Thursday, September 29, 2016


My peter started firing live rounds at 13, in the fall of 8th grade. Just a day or two after my first shot I felt like pumping one out at school. I locked myself into a stall in the boys room and stood over the toilet while getting with the program.

Just as I was cumming a voice spoke. "Having fun in there?" It was a guy sitting on the pot in the very next stall. Heart Attack City. I ran out of the restroom with blobs of cum on my pants leg, ducking into the gym locker room to grab a towel and try to wipe the stuff off.

I was so inexperienced that it never dawned on me that anybody in another stall would know what I was doing. The other guy's voice sounded like he must be in high school and therefore several years older than me.

I was hugely frightened, scared of the other guy reporting me to the office and the office calling my parents, and also scared of him ratting me out to other kids. Every day for a week or more I went to school in dread, expecting the axe to fall. However, nothing ever happened and I gradually got over the whole thing.

I did learn to be very conscious of my surroundings when dealing with a stiffie.


Tuesday, September 27, 2016

The Magical Cocoa Mystery

This Story reminds me of a story a friend told me when we were at school.

 He said he used to like to have a wank first thing after waking up in the morning in bed. Also, every morning his Mom would bring him in a hot cup of cocoa to drink. He said that he could always hear his Mom always knocked on the door shortly before entering so he was never caught. Well he also told me he sometimes liked to listen to music while he wanked.He didn't say if it was Madonna, Pat Benatar, or maybe even George Michael. Son one morning he woke up, put his headphone on, cranked up some music and got busy with his morning wank. Like a lot of people do when receiving pleasure, they close their eyes.

 So here he was in bed, music through his headphones playing, eyes closed and jerking like mad! He shot-off his load of cum into a tissue and laid there for a few more minutes to catch his breath. He then removed his headphones and went to set them on the nightstand by the bed.

To his horror, he noticed that there was now a nice, hot cup of cocoa now sitting on his nightstand! I guess good old Mom didn't want to disturb her Son while he was enjoying himself.


