Thursday, May 31, 2018

Rubber Champs

I was fourteen and my friend was also the same age as me. When we started to use a rubber in a whole different way. we would both be standing there playing with our dick to get them stiff so we could slip the rubber on. Once we both were stiff we would start to wank and then watch our pre-cum begin to fill the tip, you see it was a challenge to see who could get a little bubbly ooze going first. Obviously who-ever got their nut first was also a bit of a hero. When all done jacking, we carefully slid them off so we could compare to see who had dumped the most stuff inside his rubber.

 As a wind-down, awaiting our next need to wank, we might sometimes take a pee inside the rubber to see who could fill the rubber to the fullest. We had to be careful taking the rubber off so we would not spill any pee. Then we would hold each one up to see who pee the most. I guess we were pretty darn bored, to be so fascinated just how far a rubber would stretch while being filled with pee.

Farm Boy

Tuesday, May 29, 2018

Woe is the Blog Moderator

Folks, I hate to ever write any manner of a downer post, but this one I just have to tell you guys.

First I suggest you read this from the Blogger Help forum.

Which answers our question of "What happened to the Poll gadget, and why it got zapped?"

But that is not the only problem to occur after these changes -
Second issue; I am not receiving ANY email notices when any of you leave a comment on a story. As you know the comment option serves as a means for people to submit their stories in an anonymous fashion. I still get them, but at the present time (in this broken status), I can only preview a snippet of your comment which only appears on my Blog administrators panel. I cannot use COPY/PASTE and then create a Blog Post. My only options are to post it as-is in a comment, or deny it and nobody besides me will ever read it

This email notification problem has  been noted by other bloggers on the Help Forum, you may read about it here.

 Many of you are asking, "So what does this mean to me as a reader?" Can't you just tell people to email their stories in, and we can still have our luxurious time reading the blog posts. That would be my preference of operation. However due to the sensitive nature of our stories content, the bulk of our writers prefer to submit "Anonymous", and honestly I can easily understand why. How many of you would submit your email address to an adult themed site, that might touch on some pretty personal aspects of life from long ago?

 I feel it would feel very clunky if people's stories got shuffled under the comment section on a story. I think this presents a risk that almost nobody would have the opportunity to read it. Our visitors who randomly drop-in every few days or even just weekly, might miss the most recent comments. Any sharing of recent stories would be too difficult to appreciate for anyone if they only appeared as comments.  

 I do not have any firm plan on how to proceed at this point. It is not a show-stopper and we are not going anywhere, nor even thinking the end is near. I just hope for a means to keep our stories coming in, an published suitable to our long-running format.

An immediate change, I have opened-up all comments for now, so that you may have the freedom to share your thoughts.

 As for the forums -
Some of you know when reading comments on a forum, the only information you can regard as pertinent and reliable is the information posted by the Managing Host. In this case it would be Blogger. I have no reason to expect the recent changes by the EU carry responsibility for Google Blogger's recent changes.However we are hamstrung by their "improvements".

Sincerely Your Blog Host,


Saturday, May 26, 2018

Hiking Up Red-Ant Trail

One summer when we were living in California instead of Mexico, I went to a camp up in the mountains. It was not a scout camp but we learned a lot of similar skills.

One of our activities was for an experienced guide not more than a year or two older than us to lead a group of newbies through rough country and teach us how to follow a secretly marked trail. This was repeated several times along different trails. Each trail had a name: Twisted Trunk Trail, Red-Ant Trail, Barbed Wire Trail, etc. In order to earn awards and cred, we had to learn how to follow a nearly invisible path, watching for broken sticks, piled rocks and other signs. The guides moved the markers around before each hike so we never took the same route twice.

Partway along our first trail I told the boys near me that I had to pause to take a leak and would catch up with them in a minute. Some of the guys had been on that trail before and they urged me not to piss yet. "Wait 'till we get to the end of the trail up at the ant bed," they said sort of mysteriously.

The boys seemed to know what they were talking about, so I waited. A few minutes later we reached an enormous red-ant nest on the side of a rocky hill covered with juniper brush. "Take five!" the leader shouted. Some of the experienced campers took over while the leader went a little further and sat down on a boulder by himself. Organizing all of us into a circle around the ant bed, one of the boys shouted, "Okay! Whip 'em out!"

It took a few seconds for some of us to understand. But soon every boy was standing with his peter sticking out of his shorts. "Commence fire!" the same boy instructed, and we focused twelve streams of pee on the busy ant bed. The outraged insects swarmed out while we hurried away, laughing insanely and fastening our dicks back into our pants as we ran.

