Tuesday, February 28, 2017

Stiffys in the Back of the Bus

Reading these stories, it reminds me of a boy that rode the school bus with me in intermediate school. Which was just 6 and 7 grades.

He was not in my home room and not in my classes, but a lot of times he was sitting by me on the bus going home. We were both a little loud and rowdy. So the bus driver always yelled at us. I guess we got-on pretty well as buds.

Eventually we got crazy about some thing private after a while. Squeezing each other on the nuts, don't know how that started. Maybe testing our limits? Then we would all ways go and sit in far back. My friend, he got boners. He stretched out to fix his dick, so it made like a point then his pants would stick up. He jammed his fingers on there to feel up his dick. Just in his pants concealed. Then soon after if was me too. I'd get some boners and we would try, each to make a bigger bump than the other guy.

 Sometimes, we got daring. When no body is looking at the back seat. We might squeeze the other dude. We started to doing that every day. Feel and rub and squeeze on the other kids dick.

One time, he unzips his pants. His boner make his shorts stick up in the open zipper. He says, he wants me to feel it. Then he said stop and I should get my zipper open too. So he goes to playing with my dick still in my underwear, and it's stuck up real hard. Everyday we play like that.

One day he goes. You want a look? He gets his stiffy out, then me doing the same and we go to feeling them. We would do that dirty stuff in the back seat all the time.

I did not know, how to cum. I never made any juice till later. I think maybe he did. But not when playing with me. We had a fine time. Getting real hard. And we wiggle our dicks and they got so hard. They would stick up real stiff. While we played with them all sneaky-like at the back of the bus.

 Maybe you would like and print this?


Monday, February 27, 2017

The Sleepover and Two Content Pals

The following is the apparent final update by the Dad who's son, is coping with an extra curious friend. Which you can read up on previous events of their First Sleepover and the sons next Sleepover with a different Buddy.  This post represents the details of a daring second Sleepover with the overtly curious and busy handed friend. This shows a great deal of courage by the young man, willing to forgive his friends invasive hands, and challenging him to summon a level respect in their friendship. I also suspect the author's son allowed his own curious mind to reach exploration mode, just slightly.

Enjoy - 

I think I can end this now by telling all your readers that Friday night's sleepover went surprisingly well.They hung around our house most all day on Saturday like they had become best buddies. And shockingly, I heard them showering together on Saturday morning! So yesterday I asked my son how the sleepover went, and that I heard them both in the shower together. (My son had already made it clear to this boy in advance that if he came over there would be "no funny business" like he tried last time.)

  My son said, on Friday night when they were getting ready for bed, he said to his friend, "If you want to see it, here, look at it, but that's all. Okay?" and with that my son took off his underpants and just stood there before putting on the shorts he was going to sleep in. He said his friend then asked him if he wanted to see his, and my son said, "Not really, but okay if you want to." (Then my son smiled and proudly said to me, "Dad, mine's a lot bigger than his!") He said they talked a lot more in bed, but absolutely no touching or anything else. But they decided from what they know is normal in school, that guys seeing each other naked is okay, and guys showering together is okay. But touching is not.

I have no idea where this relationship will go from here, but I think my son has grown a lot in the last couple of months in understating different people can think differently, and that's okay.

Anonymous Dad

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

YOU, Quit Calling me Sissy

 I always lived in the shadow of my big cousin Keaton. He was 5 years older than me, so there should really have been no competition between us. But he was often very hostile to me. When I was three or four, he started calling me a "sissy." Later he played football in high school and worked out to develop his muscles. He started driving at 14 by getting a "family hardship" permit. I had no interest in any of the things Keaton did, preferring to read books or play by myself.

 Keaton had a friend named Warren. On a highly memorable day my parents went off somewhere and left me at my aunt and uncle's, which meant I was the target of Keaton's insults. Keaton and Warren must have been about fifteen. They made it clear that they didn't want me around. I didn't want anything to do with them either. There was big boys stuff that was uber-important to them, and I was just a nuisance, ever in-the-way with every breath I took.

 Later, looking for a safe place to hang out, I opened the door of a shed in the back yard. My eyes bugged out. I was not certain what was going on, but I felt immediately that I had made a serious mistake and that my life was about to become more miserable than ever.