Monday, September 26, 2016

Late to the Game

 I've been reading on and off for a few years, so here's a contribution -
 I don't really have any youth stories. My two best friends and I slept over with each other all the time since we lived within 4 houses of each other. When we hit middle school, we'd sit up late for the softcore on Skin-emax and HBO, but jacking was taboo—it was the mid-90s and sex acts had been transformed from something people do, to who people are, and of course every middle school guy sure as Hell wasn't a fag. 
 By the time I was 13, a true pedo uncle had mentioned circle jerks to me, it was a term I was both familiar with and that I was certain was an absolute fiction, it was so unimaginable that guys did that. Anyway, me and my friends never got anywhere. We compared once, and my semi was a dead giveaway. I know the other two jacked off under separate blankets sometimes, but never when I was around.
 I arrived at 32 still a virgin. I hadn't even held anyone's hand. Never dated. When I think about happily-ever-after, it's a wife and 4 kids; when I think about animalistic humping it's hot young guys throwing me around.
 A couple years ago, I started sculpting. I was mostly interested in the male body; females are played out. Also, I was in the middle of reading Plato's Republic, Phaedrus,and Symposium, and all enraptured by the messages about male beauty and love. (Don't ever let anyone fool you, though, Plato says some nice things but it's clear he held the physical aspect of these relationships in disdain.) I started out by asking a young man I knew to model - I was mortified to ask people and be rejected, and I knew this guy would just say yes, so I asked him, and he did.
 He was beautiful, 13 years younger than me, wild. He should've been dead from all the recreational drugs and pharmaceuticals he'd been taking from 15-16.5, but now he was just now 18, and putting all that energy into turning himself into an Oscar Wilde. After several months, he asked me to do a nude piece. I agonized over it for a few months; I wanted to for purely artistic reasons, but I never wanted him to find out how I'd become interested in him partly for sexual reasons. Our friendship had deepened, but I didn't want to lose that: my only friendship, honestly. I had no idea what to do; 32yr-old virgin. I can predict human behavior pretty well, but I couldn't figure out how to live this out.
 Finally, he pressed, so I sat him down the night before and told him that I had developed very strong feelings for him. I only had lamps on, to hopefully obscure the torture on my face. To my chagrin, the electric pillar candles came on by timer, and I was mortified to think that he might imagine I had set the light low for romance. Too late.
 I didn't imagine he could return my feelings. He'd been fucking since he was 15, he was beautiful and knew it, his dick limp was the size of an average guy hard. I was so much older, a bald spot, hairy back and a few extra pounds. But he had teased me sometimes, and he asked me about gay relationships often, so I had some small hope for us. The very few people I confided in for advice were all certain the only reason he had even asked for a nude piece was so that he could start something in a  sexual way. But that night, I just wanted to clear the air, and prayed we could keep the friendship.
 He said he had a lot of the same feelings toward me, and it didn't matter. That he'd see me in the morning for our appointment. But the next morning he texted to cancel, and said he'd write a letter with all his thoughts. He didn't speak to me again for 4 months. Then we reconnected, and for a couple months everything was like nothing happened. He asked for more sculptures, even a nude from behind, and I wept at what a beautiful thing we had made. Then, slowly, he ignored me more. I haven't heard from him in a year, now. I don't think I ever will again. It has destroyed me, utterly.
I was determined, however, to work with a nude, so I hired a model; an 18-y-old posing for the drawing classes. I hadn't actually seen him nude, but I hit the jackpot: another 5.5-incher limp, and thicker than my former friend.
 When an acquaintance saw my work, he said he was similarly hung to the model, and would I make a sculpture for him? I agreed. When he came in for a consult, he pulled down his pants and there hung a 7.5-inch miracle, three thick veins, and yes, black, with a peachy head.
 My work involved making molds of the subject. Physical contact is part and parcel. During our first session, the young man—he was 25—leaked pre-cum profusely. To the point that it was enough to actually pour out of the molds. Erections were normal; most of my models would get reflex boners while I was casting their torsos, but this was insane. I was sitting there making molds of a 7.5 inch horse cock growing up to 9.5", dribbling pre-cum all over my hands, on the floor, into the mold. He apologized meekly, and I said it was perfectly fine.
 The conversation was very frank as I worked. We discussed politics, sex, sexuality. He was a virgin, he hadn't dated in 8 years. After the first session, I asked whether he'd like to try for a purposefully-erect piece, since most guys are so concerned about size, and there he would have a monument to his manhood in his youthful prime. He agreed. As we worked, he got himself hard, the pre-cum came in streams; clear, sticky, odorless. While he was turned away, I sneaked my finger into my mouth: flavorless, too. The molding material is cold, heavy, and slimy. It inevitably killed his boner when it went on, so after two tries, I asked him to keep himself turned on, and what turned him on. He said the inside of his thigh was "it" for him, so I stroked there with one hand and worked with the other. He panted. Without a word, I ran my finger across the sensitive skin just below his head. I made myself breathe from the mouth, inhaling through the nose, but exhaling my hot breath onto his penis. My heart was pounding, I was flushed, my ears coursed with blood making it hard to hear—does that happen to anyone else during extreme, tense arousal; this blood-pumped deafness?
 When we left the studio, it had been only a few minutes before he texted me. We fenced for a couple of messages, and then I just went right for it: if he wanted, I'd suck his dick that night, as soon as we both had time to get cleaned up. An hour later, I was in his arms, in the woods. It was early spring, nippy, but neither of us had a place to ourselves, so there we were under the moon. I intended to just blow him and get going. I just wanted to drown in his cum, I mean I really just wanted to get my head pushed down onto his massive dick and have cum coursing down my throat as tears streamed down my face, and to go. But he wanted more. So, we started slowly, kissing tenderly. It was unnerving; I actually didn't want to kiss him, I wanted my first kiss to be something sentimental. Isn't that insane, in context? But to me, kissing is emotional, and personal, and what I wanted out of his cock was primal, and separate from emotions. Oh, but he was such a good kisser, every moment of it was sensual, I gasped and whimpered at his kisses. We must have kissed for ten minutes, then I dropped to my knees. I pressed my face into the inside of his thigh, inhaling deeply. I kissed him there, where I already knew it made him wild. I held him close with my right hand on his ass, and stroked his pulsing penis with my left, massaging his balls, too, and caressed his right thigh as I kissed and licked the left.
 He was afraid of his size. He had been clear: he didn't want me to try to take it all, or even to gag in the slightest; he just wanted me to lick the tip as I stroked. But I wanted it all. I worked slowly, and got a bit over half in. I kept everything in mind: used my tongue, kept my lips over my teeth, used my hands,gave his balls attention. I stayed at it, gasping, kissing his stomach and nipples, taking his finger into my mouth at times, I wanted him to come back to me over and over after this, I wanted to suck his dick every day forever, and I wanted him to want me to.
 As I pressed on, he shed his genteel qualms. Once I was used to it, he began pressing me down. I was so turned on by his rising assertiveness, I wanted him to bear down on me. I became more passive, and focused on opening the back of my throat as wide as possible, I knew he could feel it because he pressed harder in response to my silent indications. I wrapped my arms around his waist, caressing and cupping his butt as he took control of my head and pushed, coming up on his tiptoes, leveraging with his whole body. I hadn't been able to breathe for at least a minute, I could feel myself drifting, I focused everything on opening my throat and moving my tongue, and pulled him in as he pressed me down, feeling myself fainting. I was mad with desire, I was made wild with the idea of suffocating on his dick, I felt myself slipping out of consciousness, and it was incredible. He pulled back, instinctively, just as I really began to swoon. I breathed deep and continued on. Soon, he came, and I swallowed so hungrily that I could not tell you what it tasted like, or even how much there was, though there was a lot. I wanted all of it in me, none wasted. I sucked him for ten minutes more as he went soft, luxuriating in the feeling of his velvet skin against my tongue, reveling in taking his entire limp length into my mouth.
 Eventually, he lifted me up, and I wobbled all over the place with dead legs, like an idiotic Bambi, but he held me and kissed me. Then he went to his knees and took me into his mouth, insistent that I cum, too, but also that he wasn't taking any cum. It was sweet and funny.
 We headed to our cars, and into the night. I've blown him several times since. He felt bad when I told him I almost passed out; I still do it almost every time. To cum, I need him to bare down on me and push me to the edge, but I also like that it doesn't come naturally to him, that it comes out in the heat of the moment.