Our official leader had distanced himself from the action, staring off into the mountains while the seasoned boys organized the pee attack without him.

I made several more trips up various routes on Red-Ant Trail, grooving on the display of penises every time we flooded the ant nest. I'd experienced PE locker rooms but never seen a dozen guys pissing at once. Some of the streams were wide and splashy. Some of the boys pee'd with a great deal of force. A few just dribbled. Some piss was dark yellow and some was almost clear. And what's more, I enjoyed the the "education" of seeing that twelve dicks could all be so different. Plus a sort of sudden realization that while I was looking at their dicks, they were also looking at mine.

 At the end of the first week we were given tests. Our awards and individual cred depended on aceing the exams. Among many other things, each of us had to accept the role of temporary guide and lead one of the real guides up a trail without getting lost. I  picked Red-Ant Trail.

It was a cinch. Within thirty minutes my examiner and I stood at the edge of the ant bed. But it was an awkward moment. I'd been told that it was tradition for every camper to piss on the ants whenever he passed their nest. I'd also heard that even the leaders pee'd on the ants, but only when they were alone, never when a group could see them.

But should I pee on the ant hill in front of my examiner? If I did, would he pee with me? Or would he mark me down if I urinated in his presence? And what if he did join me? Should I avert my eyes so I wouldn't seem to be looking at his dick? He was just a boy himself. I was thirteen. I judged him to be no more than fifteen. He was nice, but he had rank. Maybe he would expect me to follow tradition. Or not. What to do?

The examiner took the initiative. "Good job," he told me when we reached the ant hill. Then he unzipped his pants: "We'd best mark our territory, don't you think?"
The two of us stood side-by-side to piss on the ants. We were shaking the last drops off our peters when the other guy said, "You start on back. I've got a little business to take care of."

I was thinking "Hmm," and kept standing there.

The guide seemed slightly embarrassed. "Go ahead," he told me. "You can make it back to camp by yourself."
I don't think he was aware of lifting and feeling of his dick while he waited for me to leave. By then he was sporting a partial erection that jutted out of his fly. His hands were doing a half-assed job of trying to hide it.
He started into a sort of gabby explanation.
"When I'm up here by myself I always give them something to really remember me by. You start on back." He squeezed his lengthening dick.

I didn't move, wondering if he was talking about what I thought he was.

"I'm just going to give them my love," he said, still babbling. "Just a little private thing between me and these red bastards."

I stared at his boner and he stared back at mine.

"Unless you want to give them your love too?" he said sort of hesitantly.

He was now very slowly sliding his hand back and forth on his hard-on. "If you need to do it too..." He left the sentence unfinished.

My dick had quickly stiffened at the direction the conversation was taking. I didn't say anything, but seeing him feeling his boner had got me erect too.

"You gonna do it too? Up to you, 'cos it's a private thing. Hey, that's a nice one." He paused and looked at me.

"You gonna hang around? Fair warning, man. Here I go!"

Now he was slowly jacking, moving his hand back and forth at a moderate pace. I was fully boned up myself, not yet jerking but wiggling my stiffie in preparation for this completely unexpected opportunity.

"Let me know if you need any help," my examiner instructed. "Sometimes another guy's hand gives you a real charge. Hey, you want to try mine for me?"

We were still standing side-by-side, both of us masturbating just a couple of feet away from the ant bed.

"Are you about to cum?" he asked. "When you're ready to shoot, aim it into the ants. Give 'em all you've got, your whole load. Ooh, ooh, here I come!"

He darted right up onto the ant hill, telling me "I'm gonna get 'em!" He continued to stroke his hard-on. "Gonna shoot! Now!" His ejaculate spewed out and shot expertly into the ants' large entrance cone which was still wet from our piss. Now squirt after squirt of my examiner's cum hit the target. The ants raged around in confused fury.

"Now you! Give it to 'em! Cum all over 'em!" He backed away from the ant hill, shaking off the last of his cum and stomping ants off his shoes.

The guy stared at my dick while I pumped it. "I'm..." I started to say.

He was instantly attentive before I could finish the sentence. "You cumming? Getting ready? Atta boy!"

He put a hand on the small of my back, urging me toward the ants.

"Cumming!" I told him. The deep-down tingly feeling of an excellent climax shook me, accompanied by a major stream of ejaculate that I shot onto the ant mound while my examiner watched with wide eyes.

