Alcimedes - House of Unfinished Stories

The new kid unzipped his backpack and fished inside, pulling out a crumpled paper bag, then unsleaved the object of our fascination. I recognized the the name on the cover, along with the signature ears and tail the model wore, but as he flipped open the magazine and laid it down on the floor in front of Mark and I, I was unprepared for the site in front of us. I had seen my little sister naked before, I had even seen my mother without her bra on once, but I'd never seen anything like that before.

"Whoa..." Was the comment of choice from both Mark and I, as we both attempted to pop our eyes back into our heads. The woman in the picture was elegantly stretched out on a bed, exposed fully for our enjoyment, and believe me, we were enjoying ourselves. Mark began to gently turn the pages, all of us staring intently at each and every new photograph with eager delight, back and forth until we had seen every page nearly twenty times.

After about an hour or so, the new kid, Paul, stood up and announced that he had to go, and had to take the magazine with him. After several attempts to get him to leave the magazine, or at least let us look a little longer failed, he carefully slipped the magazine back into its cover and headed down the rope ladder for home.

Mark and I sat alone in the treehouse silently for a while, daydreaming to ourselves about the wonders we'd seen. I worried for a while about the boner I had, wondering if Mark would notice, and tried my best to disguise it's persistent aching. Mark finally broke the silence, suggesting that it might be time for us to leave.

Thoughts of heading home were enough to subside the swelling (for the both of us) and we headed our separate ways back home. The night passed uneventfully, my mind distracted by the family and being allowed to stay up late to watch television, and that night I fell into a deep and satisfying sleep. In the morning, Mark was at the door bright and early, asking my mother if I could go out and play. We climbed on our bikes and pedaled away, Mark shooting ahead of me while calling back, "Come on!"

I followed Mark as we pedaled past his street and down the next, listening to the suburban call of Saturday morning mowers humming, and enjoying the familiar smell of freshly cut grass, before coming to a stop in front of a house I didn't recognize.

"This is where that new kid Paul lives." Mark revealed. With a ring of the doorbell, we stood fidgeting nervously until the door opened. A silver haired woman stood behind the screen door, looking rather suprised, but with a pleasant smile on her face.

Perhaps it was the innocence of the times, or more likely my youthful naiveté, but I didn't understand what she meant. Why would you have to go somewhere to see your father?

"At the park." I answered. We had been playing a game of football when one of the kids had to go, leaving the sides uneven. Paul had been standing off to the side watching silently, so we invited him to fill in.

Mark and I headed for the treehouse, parking our beloved banana seated bicycles behind the the stone fence in the customary manner of disguising our "secret" place, and spent the afternoon hanging out and just talking; mostly about the magazine we'd seen the day before.

We talked a little about Paul, of how he'd managed not to get himself creamed playing football because of his small and skinny size, but mostly wondering where he'd gotten the magazine, and wondering if he could get more.

The next morning, as I sat in the back seat of the station wagon as we pulled into our driveway coming home from an excruciatingly boring morning of church, Mark was already waiting for me outside the front door. After a quick dash to my room to change out of my Sunday church clothes, we headed out on our bikes for the day. We made our way over to Mark's house where he stopped for a minute and ran into his garage.

"Wait here." He yelled as he dashed in, rummaging through a storage bin by the kitchen door. He came back out wearing a backpack and carrying another, tossing it at me as he hopped back onto his bike.

"Alright, alright! So anyway, I see this huge trailer, you know like the eighteen wheeler kind, just sitting out in the middle of this big open field that's full of stuff. So I asked him what it was for, and he told me it's where you drop off for paper recycling." Mark finished, beaming a huge smile on his face.

We sped the long haul to the dump, oblivious to how far it was, our excitement masking any symptoms of fatigue. I'll never forget the moment we arrived at the empty junkyard and stared at the trailer across the open field, feeling like explorers in a new land.

We made our way out toward the trailer, nervously afraid that we'd been seen and stashing our bikes at the fields edge, then stealthily making our way across the open field on foot and climbing up into the opened trailer doors.

The trailer was filled with piles and piles of old newspapers, magazines, boxes, and paper bags, stacked high all the way to the back of the trailer. It was almost overload to our young and horny brains. We each started combing, pulling apart the string tied bundles looking for our booty.

We must have been in that trailer for nearly three hours, finding everything you could imagine; copies of old Look, Life and Ladies Home Journals, old comic books (which we just had to stop and look at), everything except what we were looking for, when I finally opened a box full of magazines and immediately realized I'd found what we'd come to find.

"Whoa..." Mark whispered over my shoulder, staring intently as I was at the images of the woman, naked as a jay bird. Mark reached down into the box to grab another, then another magazine as I stood looking mesmerizingly at mine. After a minute or two, I heard Mark mumble out, "Holy shit..."

Mark had found the golden vein of our adolescent dreams, an honest to god, true blue, explicit porno magazine. Scarcely noticing that none of the writing was in english, he began to flip the pages, revealing ever more delightful and exhilarating photos with each turn. It was filled with women exposing every millimeter of the tantalizing feminine secrets to our young and excited eyes, women together kissing and touching each other, and finally... a man and a woman... DOING IT!

