Date: Thu, 4 Nov 2010 17:59:57 -0700 (PDT) From: bunthorne Subject: White's Shed It Happened In White's Shed copyright 2010 by bunthorne69@yahoo.com All Rights Reserved Boys often play with each other when they are young. Later, as their bodies undergo a change, some may find their play turns to an intense exploration of sensations while others drop out of the inner brotherhood because their interest in experimenting wanes or fear of the wraith homosexuality drives them into their private chambers to carry on alone and confused. This is the story of my first experiences with other boys and how I was given the gift of an early insight into my sexual nature before the wariness of an adolescent's path became the hormonal labyrinth of teenage angst. I count myself as lucky. If you are in anyway disturbed by descriptions of young boys engaging in sexual touching and oral stimulation, you should stop reading right now. My grandparents had lived in a house behind the one I grew up in on what was the last thirty-five acres of the old dairy farm. Though their house came down at some point, the garage behind it remained and was used as a storage shed for lawn mowers and wheelbarrows and such. In the corner of this old barn-like structure was a small room that one of the old servants of my grandfather, a black man named White, had erected as his little "private" space to nap in. All those folks were ghosts now and me and my mates had turned that little room into our club house with a few benches we had cobbled together along the walls and a floor of bricks we had dragged in from a pile of old discards at the back of the property. It was in that small room that I had my great reckoning with Blake and Robin. Blake being my age and Robin a few years younger and a sweet, effeminate boy who I think adored Blake. Well we all adored Blake. Robin and Blake had been whispering back and forth and the conspiracy was bubbling up enough that I knew I was about to be let in on something either profound or foolish. Now up until this point just about all the boys in the neighborhood had been getting naked out in the woods to go skinny-dipping in a mud hole down at the edge of the swamp and, afterwards, playing with each others dicks in a circle jerk fashion; but no-one had orgasmed and certainly no oral or anal stuff had gone on. Or at least so I thought. In fact, I hadn't even conceived of oral. It had never occurred to me. This was the early 1960's after all and in the deep south there were only two words for the sort of stuff we were about to engage in: one was "queer," which in southern drawl came out as "queee-ah;" and the other was "corn-hole," as in, "I sure don't want to get corn-holed by some queee-ah!" Well on this day the scales fell from my eyes when Blake sat across from me, with Robin giggling at his elbow, and told me he and Robin had been sucking each others dicks and I should try doing it too. Now Blake could talk a dog off of a meat wagon, but he wasn't going to need put much effort into getting me to go along with this suggestion. Still I knew I needed to put up a modicum of resistance just in case they were joshing me and trying a sucker play to get me to do something they could hold over me until doomsday. Blake, way ahead of me, turned to Robin and pulled down his pants and put the little lad's pecker in his mouth and started sucking it. My jaw hit the bricks on the floor. Then Blake said he was going to do it to me but only if I agreed to do him back immediately and for exactly the same amount of time. I nodded and dropped my pants down where my jaw had just been. With one last look up as his face passed my waist to make sure I understood the contract, Blake started sucking me. Oh, yes it felt good - really good. But something in my mind told me the best was yet to come. I had held Blake's dick in my hand many times, both soft and hard; but taste it I never had. Now I knew what I most wanted in life, it was clear to me at last. Soon Blake would stop sucking me (and soon it was truly - probably only ten seconds), and then my boyhood would end and my adult life would begin when I put his firm and perfectly sculpted scepter in my mouth. And as Blake filled my mouth with his most precious self, time stopped for me. Only the warmth of his flesh, the tang of salt, the aroma of ammonia, and the zest of boy scrotum existed for me. Accompanied by the chirping of Robin on his perch in the corner I was home, where I belonged; where, for the first time in my short eleven years in this realm, I felt whole. Now the timing of the mutual sucks remained important. An old Timex watch with a sweep second hand was carried around in somebody''s pocket every time we dropped our trousers to engage in the perfect nastiness we had discovered together. It was protection from being an actual "queee-ah" if every moment of oral giving was balanced by equal receiving. After all we were only doing this until we could get some girls to let us fuck them. Oh the dreams of boys trying to be men. But I assure you, the circle jerk friends soon dropped their membership when Blake tried to initiate every boy in the neighborhood into the new level of brotherhood. The ranks melted away and just Blake, Robin, and I remained. But even Robin became a bit wary when his frustration rose as Blake and I started ejaculating and he, thirty-six months behind us, was left out of the pleasure of getting "the feeling." And it was called "the feeling" because I named it that. It fell to me to name it as I was the first one to get "the feeling," and it came to me the first time, ironically, at the hand of young Robin. I'll tell that tale another time.