"Oh! Yeah! Beautiful. Expert shot! Did it feel good? That'll fix 'em."

There was silence while we put our empty weapons back into our shorts. The guide reverted to an embarrassed quietness. "Nice of you to join me," he said in a self-conscious sort of way.

He maintained dead silence as we walked down to camp.

The next morning I happened to see my examiner dude after breakfast. "Hey! You got full marks on your trail exam!" he yelled at me. Then, trotting up closer, he leaned around and spoke in a softer voice. "Wanna go up and check on the ants this afternoon?"

We blasted those ants every day of the second week.

Humor from a Reader

Eric -

Don't know whether you would want to use this little jewel or not, but I can't resist sending it to you. It was reported as a news item on the radio earlier this week. I've filled in the word that the newscaster left to listeners' imagination:

The mother of a graduating high school boy was so proud of her son for being class valedictorian that she went to her supermarket and ordered a cake. She specified that they write "Summa Cum Laude" on the cake, the traditional Latin phrase for "With Highest Honors."

When she picked up the cake, the bakers had substituted three dashes (- - -) for the word "cum." Instead of recognizing it as the Latin word "with," (pronounced koom) they thought it was the slang term for semen and refused to put it on the cake. 

Apparently the woman made quite a fuss. The store gave her a new cake, a public apology, and a gift card.

The bakers explained that they had never heard of "Summa Cum Laude" and  thought the words were a perverted celebration of the boy's sex life.

Is that not a gem of ignorance?
Yes sir, AND it is graduation time, I can absolutely see this happening, at almost any bake-shop in my area.

Thursday, May 24, 2018

Poll Results on "Firsts at Camp"

This was one of our best polls for receiving votes. Thanks to all who participated. I think the results are pretty representative to the types of comments and stories we get on here, so I welcome your input also.

I obviously was having a bit of fun with some of the answers, and yet guys ticked them anyway. I feel the greatest response which was about nudity as completely true, The second most popular was showers, these were clearly destined to take top honors for you guys. One of the most memorable  events for me at 12 was seeing another kid shower in the Men's Public shower are(he was not a close friend or family to me). I was so shocked how comfortable he was just stripping down naked and then he stood there a bit trying to convince me to shower with him, I was in shock and it was just not something I was prepared to do.

 Anyway moving on, we saw a surprising count of sighting other boners. I am sure that was quite an enticing eye-full for anyone back then. Gladly we had an almost equal response for being touched, and touching another dude, which seems only fair, if you ask me.

The guys who got their first crush was a bit of a shocker for me, but I must admit I am delighted to know that several campers found someone special, and it validates that many young guys align a great deal of value and trust in the persons we share our firsts with. I could say a few more comments of how were more likely to give our hearts freely at that stage, but most of you might think that's just too mushy. So in general, I am happy to see that popular result on first crushes.

Some of the remaining results I think can stand for their own merit, as they do not appeal for me to highlight in this post. You all can assess what it means, and trust that indeed, some exploratory fun was had.

In wrapping up, I have to disclose that Blogger has removed Polls from their list of available gadgets.The current poll became un-usable three days before the final poll date. I will experiment with 3rd party options. I will only use these if they are embedded to the blog and not invasive for our users/readers. However no promises on that, since it is going to require a prove-out prior to releasing it here. I still have other blogs to toy with, and they can serve as a Dev environment. But if the products are unreliable we will just have to cease with Polls.

Thanks to everyone who participated, I enjoyed evaluating the results.   


Wednesday, May 23, 2018

Steamy Saunas, and What I Saw

The poll which is up right now, it wants to know if we first saw another kid nude at camp and other facts bout camp.

 What I wonder, was whether anybody else saw people nude at a sauna or steam bath like I did. My father went to the baths once a week. Starting at three years old he took me along. I saw nude men and boys of every age. Through all that time, it was normal to me. The men talking about politics and news. Us kids felt lucky and knew it was a special kind of treatment. People sat on benches completely nude. It wasn't a bad place, there was no sex or lewd acts. But Wow,  I saw every possible type of dicks.


Monday, May 21, 2018

Terms of Engagement in a Car

I was around 10-11 years old when we had a session at camp about sex. This was at a church-related boys camp for guys from many different towns and churches. Although my cabin attended, I was too young to know what the leaders were talking about. The word "sex" was never used, nor any words that might refer to intercourse or private parts of a person's anatomy. I remember one phrase word-for-word: "wrestling matches with a girl in the back seat of a car." It was spoken by one of the men leading the session. This was absolutely puzzling to me. Who would want to wrestle a girl? Why would they do it in the back seat? Whose car would you use?

