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From: stardog105@hotmail.com
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.gay,alt.sex.boys,alt.sex.children,alt.personals.fetish
Subject: Jamie (pre-teen b/b sexual exploration, true)
Date: Sat, 02 Aug 2003 10:13:07 -0700
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===================
Jamie
When Jamie told me a dirty story I was so shocked I later prayed for
forgiveness and promised never to do that again. The joke went along
the lines of: "Question: What did one ball say to the other ball?
Answer: Why are we hanging? Dick did all the shootin." I laughed when
he told it. It brought up my fascination for smut, spoke forbidden
words. After the realization of what I'd participated in, gotten
enjoyment shame closed in on me. This was evil. It was against what I
knew was right. I'd have to confess it to a priest, just as if I lied
or stole, but I didn't do those things. My sins in the confessional
were of impure thoughts and actions.
Jamie did not know, like my priest confessors did, that I had recently
begun masturbating, those "impure actions." I was all of twelve and in
the sixth grade. I had no one, just no one, around me who I could talk
to about my newly discovered secret. I had no siblings my age to hang
out with. My local cousins were far more devout than me, were even
altar boys. My cousins out of town had never shown interest in things
like this. My one earlier childhood playmate, Johnny had dropped me
totally and permanently as a friend. Other neighbor boys my age were
also Catholics and even went to Catholic school so I could not talk to
them about so delicate a matter. I was walled in with my new
self-knowledge and feelings, until Jamie arrived on the scene. Once he
was there and once we stepped into the world of partnered sex, we
clicked. We got glued together.
Jamie was a summer visitor of the next door neighbors. He seemed older
to me. He wasn't that much my senior grade wise, but he had a certain
assertiveness that drew the control to his side of the relationship.
He had recently lost his father, something we did not discuss. I'm
sure that gave him in my mind a certain gravity. And without a doubt
his range of experiences, from that death to his natural affability
gave him several years maturation ahead of me. In great part this was
due to his mother, an educator, and very accomplished lady. She
indulged him, her only son, gave him a permissive childhood, something
I could not imagine. Casually Protestant, a smooth talker, and
personally confident he was everything I was not. In a sense we were
made for each other. Our meeting up forced a crisis in me.
Despite my being a confirmed masturbator and confessing the sin most
Saturdays, there was something transitory in the identification. I had
not yet abandoned the idea that with grace, with prayer I could "come
through" this crisis and still be a saint, my goal in life. I'd been
conscious of my spiritual aspirations, which were fostered and
reflected throughout my home and family. Beginning with the dirty joke
and leading in a remarkably short time to robust sexual
experimentation with Jamie I could not hope to reconcile my religious
ideals with my erotic impulses. It was not like I could chose between
them. Regardless of the consequences or the guilt, I knew that I
would continue into sexuality. Like the force of gravity it was
inevitable. I resented it terribly. Who would not prefer being a
winged angel to an earthbound creature?
At our next meeting he referred to his earlier joke and said to me
with full sincerity, "No offense? Right?"
I guess he could see some of the chilled atmosphere I was being raised
in.
"No, none at all," I answered. I certainly wasn't going to discuss
Catholic guilt with him, was I? I wanted his friendship. I was
flattered by his concern. Why push him away?
Jamie and I resumed whatever conventional play scenarios school boys
think up during long summer days. Every now and then he'd bring up a
subject that was less socially approved, maybe talk about girls, or
bodily changes in puberty, especially dick size, and I'd soak it up,
an eager sponge. These were confidences he was sharing. It was novel
for me to have someone's trust. When it got dark we continued
together in our conversations. Early on, might have even been in the
first week, Jamie had determined that I was susceptible to more direct
sexual attention. He could see I had no regular friends, let alone
companions, that I focused on him as much as he was on me.
He pressed his persona of a much more experienced person with me.
Within that context of mentoring me he found it necessary to make
certain physical measurements both soft and excited of my boyish dick,
all in the interests of confirming my appropriate development. These
examinations were furtive, a hand slipped down my waist band into my
shorts, a warm cupping of my genitals, being rewarded with an
erection. It was all more clinical than affectionate. For a young boy
whose father shook hands with him, who fancied himself a future
scientist or doctor, this was the most effective approach possible,
fitting as the right key into a lock, I clicked open.
