Date: Fri, 13 Oct 2017 19:28:31 -0400 From: The Paternal Watcher Subject: Scouting for boys, chapter 1: Jamboree The National Scout Jamboree was a lot like other Boy Scout stuff, except there were thousands of kids in one place and our troop was made up of boys from all over the county. I only knew one of them; he was in my school, but not my troop. We all met a few times together to prepare, and we were assigned to patrols and two to a tent. I ended up sharing a tent with the one kid who none of us ever met; his family was moving to the area right after the Jamboree and he would be meeting us there. I was 16 years old at the time, and I felt like I was at the peak of life. I had gotten taller, and it looked like my mustache was coming in, and I was big enough below that belt that I didn't have to be shy during those awful group showers any longer. What I didn't know is that the showers were always freezing cold, meaning that we all were as tiny as could be around each other, with no social status to be gained, except as to pubic hair. Splashing cold water on it is supposed to solve that classic boy problem, but during one shower time my tent mate Sean wasn't so lucky. I was lagging behind because it was might night to scrub pots, but I was still surprised that so many of my troop members were already drying off when I got there. "What gives?" I asked Gary, my patrol leader. "It's Sean," he said in a conspiratorial whisper. "He's got a boner and no one wants to be in the shower with him." I rolled my eyes. "Whatever, I'm taking a shower," I said. Stripping off my shorts, I took my soap and selected one of the empty shower heads. Some kids were still finishing up, meaning that Gary was exaggerating. He wasn't exaggerating about Sean, though; he turned to wave hello in response to my greeting and his hard-on was impossible to miss. I decided to tackle it directly. Looking down at him pointedly, I said, "Well I know you're not happy to see me, because you're practically blind without your glasses on." Sean laughed, a bit ruefully, and the other remaining kids joined in with seeming relief. The elephant had been chased from the shower room. I showered as quickly as I could (seriously, that water was COLD), and Sean was the only one left by the benches drying off when I stepped out. Astoundingly, he was still sporting wood. It was between four and five inches long and stuck straight out like it was pointing at me. I quickly started toweling off to avoid getting excited myself. "Thanks for earlier," Sean said to me. "It was really embarrassing and it's not like I could hide it." "I don't know how you could bone up like that with the water that cold," I told my tentmate. I had hurriedly pulled on my underpants while still a bit damp, because I didn't want someone to see us alone and hard together. Sean was still drying his hair. He sighed. "It's like it's got a mind of its own," he said, sitting down to dry his feet. His penis bounced a bit, and pointed more upwards when he was on the bench. "Then maybe you should take care of it," I told him matter-of-factly. He looked at me quizzically. "You know . . . " I trailed off, making the universal masturbation gesture. "That's a sin," he replied. I stopped in the middle of buttoning up my shirt. "You've never jerked off?" I said in a shocked whisper. "Not even once?" He shook his head. "No wonder it's like that." Sean shrugged. "I'm a Mormon," he said. "We're not even allowed to drink coffee." I shook my head. "I can't even," I said. He shrugged. "What's the big deal about it anyway?" "Not here," I said, my voice lowered. "We can talk later if you want." Later was in our tent, once we were in our sleeping bags. "You still want to know what the big deal is?" I asked Sean. "I guess," he said. "Will you tell me what it has to do with being hard all the time?" "Sean," I said, "our bodies are designed to want to have sex. You know what sex is?" "Of course," he said, sounding a big offended. "I'm fourteen, you know." "Relax," I replied. "I'm not here to give you a hard time." He giggled. "Yeah, I'm doing that to myself." I laughed, too, but tried to be quiet about it. "What makes guys want sex so bad is that it feels really, really good. I mean more good than anything else you've felt in your whole entire life." "Okay, and when I get married I'll get that part. That will be cool." "Yeah," I said, "but the problem is that your little friend there doesn't know if you're married or not. All he wants is the big 'O,' and he shows that he wants it with an erection. If you don't give him what he wants, he usually makes a mess while you're sleeping. It's called a wet dream." "That's happened a couple of times," he admitted. "My mom told me just to change my sheets sooner, it's just a part of growing up." "So are boners in showers, but there's another way." "Masturbation?" Sean asked. "I mean, jerking off? I'm still not sure why I should do that. It's a sin." "You do it because it makes the boner go down. You do it because it feels really good. You do it because if you don't, sooner or later you're going to find yourself rubbing it up against someone you're attracted to and not even know why and get in a lot of trouble." "You've done that?" he asked. "No! I jerk off!" "Oh. It really makes you that crazy, not having sex?" "Pretty much. That's why there are so many babies, because we all want sex practically all the time." "Oh." He was quiet for a time, and I figured he'd fallen asleep. I had gotten pretty horny seeing him naked and hard earlier, and talking about jerking off had only made it worse. Before long I found myself doing what comes naturally; well, naturally if you're not a Mormon, anyway. "Are you doing it now?" his voice came out of the darkness, surprising me. Crap! "No! I mean . . . yes. Sorry, I thought you were asleep and I really need this." "Can I watch?" he asked quietly. "Okay, but we can't keep a flashlight on or someone might see." I heard rustling, and unzipping. "Then open your bag and I'll watch from in there," he said. "Okay," I said, quietly opening access for him to take a look. Sean put his head inside and his flashlight snapped on, and off again almost as quickly. Pulling himself back out, he exclaimed in a whisper, "That's huge!" "It's not that big, you're just younger than me," I said. "Anyway, I can't really do this with you just watching like that because it feels weird. You