Keaton and Warren stood facing each other in the shed, half dressed and half naked. Their pants were down around their shins, white briefs hanging near their knees. Their hands were on each other's peters, apparently rubbing or massaging their bare penises, which looked very peculiar to me. What the hell was happening?

 In the split second before they jumped apart, a jet of whitish liquid sprayed out of Warren's peter.

 Keaton began to curse me, hiding his penis with both hands. He called me a "g- d- sissy" over and over again, alternating that curse with "little bastard" and "son of a bitch." He accused me of sneaking up on them on purpose. I barreled out of the shed while the older boys reached down to grab their underwear. I have to tell you, after what I had just witnessed.  I thought I was a dead man walking.

 But there's a little more to the story. Keaton got me off alone after Warren left. "You're never going to tell what you saw, are you?" he demanded, using his most threatening, bullying voice. "Never, never, never, or I will personally beat the f-ing shit out of you!"

 "You quit calling me sissy," I answered, suddenly realizing that if I handled this right, I had the upper hand in our feud for the first time. Keaton stood glaring at me for a moment. Then he turned and stalked away in a deafening silence and tantamount fury.

 There was never a word spoken of my ill-timed intrusion, or a a retaliation breach declaring their improper touch. Keaton was still a bully to me, but I never heard the word sissy again.


Sunday, February 19, 2017

The Sleepover and the Happy Boy

The following is an apparent reply by the original poster of-  The Sleepover and the Upset Boy
He has a profound update on his son, some dialogue between them, and he has invited your comments serving as advice. Read Below

 I'm the original writer, and a lot happened this weekend that was significant. My son was invited to sleep over this past Friday night by a different friend.

 When he came home yesterday his demeanor was 180 degrees different than his New Year's Eve sleepover with the other boy. My son was all bubbly yesterday about all the fun things they did, how great this kid is, etc.

  So, yesterday afternoon it was just me and him at home, alone, and I mentioned the difference in how much he enjoyed this sleepover versus how he didn't even want to talk about his last sleepover when he got home.
So I asked him point blank about last time.

"Did something bad happen between the two of you that night? You can be honest with me, and I promise I won't be upset with anything you might tell me, okay?" We both got quiet, and he looked to me like he was really thinking about something. I then decided to take a big chance, and I admitted to him that on "some sleepovers" when I was his age, boys would "sometimes start playing with their private parts together", and I admitted to him that I sometimes did that too. Then I stayed silent again.

 "Dad, he kept trying to touch me. He just wouldn't quit, He kept grabbing me and I had to keep pulling his hand off of me. He showed me that his dick was hard and he kept wanting me to pull my shorts down, too."

 Tears now started rolling down my son's cheeks. I was going through a lot trying to decide what to do at that point. I'm realizing that as my son saw it, he was being sexually assaulted by this boy.

 I gave him a big hug, helped him dry up his tears, and I thanked him for being so open and honest with me, about something that was probably very difficult for him to talk about. He sniffled and said to me, "You're right."


 So, everyone, I'm at a total loss where to go from here. I don't think this boy did anything at all that unusual for being a 13 year old kid. He wasn't being forceful or 'criminal' in my thinking, just horny and incessant in his desire.

  I hope this get's posted, and I hope everyone can help give me thoughts and ideas where to go from here. I obviously want to talk more with my son about all of this.

Anonymous Dad

CAJUN COUSIN (Second Part)

Cajun Cousin continued from Part 1

My cuz slipped out of the bed and noisily felt around in his suitcase. I heard two rips as he tore off sheets of

“Now. Now we all set. You ready?”

Our hands collided under the covers as we both reached for the other guy’s stiffie.

“Oh Lord, Oh Lord!” he whispered. “Ya doin’ me so good. Oh! Makin’ me gonna chunk a lotta goo right
outa my thang.”

“I’m getting there too.”

“Ya thang’s so stiff. Hey. Whyn’t we ever do this before?”

“I guess we weren’t ready yet. How long you been jacking?”

“Ya right. I just started bangin’ mah pecker last Spring. We wasn’t ready yet. Ya gonna cum?”

