Friday, October 27, 2017

My Pent-up Vacation

The summer after my eighth grade we went on a family vacation. Mom and dad sat in the front seat and my brother and me had the back seat along with his toys, some pillows and a couple of back-packs. I couldn't figure a way to jack off because all of us were together all the time. Even at bathroom stops either my dad or my brother were with me. I went only two or three nights without doing it. But it was enough, my dick was twitching and nervous to fire off. Riding along the highway my dick sprung up with this mammoth hard-on. Whenever I mashed it I got the feelings.

 My brother was right there on the seat. He was about eight or nine. I was sure he didn't know about boners or any of that stuff. After while he seemed to be asleep.  I was dying with my dick so hard. What I did, I put my arm down there and rubbed my wrist around on my thing. In a little while I knew I was going to cum. I made myself sit real still and not do anything weird. The stuff came blasting out all inside my underpants. I threw them away that night at the motel.

Anonymous

Sunday, October 22, 2017

My Private Mexico Lessons in Life (Part II)

Story continued from Part I

The pleasure of the encounter watching that dude shoot his wad quickly evaporated. I didn't know cum ever contained blood. The sight scared me. It must be a sign of terrible sickness, I thought. Maybe cancer. Cancer of the dick! Going back over the incident in my mind, I asked myself questions. Had I touched him? No. Had he touched me? No. Had I touched or even smelled of his cum? No. Could there have been even a tiny chance of contamination? No. Not even fingertips touching through the gap. And yet I was frightened pissless that I'd been exposed to sure death.

If that crisis had happened today, I would have Googled "blood in semen" and learned that the occurrence is rare and usually harmless, a transient response to a momentary disturbance of the male reproductive system, such as a digital prostate exam. But in Mexico hardly anybody had a computer at that time, so Googling anything was not an option.

So, in addition to the turmoil of the move, I now had two new worries: First, that I might have been infected with a lethal disease by masturbating with the guy. And second, that masturbation itself might be dangerous. Maybe the dude jacked too much and that's why there was blood in his cum! What did that mean for me? I certainly jacked frequently. Continuing to jack off might be damaging to my organs and result in blood in my cum, God forbid!

I couldn't do anything about the first worry, but I could control the second one. No more masturbation. Give it up. Don't even think about it. Walking out of that restroom, I knew I was going cold turkey. My jacking days were over. I'd shot my final wad.

That was around the third week of October. I kept worrying about that strange experience. I put every ounce of my will-power to work, forcing myself never to touch my penis except when urinating or showering, in hopes that I was going to survive my encounter with an unknown but possibly lethal disease as well as the unknown but frightening effects of cumming every day for more than a year.

About two and a half unbearable weeks passed during which I was often erect and always scared about that drop of blood in the other boy's cum.

After lunch one day I was standing at a urinal trying to piss, which is tough when your dick is hard. I'd developed a strategy that seemed to work. I would get my dick out and let it poke forward while I relaxed every muscle in my body. I also tried to empty my brain of all thoughts. If I was patient enough, my erection would slowly sag downward. It never got completely soft, but eventually I could piss. Boys entered and left while I waited for my erection to go down.

The building was old and the urinals were the type that were installed right into the floor. There was a good line of sight between urinating boys. While I waited for my piss to begin draining, a bigger guy came in, a high school guy. Ignoring me, he stood at the only other urinal, the one right next to me. Out flopped out a large and uncircumcised peter. The boy peeled his foreskin back. In contrast to me, he did not have to wait for his flow to begin. A thick yellow stream immediately sprayed out of his dangling dick, like pressurized water out of a hose. It continued spraying for quite a while before thinning out and finally diminishing to a series of drops that splatted heavily into the urinal.

When the drops ended he grabbed his dick and shook it several times before cramming it back into his fly. Then he washed his hands and departed without giving me the slightest look. I might as well not have been there.