My knees were literally trembling, my hands sweating profusely as I reached into the box to reveal another and then another magazine, each more suggestive than the next.

Mark and I were jolted by the crunching sounds of the tires on the gravel strewn field coming to a halt and the car door slamming closed, our hearts pounding out of our chests with near panic, as we stared at each other in indecision.

"Hide!" Mark yelped excitedly, as we dove toward the rear of the trailer, covering ourselves with scattered newspapers. I held tightly to the magazine in my hand, already having decided they'd have to pry it from my fingers before I would let go, and held my breath.

We listened with bat like intensity to the agonizingly slow ritual of the person emptying the contents of their trunk, tossing their bundled waste into the trailer. We remained cautiously concealed under the musty smell of old newspapers long after the car pulled away, not daring to push our luck, before deciding the coast was clear.

We climbed out from beneath our lairs, unzipping our backpacks, and began to scoop magazines blindly from the box, stuffing our packs until they could barely close. Their weight seemed to make no difference, as we dashed across the field to our trusty rides, feeling heavy and yet light as air at the same time. I remember the look and feel of unbridled excitement and joy on our faces, as we pedaled as fast as we could back to the treehouse, with expectations of discovery on our minds.

I would receive a scolding from my parents that night, having spent the rest of that summer afternoon till the purplish colors of dusk set in, mesmerized by our newfound treasure. It would also be, as I lay awake in my bed that night, thinking of all I'd seen, that I would discover the equally exciting magic of masturbation.

Mark and I spent the following morning scrambling around our garages for scraps, grabbing hammers and nails, and an all important used combination lock, before heading out to the treehouse. We had decided, before anything, that we had better find a way of hiding what we'd found, it's value even greater than gold, or so it seemed at the time. We managed to fashion a rather crude, but functional trunk from old pieces of plywood and lumber we were able to find, even finding hinges and an old and rusted gate lock that we could secure it with.

We'd finished by noon, and made our way back to my house for lunch, sitting silently at the dinner table as my mother scuttled about the kitchen. In anticipation of returning to our new prize, I think I managed only a few bites of my sandwich before asking if we could go back outside to 'play'. My mother gave the two of us a suspicious look, knowing we were up to something, but laughingly let us go after we swore our innocence. I'm sure she never believed a word of it, but then again I'm also sure she had no idea what we were up to.

Mark and I sat on the floor at opposite sides of the small treehouse, each of us glued to our own magazine, silently staring and gawking at the amazing pictures to be found.

I was a comfortable enough distance from Mark, that I felt that I could fidgitingly adjust the swelling in my jeans, which had become increasingly uncomfortable from it's confinement. And as I sat there, staring at photo after photo of naked women pleasing and being pleased, imagining myself to be the object of the woman in the picture's talents and desires, I began to think of nothing else but pulling out my dick and stroking it as I had the night before.

After a while, I'm not sure exactly how long but for what seemed like hours, the tension in my groin had grown to the point where I had to close the magazine, or explode.

And as I gently closed the pages, again shuffling my legs to ease the tension in my pants, I looked over the the top edge of my magazine at Mark. He had his magazine held in one hand, holding it close enough to his face to see every minute detail, but with the other was slowly stroking his cock through his jeans. I could see the shape of his his hard on as it pressed tightly against the fabric of his pants, his fingers gently massaging along it's length.

I felt a strange sense of relief, knowing that my best friend was experiencing the same feelings I had, that I wasn't the only one that had ever felt the urge. I sat silently a minute, just watching him rub himself, and wanting to do the same but still lacking the courage to do it, when Mark whispered out from behind his magazine, "This is great, huh?"

Now I had heard the words 'jerk off' before, but until the night before had never really known exactly what they'd meant. And now, to hear them from Mark, and knowing he knew as well exactly what it meant, caught me by suprise.

And before I realized what I'd said, "Yeah, me too." had spilled from my mouth. I suppose I had said it partially out of a nervous effort to 'fit in' or not feel out of place, but it was also the truth. I wanted to cum so bad it hurt.

I nervously opened back up my magazine, pressing it to my face like Mark when I saw his fingers stop their massaging. A heavy silence descended over the treehouse before Mark spoke again.

My heart was pounding hard in my chest at the idea, fraught with both apprehension and sexual excitement. I kept my magazine up to my face, my eyes open but not seeing a thing on it's glossy pages.

"I don't know, do you?" I finally said, my voice feeling as though it would crack at any moment. My heart continued to race with nervous anticipation of my dare.

I closed the pages of the magazine that I held, looking over to see Mark doing the same. We sat for a minute, looking apprehensively in each others eyes, neither of us wanting to be the weaker to chicken out, but yet both of us unsure if we had the balls to be the first to make a move. And like close friends often do, at that moment we both began to tip off our thoughts with a wry smile, and then a laugh. Mark went for his belt buckle as I did the same, each of us unfastening, unzipping and opening our jeans with giddy excitement, until we each reached into our underwear and pulled out our eager young hard on's.

