Date: Sun, 8 Feb 2015 16:39:24 +0000 (UTC)
From: fiveholepunch@comcast.net
Subject: The Best Way To Wear A Jock

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The Best Way to Wear a Jock

This stuff happened many years ago when I was in seventh grade. As a kid we
played a whole bunch of different sports in our backyards or in the park
down the street or at our grade school playground. Back then there weren't
as many organized sports for young kids like there are today or at least
there wasn't in my small town. It wasn't until we got to junior high school
that we had real PE classes with uniforms and showers and, yes, jockstraps.

I never wore a jock and I don't even think I saw one until I was twelve
years old. To be honest, at twelve years old I really didn't need one. (My
penis was only about an inch and a half long even including the tip of my
foreskin and my scrotum was pink and smooth. I didn't have any pubic hair.)
I wore it in PE anyway because we were required to. Jockstraps didn't hold
any special interest for me until one spring at the end of my seventh grade
year when I joined a newly formed Little League baseball team. A local
hardware store sponsored the team and provided our uniforms, but there were
a few things our parents had to buy. Besides a glove and cleats there was
one other uniform requirement, a protective cup.

This was a source of amusement for all the twelve and thirteen-year-old
guys on the team. We did the usual punching each other, or ourselves, in
the groin or even lightly tapping another guy's crotch with a bat. We also
joked around asking each other what size cup the other guy had bought. Of
course, we always said that we bought an extra large and the other guy had
bought an extra small, it was all innocent fun.

It was the spring at the end of my seventh grade year that it became less
than innocent. I was twelve and a half years old and I started to notice
that my penis would get stiff all by itself.  It kind of hurt, but not
really and it kind of felt good, too, in some weird way I didn't
understand.

Now, of course, I had gotten boners before and so had my friends, we teased
each other about it, I especially remember doing it at the swimming pool
when they were easier to spot. I never gave it much thought, it was just
something you were supposed to do as a guy.  Whereas, before I never
particularly noticed "having a boner," it was just there and then it
wasn't; now I began to notice them more and more. There was something
different, but I just couldn't put my finger on it metaphorically
speaking. Well, that was about to change thanks to my friend Brad.

Brad was in seventh grade like me. We didn't have any classes together at
school, but I knew him well enough to say hello. He didn't live in my
neighborhood, but he didn't live that far away; I could walk to his
house. We became friends because we were both on the Little League baseball
team together.

What would be the best way to describe Brad? Plain and simple, he was a
goofball. He was a goofy kid and he did goofy stuff. Brad was naturally
happy-go-lucky. He wasn't a comedian, but you had to smile when he was
around and you would find yourself having a laugh at the funny stuff he
did. There was one Saturday when Brad clowned around that I'll never
forget...


We had had baseball practice in the morning and then afterwards went out
for lunch at a fast food place with Brad's mom. I had ridden with Brad and
his mom back to his house because we had planned to hang out together at
his place all afternoon while his mom went out to do Saturday stuff like
going to hairdresser or food shopping or whatever moms do on Saturday.

I had brought my regular clothes in a gym bag and I went to the bathroom
and changed out of my baseball stuff and into my jeans and T-shirt. Brad
went back and changed out of his baseball stuff in his room. Brad's mom
told us to be good and have fun before she flew out the door.

Brad told me to hold on a minute and then he went over to the kitchen
window and looked outside to check the driveway.

"I just wanted to make sure my mom was gone," Brad offered by way of
explanation. "Come on, I want to show you something."

Brad led me down the hall to his dad's home office that was really half
office, half den.  It had a couch and a TV and I guess his dad could close
the door and have some time to himself whether he wanted to work or watch a
ballgame in private.  Brad went over to his dad's desk, opened the top
drawer, took out a key and unlocked the lowest drawer and, after rooting
deep in the back, pulled out a small stack of magazines.

"Take a look at these," Brad said with a barely restrained, conspiratorial
smile.

I stepped up to the desk and in an instant realized what was arrayed before
my eyes; the treasure that was greater than gold to a twelve year old boy –
"Playboy" magazines!  I was stunned and nearly speechless.

I turned to Brad and managed to stammer out, "How did you find these?"

"Well, I was home by myself a couple of weeks ago and just looking around,
my dad doesn't want me messing up his business stuff, and I found the key
and, well ..."

I was so taken aback that I asked probably the dumbest question I ever
asked.

"Did you look at the pictures?"

"Of course I looked at the pictures, you moron," Brad said good-naturedly,
and then added, "I thought you might want to look at them, too."

"Yeah," was what I said in response, but what I was thinking was, "I can't
believe this, I must be dreaming!"

"Check this out."

Brad proceeded to give me a guided tour through the airbrushed flesh of
millions of men's and boy's fantasies.  Blonde stewardesses, brunette
secretaries, decorously draped scarves, hanging basket chairs.  And tits!
Big ones and even bigger ones.  Areolas beyond the conception of my seventh
grade mind.  A hint of bush.