Did Jamie possess a particular insight in how to initiate me? He did
not do so with others. Let's suppose I was just lucky.
I would be felt, getting an erection, frequently during each day. It
became routine both to me and my dick. When we were around Jamie, he'd
check us out, often.
He once took me to a neighborhood pharmacy to show me its paperback
spinning wire rack. I'm sure I'd walked by it countless times thinking
such a display, along with its magazine section, was just something
adults wasted time looking over.
I hushed tones he disabused me, "Look at this."
He found what I had mistaken as a Romance Novel, flipped to the right
page and had me read the scene: a man and woman are kissing each other
passionately on the bed. The woman pleads, "Take me. Now." The man has
her look down. She sees that he is already in her.
I was stunned. I had no idea such ideas and words could be printed on
paper without the page bursting into flame.
"See?" Jamie said, "this is the sort of stuff you can read about. And
look over here. This is Sexology Magazine. It has a lot of
information. I get it every month."
I glanced through it quickly. Wow. They can talk about everything.
Out now on the street, lest we get chased out by the clerk, (we could
not have been more obvious in what was supposed to be a clandestine
operation) Jamie drove the lesson home explaining: Everybody was Doing
It. The whole world was having sex one way or another all the time. It
was me that had to catch up, get with the program.
Maybe he knew I was a hard sell, maybe he just wanted to keep me
connected with his message, so at any opportunity he would reinforce
just how easy and natural sex was, presumably a philosophy complements
of Sexology Magazine. Had my parents even seen me with a copy I'd be
in serious trouble. Jamie bought it every month, keep a stack for
reference at home.
I was a devoted student. This whole sex thing seemed like something
adults (well my adults) wanted to keep secret from kids because it was
so much darned fun. Luckily I had Jamie to help me along. I couldn't
learn enough about sex from him.
And the lesions progressed from discussion to action, like a lab after
the lecture.
It was dark and still hot out. Jamie and I could stay out till our
(my) bedtime and no one bothered to find us. During this time he had
the chance for more extensive handling of me.
In the back yard of the house he was visiting there was some sort of
garden furniture, a webbed patio chair that laid out flat. We were
small enough that we could lay on it together side by side, hip
touching hip. He'd put a hand down my pants get everything ready, then
ask me to slip my briefs down into the crotch of my slacks. I would.
Then he'd reintroduce his hand now having more room for his
manipulations. He focused on my dick, how it erected, how it responded
to leisurely jacking. After a day where he might have handled me ten
or more times already, you can be sure that by dark I was erecting at
the first feel of his fingers.
So we would lay there, looking up at a starry night. Him fondling me,
me arms at my sides, drinking in the sensations.
Apparently, ejaculation was not a particular goal for Jamie. He was
eminently gratified with the accessibility he had to my genitals and
with my predictable swelling erection from his attention. I too did
not feel impelled to suggest or otherwise engineer that he get me to
shoot jizz. It was enough for me to lay there feeling him work on me.
After a while we'd figure it was time to go in, each to our respective
homes. I'd rearrange my clothes, getting limp quickly. We'd say
goodnight. I did not rush to masturbate to orgasm, or later that night
when I did masturbate myself to sleep, associate that directly with
anything Jamie had talked to me about or had done with me. Possibly
this was a necessary disconnect in my mind having to do with the
identity thing I was working through, my Catholic sinner problem.
But on occasion I did ejaculate with Jamie.
On the other side of where Jamie was staying lived a family with a
daughter, a classmate of mine. Jamie mentioned one day that he'd
checked her bedroom window and found that he could see in enough to
make out her getting undressed for bed. "Saw her in just bra and
panties."
When it got dark we stood so we could see if she left her window
blinds open again to get some breeze from the hot summer night. We
were covered by the overhang of a dense tree as we ogled the black
window. Jamie mentioned he better check me again. I got erect. We
waited a while; nothing seemed to be happening in the house. Jamie got
me to walk further back and away so he could talk to me quietly.
"You are getting pretty excited, guess by hoping you'd see [name of
classmate] undress. You can't leave this way and get in trouble. Let's
go over here."
I followed him further back to the back access area, largely out of
sight from our homes and now lit only indirectly by the distant street
lamps. We stood together, leaned back against a utility drum.
