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From: stardog105@hotmail.com
Newsgroups: alt.stories.incest,alt.sex.children,alt.sex.boys,alt.sex.uncut
Subject: story: Playing Doctor (b/b mast)
Date: Sun, 22 Feb 2004 07:40:04 -0800
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===================
Playing Doctor
I had a final two hours of my weekend visit with Malcolm to say
something special to him, in private. If I could get it out in the
right way no telling what we might do next. But it was a risk.
Everything could change bad too if he told or got grossed out. What a
problem. Malcolm was less than a year younger than me and I was 11.
We'd been raised more like brothers since our mothers, close sisters,
visited each other almost every weekend and we always had holidays and
vacations together which kept Malcolm and me together playing night
and day. But we had way different personalities. Even by this age I
was a bookworm and he was a budding jock. He liked lots of outdoor
activity. I was happy watching tv. He was dark, lean, solid. I was
pasty, not especially trim.
It was because he liked hiking that we were out alone now. Our parents
had told us we could go out but had to be back so my family could
leave in two hours, this a Sunday. We sort of aimlessly wandered away
from his tract house into adjacent fields. Tomorrow we'd both be back
in school, would not see each other for one or even two weeks. This
would be my last chance.
We walked in the head-high greenery of the rows of the field. Neither
of us had spoken in several minutes. I decided to make my move:
"You know ah after hearing some guys at school talk about things I did
something here (pointing to my pants zipper) that was real strange," I
said.
"I heard something too," he replied, very noncommittal.
I knew I'd have to say something right back to keep the focus on this
special topic from drifting on to something different, something safe.
I forged on not wanting a gap to happen.
"Oh, well once you do it than you can't stop. I found that out."
This was a great cover line for me. I was being "helpful" to him. It
was like I was warning him, not suggesting what he should do. He
couldn't say that I came on to him.
"Yeah, I know," he said in reply.
Wow, there it was. He had shared just as much as me. What a success.
No way he could tell his parents and of course no room for him to get
shocked at me.
We walked a little more. There was some sort of break ahead in the
rows. Both of us said nothing for a moment, letting the impact of the
information seep in. If anything we were showing consolation for each
other in our shared experience of not being able to stop what we'd
discovered in ourselves.
We slowed down at the clearing, looked at each other.
"Ah, well since we both do it. How about on the next visit we do
something together?" I suggested.
We slept in twin beds in the same bedroom and could close the door so
it was a real possibility for us.
"O.K."
"Great."
"Ah," I went on, "do you have anyone that you have done things with?"
"No."
"Not in school or anywhere?"
"No. Have you?"
"Um there is this neighbor and we do stuff."
"What?" he asked, very curious, open.
I did not want to spoil things now by going through a laundry list of
activities.
"Oh, ah different things. Um one time we were in an amusement park and
both had to pee so we went into the restroom together and peed
together."
"Did you watch each other?" Malcolm asked, again very curious.
"Yeah. It was fun cause we were right side by side and took um out and
they were both stiff so we could see each other real good when the pee
came out."
"Stiff?"
"Yeah he joked with me: If it sticks out like that it should be cut
off!' Of course he was sticking out too."
Malcolm, who had a big silly streak, thought that was funny too,
laughed.
We sat down together in the clearing, the crops of whatever well above
our heads. Not only were we hidden but the foliage provided a dampener
for any sound.
"Say since you don't have anyone to talk about this with, maybe we
could do something now so we'll be ready next time I come down?" I
asked.
"Ah sure. What should we do? he replied.
It was obvious that our folks would not come look for us and that
nobody would be stumbling this deep into the field. We were absolutely
private here. We also had a good hour and a half, plenty of time to do
things and walk back.
"Oh, ah check each other and ask each other questions?"
"Check?"
"Yeah like at a doctor's office. We could make it a game," I
explained.
"O.K.," he said very agreeable.
"Um, I'll be the doctor' first, then you then we change again."
"O.K."
"And the thing is you can examine anywhere you want for as long as you
want whatever way you want. And you can ask anything and the other has
to answer."