Brad's excitement grew, his narrative voice getting higher with every turn
of the page, my responses were equally enthusiastic.  It wasn't only our
voices that were rising with excitement.  I had sprung a painful boner and
I tried to straighten myself surreptitiously without drawing attention to
my problem.  I wasn't successful.

"Looks like you've got a woody," Brad observed with pointed amusement.

I was embarrassed and didn't know what to say.  Brad broke the silence.

"I got major wood, too," my pal confessed openly, pointing to his fly.

What he said next would change my life.

"You wanna jerk off?"

Now, I am sure you can guess from what I've told you about myself earlier
that I didn't really know what "jerking off" was.  I knew it had to do with
sex, but what it was exactly, I didn't really know.  I went with a bluff.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Cool! Let's do it!"

Brad went for his belt and zipper. When he finally spread the fly of his
jeans wide I was genuinely surprised – Brad still had his jock on under
his jeans!

"You've still got your jock on!" I blurted out.

"Yeah, I like to wear it under my jeans after practice when my mom isn't
home. It feels good to feel your butt naked in your pants," my Little
League teammate declared unabashedly with an impish grin on his face.

I couldn't believe Brad would tell me something like that, but it gave me a
thrill to think that he would secretly do something that naughty.

"You wanna do it too?"

"Uh ... I don't know ...," was my timid response.

"Come on," Brad urged, "We can strip down to just our jocks and look at the
magazines. It gets your dick extra hard."

I didn't think my dick could get any harder, but that's not why I
hesitated. My parents of made it clear years ago that it wasn't nice to
show yourself "down there." Yet, Brad wanted to get almost naked with
me. Before I could think too much about it, Brad spoke.

"C'mon, do it."

How often through the ages have boys been encouraged by those very same
words from their youthful comrades?

"Okay," I agreed in the spirit of "why not?"

"Cool! Go get your jock from your bag and put it on. I'll strip down
here. I'll race ya'!"

Brad started stripping off immediately.  I ran down the hall and ripped
into my gym bag to retrieve my balled up jockstrap. I flung all my clothes
off onto the floor of Brad's room, hesitating only a little when I reached
my tented jockeys. I took them down and saw my dick still hard. Would I be
showing my boner to Brad? Was I going to see his? I quickly slid into my
jock, still damp from my sweat; it had since cooled in the air-conditioning
and was clammy against my hairless balls.

I felt a strange sort of elation walking down the hallway of somebody
else's house barefoot, nearly butt-naked, and wearing only a
jockstrap. When I got back to the study Brad had stripped off just as he
said he would.

"This is going to be awesome," my pal eagerly exclaimed at my entrance.

I looked at my friend in a way that was completely different than I had
ever looked at anyone before. I saw Brad's chest, boyishly muscled. I saw
his legs, his thighs bulging and curved, well, as bulging as a barely
thirteen-year-old's legs could. I realized that I liked looking at my buddy
nearly naked.

Brad gave me the same sort of look for a second or two and then,
spontaneously, he started posing like a bodybuilder in his jock.  He went
through some front poses and then looked to me with an unspoken expectation
that I would do the same.  I did, but a bit more self-consciously.

Next, Brad spun around and did a back double bicep pose showing off his
fairly well developed back and shoulders.  I noticed because Brad was more
muscular than I was, but what really caught my eye were his tensed
buttocks. I can honestly say that up until then I had never looked anyone's
bottom with anything more than childish embarrassment. This was
different. I can still see him to this day, standing with his back to me in
his dad's study.

To top off this display, Brad did a couple of slow half squats that
obscenely allowed his buttocks to part just enough to tempt my astonished
gaze.  I was transfixed.  While I felt like I could've stared forever, Brad
broke the spell by spinning around and, smiling at my obvious interest,
started doing a crazy dance in his jockstrap, thrusting his boned-up pouch
forward with his hips. He used his hands on each side of the triangle of
off-white fabric in order to make the bulge of his cock more prominently
visible. He then spun around and, hands on hips, started thrusting his ass
back with rapid, rhythmic jerks, jiggling the white cheeks of his bottom
that were partially restrained by the two angular elastic straps rising
from between his legs. My heart beat in my chest and my boner raged.

My friend laughed joyously to display himself so brazenly. Brad turned yet
again and, pulling to one side the knit cotton fabric, displayed his firmly
erect cock and a nearly hairless pink scrotum pulled tight with his
excitement.  I was beside myself with my buddy's boldness and overjoyed at
his unashamedly showing off his "privates." My horny pal started gyrating
his hips, swinging his stiffened boyhood and causing his lavender glans to
orbit in small circles, slapping against flesh and fabric.  Now we both
laughed with sheer delight at his exuberant performance.

Suddenly, Brad stopped and said, "Hold on a second."

My companion disappeared out the door of the study in a flash.  What was
next?  I couldn't wait to find out.  This was the greatest!