Not a word was said as we silently examined each others equipment from afar. I remember, the first thing I noticed was that although Mark's dick was not much bigger than my own, as I would later come to realize, the very light color of his blond pubic hair made it appear to be nearly bald, and so much bigger than it really was. Neither of us thought too much of it, Mark innocently eyeing me as well, and when he reached down and retrieved the magazine he'd been reading, I did the same.

We both leaned back against the wall, gently stroking our cocks in one hand while staring at the pictures held in the other, giggling at the excitement of it all. It didn't take long for the laughing to go away, replaced as the sensation of the pumping of our cocks and looking at the pornography was bringing us both quickly to orgasm.

No sooner had I begun to feel the tight, tingling sensation in my little balls, than my dick erupted with a geyser of blissful cum, shooting high up onto my shirt, again and again as I continued to pump it excitedly.

Without looking, I could hear as Mark reached his orgasm as well, grunting softly as he emptied his load as I had. We both sat for a while, slowly stroking our still hard cocks and breathing hard and deep, when again we both began to laugh.

And it was, it was about as an exciting thing I'd ever done or felt in my young life, and I knew for sure that I wanted to do it again. I looked over at Mark and saw that he'd laid his magazine down at his side, but was still holding his dick in his hand, gently tugging on it.

We both relinquished our grips on ourselves and quickly stripped off our shirts, using them to wipe off the now sticky remnants from our fingers and softening members. We nervously concocted a plan to explain our soiled shirts, deciding we would rub them in the dirt before heading home and claim that we were playing football at the park.

There would be time for that later, we silently agreed, and were soon back to looking at the magazines, but not before we'd decided to swap, seeing for ourselves what the other had seen. And, as it is with young and hormonally charged boys, it was only a matter of minutes before we both once again had raging hard ons.

This time, however, there was no hesitation in grabbing them and beginning the adolescent five finger dance. Flipping through Mark's magazine, I came upon a picture that I hadn't seen in mine; a woman with long blond hair and massive mammaries, kneeling between the legs of a naked man who looked down at her face with excited eyes.

Turning the page, the next image was of the same woman, still kneeling before the man, but this time she held his erect penis in her hand and had her tongue laid along it's length. Just below it was another picture, this time the woman had the man's penis all the way in her mouth, appearing to suck on it like a giant candy lollipop. My mouth went dry as I stared wide eyed at the picture, my hand increasing the pace of my stroking as my dick lurched at the picture as well. My mind reeled at the thought that a woman would do such a thing, and as I continued to examine the photo it became quite apparent to me that she was enjoying herself as much as the man in the photo was. He had his head tilted back and his eyes shut, straining his face not out of pain but of pleasure, and I could distinctly see the slightly upturned smile on the lips of the woman that knelt before him, engulfing his cock with her ruby red lipsticked mouth.

My hand nearly trembled at the thought; my mind instinctively imagining the warm and moist sensations the man was receiving. It was then, as I lay reclined against the wall, my hand still stroking away on my cock, that I heard Mark begin to grunt again. Out of curiosity, I dropped my magazine just enough to see over the top of the page, to see Mark feverishly jerking himself to another orgasm, his dick squirting out his cum up onto his now shirtless stomach, again and then again. It was too much for me, and closing my eyes, I blew my load for the second time. It would be different from the first; not quite as intense but because of the increased effort the second time around, more physical, more draining and yet equally satisfying.

At that moment, I felt like I could just lay there doing this over and over again for the rest of my life. But like all good things, it had to end. And as we both lay exhausted and drained, gently mopping the mess from our bellies and finally zipping back up our pants, realizing that it was getting late and not wanting to get into trouble for staying out too late again, we collected up the magazines and cautiously locked them away in our newly made safe.

And as we rubbed our shirts in the dirt below the treehouse, stamping on them with nervous delight, I thought silently to myself of figuring out a way to sneak one of magazines home, to occupy myself at night. I'm sure that Mark was thinking the same, but for now, it would have to wait.

Mark and I spent the remainder of that week, as well as the next, doing pretty much the same thing; sneaking away every available minute we could to our hideaway and enjoying the thrills of looking at the collection of magazines. And along with our fascination at looking at every new picture, we also became less and less reserved about the subject of sex, as well as masturbation, eventually finding no hesitation in whipping down our shorts when the time seemed right.

It was almost becoming ritual, to the point where we openly watched each other in a sort of game, who could come faster, who could last the longest, even standing side by side as we stroked to see who could shoot the farthest. It was such an innocent time of sexual exploration, and although both of us unspokenly knew not to mention it to anyone, neither of us felt any guilt in what we were doing. Each of us would 'borrow' one of the magazines to take home at night, finding plenty of time to 'perfect our technique' so to speak, and even finding fun in pointing out anytime we found something new in one of the magazines.

I lamented the idea of having to go to camp, which was quickly approaching, not wanting to leave the behind the incredible fun I was having. Every year, from the time I was in the third grade, my mother and father shipped my kid sister and I to a christian summer camp for two weeks. The camp was in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania, only half a days drive, and sat on the edge of a big lake. It had the usual camp ensemble of activities; swimming at the lake, boating classes, nature hikes, and the ever popular 'bug juice' at meals. And apart from the terminally boring sermons the camp director would force us through each morning, I had a good time.

