Date: Tue, 19 Dec 2006 08:20:43 -0800
From: Zack McNaught <zackmcnaught@hotmail.com>
Subject: Michael and I

Disclaimer: please do not read on if graphic details of physical love
between pre-pubescent boys bothers you. I won't insult your intelligence by
telling you if it's real or not. You can figure that one out for yourself.
If you like the story, and want to get in touch, I can be e-mailed at
zackmcnaught@hotmail.com. Alternatively, you can leave an anonymous comment
by replying to any of the topics on my blog (zackmcnaught.blogspot.com), and
if you need more Zack McNaught stories, there's a whole archive at
www.asstr.org/~zack/  - don't forget to check out the McNaughty Side of Zack
section for stories with an intergenerational theme. Right, now on with the
story....

It's strange to think, looking back on it, how much like a first date that
first time was. I mean, I got dropped off by my mum, we met up in town
wearing our best clothes, and went to the cinema together. We even shared
popcorn, though that probably had more to do with our financial situations
than anything else. I can't remember the film, oddly, though I suspect it
was some dumb action comedy, we always liked those.
Michael was a school friend, my platonic relationship with whom was
encouraged by my mum and my brother - we happened to both have an older
brother three years ahead, and since our brothers were good mates, and our
mums had become friends in the way mums do, Michael and I were almost
destined to meet head on. We were both in the first year of secondary school
when we met, a mere eleven years old and still full of all the self-belief
engendered by being top of primary school, the big kids. We hadn't yet
worked out, a couple of weeks in to term, how small and insignificant we
were, and right now life was pretty good.
Mike and I knew each other well at school, and were both satellite members
of the same group of friends. What I mean by that is that we hung around the
edge, not sure enough of ourselves to get quite in the middle, but accepted
as long as we kept our mouths shut. I think that, despite the fact that we
acted like the big kids when it was just the two of us, we were both
horribly intimidated by the people around us. They were a little bit more
sure of themselves, a little bit bigger, maybe, and a little cooler. Mike
and I were, let's face facts here, little geeks. I assimilated every single
piece of information I ever heard, as long as it came with a guarantee that
it would never be useful to me, and Mike had already been spotted in the
library reading a book for one of our first assignments. Perhaps that's why
we suited each other so well, and why, in the future, we could be so open
with each other without fear of reprisal.
Anyway, I'm wandering from the story somewhat. I was talking about the first
time Mike and I saw each other outside of school. The film was unremarkable,
as I've said already, apart from one incident which really sticks in my mind
as probably the most erotic thing that had ever happened to me at that point
in my young life. About half way through the film I realised that the huge
Coke I'd drunk was already wanting to get out the other end, and I leaned
over to tell Mike that I was going for a piss. To my surprise, he said that
he too needed to pee, and would come with me. Up to this point, I had never
thought of myself as anything other than a normal straight boy who was
beginning to show a serious interest in the opposite sex, but suddenly the
thought of Mike coming with me made my little dick swell a  bit and push
against the front of my jeans. It wasn't big enough to cause a serious tent,
but I was certainly conscious of the feeling. When we made it to the
toilets, I was both surprised and excited to find that there were only two
urinals right next to each other and the stall was occupied, so Mike and I
would have to piss next to each other. I could actually feel my heart
beating faster in my chest as I unzipped and pulled out my semi-hard dick,
trying desperately to avoid getting so hard that I couldn't go. At school,
getting caught looking at someone else's dick was social suicide, but here,
away from it all with someone I felt I could trust, I took the chance and
glanced over. I could just see the end of Mike's dick, soft and white, the
foreskin not quite as long and overhanging as mine but still there despite
the fact that, to my surprise and embarrassment, he was quite hard. I
quickly looked away, and thanked the spirits that I was finished weeing
because I instantly got the most painfully hard erection I had ever had.
Luckily it was fairly small back then - puberty's harsh touch was a couple
of years off yet - and didn't make itself known too strongly in my jeans. I
hadn't actually met Mike's eyes the whole time, but when we made contact on
the way back into the cinema I could feel the blood rushing to my face,
colouring me crimson in an exact mirror of Mike's own visage.