Jamie put his hand back in my pants, fishing up my dick and rolling
and rubbing it until it stuck up in an erection. He took a position at
an angle from me, his hand easily working in my pants, falling into a
smooth rhythmic jacking motion. He stopped movement for a while,
peering down into the gap he'd made between the waistband and my
stomach seeing the head on my erection peeping up out of his fist.
Reassured, he settled back, resumed the easy jacking.
He had a very exciting grip, with the ring of thumb and index finger
rubbing the sheathed corona at every jack. It was so refreshing to me
that Jamie was not concerned let alone bothered by my having a
foreskin. That he did not (and how I knew at this point is lost to me)
was made up for by his generous acceptance of me. He never mentioned
mine. I felt like "just one of the boys" with him.
"That's good," he said to himself, went on to explain to me, "You're
building."
"What's that?" I asked.
"You'll be squirting jizz,' he replied.
"Oh. Ah, should I squirt?" I asked.
"Yeah, you need to jizz. You have to do it since you got too excited.
I could tell."
"Oh."
He kept up the same rhythm with me. Spoke as his hand worked, "Any
time you get excited you need to jack off till you jizz. That way
you'll stay comfortable. You soon might have to jack of three and four
times a day, doesn't matter, just keep jizzing. That's what your dick
is for."
"Oh."
He stopped and again looked into my pants, no doubt seeing the glans
bulge a violent red from his skillful handling.
I could feel myself slipping further along toward ejaculation.
"It's getting late, maybe we should stop," I said.
Jamie took up the rhythm once more: "You can leave anytime after you
squirt Bob, but you are just going to have to stay until then. The
longer it takes the better cause you are building up pressure, you'll
just squirt more then. Fine by me. I'm gonna keep working on it till
it does"
The sense came over me that I'd have to shoot jizz now. No way out of
it, that he'd keep masturbating me and would not quit. The feeling
that I had zero choice, that even if it took longer I'd just be
producing more semen for him, became deliciously exciting.
"Yeah Bob, you'll have to show me just how you squirt and how much
jizz you been carrying," Jamie added.
Along with the hand working on me it was the trigger to me coming.
I felt a rapid burst of powerful throbs starting under my tight balls
and racing along my dick pumping out gobs of hot sperm. Luckily I was
braced against something or I'd have fallen over.
Jamie continued urging my dick to spasm out the last drops to dribble
over his hand and into my shorts. When he could tell I was through he
looked in the gap again, saw everything festooned in glistening sticky
liquid.
He'd barely pulled his hand out when I said, "I godda get in now. See
you." And I raced to my back door hoping that I'd make it to the
bathroom without being seen where I could mop up before it seeped
through to my pants.
This was no a breakthrough which Jamie would capitalize on. He resumed
the checking, getting me erect and then letting it alone for a while.
That was alright with me. I still had not connected all the dots to
see I was in fact having sex, per se. Maybe it was like practice to
me.
We practiced a lot.
In between checks Jamie talked about sex every chance he could. He
even shared several of his fantasies with me. Here are two.
At his school there was a club of boys who had an initiation ceremony
for new members. There were two rooms with a glass partition between
them on one side were a group of girls, all close friends of the club
gathered looking through to the other room. In that room the new boy
would have all his clothes taken off and he'd have to be naked in
front of the girls.
Because I accepted the tale as true, I was shocked at the idea:
"Couldn't the boys stay close to the wall or over at the sides so they
would not be seen?"
"No," Jamie answered. "There are other boys in there with him, and
they keep him right in front of the window so he has to show the girls
everything."
"Everything" was a big word to me. It boggled my prepubescent brain.
If he just said what they showed that would have been less than
"everything." I was overwhelmed by what all might have happened. It
was so cool.
Another fantasy.
Jamie would be sitting on the living room couch with a younger cousin,
a girl (who I knew, she being my neighbor), on his lap. She liked to
wear long full skirts and that was what she had on now, but the back
of it was raised up so that there was nothing between her and Jamie.
Jamie had his dick out of his pants, planted firmly into the girl.
When the rest of their family members came into the living room they
would not notice anything. Jamie could still keep his dick inside in
her.
This image struck me as intended, the sense of doing anything you want
anywhere and getting away with it. Quite alluring to me.
