Date: Wed, 14 Apr 2021 16:40:53 -0700
From: Rick E. Racoon <storybynovus@gmail.com>
Subject: Becoming Self-Respectable - Part 1 Awakening

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The following is a work of fiction intended for adults. It has only been
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Acknowledgements:

I have been inspired by many fine authors who share their work on this
site. I want to thank Andrew Passey, Micah Cooke, Valentin Delgrado,
Raphael Adurra, Kinky boy and nilcono(at)yahoo.com for encouraging me to
post my story.

In particular, I am indebted to Backwoods Boy for his generously agreeing
to be my editor and spending hours helping make my fledgling effort into
something, we hope, you will enjoy reading.


Becoming Self-Respectable - Part 1 Awakening


How do you tell the story of sexual awakening? We could begin with how it
all got started with me. Which may, or may not, be what follows.

As a kid, I was demonstratively affectionate and very emotional - pretty
much had my heart on my sleeve. I just reveled in the feeling of touching
another person. Unfortunately for me, I was born into a relatively uptight
WASP family, well, mixed WASP and WASC, though neither parent attended
church, each having been put off by the vitriol of their extended families
over their Protestant/Catholic union. Both my parents were raised as only
children - products of austere parents who had been hardened by the great
depression - whose early lives were shaped during the second Great War and,
in my mother's case the death of her father. As an apparent consequence,
neither of my parents seemed to have much need of, or capacity for,
physical affection. My sister and brother also seemed to live in their own
worlds. To me, the three of us seemed more strangers than siblings.

My family was upwardly mobile, both parents having received degrees from
prominent institutions in a cold northern state before seeking warmer
regions. My father was a lawyer, and politically connected. As a display of
the family's success, we moved to a new house every two years or so, never
leaving my southwestern desert hometown but changing neighborhoods and
occasionally schools. The lack of familial affection and all the moving
left me, the youngest and a true pack animal, think pile of sleeping
puppies, anguishing for physical contact and a sense of belonging.

Even so, outwardly I was a fairly cheerful kid, and I usually got on well
enough with the kids in whichever neighborhood we were living in. Still, I
never seemed to become part of the tribe. It seemed to me that the kids who
had been together forever, each had a place in the group and were accepted
more or less for who they were. Even though they ragged on each other, they
all had the other's back. I never seemed to be around any one group long
enough to get assimilated as one of the pack. Or, maybe I just didn't know
how to be one of a pack.

So, I would often find myself alone. Or, in the company of my mother or
some other adult, discussing the book she was reading, or project they were
working on. Talking with adults felt quite natural for me. I usually held
up my end of the conversation, commenting on what they related or asking
thoughtful questions. Folks often praised me for being smart or insightful
in these social situations.

Another place I spent a lot of time was at a martial arts studio owned by
Mr. Bay, a friend of my father's, where I began training, and cleaning up
the place, the same time I started school, the month before my fifth
birthday. The studio was between the school and my father's office, near
the University, and catered to college students interested in the "eastern"
arts. So, here too, I spent my time with people many years my senior.

School was another situation all together. I didn't get on well there at
all. I felt as though I was bright enough, and wanted to do well but, the
numbers and letters just wouldn't behave for me. They danced around the
page or blackboard. I had tremendous difficulty with reading, spelling,
writing, and maths. I frustrated my teachers. They would explain work
conversationally, and after feeling I understood, would leave me to work on
my own. If they came back later, I would have made a lot of mistakes and
very little progress. Then they would complain that I wasn't trying.

I also wasn't good at the popular sports, which required hand-eye
coordination while running, and team play. At school, I was usually by
myself or on the periphery of the non-athletic kids. Since I wasn't with a
group, I got picked on by the tough kids from time to time. I put up with
it as long as my tormentors didn't get too physical. I used to think I
didn't fight back for fear of hurting someone or getting in trouble. Truth
be told, I was probably grateful for the attention.

The spring and summertime were better. We belonged to a golf and tennis
club. (Of course, we did.) While swinging clubs or rackets at little balls
held no appeal for me, there was also a swim team.

