Date: Mon, 7 Jan 2019 15:20:48 +0000 (UTC) From: Bob Miller Subject: Boys-Buddies-Growing-Up-1 Disclaimers: Everything you read in this story is my intellectual property and as such should be treated with utmost respect. This is a work of fiction based on the real events of a boy growing-up in a middle class Midwest City. The people described in the story do not exist as described but you can still find personalities like those presented. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO REAL PEOPLE IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL ON MY PART. All other disclaimers/rules/procedures apply. If you are under the legal age of viewing this material (depending upon where you live, that could be any age) please direct yourself to something else. This is my third attempt at writing for Nifty (I-lost-big-time, Biology-Final-Bet), so please take that into consideration while reading. This will most likely be a multiple part story. As a prelude to the real meat of the story, understand it lays the foundation about boys entering puberty at a time when sex education was passed from boy to boy. I am undertaking this as both a labor of love and in response to the kind words of readers of my first two efforts. Please support Nifty.org make a donation at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html Comments without being cruel can be sent to bi_topguy@yahoo.com Boys-Buddies-Growing-Up-1 It can be argued that the time of this story was a simpler time to grow-up. It was a time of neighborhood schools, paperboys, small independent stores and even a drugstore with a soda fountain. Boys and a few girls would play pickup baseball or football games on the school grounds. We built race cars out of scrap wood and the wheels off a doll carriage or rusty wagon. Playing Army, Cowboys & Indians and Hide n Seek were ongoing activities. Building forts happened every summer. Calling a friend meant you went to their house and yelled their name. Probably had fifteen to twenty kids of roughly the same age living within two blocks of the neighborhood school. As kids we were curious about everything. That is when this story begins. I am Paul. At 13, I was about 6-months to a year older than most of the gang. I had already had a major growth spurt, which meant I was tall and lanky with long pony legs. Parts of my body seemed to have minds of their own. I didn't have a girl friend or even understand girls, except for Cindy the sister of one of the larger group of guys. I knew she was tomboy-tough yet somehow sweet. At that instant, I could not explain why I was fascinated by her butt, which I noticed playing hide-n-seek when we hid by lying together in the bushes in front of old lady Smith's house. I have heard it said that if a person has one real hard and fast friend in their life, they are lucky. In my case, I must have won the friendship lottery. I had three friends in that category. Our lives were totally interwoven. Even when one of us was in trouble of some kind, you could almost bet another or all of us had a hand in the trouble. There wasn't a leader of our tight little group. Hell, the leadership role moved around without control or meaning. Tom was my very first friend. He was three and I was four when we would sit on the curb on opposite sides of the little street from each other and talk because we were not old enough to cross the street. Our friendship grew to be stronger than the bonds between most brothers. Tom was strong, tough, smart and respectful. Not an ounce of fat on his body. If you had to have one word for Tom it would be loyal. His parents sometimes let us do things in their yard that most of our parents would never allow. They did not have flower beds or a fancy back porch. The focal point of their yard was a large tree at the back of the lot with a platform "fort" built across a couple of large branches about 6 feet above the ragged grass. John lived the furthest away, about a city residential block. He was an only child but had a large extended family of cousins that seemed to be at his house every Sunday afternoon. His grandmother lived at their house but she just mostly sat by a window in the living room rocking and knitting. John was in my class at school. Although not the smartest kid, he had a drive for success that always got him great grades. The same drive made him ride his bike faster, hit a baseball further, take risks and wrestle as if his life depended on it. Greg had more than the rest of us. Both his parents were working professionals. He lived on the main floor of a two family flat. Grandma and Grandpa lived upstairs and watched him during the day. We didn't play at his house except on a few Saturday afternoons when his mom was home. His grandparents had a beautiful rose garden in the backyard, which made the yard all but off limits to four boys intent on running, jumping and acting like wild Indians. His clothes, shoes and toys were always a step or two above the rest of us but it didn't matter. He would share anything and everything with his three close friends Greg was not fat or chubby but was a little heavier than the rest of us because his grandma fed him cookies, cake, ice cream and pop as a steady diet. We liked to go to his house just to call him to play after lunch because given the chance; his grandma would feed us like it was her God given duty. Four boys would sit on the front steps with a plate of goodies and a bottle of pop before tackling the afternoon fun. Once school was out for the summer, the four of us would play from early in the morning till late in the evening. A lot of the games or happenings would degenerate into rough-housing and wrestling. Any little thing or sometimes nothing at all could precipitate a transition from what was happening to an all out boys' free for all. This story really begins with a pick-up baseball game at the school play ground. Most likely there were ten to twelve of us separated in two teams. Generally we would let the catcher be someone from the team up to bat. Hitting to right field would be an automatic out, so you did not need a right fielder. Other adjustments happened based on the number of players and base runners. It was early summer so the heat and humidity remained tolerable especially in the morning. The school yard grass in the outfield, actually a combination of grass and dandelions, maintained by frequent rains provided an outfield of green and yellow. The infield was small gavel stones, which made sliding into a make shift base dusty and painful, explaining our affinity to wear blue jeans. The actual game was like the 1000 games we had played before. We argued over pitches, foul balls and tags. The game score, now long forgotten, mattered like it was the seventh game of a World Series. The game ended when the sun was high and our stomachs growled for lunch. The majority of the players jumped on their bikes and headed home, yelling back to gather for another game in the afternoon. The four buddies and Carl, Cindy's brother, sat in the dirt behind