I remember one night us laying side by side, hip to hip on the patio
furniture. Jamie had gotten me to slip my shorts down inside my pants.
He then asked, "Take your dick out through the zipper. It'll be OK."
Even in the dark this seemed too risky to me. I demurred.
He insisted.
I knew I didn't have a choice. To put up a challenge to Jamie could
lead to our falling out as friends. I did not have any regular
playmates and Jamie was well above that level of casual companionship.
I could not afford to lose him.
With mixed feelings I drew my erection out. It poked blindly up
through my pant's opened zipper.
Jamie gave it a thorough handling. "Let's get on our sides and you put
it up against my ass."
We changed positions. I adjusted my boney erection to the cleft in the
seat of his pants.
"Whoa, that isn't your dick. You're putting your thumb against me," he
complained.
"Nope," I answered, as I put both hands on his shoulders. "See?"
He reached back, and took my dick in his hand to confirm it really was
that hard. Mollified he returned it to his crack to get the sensation
he'd asked for.
Now, this was just one unremarkable incident in a long string of
explorations he did with me, and easily forgotten expect that when I
began compiling this narrative it provided a valuable clue as to
sequencing events between Jamie and my cousin Malcolm (in the next and
final section). They were contemporaneous in my life and my sexual
encounters with them both happened about the same time, soon after I
began masturbating.
Which was my first partner?
When I first had my contact with Malcolm and pressed myself against
his bare rear I used my thumb as an insulator for my stiff dick,
allowing me the psychological security of not having actually
completed sexual contact. This action (not the twisted logic) came
from Jamie's comment to me.
Jamie came before Malcolm, by a thumb.
His mom, a very special lady as I said before, was generous enough to
drive the two of us a long way to a new amusement park. We three had a
wonderful time doing all the usual things one would in such a place.
But Jamie and I had a little addition.
At some point in our long day we both had to go pee. We went together
into a restroom, chose adjacent urinals which had no partitions. We
looked at each other getting our dicks, both piss-proud, pulled out
from the pants and through cotton briefs. Jamie said to me, "Oh if its
gonna stick up like that, better cut it off." It was just the sort of
silly comment I found very funny and laughed along with him as I began
to get a flow. He did too. We saw each other streaming a yellow line,
thin due to our erections, into the porcelain basin.
I had never directly watched another boy pee, never been watched, had
never used a public urinal when a stall was available. In short I had
(and have to this day) a full-blown case of "bashful kidneys," but
peeing for Jamie to see was a pleasure. Had we the opportunity I'd
have done it eagerly for him daily. It was not just the erotics of
displaying myself to him at the amusement park urinal. There came with
it a delicious sense of personal freedom.
This was the first of two times in memory I saw Jamie's penis, erect
or otherwise.
It of course was circumcised, a bare full knob, with a distinct flange
before the shaft, which could be described as very much a rod cylinder
with easy bends both up and then to the left. It was generally about
the same length as mine, in the neighborhood of three to four inches,
but not as thick giving it more a hotdog profile than my column. I
thought it looked just marvelous, had more personality than my dour
appendage. This sense of exuberance was enhanced by its coloring.
Generations back Jamie had picked up some Native American
characteristics giving his penis a deep tone, not coppery, not red,
but some mixture in between on a richly textured skin, giving the
impression that it would feel similar to suede.
Our one little peeing adventure trickled to an end. We returned to the
day's other entertainments, saw the rest of the park then came back
our homes tired and very happy.
Jamie had several sets of cousins around, one of whom, a boy, was also
a classmate of mine. He lived several blocks away but I would see him
and his little sister frequently. Jamie said that Donald, his name,
and he had once bathed together, both getting hard in the process I
immediately asked how Donny's dick had looked, its size.
"That's private between me and Donny," he curtly replied.
I sure wanted to know but understood Jamie had his standards.
Those standards were not violated however when he later confided in me
what went on between Donny and his sister. She was maybe 8 or 9 at the
time. The two of them shared a bedroom together. During the night when
the house was all quiet Donny would get into her bed for sex.
"He puts it up her behind," Jamie gleefully reported. "You know what
his sister says about that?"
I did not.
"She says, It tickles.''' He paused and repeated the statement to me
again, saying it distinctly to let the words find their target, "It
tickles!!"