The whole thing went right over my head. They should have had a sex-ed class first, before attempting their idiotic sex-ethics lesson.

One more thing, if they really wanted to talk about sex ethics, the primary sexual activity going on at that camp was masturbation, which I vaguely knew involved older boys showing each other their dicks.


Sunday, May 20, 2018

Enhancing the Bond Between Boys

This is a follow-up to my previous story, First Time at Boy Scout Camp.  

 During my elementary and junior high years, I would stay with my friend and his family for a few days several times each year when my Dad would have to go out of town for work.  The next time I stayed with them was around eight weeks after Boy Scout camp.  Since the school year had already started, and since my stay was over weeknights, we observed his parents structure and routine.  After dinner, we played video games for a little while, then it was time for showers, homework, and a 10:00 bed time.

He had a bunk bed in his room.  He was sleeping on the bottom, and I was on the top.  Since camp, we would talk about other aspects of the week but kept our vow to never mention the experience of the first time we jacked off.  However, on this evening, a little while after going to bed, he whispered “Are you awake.”  I was.  He asked if I had ever done it again.  “Yes, two and sometimes three times a week.”  He said that he was similar.  We discussed techniques and methods of keeping cum from making a mess. 

After several minutes we realized that the conversation had made both of us hard.  While we had seen each other naked several times through showering and locker room keep away games at camp, I had never seen anyone hard and became curious.  I wondered how he would react if I asked him if he wanted to strip together so we could see each other with a hard on.  After internally debating the idea for a while, I thought the heck with it and just blurted it out.  Fortunately, he had the same curiosity. 

I climbed out of bed.  To avoid getting caught, he put his lamp under a cover and turned it on so we just had limited light but could see well enough.  We took off our shirts and then, after some hesitation, pulled down our boxers.  We were now standing less than a foot apart completely naked staring at each other’s hard on.  Unlike at camp, where we would have to be discreet when checking people out, we had no reservation about staring at each other’s penis.

Now it was his turn to ask the bold question.  “Do you want to see what each other’s feels like?”  That made me nervous but I also found the idea to be very intriguing.  “Um, OK.”

He pulled an extra sheet out of his closet and laid it out on the carpet in front of us.  He knelt to the side of me and started to feel.  He rubbed the inside of my upper legs, rubbed and juggled my balls and touched my dick a couple times but said that he wasn’t ready for me to cum yet, that he wanted to tease me some more.  It felt exhilarating to have him touch me like that.  Finally, he said it was time for me to cum.  He rubbed my tip a little bit then made a ring with his fingers and stroked.  It only took a matter of seconds and I was shooting off on to the sheet.  It was humbling to be made to do it by my friend, as well as for him to watch me do it, but it also felt great.       

After I had finished, I said that it was now my turn to abuse him.  His erection remained really hard.  I started rubbing him the same way her had done me.  He immediately tensed up and said it tickled.  He was clearly affected as he shivered several times.  After a while, I said it was time to make him cum.  I liked having control over his dick.  As I stroked him, a drop of cum quickly appeared at the tip of his penis.  Almost immediately afterward, his cum came shooting out.  It was fun to watch him lose control and now be the one to face the humility of it.

We then wiped off our dicks, stuffed the sheet in his closet, put our boxers and t shirts back on, and went to bed. 

 The following morning, we had to hurry to get ready for school and did not have time to talk about what we had done.  We were able to talk that afternoon.  We concluded that we were probably not the first guys in the world to have done that.  We were pretty sure that it didn’t make us moral deviants who should be locked in an institution to protect society.  We agreed that it felt really good and made it more exciting to have the other guy’s fingers touching us than when we would use our own hands.  We also agreed that the humility of giving up control of our dicks and being made to cum by the other guy heightened the sensation.  We weren’t embarrassed.  We had been close friends for several years, and it seemed that this was something that enhanced the bond between us.

As I went back to my house that evening, I wondered if the previous night’s activity would be a one-time thing, or if we would do it again.  


Friday, May 18, 2018

Sam Answered the Right Way, Cont.

Continuing from the previous post Sam Answered the Right Way

 In the rest-room stall,  I noticed Sam's smile. I became a little nervous while he showed me what position I needed to be in. He stepped off the toilet seat, then carried me down to the floor as well. He knelt me down softly. He pulled down his swimming trunks, revealing his healthy, 14 year old, 5 inch cock. His pubes were a few strands of random hairs. He stated,
 "First off, if you want it, you have to make it wet since we don't have lotion. Okay?"