This I could do! I was exceptionally at ease and aware of how my body felt
in the water. Unlike in running sports, where I was clumsy and never seemed
to be in the right place, enveloped in the water, I was graceful and
fast. Not Mark Spitz fast, but pretty decent. I consistently placed second
or third, and even an occasional first. Swimming also had the added benefit
of placing me in the proximity of nearly naked boys and teens.

The team was also very supportive. It wasn't unusual for team mates to hug
you if you did well during a race, particularly after swimming a good leg
in a relay, where other swimmers standing at the edge of the pool would
lift you out of the water and into a huddle. Oh, the feeling! Arms wrapped
around me, face tucked into the neck or chest of another boy. Bare chests
and stomachs touching, sometimes feeling erect nipples and... oh my
god... only the flimsiest of fabric between me and another boy's junk.

While my peers would hug me front on, the older boys would tend to 'side
hug'. Wrapping one arm around my shoulder and pulling me to their side. I
would put my left arm around their ribs or waist, but I still tended to
turn towards them, mashing my cheek to their right pec and my crotch
against their thigh. My right arm would be down along my side and aligned,
more or less along their center line. Most of the teens were tolerant of my
doing this and didn't really react if the back of my hand or forearm
'accidentally' brushed against their bulge. The touch, smell and heat of
their bodies would make my senses sore. The smell of pool water still makes
my dick twitch.

My dick and I were well acquainted. When I was five or six, I discovered
that rubbing my dick and balls felt good. I would often rub my swimsuit or
other soft fabric lightly against my body, dick, and ball sack. Not that
long after I started touching myself, I discovered the wonderful feeling of
orgasm. So, by the time I was seven, I was touching, teasing, and rubbing
myself to two or three dry orgasms a day.

Whenever I felt sad or lonely, or after getting all worked up from being
around the other guys at swim practice, I would lay on my bed naked,
exploring my body and stroking my "fire plug"- which is how I thought of my
dick, thick and stout, with a pronounced flared head. As I slid the uneven
ring of flesh that circumscribed the darker skin of my scrotum and shaft
from the lighter, pinkish upper shaft and head, up and down my hard dick, I
would squeeze my tight sack, rolling each of my balls between finger and
thumb.

Losing myself in the sensation, I would glide my hand from my nuts farther
between my legs, over my loins, stomach, chest, and neck. As the sensations
intensified, I would often rub my lips and, without any conscious thought
of why, slide my two middle fingers into my mouth, sucking and pressing
back across my tongue to where it met my throat. I would explore my soft
palate and that funny flap that would kind of pinch shut if I pushed
farther into my throat. If I had come from swimming, the acrid aroma of
pool chlorine would expand into my sinuses as I breathed over my fingers. I
would suck them harder and push them back deeper as I got closer to the
convulsions I knew would come as I went over the edge.

When I would orgasm, the muscles of my groin, anus, and abdomen would spasm
uncontrollably in rhythm with my heartbeat, causing me to grunt and crunch
up reflexively for ten to fifteen seconds - sometimes much longer. I don't
remember, at that point in time, having any actual fantasy about being with
another boy. I just knew that thinking about how it felt when I touched
their bodies or what they smelled like would make my groin tingly and give
me butterflies in my stomach.

"*"

During my fifth year of elementary school, a neighbor boy and I developed a
tenuous, almost close, friendship. We would ride our bikes to school
together, talking along the way, but not usually hang out while there, even
though we were in the same class. Aleixo, Lex for short, was athletic, an
inch taller, maybe four-foot-eight, and heavier at around eighty pounds,
with dark brown hair and deep brown eyes. I would watch his strong legs and
butt as he played ball with his peers on the field during breaks. I thought
we might do classwork together (collaborative work cohorts was a pedagogy
in the early 70s) but not being a particularly good student himself, I
think he may have feared identifying too closely with the 'dumb kid'.