“Almost. Almost. You?”

“Pert near. I got tha feelin’.”

We were both on the brink of ejaculation, feeling each other’s hands jerking back and forth while we
held our paper towels in readiness. All of a sudden I knew my cum was about to shoot.

“It’s cumming,” I whispered, lifting the covers a little higher. “Cumming! Cum- - -” A bunch of
streams shot out. They thumped hard into the towel, making my whole body shake. It was the mother of
all ejaculations, the great-granddaddy of all climaxes. I could hardly get my breath.

I was so spent from my cumshot that I thought I was going to pass out. I’ve never had another one
like it. I remember the cum surging up through the sensitive inner duct of my excited peter, sort of
itching its way to freedom. My dick felt three feet long. The warm wetness of the sperm penetrated a
double-fold of paper towel and saturated the palm of my hand. I was frantically folding and rolling
the saturated towel, trying to contain my juice and dry my hand. I’ve remembered it through the
years, a once-in-a-lifetime sexual explosion.

“Ya did it!! I felt ya make a squirt! Now me. Just a tad more. Now, now, now!”

I resumed work on my cousin’s erection. The whole bed bounced when he climaxed.

“Oh Lord! Oh Lord! Ya made me have a good one! Do you got a best friend at home?”

“Oh, one pretty good bud.”

“Ya guys do this sometimes? I mean together? Both of ya?”

“No. I never- - - We don’t - - -“

“Ya be my best friend, huh? Think of me when ya do it? Ever time? We got two more nights here. Then
we gotta wait a year till next reunion. Will ya think of me when ya gotta shoot it?? I’ll think of

“Sure. I’ll think of you.”

And it was true. I kept my promise, at first remembering him when I pumped my private loads. Then
during the next school term I made friends with two guys that liked to jack. And I continued to keep
my promise. Each time I shot a load with one of my buddies I always remembered my Louisiana cousin
with the swole-up dick, the roll of towels in his suitcase, and the unforgettable cumshot he treated
me to.

The End


Saturday, February 18, 2017


I have a memory of possibly the best masturbation I ever experienced. Maybe you do too.

Every year we would go to a family reunion at a tiny little town on the Mississippi coast. A lot of
the houses had sleeping porches because the houses were built long before air-conditioning.

On the year that this took place I shared a double bed on the sleeping porch with a cousin that I
liked, a Louisiana boy, a Cajun. We saw each other only at the reunions and hung out together the
whole time.

We were settling down in the bed when he whispered something odd: "I got a problem. Down below." Of
course I had a suspicion what he was talking about. But I didn’t want to assume anything nasty, so I
whispered back “What is it?”

"Mah dick done swole up real bad," he confided as if he was complaining...... "Real bad!”

I didn't know exactly what to do with that information, but for the sake of friendship I answered that mine also gets that way sometimes.

"Is it like that right now?" he wanted to know. I told him it was getting to be that way. The conversation
was making it grow and I was secretly wiggling it with my finger while it got stiffer.

"Ya' think we orta check each other out?"

I told him he could check me if he wanted to. This was a first for me, a sexual act involving
someone else. I'd been jacking off for several months, always as a solo job. This would be totally
new, but it seemed like the obvious thing to do.

His fingers touched my briefs and felt around. A crazy tingle went through my balls. I thought, this
is a cool thing to happen.

He gave my weenie a squeeze and felt me up real good.

"Mah lands! He said. Yours done swole up too," he told me. "Now check mine."

Within seconds we were simultaneously feeling of each other's junk, tickling, squeezing and doing a
little jiggling. "Ya makin' me harder," he told me. Lemme help ya real good?"

He slid his hand inside my underwear and began feeling me and arousing me. The second his fingers
crept under my elastic I became stiffer than I'd ever been. My entire pelvis tingled as he lightly
felt around, bringing my body to a higher intensity of horniness than I’d ever reached by myself.

“Ya gettin’ harder, ain’t ya?”

“Yeah. It feels like my thing’s gonna blow up.”

“Mah thang too! We gonna make our thangs blow their top, all right.” He laughed. “We gon’ both make
our thangs blow up from wigglin’‘em. Right?”