But this year, for obvious reasons, I found it very difficult to get excited about going. And to compound the problem, I couldn't exactly explain to my parents that the reason I didn't want to go to camp was that I'd rather be up in the treehouse spanking the monkey with my best friend. So instead, I decided just to deal with it, and to carefully stash away a few magazines for entertainment purposes should the opportunity arise.

The treehouse felt strangely silent, as I sat alone for the first time in nearly two weeks. I would be heading off to camp the next morning and wanted to have one more opportunity to look through the magazines and decide which one I was going to take with me. There were so many to choose from, it was difficult to decide which one I liked the best. Some of the magazines had already made themselves into a stack that Mark and I rarely even looked at any more; the 'pin up' magazines with pretty women but on the whole fairly boring, a couple of magazines with women dressed up in costumes that looked like they were from a Vincent Price horror movie doing things that didn't look like they were having any fun at all, even a black and white magazine that had only pictures of men in it.

I sat going through the 'good' stack, having fun as I rubbed my boner through my shorts as I tried to decide, when I heard the sound of Marks bicycle approaching down the pine needle covered trail.

Just to be sure though, I loaded back up the trunk and closed the lid, before peeking out the small window. It was indeed Mark, but much to my suprise, there was someone with him, the new kid Paul.

"I kinda spilled the beans about the magazines." He whispered in my ear, as Paul sat meekly across the treehouse. "Sorry about that, it was kind of an accident. He asked me to come over this morning to his house, and when he showed me another one of his magazines, I kinda let it slip out about you and I finding all of ours. I made him swear not to tell anyone, or we'd beat him up."

It wasn't like Mark to say those kinds of things, I'd never so much as seen him ever raise a fist to anyone for anything before, but this was different. And although I knew we'd probably never actually beat him up, he looked like he was about half our size, I put on a serious face to support the illusion.

"You swear?" Mark said to Paul, wanting him to swear it in front of me. He simply nodded his head, and sat looking nervous. Mark looked at me, and after giving him the nod, opened the trunk and pulled out a magazine, handing it to the anxious youth as he sat across from us.

Paul had no reply, in fact I'm not sure he heard Mark at all, or anything else for that matter. He had checked out completely, lost to his own fascination held in his hands. And after a few minutes, Mark and I both realized it would be a while before he would be coming up for air.

"So, you're leaving tomorrow?" Mark asked, as he sat down beside me, resting his back on the wall and sitting on the other side of the magazine chest.

"Man... that sucks..." Mark said softly, his voice trailing off as his attention was beginning to turn toward the flesh colored images of the magazine he held.

Long and straight black hair, skinnier that the usual women in the magazines but equally as exciting; I felt an unusual attraction to her look. She was standing next to two men, who leered at her body with hungry eyes. I suppose my look was the same, and like the two lucky ones in the pictures, I was starting to feel the familiar tingle of lust between my legs.

Turning the page, my minds eye soaked in the entanglement of flesh and limbs as the three naked bodies intertwined on the sheets of what I imagined to be Angelina's bed. Alternating the projection of myself as, first one of the men, then the other, each being satisfied by this vision of smoothness and pleasure... and then I turned the page.

Like a child seeing something for the first time, I was frozen with both puzzlement and excited curiosity with what I saw. One of the men was lying on is back with the beautiful Angelina straddling his hips, his pecker buried deep inside of her; an envious position.

But my mind struggled in bewilderment at the sight of the other man, and what he was doing. With his feet planted on the bed, he was straddling the other man like Angelina was, but he stood squatting behind her with his hands resting on each side of her waist. But the object of my fascination was the fact that he had his dick sticking inside of her as well, ...but not in the same place as the other man.

A fraction of a second? A minute, an hour? How long that moment lasted I couldn't tell you, as it would be so powerfully overshadowed by the realization of exactly where the squatting man's penis was.

I gawked in motionless amazement, but not all of me was still. My own pecker leapt at the realization, rocketing to blue steel stiffness in seconds. Whatever inkling of rational or moral hesitation might have existed in my brain never would have stood a chance against the pounding of my heart and the deafening roar of blood rushing in my ears. It was the moment I fully understood the meaning of the word erotic; the jury was instantly out and long gone on which magazine I'd be taking with me to camp.

I sat silently for a while, answering my own questions as they popped in and out of my head, answering them by reading the look of pleasure on each of the paper participants' faces.

I only had a little while before I'd have to head home, but long enough to find some relief to the ache centered in my crotch. Mark was deep into his own magazine, his telltale fidgeting tipping off the fact that he would be thinking the same thing soon, but I hesitated at the realization that Paul was sitting across the treehouse.

I cautiously looked over at Paul, trying carefully to gather a sense of what he was thinking: Did he know about it ? What would he think if he knew about Mark and I doing it ?...here? ...in front of somebody else?

As it turned out, I didn't need to as Mark slowly unzipped his fly and pulled his pecker out, motioning for me to do the same with a sly nod. I half smiled at the daring of his actions, as well as the nervousness of wondering what his plan was.

After just a moment or two, perhaps catching our movement, Paul looked up from his magazine to see both Mark and I slowly stroking our little hardons while half looking at our magazines.