 I nodded timidly as I went to work. First, it started with a small lick, not completely certain what I needed to do. Next, I put it in my mouth and licked over it. My thought process was that it was the same as a lollipop or popsicle. As Sam let out a small groan, I felt his hand on the back of my head. He thrust forward softly, moaning a bit louder. In a few minutes, I felt his penis twitch in my mouth, so he must have been ready to release. But instead, he stopped, pulling it out of my mouth. Sam asked considerately,
  "Are you sure you want to do this?"

 I respond by reaching up, going to my tiptoes as I lovingly smooch him. Sam understood my answer, and sat back on the toilet seat. I sat on his lap and hugged him, closing my eyes as he pulled my shorts down and directed his penis to my opening. I let out a small and shrill whimper as I felt him push the head in. It felt painful, and I didn't want to move. Sam said,
"I'm really sorry. Let me know if you're ready."

 And so, we sat there for a while, maybe ten minutes, as my breathing slowed and I began to get used to the feeling. With a simple nod to Sam, he smiled and pushed all the way in. What happened next was amazing. It felt like forever as I moaned there on his lap while he pushed in and out of me. We hugged each other and kissed in the stall. Then, all of a sudden, a door could be heard opening in the bathroom. A man entered the bathroom as I was later told by Sam, due to him seeing the man's large feet. Sam had covered my mouth to suppress the moans, whispering,
"I'm sorry, but I can't s-stop, it's so good. Just keep quiet, okay?"

 I nodded softly as he removed his hand. When he hit a specific sweet spot, I stifled a scream by covering my mouth. When I noticed Sam going, "Oh...Oh...Oh..." I knew he was close. I leaned in and let him feel my skinny body. We both gave a passionate kiss as he climaxed, letting the small streams of white in me, which I now know occurred because of the warm and wet feeling I gained inside. The man using the bathroom stopped at our stall, which made us afraid, as we saw his feet right under the door. But then, we saw his feet trudge to the door, and he was gone. Sam smiled happily and I laughed. And that...was the story of how I first met what would be my future boyfriend.


How We Said, "I Love You."

 When I was at about the same age of these guys in this story,  I was talking with a buddy about how strange it was that among our circle of close friends how we were constantly insulting, tackling and punching each other, often not gently at all. He said something I've never forgotten. -

 "You know" he said "how girls always hold hands and walk arm-in-arm with their friends? Well, trading insults and punches is what we do. It's how we say we love one another."

 That was the word he used, "Love". It had no sexual connotation; it was simply a statement of an emotional fact. If I may paraphrase, "You never again have friends like you do when you're twelve."


Wednesday, May 16, 2018

My Secluded Place

When I was a kid around 13-14 years old and had just started really wanking and shooting sperm, I'd sometimes get ideas to enhance my normal routine jacking off. One of my ideas was to jack off in a semi-public place. Outside but where nobody was likely to see me. It took me a long time to work up the courage just to do it around the side of my house. I jerked off very early one morning and it was a thrilling feeling but not quite enough so I decided that I really wanted to do it in the park that I lived near in an area that was just off a trail and relatively secluded. My goal was not to get caught but to wank in a place that I wasn't supposed to. I was 14 years old at this time and every time I'd go to the park I would lose my nerve but one day I suppose my "horny" was stronger than my nerves. I jacked off in the secluded area and did not get caught so I did it again and again, each time I'd be a bit more bold.

At first I only stuck my penis through my fly and had a quick wank but eventually I'd pull my pants down and take my time. It became my preferred area until one day I will never forget. I shot a massive shot and was coming down when I heard "umph" and I opened my eyes and there was a man, real skinny wearing youthful clothes but who was obviously at least in his late 30's. He was masturbating too and had started ejaculating after seeing me. I have no idea how long he was there or how he had gotten there without me seeing or hearing him but I pulled my pants up and ran as fast I could and did not look back.

I never went back to that park or any other park to jack off instead I had to settle for bedroom, bathroom and occasional side of the house wanks.


He Was "That kind of Guy"

The recent poll about camps reminds me of a peculiar idea that I had as a 15-year-old. I can't even remember how we zeroed in on each other, but there was another boy that I went into the bushes with on the first day for a quick pee which turned into a jacking session. It was one of those cases of realizing, Wow, this guy is like me. I remember being so hyped about discovering the kid.