At last my own stream of piss dribbled out. I was ready to put my tool away and hurry to class. But my damn dick was already thickening and poking forward. And I knew why, too. I had just viewed the biggest dick that I'd ever seen. And now I was seeing it again in my imagination. How long it seemed to be, how big around, how all-over "impressive" it appeared. How he pulled the foreskin back. And the way the piss sprayed forcefully out of that big prick! What if it had got hard and that guy had..... JACKED ..... that big tool? I bet he does jack it! I bet he shoots huge wads of cum!

I was thinking all those horny thoughts and meanwhile my dick had already gotten unbearably hard again, demanding something that I refused to give it.

I washed my hands, conscious of nothing but my aching erection and the mental images of the high school guy's large, floppy dick and forceful stream of piss. Standing at the sink with a full-scale boner in my pants, I thought: "This is stupid!" I bumped my aggravating dick against the sink. "Get soft again," I mentally told my dick. "Shrink up and leave me alone."

Bumping the sink gave me funny feelings, somewhat like the "warning" feelings that preceded ejaculations back when I used to masturbate.

I was angry at my dick, still scared that I was going to die of a disease, and heavily loaded with un-shot cum. My body was a walking faultline on the verge of a seismic catastrophe.

"Damn you," I silently told my dick. "Leave me alone!"

I was trembling with sexual hysteria. "Damn it!" I said out loud, "Get soft! Get soft!" With a series of forceful bangs I bumped my confounded erection against the sink. Then I kept bumping the sink, kept bumping.....

Oh, God! What am I doing! I backed away from the lavatory, trying to calm down, when it happened. There was no warning except the excruciating stiffness of my erection and a feeling of doom throughout my body. My balls, prostate and dick combined in an involuntary clamp of unwelcome ejaculation. I came. Inside my clothes. Came with a passion. The stuff flooded my whole crotch with a warm torrent of semen that soaked my boxers and coated all of my junk. I didn't really climax; I just came, came, and came more. I could feel tears running down my face. Why the hell was I crying when I had cum to worry about?

The word "Shit!" hissed out of my mouth. Meanwhile more trails of wet sperm oozed thickly out of my aching dick. More saturating wetness.There was ejaculate wadded in my pubic hair, ejaculate fouling my boxers, ejaculate running down my leg. And then, ejaculate soaking through my pants, dampening my khakis. Now my crotch displayed dark patterns of wetness for the whole world to see.

I spent the rest of the day using books to hide my wet crotch. Holding books in front of me when I walked. Laying a book in my lap when I sat. I was actually glad for PE that afternoon because my dry jock was a welcome relief after the slimy boxers, and the shower removed all the slime from my skin, although none from my clothes..


For several more days I kept trying to give up masturbation. But it was a losing battle. I shot a gargantuan nocturnal emission one night and woke up with cum in my bed. That was the end of my battle, and I knew it was over. I had lost. Way back then I hated myself for being weak, but now I realize I was fully normal. No adolescent boy can refrain very long from getting his nuts off.

My return to the pleasure of jacking occurred the next night after the wet dream. I knew the fight was over. I knew exactly what I was going to do and took a hand towel to bed with me. Adam's stem was excruciatingly hard before I ever touched myself. Then I wrapped my hand around my engorged erection and began pumping. Within seconds I shot a painful ejaculation I was so unbearably aroused that the climax actually hurt.

The next night it was better, and the third night was wonderful.

Since then I've been in a few situations where I had to skip a day or two, but I've never again tried to give up the wonderful act.

The End





Arnold Stockford

Thursday, October 19, 2017

He Showed me his Biggie

This dude with the oversize dick reminds me of one of my first shared experiences and discovering that a guy I knew had a big dick.

He was the one who engineered it. I was at his house and needed to piss. I asked him if I could use the bathroom. He said he would show me where the bathroom was, so he came along. That was strange to me. I already knew where the bathroom was. We passed it every time we went in or out of his room.