Saturday, September 24, 2016

A Plea for a Privacy

I live next to an elderly couple who have basically adopted me as one of their own kids. The old gent or his wife often ask for my help in various projects. This weekend "we" are having a yard sale.

The old guy has done some remodeling to their house, including new doorknobs on the interior doors. Nothing wrong with the old ones, but his wife wanted a different style. So in setting up for the sale he displayed ten or a dozen old knob sets. Some were "privacy" knobs which could be locked/unlocked easily from the inside and unlocked from the outside in an emergency by using a small screwdriver.

Among the customers this morning were a Hispanic man and boy. They made quite a contrast. The man was so overweight that the bottom two buttons of his shirt weren't fastened and the resulting gap showed a glimpse of unappetizing hairy stomach. But the boy presented a much more attractive aura. He wore blue jeans with a crease ironed into them. They were held up by a belt with a rodeo buckle. His collared Western shirt was tucked into the jeans. There was not an ounce of fat on the kid. His black hair was combed over in a style that was almost 1950's-looking. I guessed his mother had probably played a role in making sure he cut a dashing figure while cruising the sales with Papa. He looked so innocent that you couldn't imagine a naughty thought ever crossing his mind.

The boy stopped the minute he saw the doorknobs. He was immediately attracted to them, moving to other tables but always coming back to the door locks. He tried several locking and unlocking them with their thumb buttons. The ones that weren't designed to lock he eliminated quickly. At last, after several trips back to that table, he settled on a suitable knob and called his Pa-Pa over for a conference.

The dad was completely against purchasing a locking doorknob. We couldn't understand their Spanish, but there was clearly a struggle of wills taking place. The young man pleaded; the old guy refused. After a couple of heated conversations, the kid reached toward his back pocket and pulled out his own wallet. You could hear him telling the old man: "Alright, I'll buy it with my own money."

But Papa was so strongly opposed that he snatched the doorknob out of the boy's hand and banged it down on the table. With that he gave the boy a command. The two of them marched out to their truck and left.

You know what I think, don't you? And you think the same thing, or you would if you'd been there watching the boy try those locks: He wanted a lock for his room. He wanted privacy for himself, and there it was, in the form of a cheap used lock that he was even willing to purchase with his own money. That lock will fix everything, he thought. With that lock on my door I can do "IT" without anybody guessing what I'm up to.

I felt so bad for the kid. There was a passing moment where I almost grabbed up the lock and ran after the truck, thinking "Dammit! I don't know this boy from Adam, but I'll buy him a lock myself!"

That scene will haunt me for days.


Wednesday, September 21, 2016

The Determined Duo

In celebration of Eric rescuing the blog, here's an incident that I observed "in the line of duty," so to speak. Some of you know that I teach at a middle school in a tough big-city neighborhood.

I was on hall duty, walking back and forth through the building, ready to call the resource officer if I observed anything unusual. I went into one of the boys' restrooms, immediately triggering an instant and amusing response. Two guys who had been standing side-by-side at a couple of urinals nearly killed themselves dashing apart. One of them moved down to a different urinal and stood perfectly still. The other one rushed toward the lavatories while struggling to zip his pants. While I stood in the room doing my best to give no hint that I suspected what they'd been doing, lavatory-boy washed his hands and trotted out of the restroom as fast as he could.

That left the dude who stood stiff as a statue at his urinal. Stiff but also sort of vibrating. And why was he vibrating? No doubt he had been on the verge of ejaculating while playing with his friend. I had interrupted him when he was past the point of no return. He could not stop whacking himself but did his best to hide his action in the urinal.

