Date: Mon, 04 Aug 2003 12:59:32 -0700
From: Bob Stardog105 <stardog105@hotmail.com>
Subject: My Sexual Childhood: Cousin Malcolm -- Part 3 of 3

Not to bring everybody down, but as you might have noticed Malcolm and I
were by this point going in divergent directions. I had an itch I could not
scratch. Malcolm not only could scratch anywhere he wanted, he didn't have
an itch to begin with. No doubt my sexual antics wore thin on him as he
found a certain sexual maturity that always eluded me. No doubt he had
opportunities with the other gender to give him probably what he liked
better. But this bleak background did not stop us from having sex. It was
not constant. It was not regular. It was less satisfying, but we still did
"it."

xxx

It was Sunday morning, a little late. We had returned from mass. Our moms
were in the kitchen lining things up for a large lunch. Our dads were off
someplace, not sure where. And our junior siblings were outside playing.
Malcolm went looking for the Sunday paper, the comics section. I tagged
along. It was in his parents" bedroom, way down the hall. Not where anyone
would be expected to walk in just now.

Malcolm spread the paper out on the made up bed, lay/sat to read a while. I
reclined immediately behind him, our bodies touched when he turned a page.

"You know," I said out of nowhere, "I just figured out how babies are made.
Yuck."

He turned a little to half-look at me, gave an ambiguous expression that
could have been agreement, or equally likely, his annoyance I could be so
hopelessly unaware.

I didn't care.

I had no way to talk with him. With our siblings underfoot and our parents
around in other rooms, we did not mention private topics let alone discuss
each other's activities from the night before.

I couldn't imagine his saying something like, "Hey that was a great come
last night. We godda do that again real soon."

It just would not happen.

So if I said something dumb, it was dumb about something I was interested
in.

We stayed in position, me looking over his shoulder while he read the
funnies.

"Ah, you ever do anything with [name of his little sister]"" I asked.

"No," quite shocked, "she's too little. You do anything with [name of my
little brother]""

"No," I answered immediately, equally shocked by the idea. "He's too young."
I didn't add he was an impossible brat.

Malcolm kept reading.

Circumstances looked safe. I leaned forward and eased my hand between
Malcolm's shirt and pants, then worked a path into his briefs meeting bare
skin.

He made a little snort, not pleased with me, but did not indicate I should
remove the hand.

I snuck it all the way in, cupping his genital package. It was a great
feeling.

He began to erect.

He lightly brought his hand up, touched mine, a "time to go" message.

I removed my hand.

"Um, could you feel me then"" I pleaded.

He weighed his choices and decided the least troublesome was to comply. He
did not change position, just reached behind his back snaking his way into
my pants. His hand found me hard, pressed to my belly. He kept going in
until his fingertips were lightly curled around my scrotum.

It felt super.

He did not give up reading. As he'd move from one section of the double page
to another he'd telegraph a jiggle into me, along my compressed dick and
fast tightening balls. He made my balls tighten through constant changing
fingertip pressure. Eventually when they had them snugged down, his fingers
worked the margin of my scrotal pouch, now just a wrinkled patch.

That's when I jizzed.

He felt the pulse travel along the thick channel on the underbelly of my
dick. Squirt, squirt, squirt.

"Ah sorry," I said as I stood up, letting his hand, now sticky, free.

I did a quick visit to the bathroom, gratefully available, to spruce up.

If Malcolm thought this was funny, pathetic, or if he did not think of it at
all, I didn't know. He hadn't looked up from the comics.

xxx

We were vacationing at the beach. My family had allowed me to stay nights
with Malcolm's in their cabin. My parents and little brother were a few
doors down in their own bungalow. The sleeping arrangement at our place was
that Malcolm had the top level of bunk beds, his little sister the bottom
level, while I slept across the room on the couch.

In the evening we three were watching television in our room. His parents
were watching a TV in their bedroom. They were unlikely to come in on us.
His little sister lay, probably asleep, on her bunk alone. Malcolm and I sat
close together on his top bunk, ostensibly watching TV but in fact with our
hands in each others pajamas bottoms, jacking each other as a warm up.

"Come over when it gets real late," Malcolm advised me.

I agreed.

We continued handling each other knowing his little sister could not see us.
If any parents had walked in they would not have been able to make out
anything since we were at the very back of the high bed, had covers piled in
front.

Malcolm got me coming in my shorts.

I thought that if things did not work out later at least one of us was still
happy.

But things did work out, sort of.