Paul's eyes popped wide open and his jaw dropped in shock, but not a word came from him. Mark looked up from his magazine at Paul, and I fought off a nervous smile at the look on his face.

He looked my way for support, and I caught the meaning of his glance. "Yeah, Paul. You gotta do it now, if you want to stay in the 'club' " I said, using the age old need for adolescent male conformity.

Paul sat motionless, his face white as a sheet with fear and apprehension, and the more I looked at him the more I began to doubt the boldness of Mark's plan.

My dick also began to display my doubts, growing increasingly soft as the tension mounted. And just as I was readying myself to figure a way out of this precariously wrong move, Paul slowly put down the magazine he'd held and began to unsnap the top button of his Toughskin jeans.

Mark and I watched with a mixture of tension and relief as Paul unzipped his pants, sliding them down a bit and cautiously hooking his thumbs under the elastic of his briefs. He gave Mark one more nervous look before pulling them down mid thigh and quickly covering his genitals.

There had always been that reassuring charm of Mark's, the gift of salesmanship that worked on almost anyone; sometimes too good, and it was about to be thrown my way.

I couldn't very well back out now, if this thing wasn't going to blow up into a huge and embarrassing disaster, even though at that moment I felt a surge of anger at Mark for putting me on the spot. He, or admittedly "we", had started this and it was too late to turn back.

My hardon had gone completely limp from the tension, and was going to need some serious distraction to regain it's happy state, so I picked back up the magazine that had been sitting at my side and opened it up to where I'd been fantasizing before; Angelica.

My self conscious anxiety quickly began to give way to the increased beating of my heart and uncontrollable rush of blood to my head and penis, arousing both organs as they fell under the primitive spell of lust. And as my fingers found their second home, wrapped once again around my hardon, I heard Mark say to Paul, "See... it's easy."

Any apprehension I'd felt at the idea of having the two of them watch me jerk off quickly dissolved as I began to feel the heightened tingling in my balls as I stroked away. I don't know if it was the highly erotic imagery of the all new Angelica and her two buried friends or the tension that we'd all been caught up in, but I began to sense that I was quickly building to one monster of an orgasm.

And just as quickly as I'd realized it, there it was; my legs stiffened as I began to feel my balls clench tight and explode. My hand primed my hardon as it began lob stream after stream of cum into the air, floating effortlessly at their apex before splashing against the cover pages of the magazine I held closely to my face. The feeling was intense, and I was lost in the moment; pumping from deep inside, feeling the waves of pleasure from each liquidy release.

And as the sensation that had gripped my body began to subside, the flow of sexual adrenaline still pumping through my veins, I became more and more alert to the sound of Mark quietly whispering to Paul.

It was the first time in my life ever seeing an uncircumcised penis, and for a moment I was a little shocked, thinking there was something wrong with him. He was smaller than both Mark and I, smaller by a bunch, but as he began to turn his concentration away from Mark and I and back to the images in the magazine, he began to slowly but surely get a hardon. And with a hesitant motion, his hand slowly crept it's way down toward his dick; tentatively brushing it's delicate fingers around his stiffening member and gently stroking along it's sensitive skin. I hunted around inside of my backpack for towel to clean myself, pausing occasionally to look at the other two, and began to wipe off the sticky goo that covered my hand and waist.

Paul seemed to be getting the hang of it, slowly beginning to stretch the skin of his hardon up and down with his grip, his legs flinching with pleasure. Mark was into a rhythm, beginning to breath deeper and deeper and slowly intensifying the pace of his stroking.

That was when I noticed that Paul seemed not to be looking at his magazine at all, but was intently watching Mark, almost as if studying him and his motions.

Mark was oblivious Paul's gaze, and by the muffled moans he began to emit, I knew he was close to coming. I tried not to stare, but couldn't help but notice that Paul had begun to slowly lean forward and was staring intently at Mark as he neared his orgasm.

Mark finally let out a deep grunt as he began to peak, But unlike I had always done, letting the warm fluid squirt out onto my belly, Mark slipped his hand over the tip of his penis, shooting off into the palm of his hand. And in a quick motion, never seeming to lose the rhythm of his stroking, slid his slippery palm and fingers back down over the shaft of his straining cock, and began to slide it up and down it's glossy skin with abandon.

It was the first time I'd ever seen him do this, and I was fascinated, wondering to myself why I'd never thought of it before. He was really into it, his hips raising off the floor in an effort to meet his thumping hand, when I realized that Paul was coming too.

His hand was nearly a blur as he pounded on his meat, eyes still fixed intently on Mark's erupting cock, when he began to come wildly; his jizm shooting out higher than I thought was humanly possible.

His eyes clamped themselves shut and he practically fell backward to the wall, his head making an audible thud as it hit the rough plank boards, but he never stopped pulling on his dick, continuing to shoot load after load all over himself.

"Whoa... !" I heard myself say, as I watched in amazement; startled by the near convulsive power of his orgasm and amazed at the sheer volume of come he continued to squirt out.