For a week at the beginning of spring, while his bike had a flat tire, we
rode together on my Schwinn Stingray. The first day, he sat behind me on
the elongated 'banana seat'. Bending his knees, to keep his feet away from
the spinning crank-arms, he gripped my hips to keep his balance, but each
time I pumped the pedals he would slide forward a bit on the seat. I had to
push my butt back against him to keep from being pushed off the front of
the seat. As I pedaled my butt ground against his crotch. It got me excited
but was also very awkward. The next few days he rode on the handlebars with
his hands on top of mine on the hand grips. I was leaning forward with my
chin on his shoulder, my cheek pressed to his neck, so I could "see the
road". He leaned back against my chest to keep balance. Being this close to
him was an exquisite torture for me.

We talked continuously while he was on the handlebars. Him jokingly
complaining that we were going to get killed in an accident and me, quite
earnestly, promising that I wouldn't let anything bad happen. Otherwise, we
just chatted about this and that.

After school, I would drop Lex at the corner, where we would meet each
day. He lived up the street around the corner from me in a slightly older
subdivision. Then, I would rush home to our empty house to spend some time
before riding off again to martial arts.

Stripping off my clothes, I'd lie in my bed reliving the feeling of my
chest against him and his voice in my ears. Rubbing myself all over, I
imagined him lying naked on top of me. These thoughts intensified my usual
palpitations, I moaned and talked out loud to my imaginary lover. When I
finally orgasmed, stroking my dick, fingers in my mouth, the convulsions
were longer, more intense, and my grunts louder than I had ever
experienced.

In the shower, after training and dinner, I had a second love making
session. Only now, with the whole family in the house, instead of my
fingers, I stuffed my mouth with the washcloth and lay on the floor of the
tub to muffle my vocalizations and keep from collapsing when my orgasm
came. This experience was even more exciting. With the water falling on my
face and stimulating my flesh, the wet cloth restricting my breathing, I
imagined us embracing underwater. It took only a couple of minutes before I
was grunting and contorting against the side of the tub.

I was in such a euphoric state by the third day, I didn't mind at all when
we pulled into the bike lot at school, and he hopped off the handlebars and
trotted away without a word. I knew he would be waiting at my bike at the
end of the day.


The next afternoon, near the end of that wonderful week, Lex invited me
over to his house after school. We pulled up the driveway and into the
empty carport of his 1960s ranch-style house. Leaning my bike against the
wall, we went through the gate to the backyard and encountered a very
friendly and somewhat shaggy hound.

As Lex closed the gate, I knelt and wrapped my arms around the happy mutt,
hugging him while kissing through the soft grey fur on the side of his
face.

"Who's my good boy?" I asked in an exaggerated voice.

Suddenly, emulating what I was doing, Lex bent over from behind me, and
began petting and hugging me while giving me several pecks on the cheek and
saying, "You're my good boy..."

My heart almost burst as he planted a longer kiss on the left side of my
neck. With both his arms still hugging my torso, he moved around to my
right side, ending on his knees. Now shoulder to shoulder, he shifted his
hands and attention to his dog.

In a clear sign of submission, his pet rolled onto its left side, its back
to his master's knees and its belly exposed. Lex rubbed the dog's chest and
belly with his left hand and the inside of the dog's raised hind leg with
his right.

"Look how big his nuts are!" he asserted, while sliding his hand down and
cupping them. Kind of appraising my expression, he continued, "Do you want
to feel them?"

Curious about the question, "Uh... No thanks. Too furry." slipped sort of
automatically from my lips as I looked back up into the deep pools of Lex's
eyes, before my attention was drawn down again by the leaking red shaft
growing from the dog's furry sheath.

"Aww, he likes you too," swiping two fingers across the end of the angry
looking member and scooping a dab of gooey fluid before wiping his fingers
across my left cheek.

"Hey, GROSS!"

I stood up and began raising my right hand to wipe my face. As I reached my
arm across my body, he took hold of my right wrist with his left hand and
stood to face me.

"Don't freak man, I'll get it."

He leaned in and licked the damp streak from my cheek. I was stunned. He
drew his face back just enough to look me in the eyes.

 "It's no big deal."

Then he lifted his wet fingers and held them between our faces which, we're
still just inches apart. I stared at his moist fingers. Was he offering
them to me? Sort of mesmerized, gazing into his eyes again, I began to part
my lips.