It was only seconds before Brad called out, "Ready?"

"Yeah," I replied with jovial anticipation.

When he came back through the door I was taken aback for a split second –
Brad was entirely naked and wearing his jock over his face!  He marched in
stiff-legged like Frankenstein and made monster sounds from beneath the
inverted jock's pouch.  This was unbelievable!

I started laughing like crazy at the goofy sight and, in an instant, Brad
joined me.  We cracked up for a good minute, during which time Brad pulled
the jock off his head.  After our laughing fit slowed, Brad suddenly, with
a clear look of resolve, called for action.

"Come on, let's jerk off!"

With that he moved to desk grabbed a magazine.

"Let's use this one, it's a good one."

Brad then flopped down on the rug by the desk, sitting Indian style, and
spread the magazine before him.

As I went to join him on the floor, Brad told me, "Take off your
jock. Let's do it totally naked."

I hesitated for just a moment before swiftly slipping the beige straps down
my legs, exposing my rigid boner to my pal.  I sat down as quickly as
possible, self conscious about my hard boyhood being on show.

Brad started his guided tour again, commenting lewdly on the naked women
shown in the photos. Now, at this point, I was still interested in the
pictures, but I was a lot more interested in what Brad was doing with his
cock. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Brad slowly handling his
erection, at times dropping down to touch his boysack, which now had pulled
up even more tightly below his shaft. (I should mention that while I had
nothing in the way of pubic hair, Brad did have the beginnings of some
longer darker strands just above the root of his penis, but nothing on his
scrotum.) I made another furtive observation – when Brad flipped to the
most revealing pages, his excitement was clearly evident; he grabbed his
boner in his fist and gave it repeated up and down strokes.

Brad sort of caught me looking at him jerking his cock and probably
wondered why I wasn't doing the same thing. I'm not too sure, but he may
have suspected that I didn't know that much about jerking off, because he
encouraged me to participate with a simple invitation.

"Do it with me," Brad suggested.

I copied Brad in stroking my rigid rod.  Brad smiled openly as I tried my
best to imitate him. I smiled back.  We shared the eternal camaraderie of
boys masturbating together.

My naked companion began varying the treatment he was giving to his excited
boyhood and his wrinkled scrote. I paid very close attention during this
unspoken game of "Boner Simon Says."  I watched keenly as Brad demonstrated
a new approach and then I earnestly applied myself to the lesson.  When
Brad changed his grip or pace, I followed suit.  I felt a growing intensity
in this sensual interplay: seeing Brad's actions before my eyes and then
feeling the novelty of those sensations as I performed them myself.

Before long I became aware of a tingling starting inside me.  I was taken
by an anxious feeling that wasn't unpleasant, in fact, it was compelling.
I was breathing rapidly, like I was running in a race.  All of a sudden, I
felt an uncontrollable urge to pee!  I tried to hold back, but I couldn't
stop myself - I was going to pee all over the floor of Brad's father's
study!

"Uh ... Uhh ..."

My hard rod jerked upright in my fingers.  I felt an intense spasm at the
bottom of my tight boysack.

"Unngghh!"

Looking down, a watery spurt shot out from the end of my cock. At that
moment, my eyes went wide with shock; my jaw to dropped. I went stupid as
my body took over.

"Uhh ... Uhh ... Uhhh!"

The feeling of pumping continued even though nothing much else came out of
my stiffy. I entered a post-orgasmic daze, but didn't linger there
long. Brad was calling for my attention.

"I'm gonna shoot!"

Brad was yanking frantically, his reddened glans appearing and disappearing
from view as he slid his gripping hand up and down.  All of a sudden he
shoved his hips forward and froze, cock out.  A quick spurt shot up in the
air.

"Innhh!"

Brad came as I did; one quick shot and then the rhythmic twitches of his
cock reinforcing his spasms of ecstasy. Spent, Brad exhaled with a deep
sigh of satisfaction.

"Ahhh ..."

I watched my butt-naked buddy continue a slow caress of his still chubbed
member, a glazed look in his eyes and a half smile on his lips. After an
interlude of relaxed satiety, Brad giggled at having successfully completed
his boyish task.

"That was the best, huh?" asked my companion in mutual masturbation.

I could only agree.


Brad and I jerked together for the rest of the spring and most of the
summer before drifting apart in eighth grade.  And, yes, we did do it in
jockstraps again about a half a dozen more times.  It became our after
Little League activity on Saturdays when Brad's mom was out for the
afternoon.

I also indulged in the pleasure of wearing my not-so-fresh jock under my
jeans at home as a prelude to solo masturbation. It was a thrill to be
"bad," going about knowing that I was secretly wearing a jock when I was
supposed to be wearing underwear.  The feeling my naked cheeks against the
rough denim fabric served to give me especially fierce erections.

There is still something about that triangle of waffle-weave fabric that
harkens back to those good times – a summer when I was twelve.


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