That was as heated as it got for our first meeting, but a bond had clearly
formed between us. We ate our McDonalds chatting about the film and
generally enjoying each other's company, until my mum came to pick us both
up, whereon we spent the journey to Mike's house annoying the hell out of
her in our excitement, singing along badly to the radio and generally being
idiots. We were not cool kids, I can tell you that, but we were uncool
together and neither of us was about to judge the other. When we dropped
Mike off, I was genuinely sad to see him walk away, but was quickly carrying
on the good work of bugging my mum, nattering on about how great my time
with Mike had been. She just looked at me with that smile that mums have
that says they know more about you than you do right then, and drove me
home.
At school Mike and I began to rapidly spiral away from all the other kids
and into each other. Yeah, we were there, taking part, playing football at
lunchtime, joining in the jokes, but we had our own private world we would
regularly escape into, and people began to notice. Being an all-boys school,
the homo jokes started up pretty quickly when it was noticed how much time
we spent together, but we knew the other kids didn't really believe what
they were saying, and after all we were both normal anyway, so what did it
matter what they thought? Mike and I were happy with each other's company,
and the bond between us grew stronger every day. We couldn't have been
better friends, and looking back always makes me wonder at the strength of
that link. I've known love since Mike, but never as pure, never so carefree
and abandoned. Of course, for a long while I had no idea it was love - there
was so much to go through before it became obvious that's what I felt.
The biggest change in those first few months came before Christmas, shortly
before the end of term. Mike was unusually excitable one day, and I could
tell he was dying to tell me something but wasn't allowed. Somehow he
managed to make it to the end of the day without spilling, but when his mum
turned up at the end of the day to pick us up and take us swimming, a
favourite activity of ours, he was immediately bugging her to see if I could
be told. With a weary smile and a sigh, his mum said whatever it was had
been finalised, and I could be told. Mike was so excited that I was
convinced that he was going to wet himself, but he managed to maintain his
continence and tell me that he was moving house. At the time Mike lived
about ten minutes away by car, a good half an hour by bike taking the most
direct route, and considering how far I lived apart from most of my
classmates that made him practically a neighbour. My heart sank at the news
- now I wouldn't be so close to him. I could understand his excitement at
moving somewhere new, but at the same time I felt pretty sorry for myself.
Numbly I asked the requisite question concerning where he was moving. The
answer didn't actually register for a moment, because the way Mike said it
made it sound like some random road, but then it hit me. The road he'd said,
Parkinson Street, had exactly the same name as mine. I looked over at him,
on the back seat of his mum's car, and the grin that he was wearing rapidly
dissolved to make way for full on giggling. That was the second moment, the
next fall, another step closer to realising what I felt for Mike. There he
was laughing so hard it hurt him, and all I could do was smile and watch
him, a warm feeling flooding through me.
I knew their new house quite well, actually. It was a few down from mine,
but built on the same plan, and my parents had been friends with the couple
who moved out. They had raised their kids in the village for years, but now
the children had all moved out and set up families of their own, the old
couple were making way for a new generation. And that meant Mike would be
just down the road. The best friend I had ever had would be moments away
whenever I wanted him. My heart soared, though at the time I didn't really
understand why, or for that matter recognise the importance. All that
mattered was that at last I would have a real friend living nearby and my
life would start to be normal.
Except that it was never going to be normal, was it? I was a little freak
(as opposed to the big freak that I am now), and Mike was just as odd. We
became more and more insular, more and more comfortable around each other
and no-one else. The closeness eventually began to creep into the physical
side of our relationship. We both had a need to feel contact, and every so
often - in celebration or in commiseration - when we were alone we would
hug. I loved the feel of holding him to me, and for a while it was nothing
more than a brotherly feeling, so we felt fine with the expression. He was
as skinny as I was, but somehow those hugs were always warm and fulfilling.
That wasn't the limit of the comfort we felt around each other, either.
There would be times I would arrive at his house to be told by his mum that
he was in the shower, and she thought nothing of sending me up to his room.
There was no shyness in Mike's demeanour when he would get dressed in front
of me, and though I tried to be surreptitious, I couldn't help but see the
whole of him after a short while. Strangely, because it was just so
commonplace, not a moment of eroticism, I never got hard during these
encounters. The same would happen at my house, Mike sitting at my desk
looking at the latest model plane I was working on and happily chatting away
while I wandered around my room starkers, trying to find a pair of pants to
put on. We would never dare be so open at school, changing for swimming
lessons, but while we were alone, the shyness evaporated.