I was snapped out of my trance as he let go of my wrist and stepped towards
the house.

"Let's go in," he beckoned, as he entered the house through the sliding
glass patio door.

Stepping around a casual dining area off the kitchen, we walked through the
opening leading to the family room, then turned into a hallway that led to
the bedrooms. The corridor was darker than the sunlit family room. Two open
doors facing on either side of the hall near the midpoint created a pool of
light. A bathroom, on one side, and closet on the other a little farther
down, separated these rooms from the closed door at the end of the hallway,
behind which would have been the master bedroom suite.

I followed Lex into the small bedroom on the right. Just inside the door
was an alcove created by the bump-out of a built-in closet. To the right,
against the wall of the family room, was a twin bed with a football themed
bedspread. Under the window, past the closet on the left, was a small desk
and dresser.

Lex kicked off his black Keds. "Sit on the bed."

I did as he said, and watched as he stripped off his shirt and blue jeans,
tossing them onto the desk chair. I couldn't help gawking at his handsome,
nearly naked backside.

Standing in front of me with only calf-high white and green tube-socks, and
his white Y-front underwear, the thin cotton fabric stretched across the
firm globes of his butt, he pulled a pair of gym-shorts from the
dresser. These were the short-legged, low-waisted cotton kind worn at the
junior high and high schools, maybe hand-me-downs from his older
brother. He turned towards me as he stepped into them.

I could see him watching my face as I looked right at the bulging front of
his skivvies. Without changing his gaze, he slowly slid the elastic
waistband up his strong thighs until it hooked under his balls, he slowly
twisted his hips left and right, pushing up his package and dragging the
waistband back and forth and, causing his chubbing dick to poke up against
the top of his underwear.

When the bulging white pouch finally disappeared into the front of the
well-worn maroon fabric of his shorts, l looked back to his face. He was
looking right at me, eyes sparkling, head tilting slightly to his right
with a mischievous grin.

"You okay?" Still smiling, he stepped to the bed and plopped down beside
me.

Realizing I was holding my breath, I inhaled and squeaked out, "I'm good."

He leaned into me abruptly, rubbing his hands around my chest and back, his
voice exaggerated like before.

"Yes you are! You're my good boy!"

I laughed like it was a joke, but I was enthralled with him. Moving his
left hand to the back of my head, he pulled our faces towards each
other. As he looked into my eyes, I stopped laughing and swallowed hard
just before he kissed me on the lips.

Heat flushed through my body! My ears rang and my face tingled as I felt
our lips touching. Feeling his tongue pushing between my lips, my jaw
relaxed, and I melted into him as he pushed into my mouth. Moving my left
hand to grip his right arm at the shoulder, I tried to emulate what he was
doing and soon we were swirling our tongues together.

I could feel the warm breath from his nostrils and smell of him as I
breathed it in through my nose. It seemed every time he exhaled, I was
inhaling. I was dizzy from the sensation. As my confidence grew, I slipped
my left hand from his shoulder, around his arm and onto his chest.

He moaned into my mouth as I squeezed his bare pec. Exploring further, I
began brushing my thumb around his hard nipple. Whimpering now, he broke
our kiss and rolled behind me on the bed.

I shifted my hips, turning to look at him. Gazing up at me with a pleading
look, he raised and spread his arms and knees.

"Am I your good boy?"

I moved my left hand to the inside of his left thigh. Sliding down and
rubbing his groin through shorts and underwear, I found his stiff dick. It
felt hot in my hand. As he whimpered and cooed, I felt for his
balls. Cupping them and squeezing gently, I smiled. "Furry?"

Shaking his head 'No', he lowered his knees and pulled me on top of him. We
kissed and rubbed. Grinding our dicks together through our clothes, our
hands exploring each other's bodies and breathing into each other's lungs,
it seemed as though we were suspended in time. I could feel myself
approaching the crest, close to cumming, when a deep soft moan pulled my
eyes towards the door.

Standing there, groping a hard shaft through khaki slacks, was the teenage
version of Lex. His dark eyebrows framed penetrating brown eyes. He was
gripping his member tightly through the fabric of his pants and pulling it
away from his thick thigh. The shaft seemed to reveal itself to me,
stretching down his leg - almost long again as what was under his gripping
fist.

