Me and a couple of close friends did private things together around the time we were freshmen and sophomores. My friends were pretty much like me - same age, interests, etc. Very middle-class and conventional.
But I knew another guy that went by the name of Wolf and was substantially different from me and my buddies. “Wolf” was not his real name. That was part of an act like almost everything about him. Wolf was a goth and a loner and a constant prick at school. The only part of school he cared about was art and drama. He dressed in nothing but black, including a long black overcoat in winter. His hair was dyed black. He
had to keep the hair combed at school but shook it forward to hang over his face the rest of the time. Wolf seldom talked to anybody, just hung around sulking and flashing the finger at everybody.
For privacy we used a junked bus in an abandoned wrecking yard where there was little chance of being disturbed. The bus was overgrown with vines and bushes.
We would meet at the forsaken junkyard a couple times a week. Wolf was usually there ahead of me, sitting on a rotten seat with his long legs stuck out into the aisle and his hands jammed sullenly into his pockets. When I would get there he always asked a single word: “Safe?”
If we agreed that we were safe, Wolf then began the entertainment that brought us together. He slowly and artfully unfastened his clothing while swaying to unheard music. On our first few encounters his pants remained around his ankles and his unbuttoned shirt hung on his shoulders in case he needed to get dressed in a hurry. But that was too tame for Wolf. He soon began upping the risk by removing every stitch including his black shoes and socks. The only remaining garment when he began his performance was his underwear. The skivvies bulged with evidence of his obviously erect asset which he was preparing to reveal in an artistic exhibition.
Wolf's underwear, unlike the rest of his clothes, were white. Tightie whities on an angry goth - go figure. By the time his outer clothes were neatly folded on a seat, the diagonal and slightly curved ridge of his boner was fully visible in his Fruit of the Looms.
And then Wolf, looking out the window or up at the roof -- but not at me -- began the day’s erotic drama. He touched his bulge with exaggerated motions to dramatize his arousal. He squeezed and adjusted the hidden erection. He fingered his nipples, stroked his chest with his fingertips and undulated his pelvis. Sometimes he pushed his tongue in and out of his lips with a sexual rhythm. He lifted, squeezed and rotated the ball pouch of his briefs. Then, very very slowly, a fraction of an inch at a time, he gradually slid the white underwear down, first exposing the tiniest glimpse of his pee slit and then little by little revealing all of his big hard-on.
When he was fully ready Wolf stepped out of his underwear, folded them, and set them aside.
Now Wolf, completely naked, began masturbating. But not simply jacking off. For him it was an artistic expression as much as a sexual act. As he stroked himself he moved in and out of various positions. He performed acrobatics in the aisle while slowly pumping his boner. Or he perched on the back of a couple of seats in some sort of double-jointed pose, apparently lost in a completely different world while he sensuously handled his hardness. He sometimes stood and pranced back and forth in a dance while provocatively manipulating the stiff cock. Sometimes he simulated coition, pressing his dick against the back of a seat while repeatedly raising and lowering his butt. One time he brought along a length of blue styrofoam pipe insulation and slid his erection back and forth into it while dancing.
Wolf avoided looking at me while he worked on himself, as if my presence was of no interest to him. And yet I know that he calculated his act to make sure I got the best possible view of what he was doing. And he never started anything until I arrived and began watching, never unfastened a single button before he had my attention.
I always joined Wolf in pursuing an ejaculation of my own. But even when I exposed my boner he didn’t look at me. He stared somewhere else while theatrically wanking for my benefit.
Watching Wolf jack off in his dramatic way made me intensely horny, so I guess I would be called a voyeur. That would make Wolf an exhibitionist. Whatever we were, however, we were never buddies in any sense of the word. Even when I was jacking right in his line of sight he didn’t offer to touch me. Nor did he invite me to touch him. Really, he seemed unaware of what I was doing, often closing his eyes while he progressed toward his climax. I was simply the audience. All his energy went into performance and none into relationship.
Wolf prolonged his dramatic masturbation sessions as much as possible. Despite seeming to ignore me, he always made sure he had my full attention at his moment of climax by whispering "Now, now!”
When the guy ejaculated he emitted a faint whimper or two and shot huge streams of cum that arced through the air and
landed far along the dirty aisle of the old bus. That was the only moment when his eyes searched my face from behind the curtain of black hair -- to make sure I was watching at his critical instant.
As soon as he climaxed he became anxious to get dressed. In seconds he transformed from aroused naked performer back to sullen black-clad misfit. Then he hurried off through the junkyard at a fast walk while I was still getting my pants buttoned and zipped..
He might softly say “Thursday after school?” as he left. Or I would find a note stuffed through the vent of my locker requesting an appointment. (He never spoke to me at school, never even appeared to recognize me. Yet he knew where my locker was.).
I think Wolf appreciated me, although it was in a strange way. He would sometimes hand me a chocolate bar or coke when I showed up for his performance. Only twice did he ever say anything vaguely conversational. One time was on a day when he put on a more dramatic show for me
than usual, including intricate balance tricks on the old bus seats while he masturbated. When he climaxed and ejected his cum onto the sticks and leaves on the floor I said “Good one today, man.” He looked at me, seeming to wonder where I’d come from. Then he replied “Don’t make me cry.”
The second time he did something unusual was when I shot a load in his sight just as he was getting into his clothes (my ejaculation usually took place between a couple of seats, out of his glance). Seeing cum spew out of my stiff peter seemed to totally surprise him. He stared for a second at my dripping dick and then said one word: “Rockin’.”
Wolf’s performances gave me that extra charge that transforms a good wank into an excellent wank. It was a strange thing that the two of did together, but we each benefited in our own way. I never told my “normal” friends about Wolf and me.