home plate with our backs against the rusty chain link backstop. We chatted about baseball, our favorite major leaguers and who we wanted to be when we got to the major leagues. Eventually, someone pointed out that as the only left handed player in the group, I had made multiple outs by hitting to right field. The teasing about my inability to pull the ball to center or left field started which led to chasing each other around the ball field. As always, we ended up in an outfield pile, wrestling and tickling. This time, as had happened before, someone yelled squirrel and the grabbing of another boy's crotch began because the squirrel wanted nuts. Most grabs were on the outside of our pants but sometimes a boy's hand would shove down the inside of another's jeans to grab a handful of nuts. You just get aroused when these things happen in a pile of boys. I got up and ran for my bike. As I started off, we all agreed to meet at Greg's after lunch. The ride home gave my crazy boner a chance to subside. I really do not remember what I had for lunch but peanut butter and jelly with a glass of milk was a staple at our house for lunch. I stopped at Tom's on the way to Greg's. Tom answered my call saying he had to stay home till his mom got back from running an errand for his grandfather. He said to get the guys and come back to his house. We could sit in the fort to watch for the other kids to reach the school playground which started on the other side of a high cyclone fence abutting Tom's backyard. After catching the other guys at Greg's and enjoying a snack from his grandmother, the four guys jumped on our bikes and headed down the street. Back at Tom's we all climbed up to the fort in his tree. We were a little crowded, sprawled on that deck made of wood captured from a house being built a while back a block away and some broken railway crossing gates we begged from a railroad crew fixing a crossing. The wood was just natural or painted with white/black stripes of the crossing gate. Then it happened. John jumped across onto my legs and pulled me from a sitting position to my back. He yelled for the other guys to hold me down. There was a big struggle but four on one had me pinned. They kept saying to settle down before someone got thrown from the tree. John was on my legs. Tom and Carl were on my arms. Greg sat on my chest facing John. They had me immobilized. "We got to see his thing. Its huge." John said as he unfastened my belt buckle. "We all felt that dick on the playground this morning." Even with my attempts to break free, it was only a few moments before John had my jeans sitting between his legs. Of course, I was getting a hard-on. My cut cock was probably around 5" hard and my hairless balls hung low from the heat of the day. John reached for my white briefs, stretching and tugging to get them off my butt, to join my jeans below my knees. Again my buddies told me to stop fighting. "Look at the hair around his cock. His balls are big. We got a new nickname for you Paul, `Harry'." Greg said. Tom and Carl leaned around to get a good look at my newly developing manhood. "Shit. I get boners but nothing like that one." Tom laughed. I already had the beginning tingles of needing to take a piss. The guys were laughing at my predicament of not being able to move with my boner waving in the breeze. John reached in and grabbed my hard dick. He slowly started to move his hand up and down my shaft. He was not squeezing. He held firm to move the skin up and down. He was laughing as I said, "Let me up. I got to pee." John stopped pumping for a few seconds as my dick twitched in his hand. When my dick calmed down he began again but very slowly. In a minute I was again bucking to let me up because I had to pee. The guys were all laughing and saying to go ahead and pee. John stopped playing with my dick again as I thrashed trying to get loose. After a few seconds, John started again. It was only a moment before I broke free and jumped to the ground with pants and underwear around my ankles. My dick was pulsing rope after rope of white stuff. I bet I shot six times before my dick calmed down. Greg ask John, "Did you whipped Harry's pee into cream?" "No. My cousin told me that is the stuff that makes babies." John responded. I looked up and the four guys were all looking over the edge of the platform. They laughed and pointed at my dick still wiggling from an orgasm, my first one when not sleeping. I reached down and pulled my pants up, totally humiliated and really confused. I was going to leave when Tom called me back. "Hey get your sorry ass up here. Don't be mad. We were just teasing you and we did want to see what it looked like." I climbed back up to the fort. All the guys were asking questions. Did I shoot often? Did I really think I had to pee or did I know? They laughed about how crazy I looked jumping out of the tree with my pants around my ankles and my bare ass almost catching on the edge of the platform. They teased about how funny it would have been if a car with girls drove by and saw me naked with a boner. Just then, Tom's mom drove into the drive and stopped by the side door. We looked over to see some of the other kids beginning to ride up to the backstop for the afternoon game. In an instant, the focus of the group changed to getting to the game. The afternoon game was almost exactly like the morning game. My buddies did call me Harry a few times, which raised the attention of the others present for the game. However, my friends did not say why they had tagged me with a nick name. They just laughed when asked and changed the subject. Late in the afternoon the game finished and we all started for our homes. John stopped me as I was just going to ride off on my bike. "Hey, I want you to know I hope you don't have hard feelings about what we did to you at the fort. I saw how big your dick had gotten and how much hair you have. It was exactly what my cousin had been talking about. I wondered if it was all true. I would never do anything to hurt you or our friendship. I hope I get a big dick someday. Friends?" With that John stuck out his hand for a hand shake. We were back to normal or as normal as things get once you have been jerked off by your buddies. We all went home for dinner. Later we played hide-n-seek till the street lights came on, which signaled it was time to go inside. The next morning, I woke-up with a boner. I reached inside my underwear and did what John did. When the tingling started I rushed to the bathroom. Holy shit, John's cousin was right. It felt strange but great. I promised myself to never do it again. There were a lot of next times in my future. Time passed. I did get to jerk off Tom about 6-months later when I stayed with him for an evening when his folks went to the movies. The four of us, became even closer in those hormone years of 15 to 17. You know the time in your life when you would do anything for your best friends but also want to humiliate them every chance you get. I will tell you about those times in the near future.