“Yeah. Look, have you got any kleenex?”

“Better’n that. Got paper towels. Whole roll in mah suitcase. You wait a minute, hear? Don’t go
churnin’ your thang till I get back.”


(To be continued)

Thursday, February 16, 2017

The Sleep-over and the Upset boy.

  Our 13-year-old son was invited to a New Year’s Eve sleepover this year, to watch the big football game and then spend the night. The boy doing the inviting was a new friend of his, and we didn’t know him very well or his parents, so my wife called his mom to get more details about this New Year’s Eve event. She found out this boy is their only child, just like our son is our only child, and they planned a nice, safe, family oriented New Year’s Eve party at home. Our son was very excited with the invitation and was begging us to give him permission. We felt very comfortable and gave our son permission to go. When our son came home the next day, he just seemed “flat”. Not happy, not excited, and he didn’t even seem to want to talk much about how the night went at his friend’s house. We thought perhaps he was just very tired, but over the next few weeks it became apparent to us that something must have happened that night because our son no longer seemed to have any interest in continuing being friends with this boy.

  For me, it brought back some secret, painful memories of a sleepover experience I had when I was the same age as my son. I, too, had a nicely developing new friendship with this boy who invited me to sleep over at his house. Once the lights were out and the bedroom door was shut we started talking about sexy stuff, which led to admitting to each other that we had boners, which led to showing each other our boners, then touching each other, and then deciding to jerk off together.

We spent some time stroking each other’s dick, mixed with time stroking our own dicks. Then I decided to do something extra. I leaned over and put my friend's hard dick in my mouth and started sucking on it. Immediately he went ballistic. “WTF you doing, man?!? I’m not f**kin’ gay!!” I of course immediately stopped and told him I was sorry and that I didn’t mean anything by it. I told him I had been told that sucking on it felt just like having your dick in pussy, and I was trying to help them imagine that he was f**king a girl! But he didn’t buy it. Immediately he pulled his shorts back up, rolled over, and didn’t want to do anything anymore except go to sleep. I realized I had just completely destroyed this developing friendship, and I was right. I remember silently lying there in bed, now almost sick to my stomach and on the verge of tears over what I had done. This boy never again even wanted to speak to me, let alone have anything to do with me.

 Of course I can’t possibly tell this story to my son, but I have to wonder what happened that night that appears to have destroyed their friendship. And if it was something sexual, I have to wonder who may have been the initiator or the aggressor and who was the one that objected. I do know that my son does not want to talk about it, as to why he and this boy no longer appear to be friends. (Seeing my son exit the shower, I know that he is developing nicely and appropriately for his age, and I’ve recognized in his routines and activities that I know he is also now masturbating regularly, too.)

Anonymous Dad

Saturday, February 11, 2017

Fontane Measures Me

As a young dude I had a great-aunt who was one of the owners of a prestigious men's store in the central city. It was the sort of store where the salesmen are snobs. Everything was overpriced and a little too classy. Each year on Christmases and birthdays "Aunt Ethel" invited me to come down and be fitted for her gift to me -- whatever nice clothing she and my mother decided I needed. Typically slacks and a dress shirt for church. Maybe a fancy sport shirt.. 
As I began high school I joined Debate and began traveling to big tournaments with the team. Ethel was so proud of me that she threw in suits, blazers, expensive shirts and multiple ties. It was sometimes embarrassing. Thanks to Ethel, whenever I got properly cleaned up I was dressed far beyond my age and social status.

One of the fitters at Ethel's store was Fontane, a young guy himself. I never knew if Fontane was his first or last name. He was an apprentice in the alterations department, not much older than I was. In keeping with the class and dignity of the store, Fontane habitually called me "Mr. Regi."

Being a luxury store, all the pants and jackets had to be altered for an exact fit. Ethel always turned me over to Fontane, who was slightly fruity in his gestures and movements.

Beginning around the time my body started firing cumshots, I found myself anticipating my fittings in a strange way. Fontane was a pro with his yellow tape-measure and his sharpened sliver of white soap. He measured every possible dimension, marking lines on the fabric with his soap. And those measurements included a guy's touchy area -- the inseam.