He told me to go first. He stood at the sink and I knew he was watching me in the mirror. I tried to hide my dick while I pissed because he was not a jacking buddy and I didn't know what he was up to. Then he said it was his turn. He did not try to hide. When he got his dick out it seemed humongous to me. It was sticking up by itself. He put his hand around it and started pumping very slow. He said he needed to do this and would be through real quick. He pumped for a little while, still very slow. Then he asked me if I would help because his hand was getting tired. I guess we were 13. He said would I just do it a few times for him. I was not a complete dork. I knew how to get one out but never had anybody just openly ask me to play with his thing.

Anyway I took hold of his dick and it was just huge compared to how mine felt when I played with it. It was big around plus long. Pretty soon he said things like "good" and "slow down" and "keep going." Then he was kind of shaking all over. He said he was cumming and shot his load while I was doing him.

When he was finished he told me thank you and said I better do myself while we were in the bathroom. I guess I was hard from seeing him. Anyway because I was already hard I went ahead and did it while he watched. Him and me jerked together a few more times. I was in awe of his big dick and liked to jack it for him. But we were just kind of regular friends, not besties.

Anonymous

Wednesday, October 18, 2017

My Private Mexico Lessons in Life (Part I)

I suspect that nearly every boy goes through a period when he tries to give up masturbation. Some may do it for religious reasons and some as a matter of self-discipline. Or, as in my case, fear of harming yourself. Most of us have found that it just doesn't work. Here's my experience.

This incident took place shortly after we made one of our moves back to Mexico. As a result of the move I had a bunch of big transitions to deal with, all at the same time. I was plunged back into Mexico after getting used to California. School had been in session a month and a half when I transferred back to the American Academy. The other kids had already found their place in the pecking order. I was the new kid on the block even though I'd attended that school in the past. I was faced with fitting into the social life of a snob school, avoiding the bullies and braggarts, and getting up-to-date on my classwork.

I had not been back at the school in Mexico more than a week when a totally unplanned sexual encounter messed up my head. I was sitting on the toilet in a restroom at school. A guy came in and pissed. Then he moved to stand at the lavatory. By peeking through the gap alongside the stall door I knew who he was. An acquaintance but not actually a friend.

The door of the single stall was located at my left side as I sat on the pot. I had some previous experience with this restroom. A person standing at the lavatory, which was right next to the stall partition, could back up a few inches and glance through the gap next to the door. If the guy inside the stall slid forward a little on the pot, his dick was on display for the other guy, along with any attention he might be giving the dick. Likewise, if the guy at the sink stood in just the right place, he could exhibit his fly to the boy in the stall, perhaps squeezing his zipper or rubbing his pants to call attention to a hidden boner. These things could happen even though the stall door remained closed.

All you readers know the routine from your own experiences. Both of us did some shifting around and peeking, trying to pretend that it was accidental, but also signalling that we were aware of each other and that something interesting might take place. The guy at the sink was trying to get a look at my lap without yet committing himself. And I was curious about him. After a few seconds of this "mating dance" we knew that we had something in common. I carefully slid forward on the toilet seat and let my boner stick up.

As soon as I showed my hard-on, the dude at the lavatory unzipped his pants and displayed his own hard prick. Excellent! An unexpected chance to get my nuts off!

I suppose we could have opened the stall door and exchanged feelies, but all we did was simultaneously masturbate while staring at each other through the gap. He stood in exactly the right place for me to see his stiff dick and moving hand. I got up from the pot, turned toward the gap and did the same for him.

A few moments went by while we silently jacked off, occasionally stopping to show off the size and stiffness our aroused peters.

The jacking quickly reached its conclusion and the moment of ejaculation washed over me. I was 14 and I loved masturbating. God, how I looked forward every time to that growing sensation that culminated in a fleeting instant of exquisite spasm in the base of my dick while the cum spurted out!

I swiveled to face the pot so my cum would spray into the bowl. The other guy also turned and - although I couldn't see his cumshot - I knew he ejaculated into the sink.

Suddenly he was in a rush, moving quickly toward the door, zipping his pants while he hurried out.

As I left my stall it was automatic to look into the lavatory so I could see his cum. But what I saw scared the daylights out of me.