As intended, I was bowled over by the image. This brother my age,
pumping his dick in his little sister's behind and her encouraging
him. Wow, how lucky is that? [Sometime later a mutual neighbor and
classmate of mine and Donny's confidentially told me that while he
had some experiences with his little sister, Donny could "do
everything" with his, so Jamie was not yarn spinning in his report to
me: Donny really was a lucky boy.]
Jamie continued his checks of me with great regularity and frequency.
Anytime we were not under direct observation or at least his hand
could not be seen, he'd slip it down my pants. We would be in the most
exposed of places in broad daylight and he'd angle his body blocking
any view of his holding me, getting me hard. Once in such a
predicament he told me, "No body can see us. Take it out your zipper
and give it some air."
I quickly caved, resistance having been worn away much earlier. I let
my stiff dick peep out my pants to receive a vigorous if quick jacking
before it was put back.
Even at the time Jamie's phrase, "Give it some air," seemed not be
something made up casually for me but to have some reference or
significance to Jamie, maybe in his own private masturbation world.
Jamie was more forthcoming on another of his private habits.
"You ever do a jelly check?" he asked me.
"What's that?"
"Oh, you put a finger up your ass and see how much you got. It
changes, sometime you got more sometimes less," he explained.
I took his word for it. The subject unnerved me then. I was quite
concerned about health issues, worried that I'd poke a hole through
something if I ever tried. Only years later would I find solace in a
digital rub. No jelly though.
I didn't share that information with Jamie. I would have felt
compromised. I was not shy though about telling him that I was having
sex, all kinds, with my cousin Malcolm.
"What do you do?" Jamie asked.
"Different stuff, like we put it into each others butts, even come
that way," I answered.
"You mean you Queer Off'?"
"Yeah," kind of proud I caught him off guard for once.
All these rectal images seemed to be wearing heavily on Jamie's mind
as I discovered sometime later.
I had one of the very rare days when everyone would be out of my home,
leaving me to my own devices. I prepared. I put my desk lamp on a
shelf in the closet and snaked the electric cord under the door. That
completed, I luckily found Jamie outside and got him to follow me
back. I took him directly to my room, shut the door, than into the
closet, shut the door, then snapped on the light. It was so cool.
We simultaneously and immediately unzipped and bought our hard dicks
out for each other, here in the light and in private.
We stood close at right angles to each other. In the best of fraternal
symbols our hands crossed as we jacked the other's erection. He
grasped me with the thumb rubbing the underside of the shaft, watched
as I bristled in excitement. He squeezed. "You are [so] hard," he said
more to himself. I had his erection in my fist with the thumb on top,
giving it an equally vigorous jacking. Though firm and with a
delicious velveteen surface feel Jamie's did not have the
diamond-cutter hardness I could manifest back then. It flashed through
me that he had not compared himself to many other boys and that he
would not welcome now learning through me of that disparity.
He was not phased. He went on to further discoveries with me: "Oh,
yours is flat. Do you lay on your stomach a lot?" His hand pressed my
dick shaft feeling the contours. It was obviously more wide side to
side than top to bottom.
It was true I slept on my stomach. Maybe my penis had been damaged.
Something more for me to worry about later. Now I was more interested
in what Jamie had. I released his erection in the middle of jacking,
watching as it bounced like spring steel from the shock of being
suddenly free. It was charming. I quickly got it back in my fist to
jack it as a reward.
Jamie was not yet done with the exam: "Your dick has a bend in it."
It did at that, a graceful, scimitar curve to the left.
"What about yours," I replied, letting his erection bob excitedly in
space.
"That's cause I wear it here," He drew a line from the groin up and
over his left thigh, obviously the preferred way to maintain one's
penis.
His penis did have those bends, and if free would fit along the exact
path he indicated.
We resumed jacking each other again, relishing this special
opportunity where we could see every detail in leisure and privacy.
Jamie's dick became especially livid, as if it would go into apoplexy.
The grove between shaft and meaty head grew pronounced. I too was
inundated by great sensations from his hand on me.
After a time he asked, "Will you put it in my ass?"
I was not prepared for this change in the proceedings: "I've only done
it at night and under bed covers."
"Ah, come on," almost pleading.