We were pumping our dongs and trading feels when he told me he always wore a rubber to screw a girl. That statement ruined it. I went completely cold. All of a sudden I didn't like him any more, because he was "that kind of guy" and so I avoided him the rest of camp.

To me, screwing a girl was extremely sinful, besides the fact that the whole idea was repulsive. I had been taught in Sunday School and other venues that only boys that were the worst segment of society would have sex with a girl. That was an activity that was limited to marriage. Since none of our teachers or counselors ever mentioned jacking off with a friend, plus it was never conveyed as a sin. I just assumed that it was okay if done in private.

By being so indoctrinated about the shame of sex, I missed the pleasure of additional wanks with the other boy. I went out of my way not to talk to that guy or even sit near him.

And now, many years down the road, I suspect that the other guy was lying and his heterosexual activity was most likely imaginary. If I had it to do over again, I would ignore the "rubber" comment and enjoy every chance to jerk together.


Tuesday, May 15, 2018

Discovering the Real Me

 As late as my freshman year in college, I believed that I was normal. I told myself I was just waiting for the right girl to come along and for my interest in guys to fade. The college environment bristled with constant sex talk and copulating couples.

 At first I believed that the guys were lying about their conquests in order to enhance their reputations. I remembered an old adage, "Those that talk about it the most do it the least." Meanwhile I was still picking up tricks in restrooms.

 One day I was walking to class with another guy from my dorm. We passed a blond girl with large boobs and shapely legs. My friend commented, "Ooh! That pumps up my faucet!" Apparently the sight of the girl had given him an erection, but it had done nothing for me. That was the beginning of my somewhat conflicted realization that girls did not interest me in that way.

 If you had asked me before that moment if I was straight or gay, I would have loudly announced "straight." In my mind I would have gone a little further, thinking "Straight, but waiting for it to happen."

 From that day forward, my illusions of a beautiful wife and a family of happy kids collapsed and I knew that I was the one who would never cross to the hetero side of the street.


The Exquisite Recital Performer

  From age 8 to about 14, I took piano lessons. The teacher was a mature, no-nonsense woman who had an enormous concert grand in her living room. Every so often she scheduled recitals right there in her home, which was filled with antique furniture. For recitals she added folding chairs so everybody would have a seat. Most of the kids who were going to play sat on an antique couch near the piano. The teacher sat in a fancy, straight-backed old dining chair where she could keep an eye on her pupils. She had drilled into us that we must not fidget or draw attention to ourselves while someone else played.

 I remember one of those recitals well. There was a boy sitting next to me as we waited our turns to play. That kid was dressed to the hilt: black sweater, white shirt, tie, polished shoes. He looked like a miniature undertaker!

 As the recital progressed and we waited, I noticed that he was giving a great deal of attention to his lap. He was trying very hard to sit still, but at the same time he was cautiously mashing and squeezing his crotch. From time to time he would hold the printed program over his fly while he grabbed his boner and moved his dick to a better position. Between squeezes he sat with the program hiding what must have been a very stiff prick in his pants. Of course his activity was contagious for me and soon there was a boner in my slacks also.

  The boner mashing boy played his piece just before me. He went straight to the piano and slid in on the bench without letting the audience see his bulging front. Then he played. I instantly hated him because he played a difficult and flashy piece. When he finished he was supposed to stand next to the piano and take a slight bow to acknowledge the audience's applause. What he actually did was slip behind the teacher's chair and nod toward the audience with a big smile while patting the teacher on the shoulder. He made a show of kissing her on the cheek. What a ham. And she loved it! He was a consummate actor. It looked like he just adored that old biddy, when his real motivation was to keep his bulge hidden behind her chair.

  Next it was my turn. I played a simple piece. Thank the Lord, my boner disappeared while I concentrated on playing.

  I never saw that kid again, but I still remember him mashing a boner while sitting on an antique couch, and then slipping behind the teacher to put on a dramatic display of appreciation while a serious adolescent erection raged in the pants of his spiffy black outfit.


Monday, May 14, 2018

Finding the Rainbow with Dan

 I have an interesting story. When I was about 16, I always loved watching the sky. Everyday, whether it was sunny, or cloudy, cold, or hot. But the only thing that deterred me was thunder. I had severe astraphobia, which meant I would quite literally panic at the crashing sound of a thunderbolt.