So when it was time for fitting I put on the new threads and Fontane began his work. Toward the end of the session Fontane would say "Now the inseam, Mr. Regi."

I would slightly spread my legs for the measurement. Fontane knelt on the floor. He carefully positioned one end of his measuring tape beneath my balls while stretching the tape downward and determining just how long the seam should be. Sometimes he had to wiggle his hand to get the tape in exactly the right spot in my crotch. He would look up at the top of the tape, his eyes at the same level with my groin. Occasionally he apologized: "One moment more, Mr. Regi," while his moving hand almost, but not quite, gave me an accidental feel.

While this was going on my young dick would steadily enlarge due to the proximity of Fontane's hand to my crotch, resulting in a funky tingling that made the inside of my balls itch. And was it my imagination, or did Fontane enjoy holding that tape against the underside of my gonads? Was he completely innocent, or did he get a kick out of me hiding boners while his hands were all over me for the measurements?

For months at a stretch I never saw Fontane--only twice each year--but he and his tape-measure were part of my fantasies when I enjoyed my nightly celebration of maleness.

I remember a certain year because Ethel insisted on me having a lavender shirt. The pants that she chose to go with it were the darkest purple you can imagine, almost black but giving away their purple sheen when the light hit them in a certain way. Fontane took one glance and said, "A tie, Miss Ethel! I know just the one!" He raced to a rack and came back holding up a bizarre necktie in several explosive splashes of purple, violet and mauve. I remember thinking, "Oh God, Fontane! No!" but Fontane and Ethel and the younger salesmen were delighted.

Fontane grabbed up everything and hustled me into a fitting room. "I can't wait to see all of this on your frame, Mr. Regi!" he bubbled. I stripped to my underpants. Fontane held out his arms to take each item as I removed it. Then he quickly unpinned the new shirt and assisted its sleeves onto my arms, followed by sliding lengths of unhemmed purple slacks up my legs and around my butt. Finally, in a sort of triumphant manner, he shook the tie out and held it around my neck with one hand while stretching the bottom of it down below my beltline with the other. 

And there he stopped, tie in hand, the back of his fingers inadvertently resting directly against my fly, a strange expression growing on his face. 

I had a boner rising inside those obscene purple pants. I was erect because after so many fittings across so many years, I would silently and subconsciously think "Touch me a little higher, Fontane. Feel what's there. I've been hard all the way to town, looking forward to the brief second when you would measure my inseam and stir up a tingle in my balls."

Fontane's fingers, stretching the necktie downward, carelessly rested against the critical organ this time, the stiff, erect organ. Fontane stopped breathing. His face began to redden. Perhaps he had just now realized where his hand was and exactly what he was perceiving in those purple pants.

Suddenly he stepped back a pace, released the bottom of the tie and jerked his hand away from my crotch. "Hmm," he said anxiously. Then "Hmm," he repeated, apparently at an embarrassed loss for words. His face was now fully blushing with a deep crimson. Then he took a breath and spoke.

"Well, it happens to the best of us, Mr. Regi." His eyes flickered toward my fly and back. "To the best of us. Now let's fit these lovely trousers, shall we?"

When I got home from that fitting the first thing I did was change my underwear. I had not ejaculated, not in the strict sense of producing an entire load. However, a tiny trickle of "essence of boy" had escaped my stiff peter while Fontane was trying "not" to touch it. Probably two or three slimy drops at most. The accidental ooze left its viscous wetness in my underpants and on my skin, a sticky souvenir of that year's encounter with Fontane, the first of several interesting experiences that we would later have in the store's locked fitting rooms.

Sometimes when I got a boner in an inconvenient situation I'd remember Fontane's nervous observation: "Well, it happens to the best of us, Mr. Regi. To the best of us."

Regi Sharp

Thursday, February 9, 2017

The Boys in the Barn

This is a story from way back, how three guys broke the ice in a group pissing session.

I was in the barn when David walked in with this new guy, they were both in old farming clothes.
"This is Jerry my cousin, and he is going to be staying with us a few days. Is it ok that we spend the night with you after working?"
  "Sure you guys can stay with us."