I decided that my best course was to make a calm exit so urinal-boy could deliver his seed in peace. However, I wasn't quick enough. Before I reached the door the guy apparently arrived at his critical moment. He didn't say anything, but I heard a sudden, rushing intake of breath followed by the tiniest of vocal squeaks.

While walking away from the restroom I turned a corner and found lavatory-boy loitering in front of a trophy case, obviously waiting for a chance to join his friend in the restroom and finish what they had started. I told him he needed to get back to class and he took off at a fast walk. However, he left me with one last impression: the front of his pants stuck out in one of the most unmistakable points I have ever seen. No wonder he'd had trouble getting his zipper closed!


Not sure if anyone knows who this author is? He didn't identify himself to me. I also do not recognize the writing style exactly either. Cool story though.


Tuesday, September 20, 2016

Blog Info Today

So it's another bright and shiney day for OOTS fans. We have stood up a new blog in the time it takes to drink a cup of coffee. I'm actually getting proficient at speedy rebuilds. I'm keeping a reserve URL available as well, for any urgent needs in the future.

It may take some time for our readers and guests to locate us, however it will be business as usual at OOTS.

At the present time I have the appearance revised but suitably represents us. I have updated the missing posts except for one. I believe the comments are also up to date. Please forgive us if there is anything missing, however considering what we just went through, you guys likely aren't missing much of anything at all.

 Thanks to all who support us regularly, and if there are any who are less than appreciative, then you will just have to suffer our staying power.


Coach's Half Time Support

Yesterday was the third game for the disorganized and funny Boys Football League for the neighborhood where I live.
 I guess you might say I am half-manager, half-coach and half-role-model for a team of 8-to-10 year olds. And of course for the kids with single Mom's who have to go get their nails done, you are of course part time Baby sitter during practices.

So on Game-day, at halftime one of my players told me he had to go to the bathroom real bad. So he headed out for the restroom, which was quite a walk away. Now, this kid is taller than anybody else on the team and skinny as your little finger. He is the most visible player I've got. Halftime rocked along and he didn't come back. I sent one of the other boys after him.

That boy came running back and said "Rafe needs you!" So everything comes to a screeching halt and I head out for the restroom, leaving a couple of parents in charge of the team.

When I got to the restroom, Rafe was standing in the middle of the floor with his pants, jock and shoes all in a big snarl. His bottom half was naked. One pants leg was completely inside-out, hung up on one of his cleats and somehow threaded through the jock. Rafe was feverishly trying to get the jock loose but was just tying everything into huge knots.

The kid was crying, and telling me that he tried to get his pants off so he could "poop." It took a few minutes to get him suited-up again. While that was happening his penis swung back and forth and his balls dangled like an old lady's purse. I swear to you, the boy is only ten. Ten! Amazingly,  he has a full bloom of pubes and a mature, un-circumcised dick.

What really got my attention, his jock was damp with a certain viscous fluid. When he saw me looking at the cum in his jock he protested "I didn't pee! I didn't pee! I don't know what happened!" Here's what I think happened.

The excitement of the game got him erect. As he continued playing, he ejaculated into his jock. That was possibly his very first ejaculation and he made up the story of needing to poop so he could go to the restroom and see what the heck had happened in his pants.

We lost by forfeit.

Anonymous Half Author

Maybe He Doesn't get Enough Sleep

I was visiting my mom and overheard her on the phone talking with a friend of hers that has two boys, one in 5th grade and the other in 8th grade. Her friend was remarking about how tired her older boy always seems to be after school. While the 5th grader comes home and is active, goes out and plays, etc.

The 8th grader "comes home, goes straight up to his room, changes his clothes, and then falls asleep most days".
 My mom suggested maybe he doesn't get enough sleep at night, and she remarked that I was that same way when I was in school.

What my mom apparently never realized was that starting in 7th grade shortly after I discovered how to masturbate and climax, I'd come home from school, go up to my room, strip off my pants and have a terrific wank. Then after cumming, I'd get dressed, go back downstairs, and then drift off to sleep in a chair or on the couch, enjoying the nice post-ejaculatory "afterglow" of a toe-curling teenage orgasm that would make me sleepy.


Excess Juvie Juice

The story about the Soldier at Boot Camp reminds me how I was in some trouble once with some other kids, and ended up in a Juvie lockup a long way from home for two weeks at age 16.

 Every boy in the jail was under observation every minute of every hour. Some of the officers who watched us strip and shower were even women. So there was like almost no privacy ever.

 My grandparents picked me up when I was released. They brought one of my cousins along to keep me company while driving home. Or maybe in hopes the detention center would scare him and he would stay out of trouble. Anyway, we stopped at a motel that night. Grandparents in one room, cousin and me in another room.