I guess Mark heard my voice, and looked to see what I was staring at. His eyes popped open as mine had, and he continued to jack on his cock, I think coming for a second time. The feeling in the air was electric, and all three of us sat silently in it's power long after the two of them had finished.

I eventually found my way home that afternoon, feeling almost drunk from the sensations I'd felt and seen, and would sleep soundly that night. And in the morning, I was off to camp.

Being a year older and a bit wiser, I enjoyed myself a little more, tuning out the fire and brimstone sermons from the camp director, and feeling a little more self confident. The days and nights passed quickly, always filled with some type of activity, and before I knew it , I was headed for home.

I found sleep difficult my first night home from camp, exhausted from the long day and the long car ride, but too excited by the anticipation of heading back to the treehouse. It was mid-morning, after finishing breakfast and complying with my mothers demand to unpack my camp laundry and sort it out in the laundry room, before I got the okay to head out to play. I jumped on my bicycle with enthusiasm and pedaled furiously down the street toward the wooded patch of land behind Mark's house, and our secret hideaway.

Leaping off the bike even before it stopped, tossing it into the knarled bushes, I headed for the rope ladder and began to climb. I hadn't seen any other bicycles and assumed that Mark wasn't at the treehouse yet, but as my head peaked up into the small room, I saw Paul sitting next to the trunk of magazines that we'd made. I must have startled him, as he jumped a bit, suprised to see me.

"Oh, it's you..." He squeaked out with a sigh of relief. He looked at me with nervous eyes and began to speak again, but didn't finish, "I... um... Mark said it was okay if I..."

The two of us sat in a nervous silence for a few minutes, unsure of what to say, feeling a little reserved in our unfamiliarity of each other. But the ice was broken shortly after Paul asked where I'd been and I preceded to fill him in on my time at camp. I learned a few things about the him as we sat and talked for a while; he had moved here from California, and before that from that Vietnam place that was always in the news. His father was in the army, and his mother used to live in Vietnam before she met his father. It answered a question I'd been wondering, mystified by his physical looks; it was obvious that he was oriental but yet he looked so different from anyone else I'd ever met. Meanwhile, all the time we talked, he was idly glancing down at the magazine that covered his lap as we spoke, and I could sense that he was hiding something.

Unzipping my backpack, I pulled out the magazine I'd spirited away to camp with me, and scooted over to the trunk and lifted up the lid. I could tell that Paul was anxiously watching my every move, and I tried to break the tension.

I then saw what he'd been trying to hide, his fly was wide open, and I realized that he had probably started to whack off when I first climbed up into the treehouse but was too embarrassed to admit it. I didn't really care, that's exactly what I'd planned on doing, so I decided to keep on the subject.

Paul scooted over next to me as I turned the pages, looking for the the pictures I liked. He stared intently as I turned the pages, waiting for me to slow down, when I finally found her pictures. I stopped and moved the magazine so that it sat almost between us, resting on each of our outstretched legs as we sat side by side on the cool wooden floor. Paul nestled in a little closer as we looked at the magazine together, each of us pointing out the things we liked best, and I began to feel really turned on.

But unlike ever before, there was something very different this time. It was the first time that I'd ever really shared the intimacy of talking about what I found so erotic. Mark and I had exchanged magazines before, talking about what we'd seen, but it was different this time; having someone so physically close to me while I was feeling so horny, feeling the innocent touch of someone else's flesh next to mine as we leered excitedly at the pictures, and our talking about them only increased my excitement.

After a little while, I realized that Paul had his hand down in his pants, inside of his already opened zipper, and was slowly massaging himself. I wanted to be doing the same thing, and decided that if I made it clear that I knew what he was doing that he wouldn't mind if I did the same thing. So I gently pulled the magazine over onto his lap, letting it come to rest on his hand that was half buried in his pants, and then started to unzip my own. Paul just looked at me and smiled, knowing that it was okay, and started to unbutton his own pants, pulling them down to his knees along with his underwear, so that he was now sitting next to me completely exposed. I hadn't planned on pulling my pants down, but I felt suddenly strange about not wanting to seem out of place, so I pulled mine down all the way to my knees as well.

I must admit, there were other subtle reasons. I didn't want our exciting discussion to stop, enjoying the new feelings of closeness, and I also found myself fascinated at Paul's looking so 'different' than I did. It was only the second time I'd seen an uncircumcised penis and I was still curious, observing it's differences to my own, this time closer than ever before. I made it obvious to Paul that I was curious, as I was staring as he slowly pulled on his semi hard penis, and he watched just as fascinated as I did the same.

We sat silently, both of us slowly and gently masturbating ourselves, watching each other, Paul's excitement becoming apparent as his cock continued to stiffen. I watched closely at his every move, how he pulled the skin of his now fully erect penis gently up and down, giving it a gentle twist as the skin gathered at the base of it's head, before pulling it up to completely cover his swollen glans.

The room seemed filled with sexual tension, the two of us captivated by our own pleasure, along with the unspoken knowledge of the taboo we were engaged in, when I felt Paul's free hand gently brush along the skin of my thigh between us. It sent a tingling shock through me, but not of one of fear or disgust as I'd imagined, but more of excitement at having my first sensation of the touch of another so close to my 'private area'. But more to my amazement, Paul didn't pull his hand away from my leg.