The first time I looked at him in an erotic way was a few weeks short of
Mike's twelfth birthday. I remember the timing so vividly because all he
could talk about then was the new bike he was getting as a present from his
parents. He was doing the usual thing of chatting to me stark naked, sat on
his bed with his legs crossed and his crotch wide open. He'd had a shower
and couldn't yet be bothered to get dressed, and there was nothing
remarkable in this. What was entirely new, though, was the way his dick
slowly rose to attention as we talked. Without appearing to notice, Mike's
hand drifted into his crotch and started fiddling with his dick. It was so
blatant that I stared, and when Mike realised I wasn't paying asttention to
the conversation, he looked down at himself and then looked up with a
slightly shocked expression.
'Shit, sorry!' he said, pulling his hand away.
I took a moment to speak, but then decided honesty was the best way of
saving a bit of honour for Mike, which I wanted to do.
'It's ok,' I said, 'I do it all the time...'
'Really?' he asked.
I nodded.
'Usually at night, when no-one else can see.'
Mike grinned.
'Do you ever do it when you're staying here?'
By now his hand had gone back to his crotch, and was definitely making
liuttle up-and-down motions. The question had me cornered, too - I certainly
had done it at his, never to the point where I got the really good feeling
I'd discovered, but I'd certainly fiddled. I blushed and nodded. Mike's grin
grew even wider.
'I thought so! How long since you did it?'
'A couple of days.'
'You want to do it now?'
'What, in front of you?' I asked, incredulous.
'Well, I am...' Mike answered, making the point by thrusting his hips into
the air. His little dick stood proudly quivering, it's foreskin drawn back
as far as I'd ever seen it. 'You can if you want to.'
I was torn. On the one hand, I had to admit I was really hard, and
desperately wanted to wank, but then on the other hand it was quite obvious
that Mike's dick was a little fatter and a little longer than mine, and I
didn't want to be embarrassed.
Horniness won out, though, in the end, and I joined him on the bed, pushing
my jeans and pants down to my knees and grabbing my dick. I watched him as I
wanked, finding myself seriously aided in my ministrations by the sight of
him going at it. He used a fairly similar two-fingers-and-thumb method to
me, but with him being right handed and me left, it looked strange. Mike was
a lot more vocal than I at that stage (though I would almost yelp later on
in our relationship when he did certain things to me), and panted and
grunted as he reached his climax, before going totally still as a little
spurt of semen flew from his dick onto his tummy. I couldn't believe it! He
could come! I knew exactly what it was from reading a book my parents had
thought would be more useful than a talk - and less embarrasing for them -
and Mike could do it! I was still totally dry, and came almost painfully, my
dick spasming but failing to release any seed.
Neither of us commented on what had happened when we were done - we'd both
been spurred on by hormones, and now those feelings were satisfied, we felt
a bity silly. Without another word, we both got into our clothes.
Wanking together just seemed to become part of our friendship after that.
Without specifically making the arangement to do so, when nwe were together
we'd both get into bed without our shorts on and go at it under the covers.
The game escalated one night when Mike grabbed the flashlight we'd been
using to make shadows on the ceiling and disappeared under the covers,
watching me wank. I made a tent in the duvet by drawing my knees up and
opening them a bit, and Mike crawled into the space, flashlight pointed at
my crotch as he just watched me doing it. After a few minutes he crawled out
and handed me the torch, and went at it as I crawled under the covers into
that hot, fragrant space between his legs. Watching close-up as Michael's
hand went up and down was one of the hottest things I'd ever seen, and I can
still get hard just at the thought of the smell and heat under the covers. I
noticed his hole for the first time too, exposed by his position, twitching
in the most remarkable way as he came, with that little spurt (getting
bigger every time) fired out onto his abdomen.
Michael always seemed to be the one with the ideas, the one with new and
more dirty things to try. It was he who showed me a picture he'd found, a
fragment of a porno, with a woman sucking a man. And it was he, who, later
that night as I watched him with the flashlight, lifted up the covers
(letting cold air in and the lovely smeel of his sex out) and told me to
suck him. I told him that I would only do it if he did it to me afterwards,
and he eagerly nodded, hormones making the decisions for him.