should take yours out, too." "But I told you it's a sin for me," he said, almost whining. "Come on, we both know you're hard. Isn't it a sin to abuse yourself?" "Yeah, that's what I just said," he replied. "Sean," I said, "it is abuse not to take care of your cock when you need to. You'll get blue balls -- which are awful -- or you'll have wet dreams and mess up your sleeping bag or your underwear or whatever. Who does the laundry back home?" "My mom, of course," he said. "Then consider this a favor to her," I said. I pushed him down and put my hand into his sleeping bag and straight down his underpants. He yipped as I closed around his cock, but put his own hand over his mouth to stop the sound. "If you won't do it yourself, buddy, I'm just going to have to do it for you." I never understood the phrase "hard as steel" until I wrapped my fingers around Sean's erection. Honestly, it was so hard the only thing I could think of was a railroad spike. I squeezed him firmly, marveling in how solid he became when filled with blood. Was mine that hard to the touch? Was it this hot? I wasn't sure, but I was sure that the skin moved under my touch just the same. First I tried running my hand over him lightly, allowing him to feel the sensation of my touch as it caressed every inch of erogenous skin. Then, I clasped him just a bit more firmly, such that the skin followed my grasp and rubbed against the nerve endings hidden underneath it. It wasn't immediately clear which technique Sean enjoyed more; maybe the alternation itself would become his go-to turn-on as he got older. What was clear was that he was bunching the sleeping bag in his hands more and more tightly as I continued to stimulate him in ways he'd been afraid to try. Stopping, I pulled free my hand, pulled open his sleeping bag, and moved to pull down his underpants before he tried to stop me. Grabbing my wrists as I tugged at his waistband, he said to me, "We shouldn't." Wrapping my fingers again around Sean's dick, which was still exposed, I replied, "You don't want me to stop." He fell back, loosening his grip on me. I pulled his underpants down and off before he could think about it too much more. His legs opened wider, telling me that he was already too far gone to try to protest. I dove back in with both hands, giving his young balls their first fondle with my left, while continuing to show him what his dick had been missing with my right. My own cock ached for the joy of it, and I began moving my pelvis closer to the action without even realizing it. Before long I was thrusting against him, his thigh and then higher and higher until our cocks rubbed together. Sean moaned. "Shh," I said softly. "Here," I said, pulling off my t-shirt, "make your noises into this, then no one will hear." I balled it up and put it by his face. As Sean took it in his hands, I pulled away from his crotch, despite the ache in my own. I placed my thumbs upon his nipples, and felt my thighs trembling. Lowering myself, I put my cheek on his lean, smooth chest; his heart's pounding seemed louder than his moan of moments before. Turning, I kissed him over his heart, and then upon the nipple. His skin was hot, but dry. I caressed his ribs, and traced downward with my mouth. Bone gave way to muscle as I passed into the abdominal region. Sean was lanky as any boy during a growth spurt, with narrow waist and the wiry beginnings of hard muscle hidden by his hairless skin. Slightly lower down, it wasn't muscle that was hard. That was about as much foreplay as I could handle at that age, but still I slid my lips over him, feeling the shape of the head and its ridge, the steel-hard flesh behind that spongy mass, every wrinkle and vein as he moaned into my shirt. He was not large enough to trigger my gag reflex, which was good since I had no ability to control it at that point and probably would have vomited all over him. No, he was instead the perfect size to fuck my face to his heart's content. Sean lifted his knees, planted his feet on the tent floor, and began thrusting upwards into my mouth. At first I tried to bob my head to match, but his gyrations became too spastic, and it was just easier to remain still and allow him to use me as a really good masturbation aid. Timidly, he rested his hands on the back of my head as he began thrusting with gusto. His grip tightened as he did, but at no time did it feel like he was forcing me. If more guys were that polite, I'd probably like sucking dick more than I do. Propping myself up on my elbows, I let him do what felt good. Things were going well, with Sean moaning and thrusting and me enjoying the heat of his body feel of his most intimate skin, but then he slowed down and pulled out. "What's wrong?" I whispered. "I'm not sure," he said. "It's like I need to go to the bathroom, but not exactly." "Oh, you gotta keep going anyway," I said. "Are you sure?" "Trust me." There's an old joke, that "trust me" is how they say "fuck you" in Los Angeles. If I'd thought about it at that moment, I would have been laughing as he stuck his penis back in my mouth. I wasn't laughing, though; I was completely focused on the small patch of pubic hairs which rose and fell, sometimes tickling my nose in the process. Sean started to get a little loud, and I gently covered his mouth with one hand until he got the message. Then, with both hands, I snaked around and grabbed his behind, moving them in rhythm with his pelvis. I tugged a bit, rolling us over and putting him on top, from which position his balls mashed against me as he slid in and out. In reality, he only moved an inch or two in each direction, humping faster and faster like a bunny rabbit. I choked and coughed a little as he finally came, but his stiffened legs held me in place. I felt a bit sliding down and off my cheek, but mostly managed to swallow everything. He relaxed and rolled over onto his side. "Holy shit," he breathed. "Are Mormons allowed to curse?" I asked, as innocently as I could muster. He hit me with his pillow. --------------------------------------------------------------- If you enjoyed the preceding work of fiction, please consider donating to Nifty. Every dollar goes a long way. I am delighted to be listed as a prolific net author; you can find a current list of my Nifty contributions by visiting https://www.nifty.org/nifty/authors.html#paternalwatcher. 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