I suddenly experienced the first jolt of what felt like the beginning of an
intense orgasm but, instead of going on into my typical convulsive state,
it radiated through me like a penetrating hunger. My mouth gaped open and a
loud moan escaped me as I stared transfixed. His expression shifted from
lust to surprise as he realized I was looking at him, then to anger.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing FAGGOTS?"

Lex and I rolled away from each other as if repelled by an electric
shock. As we sat up, he tugged on his shaft through his pants.

"Get rid of your fag boyfriend. Then come to my room and take care of
this."

Moving his hand away from his package, he turned and walked across the
hall.

I didn't know what to do and was getting really scared. I looked to Lex
who, looking very sad, just whispered.

"You should go."

I could feel his shame. I didn't know if it was for our being caught
together or my hearing what his brother, Jaime, expected him to do after I
left. I looked at him sympathetically as he stood and led me back through
the house to the door in the kitchen that opened to the carport.

As I stepped through the door, I looked back at him and softly asked, "See
you tomorrow?"

He just looked down and slowly shut the door.

"*"

At home, alone, I sat in my room trying to make sense of it, especially the
last part. Did Lex's brother expect him to do stuff? I couldn't help
imagining what that stuff might include. I was hard and could still feel
Lex kissing me, his scent in my head.

I fell back onto my bed squeezing my dick and balls tightly through my
jeans, and remembering what I saw straining against the soft fabric and
stretching down Jaime's leg. I gripped myself harder and pushed my fingers
deep into my mouth. I immediately felt that jolt again, an explosion
somewhere deep inside my abdomen, between my asshole and balls. I felt the
need to stretch out my body as if trying to open up and let something
inside of me. That same coveting moan passed from my mouth again,
expressing some urgent need. I sucked my fingers hard and pushed them
farther into my throat as the convulsions racked my young body for what
seemed an eternity until I slipped into a blissful sleep.

I woke up sometime later when I heard the door between the house and garage
close. My mother, I presumed, coming home from the office where she worked
Monday through Thursday. My suspicions were confirmed as I heard the
telltale cabinet door slamming. This was a peculiar trait my mom had. She
would open a cabinet to retrieve something and instead of closing it
gently, she would flip the door closed with a bang. Not necessarily like
she was mad - though when she was it was louder - but as though she was
always kind of frustrated.

There was no call-and-response when someone came home at our house. Not
like I had heard on occasion at someone else's home, or on television,
where a parent would come in and announce, "I'm home," to which someone
else would respond with a friendly greeting. There just wasn't much casual
communication within my family.

After doing my chores and struggling with homework, we had dinner - as a
family. It was a strained semi-formal ritual, where my parents would impart
instruction on proper table manners and expect my siblings and me to listen
politely while they discussed their respective day, or where my older
brother, Liam, or I would be interrogated or reprimanded about some
communication from school. My sister, Deena, though occasionally the
subject of this type of attention, would just look on. After being excused
from dinner, not my night to clean up the kitchen, I escaped to my bedroom
where I tried to sort out my afternoon.

I was really mixed up. I was afraid for Lex, and a little for me. Would
Jaime tell people? What might happen if he did? But mostly, I wanted to be
'with' my friend again, and perhaps his brother too. As I slept that night,
all the good stuff replayed in my dreams. I couldn't wait to see Lex the
next day; to see if he was okay, but also to hopefully make plans to see
each other over the weekend.

<fin part 1>


Thanks for reading my story. I am open to feedback.

Rick E. Racoon, Storybynovus@gmail.com


Check out these stories by authors that inspire me


Backwoods Boy - https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/forest-service-summer

Valentin Delgrado - https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/brotherly-games/

Andrew Passey - https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/the-evacuee/; https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/the-deal/

Raphael Adurra - https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/making-me-their-little-bitch/

Kinky boy - https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/my-straight-brother/

nilcono@yahoo.com - https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/visiting-my-brother-at-college/

Micah Cooke - https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/summer-discoveries/