I knew without a doubt that I was going to jack off as soon as I got in bed. Come hell or high water, I was going to spread out naked under the blanket and get my nuts off for the first time in two long weeks. I was totally stiff before ever getting in bed. I tried to wait for the cousin to go to sleep. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. I was so needy that I couldn't think straight. before ever making sure about him, I was already playing with my boner and feeling how hard it was. I tried to go slow but I couldn't control it and would speed up again and again. I got closer and closer to firing my load. My whole body was so horny that by then I didn't care about anything but furiously masturbating. I would try to go slow to keep the cousin from noticing anything. But a second later I would find my hand banging back and forth at 90 miles an hour. When the sensations of approaching an ejaculation started hitting me, it was like my dick was too hard to bear and my balls were sore and aching. I was going faster and faster. I got to the point where I didn't care a whit whether the other guy knew or not. I had to fire my rod, by damn, had to pump like mad. That was my only goal and no combination of people or circumstances would stop me. For a moment I stuck at that point where you're almost there and you're loving it but you can't stop and enjoy it. And then I ejaculated. I felt like I was having some kind of stroke. My whole crotch felt paralyzed and the stuff was zipping through my system in pulses.

And just like the soldier, I couldn't keep quiet. I knew I was making noise, kind of groaning over and over again and pounding myself like fury while I groaned. A bunch of loads shot out like fire from a rifle. I had such an awful backlog of cum until I could hardly bear the feeling of it blasting through my system. It was more cum than I'd ever shot before, one enormous load after another. When it was all over I felt real embarrassed because I suddenly saw that my cousin was going to town on his own dick.
He was a nice little dude and there he was, pounding himself under his covers. we never talked about it but I know it was my insane jacking of two-weeks-worth of cum that set him off that night.

"Wee-wee! Wee!"

It's been a long time since this happened. But reading these stories brought it back. Me and a friend were playing in the park one day. Here came a man pushing a little boy in one of those red and yellow plastic cars. They followed some of the park trails and came past us again from time to time. After while we were sitting in the picnic shelter when they went by on the sidewalk. The little boy suddenly put on his brakes and said "Wee-wee!" His father answered "Not now. Let's go home. Wait till we get home."

The little guy had a one-track mind. "Wee-wee! Wee-wee!" he insisted. We were sitting at one of the picnic tables, watching the whole scene and about to die on the inside but forcing ourselves to keep a straight face. The boy's father pushed faster and tried to reason with his son, saying things like "Not here" and "Not now" and "Let's hurry home."

But the boy was already climbing out of his moving car and eluding his father. We heard the dad clearly say "Shit!" to himself as the little dude took off running to a flower bed. While his father was hurrying to get there the kid wrestled his pants and briefs completely off. He stood with his naked bottom in full view while he pissed into the flowers. "Wee-wee! Wee-wee!" he said, happy as a lark while people walked and biked past the embarrassed father.

The man grabbed up his son. He threw the little guy's pants and underwear into the red and yellow car. They headed out of the park at a fast pace, the man pushing the empty car and carrying his half-naked son.

My friend and I looked at each other when they were out of earshot. He said to me, "Wee-wee!" I replied "Well, wee-wee to you too!" Both of us fell on the floor laughing our butts off.

But there was more to come. We were very good friends, just beginning to slightly hint at private things when we were alone. "Wee-wee" became our code for getting our peters out. At first we just treated each other to a quick look or a shared piss. From there we progressed to touching and gently examining what God had given us, getting things started by one of us sort of asking "Wee-wee?" to see if the other one was up for some fun.

Then during seventh grade fate added a new dimension to the old phrase. "Wee-wee," one of us would whisper to the other one. And we'd go off to one of our secret places and mess around with our skinny little erections until we were right on the verge of climaxing. "Wee-wee! Wee-wee! "Wee-wee" we'd whisper, and the end result of our play-time would come spraying out of our rigid little stiffies while we shared the moment of orgasm.

"Wee-wee," we sighed while we got our breath, happy as a two-year-old pissing in a flower bed.


Our Secret Cinema Creaming

This is about a guy letting me know we could play around if I wanted to.

  It happened strangely in a cinema where we went to watch a movie. I do not remember what the movie was. What I do remember, the boy was a good friend of my brother's. My brother could not go, so his friend turned to me and asked if I wanted to go instead.