"Her name's Suzanne." I admitted, sharing for the first time with anyone my secret crush for the little blond haired girl I'd watched all year long in school. It was almost a relief to admit it and also felt a strong bond growing with Paul as I exposed to him my inner most thoughts.

After discovering the magic of masturbating, I had often thought of her as I closed my eyes and pleased myself at night, free to play out my secret desires and imagine myself in the most intimate moments with her.

"Yeah... me too." He replied. We looked at each other, suddenly feeling the seriousness of admitting our secret desires to someone else, coupled with the closeness and eroticism of our touching. And without really knowing why, I asked him, "What do you think about?"

There was a long moment of silence between us, as I felt the tension of our unspoken excitement, and my mind filled with my own thoughts of what it would be like to be naked with a girl. Paul turned slightly to me, his body nearly pressing against mine, and I felt his hand on my thigh once again. It was electric, the sensation of his fingers as they slowly brushed against the soft skin of my hip, and then I felt his other hand as it reached across his body an touched my belly. He was so very close to me, staring into my eyes just inches away as he nestled in closer, but all I could feel was his hand on my waist, as it slowly snaked under my shirt and gently slid up my chest.

"First she would rub my chest with her hand..." He whispered, never taking his eyes off mine. My hand stopped it's motion on myself, my mind to distracted by the new sensation of Paul's fingers as the slowly crept up under my shirt and gently brushed across my nipple, causing it to stiffen with excitement and send a jolt of excitement directly down to my now throbbing cock, a new sensation for me.

"... and then she would slowly start to move her hand down..." He continued, still gazing deeply at me with eyes that seemed to sparkle as he whispered.

I began to feel lightheaded, almost intoxicated, as I stared back at him but it was not his face I saw. I was so horny, so distracted by our innocent talk of girls, of Suzanne, and filled with emotions of longing longing for her, that it seemed as though I didn't see Paul at all, only Suzanne.

His hand began to slowly slide back down my chest, swirling gently as it made its way over my stomach and down to the soft tuft of pubic hair of my crotch. I was terrified, and yet I didn't want him to stop, his touch sending shivers thorough me as if it were hers. My hands fell unconsciously to my sides, and I felt one come to rest on the soft skin of Paul's thigh. My senses were overcome by the touch of Paul's hand as it caressed my skin, and I felt almost powerless to stop what I secretly wanted to happen. I felt his leg gently rub against mine, his skin feeling so soft and warm, and a wave of panic ran through me at it's touch. It was only the movement of his hand that kept me from ending the whole terrifying but exciting adventure, as it slowly slid through my pubic hair and I felt his fingers touch the base of my harder than steel erection.

"... and then she would touch me here..." He whispered in a breathy voice. I was almost hypnotized as I sat motionless listening to his words, and closed my eyes as I felt his fingers gently wrap themselves around my penis.

I would have done anything for him to stop and end the terror that swelled inside me, and yet all I could think of was the desire for him to continue, for my fantasy to continue, consumed by the delightful pleasure of having someone, anyone, holding my penis. So with my eyes held shut, my mind filling with thoughts of Suzanne, and the sensations of Paul's hand as it began to slowly glide up and down on my aching cock, I moaned softly. Paul strengthened his grip on my cock, pulling it's soft skin gently up and down along it's steely shaft underneath, and I could feel his breath on my face as he pumped his hand in a mesmerizing rhythm. I was breathing hard, my excitement building as it replaced my fear, and it was then that I lost all thoughts of wishing him to stop, wanting only for him to keep stroking my cock with his hand.

I moaned again as I felt his fingers collect the drops of pre cum that had gathered at the tip of my penis and swirl it around along it's swollen head, and I felt an overpowering desire to thrust my hips forward. Paul continued to slide his hand up and down my cock, gaining speed as he smeared the lubrication down along my shaft. But as it began do dry from the friction, exposed to the open air, his fingers began to stick to the tacky skin of my shaft, almost painfully. And as the discomfort increased, wanting him to stop but not wanting him to end his pleasuring of my penis, I shifted my hips down in an effort to stretch out further. And then, to my total shock and suprise, Paul stopped his motions and shifted down with me until we were both laying flat against the wooden floor.

But as I lay my head down, feeling the relaxation of my body as it came to rest, I could feel Paul still moving, downward along my body, his cheek coming to rest on my exposed belly. I felt his breath on my skin, warming my stomach with his labored breathing as he began to pump my cock once again. I was again filled with both terror and desire, his face so tantalizingly close to my crotch, when I lifted my hand and gently touched the softness of the hair on the back of his head.

I moaned at the sensation as it grew, slowly consuming the entire head of my cock, and then I felt the warm strength of his tongue as it slowly began to probe the contours of it's head. My fingers began to slide through his hair as I felt an overwhelming desire to penetrate deeper into his mouth.