I woke up in the dead of night. The place was completely quiet.

In bare feet and not making a sound I went across the room, climbed the
ladder to Malcolm's bunk and slipped beside him. A little friendly handling
inside his briefs got him interested.

"Let's fuck," he whispered.

He slipped off his pajama bottoms and white shorts. I moistened up and in no
time was inside him pumping in smooth strokes so as not to generate any
vibration that might disturb his little sister below us.

I was thinking of withdrawing to allow Malcolm his trade when out of no
where is the booming voice of his dad: "Yes... Yes... OK..."

Malcolm frantically whispered to me, "Get up. Get up!!"

Which is exactly what I did.

In a flash I pulled out of him, got my stiff dick inside my pajamas and
clambered off the ladder to reach about half way across the room, where I
ran into Malcolm's dad entering from the other half of the cabin.

He assumed I'd gotten up because of the noise. My pajama top covered my
erection straining in my briefs.

"Your dad's outside. You and Malcolm get dressed. It's time to go fishing,"
he reported.

I'd forgotten that plan completely.

My dad must have gone around outside to the bedroom window to wake up
Malcolm's parents. That's why I didn't hear him, just my uncle answering
back.

I nodded to him dumbly, had lost my voice in the fright.

That was our closest call. Sure messed up our sex session that was going
real sweet. Oh well, we'd get more opportunities.

xxx

Our families went to a local wilderness area which had a shallow broad
river. It was in the summer and we had bathing suits for a wet romp. Malcolm
and I got permission to go up river to "explore" while everyone else settled
into a picnic area. This gave me an opportunity with Malcolm.

We walked an indeterminate distance from the camp area to what could be
reasonably considered secluded. I looked for a side channel with a deeper
cut so we could get into water, otherwise the whole river basin was about
ankle deep.  I found one and steered Malcolm over to it, got him to sit down
with me, side by side with the water no deeper than a foot but that was all
I needed.

I put a hand into his trunks. He objected.

Damn.

"Well, how about me," I offered as I slipped my erection out through an
overlapping flap in the front of my swimming briefs. It stuck out easily
seen under a few inches of water.

He reached for it, took it into a masturbation grip, began jacking. We both
watched the image of it rippling under the shinning surface of the channel.
I looked formidable, a solid column, very white, gracefully bending to the
left topped with a knobby head, half covered even on the down stroke.

Malcolm kept up the rhythmic jacking.

In a short time he was rewarded with the sight of my penis ejecting several
ropy white spurts in staccato order into the water.

He laughed a little, maybe surprised I was so predictable.

"Like the way it fired," he said in an exclamation reminiscent of his
earlier days with me as an outspoken playmate.

I did too. I had shown him how excited he made me. It felt great.

Before I could get everything put back, we heard voices and clumping of
boots in the brush on the other bank. A group of three hikers came into
view.

Malcolm got up abruptly. I quickly rearranged myself then stood up assuming
the bulge would wilt fast enough. It did. The hikers ignored us, moved off
at an angle.

Nothing like being lucky when you are having outdoor sex.

xxx

Later that afternoon, Malcolm and I were hanging out in my bedroom, had
traded feels of each other, standing together behind the closed door.

I suggested, "Ah why don't I jack you off now so you won't make a mess
tonight""

He was torn. Indecision all over his features.

"We can slip into the bathroom, lock the door and get you jizzing in no
time," I continued.

The image grew on him. I took my hand out of his pants.

We walked nonchalantly one behind the other down the hall to the bathroom.

I saw Malcolm's dad give me a fishy look as we past one room.

Once in the bathroom Malcolm took out his lengthening trouser snake,
allowing it to droop from his fly as he saw himself in a mirror, began to
laugh at the image which he increased into a caricature by pushing out his
hips and slouching his shoulders. He was mocking his penis, its languid
sprawl, its loose overhang of skin.

I was getting a little bemused when there was loud knocking on the door.

In the blink of an eye Malcolm was zipped up back in his pants and I'd
opened the door. His dad glared at us.

"We're just coming out," we sort of mumbled together.

More glaring.

We walked out trying not to look too sheepish.

I guess we can't win them all, I thought.

xxx

We were back at Malcolm's home, back sleeping on the floor in the living
room. Our briefs pulled down to our thighs still early on. It was sort of a
decompression period, a transition from our largely ignoring each other
during the day.