While watching the movie he leaned over and whispered that he had to scratch his peter and hoped it wouldn't bother me. So we are sitting side by side with him at first kind of squeezing himself and soon constantly digging around in his lap. Ever so often he says again not to let it bother me, that he's just having trouble getting his dick comfortable. This went on a little while and he leaned over again and whispered that his dick is real hard, and did I think anybody would notice if he let it loose for a minute so it could stretch out. I thought that was funny. We looked around and saw there were not any people nearby. He was wearing a T-shirt that he pulled down and covered his fly with while he opened his zipper. In a minute he whispers that it's out. Then he says to me to get mine out so he won't be alone. This is getting real funny to me so I opened my zipper and let my little stiffie pop out. I kept it covered with my hands. He wanted to know if mine was hard and I said yeah. Then he told me I wouldn't believe how hard his was, and if I wanted to feel of it to see what he meant, why go right ahead because he would be glad to let me check it. I reached over and felt him through his T-shirt. He was right, his boner was real stiff. He lifted the shirt a little and said go on, feel the real thing.

In a minute he asked if I wanted to help. I pumped him for a while and then decided I needed to jerk my own prick. I was hugely horny by then and hit a climax almost immediately. The other dude is whispering that he is coming. Both of us came into wads of paper towels that we left on the floor.

 It was strange after that. He was still my brother's good friend but he was my favorite jacking buddy. I'm pretty sure he and my brother never touched each other and my brother never knew about the two of us.


Thursday, September 8, 2016

The Secret Clubhouse Part II

Continued from -
The Secret Clubhouse Part I

"Just lay down here," Jacob told me.. "Relax. I can make you feel excellent. Did you know that? I can make you feel awesome. Just by...  all over good. Stevie liked it."

I was highly horny by then. I went ahead and laid down, having a pretty good hunch what was about to happen. My dick was hidden in my pants but it was fully erect now that Jacob had shown interest and arranged to get a peek. I stretched out on the plywood and asked him, "How's that?"

"Relax," he told me. "Don't worry. Let me open... your... zipper, okay?"

He unsnapped my pants, pulled down the zipper and told me to lift my butt. Soon my pants were around my knees.

Jacob's voice was kind of whispery-nervous now. "Next your... under... your box... under... pants... Do you want to pull them down yourself... Maybe you'd rather... what do you think?"

The kid seemed to have the jitters.

"You can pull them down, Jacob. Here. I'll lift my butt again. There you go."

"There's your... I can see your whole... your... thing...  Now don't be scared... I won't hurt.. just.. umm tickle... a little. Are you ready?"


Jacob  used his fingertips to stroke lightly around my junk, not touching my stiff dick but drawing imaginary lines around my balls and along my sides. With every little touch near my scrotum I became more horny.

"I'm just going to make you feel good, okay? Your... thing... looks real hard... very... hard. I'm not... touching... your thing... yet. just gonna tickle, tickle tickle down below... is that okay?" His tickling fingers were brushing my balls now.

"Awesome, Jacob. You do it very nice. Makes me feel very good."

"You really mean that? Very good?"

"You can play with my thing too if you want to. Did you and Stevie play with each other's things?"

"He let me... do... him. Just me doing him. I can do something real... special... I can do it for you like I did for Stevie."

"Go ahead, man. Do it."

The kid wrapped his right hand around the length of my erection. He was trembling.

"Oh, it's really... hard... very hard.... am I doing... okay?"

"Awesome, Jacob. You do it very nice. Makes me feel real good."

"I'm going to... I... I'll do your thing... in a special way.  Like I did for Stevie." He manipulated my boner for a minute and then said, "Umm... it's... big... and... hot! Here we go. And we go up and down, up and down, back and forth, up and..."


"What!" Am I hurting... I can do it real gentle... don't get mad... this will make you... let me keep doing... up and down, up and down..."

"Jacob, stop and get yours out too."

"Oh! Mine is... I don't want... little... not like yours... or Stevie's..."

"Get it out anyway."

"You'll just... make fun... of me."

"I will not make fun of you.. Get the damn thing out, Jacob."

Jacob obeyed, fumbling in his pants and releasing a stiff little prong.  His peter was indeed somewhat small, but not at all immature. It looked as rigid as a boy-wizard's wand.

"Closer, Jacob. Kneel right here next to me so I can reach it. I'm gonna do you while you do me. Back and forth. Wiggle, wiggle. Wow, you are really stiff, Jacob. You've got a really nice boner there."

"I need to keep doing you! I want to be doing you when it... when the stuff... I mean... if you know how... to make your thing squirt?"

"Yes, I know how to make it squirt."

"Stevie made... big... squirts! He let mmm... let me... do it to him! We would come... here... in our clubhouse... and I made... made him... made him squirt.  Every day!"

"Did Stevie make you squirt, man?"

"No, because I'm... I'm... little."

"You jacked Stevie off every day but he never returned the favor?"

"Um... I did it... alone... by myself... after... after... you know."