This exchange by now had broken earlier momentum. We put ourselves
back in our pants, zipped up and went out of the closet into my
bedroom.
"Come on, at least put it down my crack?" he said.
I had to admit to myself that would not be too obvious if my mom
suddenly came back in the house. We could disengage in time, escape
detection.
Jamie lay on his side on top of my bed, curled up with his back toward
me. His pants were loose enough for me to slip my limber dick inside
his briefs following somewhat the most crack of his behind, which I
rubbed against. He lay totally inert, soaking up what he could.
Well I've written this so far as if it happened all in one condensed
period in only summer when we were both pre-teens. I'm sure a lot
happened that first season, but our contact continued with variations
through several summers as we matured until there was a time when
Jamie and his mom came to live in my community, and Jamie and I went
to the same high school.
By that time our sexual connection had broken.
I felt less identification all the time with being straight. The
intensity of my relationship with Malcolm had shown me that I was not
going to suddenly find girls attractive. I did not want to bring my
baggage into how I related with Jamie. It would have killed the
previous role of my presumed mentor. I could have been just a fag to
him. That led to the next issue: I would have become vulnerable to him
as he developed more contact in my city eventually going to my school.
He could have blabbed. Rumor among classmates would have been very
difficult to deal with in itself but worse is that the word could have
spread eventually back to my parents.
How the split worked out was that I'd just decline when Jamie thought
I should be checked. He was annoyed by the change but knowing my
new-found independence spoiled the dynamic of the contact, he did not
press. We drifted. When we did find ourselves in private together
there was no opening to take up where we had left off.
The ending of our sexual partnership did not diminish what it brought.
I had been desperate in my isolation for any form of validation that I
was OK. This feedback was totally missing from my home. Getting
someone who accepted me, especially sexually, was a huge benefit. He
was a refuge. Suddenly I was not sinful, not homely, not degenerate. I
was good enough to be fondled and made to ejaculate. Made. It was not
like I had a choice. My mind clicked on the idea sex was a requirement
in my contact with Jamie, something he could impose for my own good.
He understood that sex for me should be done constantly, getting me to
erect over and over throughout the day. He understood that once I
became excited I must be masturbated methodically and unceasingly
until I'd spurt for him. The traits of forced sex, and of frequent and
unremitting sex, became important as I found sexual partners in my
later life. They weren't the only thing I brought to bed, but they
were there in the mix.
The best and last
My memory of the last time I handled Jamie is quite vivid. We were in
the back yard, under a black summer night, laying side by side, hip to
hip, in the patio lounger. Jamie was handling my erection as usual. I
was a doll, my arms limp at my sides. I turned my head and asked,
"What me to masturbate you?"
"Sure. That's why its called mutual masturbation."
I put my hand into his briefs, found his dick stiff and excited.
Holding it on the shaft below the head I began a good jacking rhythm,
pretty much matching what he was doing with me.
Minutes passed in this delicious wordless exchange.
I could feel I was getting closer to ejaculation. His grip was just
perfect, sending sensations radiating out from my groin.
Jamie stopped, rubbed the flat of his thumb over the bulbous and very
slippery. "Hey, have you come yet?" surprised at the huge amount of
lubricant oozing out of the pee hole.
My orgasm continued to build. I squeezed out the word, "no" for him as
he took off the thumb and started back in with jacking me.
It didn't take more than two strokes for my dick to suddenly erupt
with grouts of jizz, welling up as if a geyser, pumping out throb
after throb of sticky product.
"Uggh, yeah," Jamie said with a laugh acknowledging that this was the
real thing and more than he needed in confirmation, as he slipped his
hand, awash in semen, out from my pants.
His little laugh, that bit of playful deprecation over my unrestrained
display, combined with the great sense of sexual release making me
feel absolutely perfect. I was whole. I accepted all of me.
Questions, comments, your experience welcomed. Send to:
stardog105@hotmail.com
Jamie is one of a series in my sexual autobiography:
Caring for Baby Bobby
To Grammar School
Through Middle School
Puberty Pleasures
Jamie
Malcolm 1, 2, 3
I'll be archiving (Nifty? ASSM? other?) them up once I complete their
proofreading. Until then they are available through google.com in
groups under a search for my hotmail ID.