I had just one hand on Malcolm, alternating jacking him and rubbing his
balls. For a variation I lightly took a small fold of skin on his ball bag
and pinched it between thumb and finger. I did this several times, each
being just a tiny rolling pinch across the surface. He immediately did the
same to me.

Wow.

It was not painful. It brought a mild stinging sensation over the whole of
sack, getting it wrinkled just offering more tiny ridges to pinch.

It was purely erotic.

We kept doing it to each other for endless minutes before falling back to
our regular masturbation activity where we traded off.

xxx

I was in my graduating year of high school. Our grandmother was on her final
decline, hospitalization, surgery then all the rest, forcing our two
families to be together for a block of weeks. Malcolm and I still slept on
the pad on the floor. We had access to each other as if a married couple. On
occasion I would not reach over for him (he never initiated anything, my
eagerness precluded that early on) and he would not care. Other nights it
was obvious he was interested. He waited for my touch so he could get his
sexual program started. We got more confident knowing that at night, and
especially for this period when everyone was emotionally knocked flat, no
one ever got up for anything or showed interest in what we might be doing
together in the dark.

This night Malcolm was not engaging with me. We had done a little
preliminary fondling of each other but it was very late and we were not
going to set any records for excitement. The living room was filled with
moonlight from floor to ceiling windows off to our right. It was bight
enough that we could see each other's expressions.

I got up silently and moved around to the edge of the pad next to Malcolm. I
sat Indian-fashion on the carpet, taking back the covers from my cousin as
he lay flat to the bed, legs separated but not raised. Malcolm was 16 or 17
years old now, like me topping out at 6 feet. But those 6 feet were lean
muscle. Likely he had a 28 inch waist. He lay a tall shadow against the
white bottom sheet. I settled into position, moved in close, hunched over
his genitals. Malcolm's penis was as large and dark as an over-ripe banana.
And while I don't suffer banana envy, I can say it was a whopper compared to
mine and I'm just shy of 6 inches. So he was 8 to 9 and proportionally
thick.

Not sure why I was sitting up, without any plan, I began a simple jacking of
his adult-sized member. I kept his glans capped not particularly wanting to
make anything happen. Just did smooth strokes, lightly milking the long
shaft to its snake-like head. Every now and then my left hand insinuated
itself at his groin, working some fingers around his bulging scrotum, each
testicle more like a hen's egg. They were an easy mark to roll and molest in
all their vulnerability until they tightened up, seated flush to the broad
base of his erection.

The moon seemed like a spotlight through the windows. I saw Malcolm head to
foot. His eyes shut lightly, letting the sexual energy from my hands pour
into him though his agitated penis, which I held perpendicular to his
seemingly lifeless body.

Without any warning, in the clear moonlight, I saw a fountain of hot semen
pulsing from Malcolm's erection. It gushed straight up, a liquid strand of
pearls, then falling, falling back on itself, falling within the foreskin,
pooling, filling the loose sleeve, then dribbling down in an overflow, down
my slippery fingers, down the slippery shaft to puddle, glistening in his
pubic thatch, glistening in the moonlight.

His penis deflated, collapsed to where it was completely inside my four
fingers that cradled it as if it were wounded.

I kept my position, the semen losing its almond-milk opacity to shimmer
crystalline, now chilling my hand.

I was enraptured. The clip of his coming played in my mind's eye over and
over in rapid succession. I was stricken by his perfection, the image sparse
in details, rendered to its most essential power--all absorbed in me.

Soundlessly, so as not to disturb Malcolm, I rose up, let the penis slump to
his belly and got into my side of the bed. I covered up, finding a
comfortable sleeping position. I did not have to masturbate. I'd already
gotten an emotional one watching Malcolm.

As far as I know Malcolm lay there, semen drying on him, uncovered, the rest
of the night. He had not changed position since the time I sat down next to
him until I dropped slowly off to sleep.

xxx

Still during the time Malcolm and I bedded down together nightly by the
week.

We had slipped under the covers together, saying nothing, lay on our backs
looking into space. The lights went out slowly, lots more activity around
the place than usual getting his sister and my brother to bed in different
rooms than talk in the parents" rooms. I was not enthusiastic about my
chances for sex with Malcolm. Not that he'd brush me off but that his
response would be minimal, meaning I'd do him and maybe he'd do me, maybe,
and that being a quick jack off.

I put a hand on his pajama bottoms. His penis was soft.

What to do? I couldn't very well say "Excuse me."