 My high school classmates always joked about me.
  "What an idiot!" "So ridiculous" "I bet you couldn't last in a storm!"

 I got pushed to my limit, and I wanted to prove them wrong. But there was one friend, Dan, also16 years old, who would never insult me. He was very kind and gentle, and he didn't like confrontation, which it was sad that he never defended me when I was pushed around. Yet he meekly still had my back.

One day Dan the tall brunette said to me,
  "You don't have to do this, you know. You don't have to prove them wrong."

I replied,
  "I do. I really want to prove them wrong. Besides, I need to face my fear."

Dan replied with a sigh,
 "Fine. But I want to go with you so you have someone to comfort if you can't handle it. Okay?"
 He was being considerate, so I agreed. And so, we waited until there was a stormy day for about a week.

Finally, on a Saturday morning,I got a text from Dan saying,
 "Stormy day at 11:00 A.M. Your house or mine?"

 I replied,
 "My house. My parents are at the grocery store."

  I pulled from the covers and began dressing. As usual, I put on my t-shirt and shorts, because I enjoyed the feeling of rain, ironically enough. After a less-than healthy meal of cereal, I heard a knock at the door. I answered to see Dan wearing a blue hoodie with sweatpants. We both trudged bravely outside to the backyard of my home. Choosing a central open spot, I laid down on my back while he sat beside me.

  We talked for a little while until clouds slowly began to darken and condense. In a matter of minutes, overcast clouds blanketed the once blue sky. As soon as the crack of thunder was heard, I quickly held to Dan's hand, who seemed to not care, as he said or did nothing. He must have understood my fear when he intertwined our fingers and pulled me to his shoulder. I squeezed his hand and closed my eyes, resting on his shoulder, while Dan said soothing words.
  "It's alright. It's alright. I've got you. Everything's okay."

 The thunder increased, which only made more of my astraphobial symptoms appear. I started hyperventilating, random shaking, even a few tears. But unlike those mean classmates, Dan never made fun. He held me close to him, whispering sweet nothings, rubbing my back, arm around my waist. Finally, I calmed down. Even though the thunder continued, my breathing became normal and the tremors ended.

 Even a little after the storm calmed, I stayed in his arms, and he cradled me. Finally, Dan broke the silence,
 "Are you alright?"

 I smiled up at him, saying possibly the corniest joke,
  "Right as rain."

 We both laughed together. Since that day, I no longer had astraphobia. Perhaps it was just a childish habit all along rather than a psychological fear. But either way, when I think of thunder, I'm reminded of that day, and the sweet nurturing soul who embraced me through the din. Indeed I found a Rainbow much greater in value than any amount of gold.


I Like You Very Much

 When I was around the age of eleven, I was very close to a boy the same age as I was. We would hug and kiss each other and then get down to some serious business. We never asked each other if we were gay or not, as we never used that word. Back then anyone just called it being homo. Secretly we admitted to each other that we were homos. We never said we love you..... it was always "I like you very much".


Although this was a very short story, and could have served simply as a comment, I felt it was worthy of a feature post in respect to some of the recent topics. Some boys experience a refined level of tenderness together. Some might argue it prepares them for enhanced caring for their eventual partner....Eric~

Saturday, May 12, 2018

Sam Answered the Right Way

I want to share my story. When I was 13, and I went to the community center with my best friend, who was 14. At that time, I was small and skinny, and he always protected me since he was bigger and stronger. We were playing in the pool until we got tired and got out to relax for a while . As usual, I sat on his lap while he sat on one of the chairs beside the pool. But I secretly always got a hard-on from sitting in his lap, having his arms around me, our shirtless bodies connecting.

 Since we lived in California luckily, being gay wasn't always ridiculed. So, I asked, "Hey (I won't say his real name, so we'll say Sam) Sam? Are you" He looked shocked for a moment, until a meek, "Yeah." came from his lips. With that confession, I smiled and started to kiss him. I don't know how long we stayed there, kissing each other, but it felt so right. After a while, he whispered, "Let's go to a bathroom, okay?" I agreed and we walked in a stall together, We stood on the toilet seats and kissed for so long.

Finally, he taught me how guys actually have sex,
 "You see, they put their stiffies inside their butts."

 "Isn't that gross? We poop from there!"

 But he simply smiled.

To be continued......


Wednesday, May 9, 2018

First Time at Boy Scout Camp (Part III)

He added that it was also likely that we would end up creaming in our sleeping bags, which is gross and uncomfortable.  He suggested that the better strategy would be to go behind our tent and take care of the condition we found ourselves in.