My momentary partner had left several iridescent blobs of cum in the sink. In one of those blobs was a dark red sphere about 1/8" in diameter. Blood! The guy had shot a drop of blood in his cum.

The pleasure of the encounter evaporated. I didn't know cum ever contained blood. The sight scared me. It must be a sign of terrible sickness, I thought. Maybe cancer. Cancer of the dick! Going back over the incident in my mind, I asked myself questions. Had I touched him? No. Had he touched me? No. Had I touched or even smelled of his cum? No. Could there have been even a tiny chance of contamination? No. Not even fingertips touching through the gap. And yet I was frightened pissless that I'd been exposed to sure death.

If that crisis had happened today, I would have Googled "blood in semen" and learned that the occurrence is rare and usually harmless, a transient response to a momentary disturbance of the male reproductive system, such as a digital prostate exam. But in Mexico hardly anybody had a computer at that time, so Googling anything was not an option.

So, in addition to the turmoil of the move, I now had two new worries: First, that I might have been infected with a lethal disease by masturbating with the guy. And second, that masturbation itself might be dangerous. Maybe the dude jacked too much and that's why there was blood in his cum! What did that mean for me? I certainly jacked frequently. Continuing to jack off might be damaging to my organs and result in blood in my cum, God forbid!

I couldn't do anything about the first worry, but I could control the second one. No more masturbation. Give it up. Don't even think about it. Walking out of that restroom, I knew I was going cold turkey. My jacking days were over. I'd shot my final wad.

That was around the third week of October. I kept worrying about that strange experience. I put every ounce of my will-power to work, forcing myself never to touch my penis except when urinating or showering, in hopes that I was going to survive my encounter with an unknown but possibly lethal disease as well as the unknown but frightening effects of cumming every day for more than a year.

About two and a half unbearable weeks passed during which I was often erect and always scared about that drop of blood in the other boy's cum.

End of Part I (To be continued)


Tuesday, October 17, 2017

Pic Post - BF's or Close friends

I was browsing through some of my selections today and this group really strikes a chord with the recent discussion on the post about wank buddies and relationships.


















 

Sunday, October 8, 2017

The Things that Form or Break a Friendship

I remember the guy that showed me how to jack off. It was in the restroom at camp after our shower. He showed me how he got hard and pumped his dong for me. Naturally, I decided he was my best friend. I wanted us to hang together all the time and nobody else. But I caught him jerking for another boy and that changed my mind.


After that,  I didn't like him any more. He hurt my feelings. He was only 13 but tall and skinny with gold-blond hair. I still remember watching him jack-off. His hand going back and forth on his stiffie. I didn't feel that I was practiced in this mysterious art form of jacking so I was remained quietly mesmerized while watching, and of course getting really hard. It was the first time I ever knew anything about it.

 I wish he didn't make me mad at him.

Anonymous

Friday, October 6, 2017

The story behind the OOTS4You Header

A reader recently sent us this comment.

Hi I was wanting to know where the header / theme picture for the main blog home page is from? The sunset looks as if it from a movie? Does anyone know? It looks like they're riding on a boat or a ferry and one boys hand is in his friends lap I'd like to see this movie!

Anon


 Thank you Anon, for the questions and coincidentally.....  I had recently considered writing something about that special photo. Indeed it is my own original composition. There is a short story I'd like to share with you and our readers.

One summer evening I was with my partner MG, in his home town which is a beach-side community. We were enjoying the nice evening as dusk was settling along the shore. After a full-on warm day, the plaza and park was alive with families and many joyful voices. Although it was just an ordinary summer evening, it seemed like a holiday. The place was full of vibrant activity. Tourists and locals alike were snacking on pretzels, hot dogs and sweet treats. We had ordered ice cream cones in the Tastee Feeeze shop, and were sat in a spot just near the park playground enjoying the sights and sounds along with our sweet indulgence.