I kept the hand there feeling him respond, slipped the hand under the
elastic band to cradle the expanding penis, the heavy scrotum. When he
seemed fully erect I took out my hand, thinking I might next have to tug at
the shorts to get him to haul them down.

I didn't have to. He immediately slipped them down himself. It was
unprecedented under current circumstances.

Equally unexpected was his reaching over to handle me. Until the night
previous I had to drag indolent hand to my neglected genitals to subtly
convey my request. Now he was handling me, getting my dick into a lather, as
if he wanted to. I returned the favor, getting him bursting stiff.

Minutes passed in a blur of sensations before Malcolm turned to me and
whispered, "Can we fuck"" in the way of an afterthought.

Before I could answer yes, he added, "I'll get grease [Vaseline]."

That would be a novelty. We'd brutalized each other often enough with trying
to get in with just spit. I'd even scraped a thumbnail patch of skin right
off the top of my glans on one of our dry fuck fests.

He raised up, slipping his pajama bottoms into place.

I reached up and got his erection out of the snap fly front, giving it a
good jacking to keep him ready. Malcolm separated his knees, bracing himself
over me giving me additional time to receive a thorough masturbating. I was
able to look up at him, into his face, see the response taking over in him
from what I was doing to his bulging penis. On his part, he locked eyes with
me. We drank in each other. A wonderful suspension of time.

He would have stayed in position indefinitely I decided. I released him.

He went to the bathroom, returned in a minute to climb into bed which he
did-- backside toward me.

I was doubly amazed. First, it seemed to me that my dicking Malcolm's behind
was something he received little benefit from, that is beyond the
opportunity to dick mine in return. To me, laying in bed next to him,
presenting his delicious ass to me seemed to indicate he wanted the pleasure
of my erection buried in him right to the short hairs. I was flattered.

The second shock to my system was knowing that while in the bathroom for his
brief visit Malcolm had not just dabbed Vaseline on his peeled-back penis,
but he'd taken a gob of the sticky stuff to smear over his bared anus, even
"- my brain overheating at his point -- into his rectum. (What I would not
have given to do that service for him.)

I wasn't going to wait for an engraved invitation. I moved right up against
his body, finding his pajama bottoms lowered demurely to his knees. As he
felt the blunt head of my erection searching along the charming crease of
his cheeks, he brought a hand back to guide my errant visitor to its haven.

What a delight to feel the head of my penis slip effortlessly into Malcolm's
smooth rectum. I did the rest in stages made more enjoyable for the
heightened sense that Malcolm was getting pleasure from me. Once I was fully
inside him, pressed tight to his behind, I reached over to his flat stomach
and held him close to me, let him know we were as joined as possible.

I allowed that arm holding him to me to slip lower, make contact with his
erection. I gave him a comforting masturbation. We had added this activity
while fucking for some time now. It kept the receiver a little more
distracted during the insertion period. Maybe it helped pass the time during
an otherwise long wait to reverse the roles.

I kept my hand low on the shaft to avoid his pre-lubed head.

Between the plunging I was doing on one side and the jacking of his stiff
dick on the other he was soon reaching up to stop my hand on him. I'd
release him for a while to cool down then take him up again. Soon he'd stop
me. I decided we could switch early on, so withdrew.

We promptly both rolled over so he could get into me.

The entry was pure pleasure. He stopped along the way of his lunge letting
me catch my breath. By this age he was big, porno-star big. Receiving it all
in one gulp was impossible. Once inside he kept his dick buried deep, giving
me the sense of how large he was at the base stretching me open as if I
might be cleaved in two.

He did not stop with just fucking me royally he added the benefit of
reaching over to handle me, jacking what had just been up his ass. He kept
the foreskin peeled back tight to the base making the glans strain with each
downward jack. And to increase the sensation he twisted the skin on the
shaft. The combination was a real killer.

I reached up to him to ease back on the rougher maneuvers. He did but still
was more aggressive than I'd experienced.

I fell into a stupor, let him pump me with whatever variations he wanted,
let him handle my dick until it was super-sensitive.

When I got close to coming I'd bring up my hand and he'd stop jacking me.
This happened a few times, the intervals getting closer together for me to
ask him to ease off.

At some point he decided it was my time to come. He ignored my hand. He kept
masturbating away, fucking away until he felt not just the throbs of my
erection spewing over the sheets but the contractions on his hard dick
buried inside me.

It was a thrilling ride for me as I'm sure it was for him. I'd never come
when being fucked. There was a sort of end-of-the-world thing with it. For
all I know Malcolm came in me. I was in no condition to notice.