Actually, David and I took turns helping each other on weekends with any chores that gets piled up at our families farms. Plus it was always a lot of fun having our sleep-overs

 David made the call to his Mom and handed the phone to me so I could tell her it was ok that they both stayed the night.

I looked at both boys looking eager to get the work done up. I grinned to them both and said.
 "Fellas, before we get started to milking I have to pee."
David said, "So do I."
Jerry then said, he has to piss like a race horse.

So there we three were just outside the barn, David stood on one side of me and Jerry was on the other.
I drop my cover-all jeans to the floor, and Jerry dropped his jean coveralls to the floor.
I thought to myself, 'he is not bashful at all.'
I then pulled my undies down to my knees. Both David and Jerry did the same thing.

David and I reached over and took each others peter into our hand like we always do when we both pee together.
"We like the way it feels holding each others peter while we pee." I explained to Jerry.

  He kind of nodded his head up a little, but kept his eyes on his piss stream. Confidently, I reach over and took Jerry's peter into my other hand to hold it while he pee'ed. He never moved away, I saw his tummy tighten up a bit, and one leg straightened some, but he let me hold his most private part. When the streams all slowed to drips and drops, we just let go of each others peter. Out of nowhere, Jerry asked me if he could touch my peter.
 "Yeah..... you can touch it if you like."

He reached over and felt my peter, but just as soon as he was feeling on my peter I started getting an erection. Since I didn't really know Jerry too well yet, I said,
"Listen we have to get these cows milked. Pull up your undies and jeans and lets get to milking."

As I was walking away I overheard Jerry ask David how old I was.
"He is fourteen."

Jerry said,
"He is the same age as we are?"
 I also overheard Jerry telling David that he liked the feel of my peter.

 "Don't worry there is a lot more to come tonight."

I walked away smiling.

Farm Boy

Sunday, February 5, 2017

What are you DOING up there

I remember once as a kid I was jerking off in my room and just as my climax was about to start my mom called up to me. "Frankie...Frankie!!!.......
I had no choice but to answer her, and it was right while my orgasm was in full-blown progress. "Y-y-y-esss, M-o-m..! I could hardly get the words out, and she could tell something was up.
 "What's wrong?? ??" 
I was so angry that she had ruined my terrific wank that I half thought about actually telling her what I was really doing at that very moment! 

Saturday, February 4, 2017

Brothers in Shame or Sharing

 These stories lately about bunk beds have made me think about the special role bunk beds played in my own growing-up experience. I’ve been thinking about it for a few days and decided to try to write and submit my own story.

  My parents had three children, all boys, and I was the middle child. I grew up in an old, small three-bedroom house with one little bathroom. My brother Kevin was two years older than me, and my brother Patrick was two years younger than me. Having three bedrooms, Kevin and I each had our own rooms as little boys until my brother Patrick outgrew his crib and my parents wanted to move him out of their bedroom. So they had to decide how to split two rooms among three boys. They decided it would be best to let the two older boys, Kevin and I, share a room and let the baby have his own room right across from my parent’s, sort of like a nursery. The bedroom that Kevin and I were now going to share was way too small to fit two beds, so my parents bought us bunkbeds. Kevin and I were both thrilled and I immediately requested that I wanted the upper bunk.

  Sometime around when Kevin was probably almost 12 years old, as I think back it appears he became very modest. Whenever we needed to change in the room together, he would always stand facing a wall. He also insisted that we were way too old to bathe together, so that changed the dynamic in our tiny little one bathroom house. Kevin then got to bathe alone and I began bathing with my younger brother Patrick to save time every night. The significance of all of this is that once Kevin apparently started approaching puberty I never again saw him naked on his front-side. I also remember at that time, when Kevin was 12, that most every night in my upper bunk the whole bed would seem to gently rock and squeak a little bit, maybe for just five minutes or so, but I remember it got to be something that happened almost every night. I honestly thought nothing about it. I had no idea why the bed would do this, nor did I seem to care.