 Being near the shoreline the scene was dotted by palm trees, overlooking an expansive beach view. There were such things as a marker buoy, and a giant Ship's anchor as decoration. It was there we first spied a pair of shadows which soon appeared to be playful young boys climbing around on it, and running from each other all about the grounds, in some presumed game of tag. We could hear their voices challenging and taunting the never-ending chase. We detected the slight warble of boys beaky voices when their tone changes pitch emerging from boy, to young man. All of these awkward indicators of early puberty, I am sure are worry-some for a boy, but to us.... well it was all very amusing.

We decided to take a stroll down the Jetty joined by a growing crowd of people, all lured to the inevitable sunset over the calm tides.This coincided with the rowdy pair who passed us then ambled ahead at about 5 paces. I expect the boys were likely reaching exhaustion from their scampering games. The lot of us arrived at the end of the jetty, we could now hear their conversation was low but completely random. They both sat down on the platform, arms on the guardrail, with their feet dangling tall above the water. One tinkered with his phone, then he snapped a photo to commit a memory for themselves to share later. Soon they settled in for a few moments of bliss as the sun slowly gave way to nightfall.  Their images darkened in the calm of a glowing cherished friendship.

My partner and I whispered our own deductions of what daring escapades the night might bring for these two handsome pals. The only actual result you see is just what we experienced that evening. Although the epoch in time was unplanned, it held a durable memory for us both. The light sea-spray, a couple of buddies and a setting sun makes for incredible memories. We have no idea what mischief those two managed to find together, but their closeness spoke volumes of their kinship and trust.

Eric & MG     






**I recently located the post introducing these pics.
Eric

Wednesday, October 4, 2017

Best Friends (Proclaimed in Pee)

I had a very good friend during the second and third grades, long before either of us discovered anything about our bodies. We constantly hung out together. Among other marks of friendship, we pee'd together in secret places such as the bushes in the alley behind his house.

I overheard my mother tell my dad that it was cute the way Drew and I had become "best friends." That phrase was new to me, but I immediately liked it. I couldn't wait to tell Drew what she had said. The two of us agreed that we were definitely "best friends."

Not long after that, when we were pissing side-by-side and observing each other's little weenies peeking out of our zippers, Drew had a bright idea. He said we needed to have an initiation ceremony to prove our friendship. Neither of us really knew what "initiation" meant, but we proceeded to make up a ceremony.

We talked it over and knew without any doubt that mingling our pee would be the sort of deep secret that we needed. We had just pissed, so we were fresh out of ammo at that moment. But Drew ran into the house and came out with several paper cups which we hid under their garbage can rack.

The next time we pissed, we made a big deal out of it. We pulled our dickies farther out of our pants than usual. Drew held a cup for me to pee into and I held one for him. Then we mixed our piss together and stirred it with a twig, whispering funny but meaningless magic words. Then we divided the mixture, each of us holding a cup about half full. Still hyping the secrecy and the cosmic importance of our little ceremony, we hurried to his front yard where he poured his small cupful of our combined urine into the flower bed and stuck a Popsicle stick in the wet spot as a marker.

Then we walked a block and a half to my house. This part of the plan worried me. I could imagine encountering some older boy who would ask "Wha'cha got there, man? A cup of piss?" Or an adult who would make the ultimate threat, "Does your mother know about this?" Of course nothing like that happened, but my stomach was churning anyway while we walked along the sidewalk. I carried my little container of pee, frightened that people in every house were watching and knew we were up to something no good.

We got to my house and looked all around to make sure none of the neighbors were outside. That in itself probably made us appear guilty as hell. Then I poured my portion of shared pee into the flower bed and planted my own Popsicle stick. Drew said to me, "You are now my best friend." I repeated the words to him and felt like something spectacular had taken place.

Drew and I performed variations on the shared-piss ceremony again and again. We became much more familiar with each other's little peters and got bold enough to drop our pants and undies so we could tickle our little packages of exposed junk. We giggled at the eerie feelings and prickly goosebumps that we gave each other.

And we constantly reminded one another in secret whispers that we were "best friends."

Martin Davis