When he eased out he knew I was gone for the night.

xxx

Our last time.

I'd graduated from college, was going on job interviews, one of which was in
the same city as Malcolm and his family. It turned out that I would need a
second interview the next day, could I return early" I could. Not even with
a toothbrush I showed up at Malcolm's home and asked to spend the night. I
was welcome.

Malcolm was not home from work yet and in fact did not even make it for
supper, arriving while I was getting ready for bed, which also happened to
be his.

He was a little surprised, but not displeased to see me after a gap of many
months. And now we would be climbing into bed (a full size one, no twin for
him as a wage earner) with each other.

I have no idea what he had been doing for sex at the time. I was racking up
experience on my part. I had sucked another student off, relished the semen
in my mouth before allowing it to trickle down my throat. More to the point
I had a regular partner, an established writer, and was getting sex nightly
if not more frequently. So I crawled into bed, settling against the back
wall with more perspective than I'd exhibited to Malcolm before. I won't
claim it was maturity, but it was close.

The bedroom door was shut as Malcolm took off his street clothes to climb
into bed wearing, like me, only briefs and tee shirt.

Before he turned off the bedside lamp we had eye contact. I knew what that
was: we'd do "it" tonight.

We lay side by side, in the first moments of the darkness. Our hands crossed
finding white briefs still in place. We slipped our own down, then off. The
hands crossed again this time meeting the pliant flesh of each others
genitals. We began the sexual overture on our partner's instrument. We both
got rampant erections. His hadn't shrunk due to neglect. It hadn't shrunk
period.

"Can we fuck"" he asked, as if we had done it recently. His voice was quiet.
He seemed to have not thought whispering was required under these
circumstances.

"Sure."

He turned his backside toward me, pulled up his knees.

After a couple attempts, we agreed I could not make it in.

I rolled over let him try on me.

No luck.

We settled back, laying side by side handling each other hands crossed, just
as we had done countless times before, all the way back to when we were
little boys.

It was getting late. Both of us had to be out early tomorrow.

Malcolm, in a charming gesture, folded back the covers from us, getting us
exposed from the thighs up. City light from the high windows filtered in
through sheer curtains enough for us to have a gentle view of each other's
adult nakedness.

His erection was dark, a hawser line of flesh, something that could
accommodate two hands on its thick shaft leaving the head to bulge out
another two plus inches. There was something fulfilling in the sight to me.
It was great he'd gotten such validation of his masculinity.

I offered much less to grasp, but it made up for it in eagerness.

Malcolm settled in on his side, got two hands on my sensitive parts. His
touch was everything it had always been. Growing up had not changed that. He
was rewarded with my copious spurts within a few easy minutes of handling.
It felt great. I was complete. Almost.

I turned on my side to him as he lay flat, the sheet and blanket folded in a
crisp line at his thighs, leaving his genitals bare, as if offered to me. I
handled them, warming to the task.

He got very hard but could not approach orgasm.

"Let me," he said, as he replaced my hand with his.

He jacked himself in a crushing grip, his hand working the skin up and back
at a brisk rate, so vigorous his scrotum bobbed and jiggled wildly.

I put my hand up to support him there, adding intermittent pressure to make
them seat solid.

He continued to flail himself.

I could see he'd tucked his chin into his chest, got his back rigid in the
exertion.

"Here," he said quickly.

Not missing the beat, I slipped my hand over his and replaced it as he
withdrew. Between coddling those tight nuts and jacking his dick, getting
the foreskin to snap back from the bulbous head, he began squirting his
product. Thick white plugs settled on my hands. I kept up the milking
motion, coaxing ever-smaller dribbles from the gasping mouth until he was
dry. Regretfully I released him, saw the penis loll over on his stomach like
it had died.

We found and slipped up our briefs, letting the semen soak into them to feel
cold on us. We brought up the covers, turned our backs to each other, fell
off to sleep.

It was the last time we were to sleep together, last time we were to have
sex.

xxx

Our lives divided totally. Over the years we would see each other at family
gatherings, often funerals, but always in the swarm of others. We were no
one special to each other now. He experienced two life partners, but both
women had problems, passed on unexpectedly, too young. I had a full life as
well, though with my own gender. And now we both live the same, alone,
apparently comfortable in that solitude.

We don't talk.

What could we say?

END of My Sexual Childhood

Your comments? Questions? What to share your experience? Write me at
stardog105@hotmail.com