He took the torch then, coming under the covers with me, throwing them over
his head and plunging us both into darkness until he got the light pointing
the right way. He watched with a fascinated expression as for the first time
I took his dick in my hand. We'd never even wanked each other, just
progressed straight to sucking, and I was about to be the first to do it.
The smell of him grew really strong as I got closer, and for the first time
I realised he was slightly damp beneath his foreskin. I really didn't want
his piss in my mouth, but when I sniffed it it seemed to be something else
entirely, seemed to be the source of the smell I so loved. So, with my heart
absolutely pounding and my dick soft with nervousness, I closed my mouth
around his dick and sucked.
The first time was always going to be a bit rubbish, and it wasn't helped by
the fact that I hadn't worked out it was necessary to move my head. Michael
got the idea, though, instinctively thrusting his hips up and down, taking
his dick in and out of my mouth as I just supplied the suction. I realised
far too late that we'd made no plans for what was going to happen when Mike
came, and was rewarded with a jet of watery semen, which I discovered tasted
quite nice. I almost spat it out, but I really did like the flavour and let
it run around my mouth until I swallowed it without a thought. Juvenile
semen is so much sweeter than adult semen, and to this day one of the
greatest pleasures I have is sucking one of the first emissions out of a
boy. The flavour should be bottled and sold.
Mike was worn out, and lying there with his eyes closed when I emerged form
the covers. I reminded him of his duty, but he was too far gone to
reciprocate, promising to do it next time before rolling over and falling to
sleep. I felt a bit hard done by, but I was still horny, and so wanked
myself off to the memory of the feeling of his hard shaft tickling the back
of my mouth.
Mike got his first hairs before I managed to make an emission of my own.
Here was I still absolutely bald and firing blanks, and he had hairs and a
couple of squirts of come. I noticed them one time while watching him wank
with the torch under the covers. We didn't always suck, and I was just
watching this time and waiting for his emission, which Mike just accepted I
would take off his stomach with a finger and relish. I was getting nice and
close to the action, when I tore my eyes off Mike's dick to look at the way
his scrotum (bigger than mine, and crinkly and pink)  was bouncing up and
down. As my gaze returned to his shaft, I glanced at the join of his dick
with his body, and noticed a few dark hairs. They were tiny and fluffy,
looking like the fuzz he already had had just thickened, but they were
definitely hairs. He grumbled when I stopped him for no apparent reason, and
then gave a little whoop of joy when I pointed them out. We spent the next
half an hour examining the hairs, and examining both our bodies for any
more, before we finally went to bed, our wanking session forgotten.
Ok, so it wasn't all sex. I know that's the way I describe it, and truth be
told we were horny little dudes, but there were times when we were just
friends, too. I've been in relationships where there's nothing but the sex
holding you together, and it's not healthy. Mike and I withdrew into our own
little world a little too far, I think, and became like a double act. Where
one would be, so would the other. We rarely spent a night apart, and both
sets of parents became aware that perhaps something more than simple
friendship was going on. By that, I don't mean that they suspected what we
were up to, but more that the bond between us was far closer to twins than
merely friends. We started to speak our own language, almost, with code
words for practically everything. We levelled each other out at school, too;
the subjects in which I excelled - such as maths and the sciences - Mike
suddenly became a great deal more adept at, and the same went for English,
never really my strong suit but somewhere Mike flourished. We strengthened
the bond of our friendship through pain, with matching scars applied to the
palms of our hands with a cigarette lighter, and still to this day there is
a pure white mark on my right hand.
The end, well that's just abrupt. Those wounds have healed, but they have
scars of their own. At the time it pretty much tipped me over the edge, and
it was a few years before I was ready to rejoin normal society. I wanted to
tell you about the good bits, so I won't go into lots of detail. Mike died
aged thirteen, a victim of leukemia. It was fairly advanced by the time they
discovered it, and for ages I wondered how I'd not seen it, blamed myself
for not knowing sooner. Maybe he could have been saved, but I know now that
it was unlikely. He passed away a month after we discovered the problem, and
without the other half to my double act, I withdrew from that day forth. I
didn't speak again until I was nineteen, and the only thing capable of
breaking my silence was crying out at a beautiful boy not to kill himself.
But that's another story for another day.


Thanks for reading. Remember, zackmcnaught@hotmail.com,
zackmcnaught.blogspot.com and www.asstr.org/~zack/