  Then one day after school, when Kevin was either 13 or almost 13, I was playing outside with a friend and I wanted to get something out of my room. I ran up the stairs and pushed my bedroom door open, and there I saw my brother lying on his bunk with his pants pulled down, his shirt pulled up, and he seemed to be doing something fast and unusual with his hand on his dick. I had burst into the room at exactly the worst possible moment because my brother was apparently within a couple seconds of hitting that “point of no return” when you have no control over the fact that you are about to ejaculate. I remember coming to a halt and staring, both shocked and confused at what I was seeing.

 First, I noticed that my brother Kevin’s dick had grown absolutely huge. His penis was obviously stiff and overall his dick looked to now be at least three times as big as mine. It now had hair around too. It also looked to me like he was squirting tiny squirts of piss onto his stomach and chest, over and over. Kevin then quickly pulled his shirt down over his wet chest and stomach and started yelling at me, “Get out! Get out!” I did as he said, now in shock at all that I had just seen. I tried asking him after that what he was doing on his bed, and his angry response to me was, “Nothing! I wasn’t doing nothing!” But that very next day Kevin demanded to our parents that because he was the oldest, he should have his own room and that Patrick and I should be the ones to share a room. My parents apparently thought he made a good case, and they asked Patrick and I if we would be okay with that. Patrick was 9 at the time and very excited that he might get the opportunity to be in the top bunk. We all agreed, and that weekend we made the big move.

  Ultimately, Patrick and I grew very close and Kevin and I grew quite distant. That was the only post-puberty time that I ever saw Kevin’s dick. As I started to grow a little older he never shared anything with me about the upcoming magic of masturbation, and obviously we never did anything like that together. When Patrick and I moved in together it quickly became apparent to me the Patrick was quite the comfortable little nudist. Unlike Kevin, I openly allowed Patrick to observe all of my developing puberty as it was happening. He was amused when I developed little hairs and was fascinated to tug on them and tell me how big my balls were getting. Sometimes I’d get stiff and he get stiff too, and we were both comfortable with that.

  I ended up discovering masturbation on my own, and as experienced by my older brother Kevin, I would make the bed shake every night just like he did. And when the time came, I introduced Patrick to the joys of masturbation. He had I became good jerk-off buddies as well as close brothers. We stayed together in the same bedroom until Kevin left for college and then Patrick and I had our own rooms. But whenever Kevin would come home, I gladly offered him his old room back and I would sleep in the open bunk in Patrick’s room.

 To this day, my younger brother Patrick and I are still very close and our kids all love playing together. They’re very close cousins. Kevin and I don’t dislike each other, but neither are we close. We see or talk to each other maybe two or three times a year. I think the special trust that Patrick and I shared as brothers, compared to the intimacy that was completely absent in my boyhood relationship with Kevin, set the stage for how our relationships evolved as we all became adults.


Thursday, February 2, 2017

A Report from the Bottom Bunk

Hello all, I'd like to add my comments on the recent Bunk Bed Story

 I was a counselor to a cabin of mid-teen boys once in my early twenties. In this cabin, there was no separate bed for me, so I took a lower bunk.

 Above me was a very quiet boy. He was the type of boy who obeyed all the rules and was unlikely to participate in pranks or mischief. Lights had been off for only maybe five minutes on the first night, when this boy began jacking off. It was kind of humorous to me as I became aware of his pathetic Wankus Interruptus.
 He would get into a steady rhythm, but something would make him stop. If somebody got up and walked past our beds to go to the bathroom, he would stop. If people started whispering or giggling nearby, he would stop. Every little thing interrupted his masturbation. Sometimes he would remain still for twenty or thirty minutes (while I waited for him to continue what he started!).

 After things calmed down I would feel him starting over again. It was not really a vibration or a shaking. It was more the sensation of the mattress and springs above me moving almost imperceptibly while my own bottom bunk remained still. Maybe more of a tiny up-and-down bounce than anything else.

We were at camp for four nights and he shot his load every night. I could tell when he began, when he paused, when he resumed, and definitely when he climaxed (he stroked faster when he was about to catch his thrill). After his cum-shot the bed above me bumped around for a moment while he apparently took care of his cum.

 Based on that experience, I feel like the top bunk is less stable than the bottom one. Therefore, in answer to the question, maybe a guy on the bottom bunk could jack off in secret if he was very careful about it, but not one in the top bunk.