being it up he talked freely and unabashedly about our "friendship" and all its capacities. For a fleeting moment I considered ... No it just wouldn't be right. After all, I was married now I wondered if he thought that same thought, though ... The End -- Andrew F. Gunnesch /-\ "I disapprove of what you say, but I will afgun@caen.engin.umich.edu | | __ __ __ defend to the death ==> Evil CAEN sysadmin <== |===| |__| | | | | | | your right to say What? I just work here | | | |__| |__ |__ |__| it." --Voltaire