He moaned at my touch, sending a deep vibration through his lips as they wrapped gently around the base of my cock head, and a shock wave of pleasure rolling down the length of my shaft and into my balls. His fingers tightened their grip at the base of my cock and he began to resume pumping the skin up towards his mouth. With his tongue still swirling around the head of my cock, exploring every inch as it stirred in the warm moist confines of his mouth, his lips gingerly bobbing just at the ridge of the head, and his hand slowly priming the skin up and down against the core of my shaft, my balls began to swell in anticipation of release.

And at that moment, I began to feel very afraid of what was going to happen; if he didn't stop soon, I was going to come right in his mouth. The thought of it was so terrifying, and yet so incredibly erotic that my orgasm began to build with alarming intensity. And as I sensed that it was reaching the point where I wouldn't be able to stop it, I began to panic.

My legs began to instinctively struggle underneath the weight of his arm and chest, and his hand ceased it's pumping but retained it's grip on my hard on. It was enough to forestall my orgasm, if only for a moment, as my cock hovered right on the brink of exploding, still poised precariously just inches from his lips. But it was too late. The muscles in my legs began to clench tightly in a vain attempt to stem the sensation of my balls as they began to reluctantly release their load, slowly seeming to fill and then gently send their efforts rising up the length of my penis like a warming thermometer. My lungs held tightly my breath , leaving me unable to say a word as I realized I was now unable to stop the inevitable. My entire body joined in the effort, becoming motionless and rigid as I felt the warm liquid reach the tip of my cock, and slowly begin to ooze out against my efforts to stop it.

My thoughts became a storm of embarrassment, excitement and humiliation all at the same time; embarrassed by my inability to control my own body, excited by the incredible sexual tension I was adrift in, and humiliated by the sudden realization of the precarious and unspoken taboo I was involved in and the terror of what it meant, or at least what I thought it meant. It all seemed so wrong, although I didn't know why. Guys weren't supposed to do this kind of thing together, and yet at the same time it felt so incredibly good. How could that be?

But as my mind raced out of control with all of these confusing thoughts, I was suddenly snapped back to reality at the sensation of warmth and softness, as Paul's tongue gently slid along the head of my penis, slowly cleansing it of the pearly trickle of cum that had begun to slowly but steadily leak out it's tip and drip down on my belly. It was too much for me to hold back any longer and I felt all sense of control slip away as a wave of orgasm rocked my genitals, sending a steam of cum gushing out onto Paul's outstretched tongue.

But no sooner than I felt the exhausted strain of my cock begin to release in preparation of for another load to expunge, I was shocked again by the sensations of warmth and wetness, but this time it was as Paul engulfed the head of my cock into his mouth, sucking on it as another torrent of cum erupted from my tightening balls.

My body began to blindly follow it's instinct's, straining to penetrate further as my hips thrust upward, pushing my cock deeper into Paul's mouth.

His jaw seemed to open effortlessly, inviting me to penetrate deeper as another blast of cum poured forth, followed by another and yet another as I strained to relieve the primeval need to fuck the warm and moist orifice I found myself in.

And as my cock continued to pump, long after it had exhausted it's supply of fluids, I felt Paul's hand slide down over my balls, gently cupping them and squeezing softly as if to express their last ounce of my orgasm out.

I laid my head back down onto the hard wooden floor of the treehouse, my body finally beginning to unclench and release my tension as my mind swam in post orgasmic bliss.

Paul never made any attempt to remove my cock from his mouth, continuing to suck gently and stroke my balls softly until eventually my hardon began to slowly fade, shrinking to it's limp but still very sensitive flacid size. His tongue continued to roll along it's length as he continued to play with my soft and spent member in his mouth, almost as if to will it to hardness again.

But as I lay there, coming down from the most intense orgasm I'd ever experienced, the thoughts of tension and anxiety began to slowly creep into my mind again, wiping away the pleasure that Paul continued to perform on me.

And as I lifted my head back up, moving my legs in an effort to sit up, Paul quickly stopped and nervously scooted himself away from me and sat up. I didn't know what to do, but found myself nervously fishing down to my ankles for my underwear and shorts, desperately trying not to look toward Paul.

And although I attempted to avert my eyes from his, I could see that he was just as nervously getting himself dressed, fumbling as he tried to pull up his shorts and zip up his fly.

"...How long had it been? How long did I let him do that to me? What time was it? God, I've gotta get outta here! Don't look at him. Or should I? What will I say? What will HE say? Oh God, I've gotta go..." My head spun from the sheer speed the thoughts and questions seemed to come, one after another.

"I... um... I... uh... think I have to... um... go home..." I mumbled and stammered quietly while retrieving my backpack from the floor, still unsure if I was doing the right thing.

As I stepped down the wobbly rope ladder, my head just about ready to disappear under the floor of the small treehouse, I glanced up nervously at Paul for just an instant. He was looking down at me, his eyes meeting mine, and both of us exchanged a look of stunned bewilderment.

I thought for a moment that he was trying to say something to me, but I never gave him the chance as I quickly broke off our silent exchange and raced down the ladder.

The world could have been burning around me and I would have never noticed as I pedaled my bicycle furiously home, my feelings still a jumbled mess of conflicting thoughts and pictures.

Finally reaching the comforting security of home and my room, I lay in my bed behind a locked door and remained there the rest of the night, faining an upset stomach when my mother called me down for dinner.