Part III

 At first we didn’t take our new friend’s advice and we all just tried to go to bed.  After maybe 15 to 20 minutes, I whispered to my friend to ask if he was still awake.  He was.  That resulted in another very unique and awkward conversation in which we discovered that we both remained hard, that we had both gotten hard previously, but it had always gone away on its own, that we were both starting to feel a pain and tightness in our innards, which we concluded was the soreness mentioned by the older boy.  We weren’t real sure what the boy meant when he said to go behind the tent and take care of our condition but had some vague knowledge of jerking off and figured that was what he was talking about, though we didn’t know exactly how to do it.  Also, we thought that if we did follow his advice, it would be very embarrassing to each of us for the other to know that we had done it;  however, it might be somewhat less embarrassing if we both did it, though certainly not together.    

 That final thought lead to several rounds of “If I do it, then you have to do it.”  Eventually, I was the first to go behind the tent.  I walked a few steps to the edge of the woods.  The only light came from the moon.  I nervously looked around, though I don’t know what I was looking for.  I pulled my underwear down and looked at my completely stiff dick.  Was I really going to do this?  For a few seconds I wished that I had asked the older guy for more instruction but quickly decided that would have just made me look like a dork.  I rubbed the top with my index finger.  Then I rubbed the bottom, that kind of made me feel all excited.  I rubbed the tip, even more excited.  I then formed my thumb and index finger into a shape of the letter C and rubbed.  I didn’t know what was happening, but my heart was racing and I felt a little flush.  Soon, I could feel like a rush inside my dick, then it happened.   Some thick stuff came shooting out.  I understood why the boy referred to it as cream.  Wow, this felt good.  When it stopped shooting, I wiped my finger on the tip to get a few drops so I could examine this new and interesting substance.     

 When I got back in the tent, my friend noted that it didn’t take very long.  He asked if it felt good.  “Yes, it felt great.”  He then asked “so what exactly do you do?”  I told him that it was simple and he would figure it out.  He then went behind the tent and came back within a very short time as well.  We giggled a lot in embarrassment that night and made a vow that we would never discuss this incident again.   We were terrified that the others would ask us what we did about our condition, but they never brought it up.

 For the final night, our task would be different, rather than it occurring just before lights out, it would happen during two hour period in which the canteen was open and many scouts from different troops would be walking past our campsite.  While wearing only our underwear, we were brought out to the entrance of our campsite.  It had an entry-way consisting of two vertical posts, with a horizontal post on top, holding the name of our site.  We were covered head to toe in shaving cream and were each secured to one of the posts of the entry-way with many layers of Saran Wrap.  They put a bucket on the ground between us and said that we needed to collect 200 pennies.  They would come to check at the end of canteen.  If we had met our goal, we would be released.  If not, we would be like that all night. 

 We didn’t think they would really leave us like that all night, but since we weren’t sure, we put a great amount of effort into collecting pennies.  As scouts would walk past us, we would ask (plead) for a donation.  We got laughed at a lot, and it was real embarrassing but kind of fun in a strange way.  People were pretty generous though.  When our friends came back to us after canteen, they asked how we did.  We thought we did well and were probably in good shape.  Unfortunately, the count totaled only 183 pennies.  They wished us a good night, told us they hoped we didn’t get eaten by bears, and walked away.  Dam, they were going to leave us there all night.  A few minutes later, they came back.  The patrol leaded said that the success of the patrol over the week had been a team effort and that wasn’t going to stop now.  Each of the members dropped a few pennies into the bucket until it got to 200.  They cut the Saran wrap to set us free and doused us with buckets of (cold) water, to rinse off the shaving cream.  Before going to bed, they told us that we had been awesome and had great attitudes all week.  Now that we had completed out initiation, they considered us to be full and equal members. 

 It felt really good to go from that first day, when we knew no one and wondered what we had gotten ourselves into, to being accepted as members of the group.  It was a great week.  We learned a lot of new stuff, some of which was even Boy Scout related.  We remained in boy scouts for a few years and enjoyed future summer camps.  A few days after we returned home, my friend’s Dad noted how much we had matured while at camp and how independent we had become.  He noted that the coming of age experiences we had shared would form a bond between us that would strengthen our friendship from then on.  As he said that, we made eye contact with each other and started to laugh at what some of those coming of age experiences were.  He asked what was funny but accepted our response that he really did not want to know.  He was fine with letting us keep our secret. 


By Mick