"Move, Jacob. I'm gonna sit up. Now lay your own butt down on the board."


"Do it, man."

Jacob laid down. His little erection seemed to pulse with need. It stuck through his fly and pointed up as straight as a pine tree. I unfastened his belt, unbuttoned his jeans and slid his pants down.

"Okay, Jacob. Do you want to pull those whitie-tighties down yourself? Or you want me...? Good job, Jacob. Look at that stiffie sticking up! And... Dude, you got some hairs! See, Jacob, you're not so small. Now it's your turn. Tickle, tickle, tickle. Does that make your bod feel good?

"Yes... but Stevie... Stevie said..."

"To Hell with Stevie! I'm not Stevie, understand? I'm me and I'm gonna do it for you. Understand?"


"And here we go on your nice hard Stiffie. Jackety jack! Jackety jack! I can give you all the jacking you need. Get ready to make your own big squirt."

After a couple of minutes Jacob crossed his ankles. Then he reached up and took hold of my boner. I slowed down, hoping I was reading the signs right. "Everything okay, Jacob?"

"Oh... it's... you're nice... I'm gonna... so good... so good... stop a minute and wait... I didn't do it since... Oh... NOW!

His miniature sperm-launcher spasmed, his body shook, and Jacob fired a spreading fountain of fertile drops that shot into the air like a Fourth of July firework. Then another burst and finally a third eruption.

"Very good!" I told him. "Nice job! Great cumshot, man. We're gonna be okay friends, Jacob."

"Yes..." he breathed, still laying on the plywood and slightly gasping. "But I need to finish you. You didn't squirt yet. Gotta finish what I started."

We traded places once more, me laying on the board again. Jacob tucked his weenie into his pants and knelt down to tickle me. Soon his right hand was moving back and forth along my boner once again while his left hand tickled my tingling balls.

"I... like... like to do this," Jacob told me.

"You do lots of other guys?"

"Oh, no. Only... only Stevie. It was our... secret."

Jacob sped up a little, "Do you like fast or slow?" he asked.

"Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. You're doing good. How long have you been squirting, Jacob?"

"Oh, a while. After I saw Stevie squirt I tried it and it worked. Are you getting close? Feeling good?"

"Slow down, Jacob. Real easy, now."

He slowed to a crawl, meanwhile agitating my balls.

"I'm going to roll onto my side, Jacob, so the stuff doesn't get on my clothes. Okay?"

"Okay. Let me get closer. I want to see.  Watch it when it squirts."

"I'm cumming, Jacob! Cumming! Almost there."

"Oh! Oh! Already! Faster? Slower?"

"Tiny jiggles, just jiggle-jiggle-jigg.... if you can."

Jacob followed instructions perfectly, giving me rapid, vibrating, tiny strokes that seemed to turn my erection into a length of tingling rebar.

The kid was staring at my dick, eyes fixed on its aperture, breathlessly waiting for my climax. "Are you... is it... am I doing... There it goes! Again! Wow! More! Lotta stuff! Good squirt!!"

We gave each other funny grins while getting everything fastened, buttoned and zipped.

As we crawled out of the clubhouse, Jacob whispered: "You're gonna be a better friend than Stevie."


The End.

The Secret Clubhouse Part I

Monday, September 5, 2016

The Secret Clubhouse

My parents moved us to a different house the summer I was 13. A boy about a year younger than me lived behind us. Our backyards were separated only by a wood fence. It didn't take long to learn that Jacob used to be best friends with a boy named Stevie that lived in my house before us. Jacob didn't like me at first. I guess he resented me because he was upset over his best friend leaving, plus me now living in that same house. He was a real jerk.

 Gradually Jacob acknowledged me in a sort of sulky way, and showed me things such as the two loose fence boards where he and Stevie used to crawl back and forth between each other's yards. Everything he talked about had something to do with Stevie. I got sick and tired of hearing everything he and Stevie used to do together.

I missed my old friends too, but you didn't see me moaning about them to other people. Actually, there was this one certain dude that I would have given anything to see again, if only we could find a secret place and a few private minutes to enjoy one more happy wank together. But he was way off in the other end of town and my only recourse was to handle my problem by myself every few days.

 Meanwhile, Jacob would whine constantly about Stevie when we tried to play together. Things took a turn one day when he said, "Do you want to see me and Stevie's clubhouse?" In my mind I just boiled, thinking "Stevie, Stevie, Stevie! No, I sure as hell do not want to see anything else about you and Stevie!" But I kept quiet and followed Jacob through the loose fence boards and into his yard.

 Between Jacob's garage and the side fence there was a gap less than three feet wide. It was overgrown with tall weeds, saplings and bushes. We approached from the back, behind the garage. Jacob got down on his stomach and wiggled his way under the overhanging vines, telling me to follow.

