Date: Thu, 5 Jan 2012 07:00:03 -0800 (PST) From: The Paternal Watcher Subject: My Junior High 9 Put one dick in my mouth, and suddenly dick was all I could think about. I knew it was wrong, I knew it was gay, but I put those worries aside as I pondered the wonders of penis. My awareness of boys was suddenly heightened, as I tried to imagine how they looked down below. It felt like weeks before I was able to get with Harold again, but it was really only about three days, three eye-opening days. Returning home around noon, I didn't fight my mother's suggestion that I take a shower. I was tired and obsessed and perverted and dirty and confused. A shower couldn't hurt. There had been a time when I could never have imagined taking a shower. I had taken baths up until I was about ten, when I went with my Cub Scout pack to a local pool. There was a shower room, of course, and we all rinsed off under the hot water after our aquatic adventures. I discovered that I didn't really mind standing as much as I thought I would have, and announced to my mother when I got home that I would be taking showers from then on. She'd shown me how the controls differed from the simpler locker room style that you just pushed, and I was embarrassed but grateful. Two years later, I adjusted the temperature and intensity of the stream completely unconsciously, my thoughts utterly preoccupied. As I stepped into the steaming stream I thought about group showers. There had been a couple of naked men in the pool locker room, including one in the shower, but nothing about him spurred my curiosity for more than a glance. The kids in my pack had all kept their suits on, and had changed out of them with towels wrapped around as they dried, so that wasn't really a group shower. If I went to Boy Scout camp, I knew, there would be group showers. Some of the older kids had mentioned it as evidence that we younger boys might as well get over being shy. There were showers at school, too, in the locker rooms, but they were never used, at least not after class. The gym teachers never mentioned them, and neither did any of my classmates. I supposed that they had been built for some reason, but didn't really know when, if ever, they were used. A group shower, I decided, was my best chance of seeing what other boys had going on down there. My dares with Harold were unlikely to be repeated with any other boy, but at least in a shower setting I could compare myself to other kids my age. My wandering mind was brought back to the here-and-now by my hands, which had been washing my penis and got a response from my young organ. I slid my soapy fingers up the shaft from base to tip, and felt a small thrill run through me as they crossed the ridge of the head. What was that? The feeling was new . . . not quite like a tickle, almost an ache, and certainly not unpleasant. Curious, I turned my back to the spray and repeated the motion. It definitely felt good the second time. Like a spectator I watched as my fingers traced the same route again, and then again. Up along the shaft and over the ridge. Yes, it happened when they caressed the ridge. My right hand's digits started to focus just on the final two inches, repeating the motion over and over, always in the same direction. My left found its way down to my balls and tugged them down, tightening the skin over the head of my penis. That's when my legs went weak, and I had to sit down in the bottom of the tub. I lowered myself and used my legs to pin my testes in place, keeping the skin of my penis taut for my ministrations. My fingers started making more of a circular motion, up along the top and then returning below to do it again. The sensation in the head of my penis was growing more intense, and I quickened the pace even as I closed my eyes. If they'd still been open, I think I would have had tunnel vision; my entire world collapsed down into the tip of my cock. There was no sound or wetness coming from the shower, I could not say if the bathroom light was on or not, and time was completely meaningless. My realm of perception grew even more narrow as something akin to pressure continue to build beneath my digits. Had I exploded, it probably wouldn't have surprised me that much. Of course I didn't explode, but in my mind I couldn't tell the difference as the feelings grew to a crescendo, finally peaking so high that I couldn't bear to touch any longer. I lay in the tub bottom, panting, as my vision cleared. What in the hell had happened? I looked at my penis, which was still erect, and touched it timidly. I could still feel soap on it, but as it ran away down the drain I got the sense that it felt different, somehow . . . slimier than soap, maybe. After I collected myself I stood up and got out of the shower to dry and dress. As I walked to my bedroom my mother remarked, "I thought only my daughters took long showers. We're definitely going to have a problem with hot water around here."