 About halfway along the side of the garage a piece of plywood had been laid on the weeds to form a floor. The brush was cleared away. Higher up, a second piece of plywood was wired and nailed in place, making a roof. The guys had built themselves a tiny room in that overgrown gap between the garage and the fence. It was high enough to stand up in, but it was so narrow that the two of us could not stand side-by-side.

Jacob pointed at the obvious and said, "Here it is."

 The little clubhouse was as secret as any place could be in the middle of a city. Nobody but Jacob and Stevie knew it was there. And now me.

 I tried to think of something to say. Finally I asked Jacob, "What did you dudes do in here, anyway?"

 He didn't answer immediately. "Uh..." he said. And then after a minute added, "Well, sometimes it was our bathroom."

 Then he started talking faster. "See? You can stand over here and go. Your pee goes into the bushes and you don't get wet or anything. And you don't have to go into the house to do it."

 He kept talking, but he wasn't looking at me. "So, someday if you need to GO, let me know, and..."

 "Okay," I told him.

 "You could go right now if you wanted to," he added.

 Now I was getting interesting vibes. There seemed to be a funny note of hopefulness in what Jacob said. Putting two and two together, I guessed that Stevie and Jacob used their clubhouse for special private business.

 "You first," I said.

 "Um... well... I don't really need... I thought maybe... you... might need..."

 "Show me how you did it."

 "Um... well, just stand here on the end of the board. You pee right there into the bushes. It soaks into the ground. That's all."

 "Go ahead and do it."

 The kid stammered around. "Well, I would have to get... my zipper... and my thing... you just go ahead and..."

 He stepped back and kind of pushed me forward. What the hell, Jacob was clearly manipulating me to take a piss in his presence. I moved toward the edge of the floor, sensing a little rise in my groin. "Right here?" I asked.

 "That's good. Fine. Now... just go ahead... go ahead and..."

 Jacob was still behind me where he couldn't see my hands on my fly. "I'm pulling my zipper down,"  I told him.

 "Uh, yeah?" He sounded odd and edged up close to me. "Go ahead," he said."

 "I'm getting my dick out."

 "Yes?" A little silence and then a weird question, "How is it?"

 "What do you mean, how is it?"

 "Um, sometimes Stevie's... thing... it stuck out, you know. Like when... when... they get... hard?"

 "Did yours?" I asked him.

 "Did mine what?"

 "Stick out? Get hard?"

 "Uh... mine... uh... (tiny whisper) sometimes."

 I thought, bingo! Jacob and Stevie played with each other's erect peters in here. And now Jacob is trying to wangle a look at my peter to see if it's hard. And going on from there, he's wondering whether I might turn out to be a replacement for Stevie.

 "Okay," I told him. "I'm gonna try to piss. Sometimes it doesn't work when I've got a hard on."

 "Yours is... actually... you've got a... it's... hard?"

 Jacob gave me a little sideways push toward the wall of the garage, opening a slight gap between my body and the fence. "Lot of leaves and vines there," he said. "Let me hold them out of your way."

 "Uh-huh," I thought. He's working it out to get a peek. Jacob made himself as small as possible and leaned sideways into the space next to me. "Just gonna hold these branches out of your way. You go ahead... go ahead and... Ooo, there's your... Sorry, I just happened to... it's sticking out, isn't it? I mean... I couldn't miss it."

 Jacob had succeeded in getting a look at my dick, exactly what he had wanted all along.

 "I don't think I can piss right now," I told him. "My thing's too hard. Your turn, man." I backed away from the edge of the plywood, halfway shielding my boner with one hand and trying to shove it back into my pants.

 Jacob was talking, not really replying to me, but just talking: "Did you know Stevie was 14? His... thing... it would get... (tiny whisper again) stiff... like... like yours."

 Jacob moved up to the edge of the plywood. I figured he was erect, standing there waiting for the piss to make its way through his delivery system. Finally I heard the sound of liquid spraying through leaves and twigs.

 "Okay, I did it," Jacob announced, hurriedly pulling up his zipper.

 We stood there looking at each other. Then Jacob spoke: "Can I ask you a question?"


 "What kind of... underwear... do you... y'know... wear?"

 "Plaid Boxers. Why?"

 "No reason. Only, boxers is what Stevie wore."

 "What about you? Briefs, I bet?"

 "Yeah. Or a jock strap sometimes."

 Jacob's eyes seemed fixed on my crotch.

 "Hey, why don't you lay down here on the floor?" he asked. "Get comfortable."

Now that Jacob had got that statement out of his system he went into a sort of hyper mode.


End of Part I