"Ah who goes first?"
"Let me but you'll get your turn real soon. O.K.?"
"What should I do?" (This was a game for him. We played lots of games
so it was not that special to assign roles and actions.)
"Lay down and relax. I'll give you instructions when I have to."
So Malcolm lay full on the ground, arms lightly at his sides as if on
an examining table ready for the doctor.
I sat beside him, facing his feet. I took up my hand to just above the
zipper of his jeans.
"You sure its OK?" I asked. I didn't want to get socked if he was
going to change his mind.
"Yeah," unequivocal.
All this pussyfooting might seem strange. Here we are going to have
sex of some kind and neither of us had used any smutty terms or overt
action like groping or anything. Well up until then, any time we were
together we were in vision or at least earshot of our parents. Our
families were careful to avoid anything sexual or suggestive in their
homes. I and probably Malcolm were completely isolated from sexual
even bodily information. I was still in a Catholic school. Malcolm had
just transferred out. It was years still until I found out how babies
were made, and again, that was probably true for Malcolm at least at
this time since he was a year behind me in school.
And despite our being raised close, family modesty kept us from seeing
each other naked. Only once, years before had we been swimming in a
neighbors' pool and when we came home were put into a brimming bathtub
together (laid head to foot, 69 style) to soak off the chlorine. I
noticed he had a little shriveled penis just like me. That was the
extent of our knowing about each other physically or emotionally,
until this minute.
I grasp the tab on his zipper and pulled it down, slipped a few finger
into his jeans to find the opening slit in his white briefs and I
easily fished his limp penis out to have it rest outside his pants. It
was a little more than two inches long from base to elongated
foreskin, that puckered shut like the end of a squash blossom.
While we next talked I held it between thumb and finger or rolled it
over, doing "exam" sorts of things.
Very faintly I got the background aroma of stale pee. Malcolm still
wet the bed intermittently giving his room a permanent odor of peed-in
sheets. I liked it when I visited, when I slept in his room. That
smell was in his underwear.
"What do you call it?" the doctor' asked.
"Um, dick ?" he replied.
"Ah no. I mean at home (what word your parents used)."
"Oh. Um dingus'" he said half laughing at the childishness of the
term.
His penis began lengthening, easing into some fullness.
I applied light pressure at the shaft and watched the foreskin
smoothly roll from the head showing glistening pink with a tiny pee
hole.
"Do you peel it when you wash or pee?"
"Um-humm (a yes)," he replied.
"All the way?" as I continued the pressure watching the head uncover
half way down. It sure looked moist like it hadn't been skinned let
alone washed in a while.
"Sometimes."
"Does this hurt?"
"Not yet, no."
I stopped skinning it, held it as it surged into full erection,
pointing straight up over three inches now, a thinner shaft and a
bulbous head looking trapped in the sleeve of skin.
"How often does it get stiff?"
"Um not a lot."
When?"
"Ah, when I think of girls," with a silly sort of smile at the
admission.
"Oh," no need to ask about that subject.
I lightly brought the foreskin up covering the tip, peeled it back
again in slow movements to watch his penis get even more stiff and
angle to the left in a smooth arch.
"Is it OK?"
"Yeah."
I released his penis to undo his belt, the waist fastening of his
jeans, creating an open vee of his pants.
"Lift up."
He raised his hips. I slipped the pants to his thighs.
"Again."
He did. I maneuvered his erection inside his briefs and then they
joined his pants.
With one hand I took up his wobbly penis now, looking wonderful
jutting from his flat stomach, giving it gentle strokes up and down in
the loose skin at the shaft. He, like me, was still years away from
any wisp pubic hair. We were perfectly smooth all over. I first rested
my hand nonchalantly on his thigh with the fingers easing into the
curve near under his scrotum. The fingering then started lifting the
scrotum and rolling the two tight hard balls.
"What do you call these?"
"Um. Nuts?" he wasn't sure.
"That's O.K., nuts then. Does this feel alright?" I wasn't sure what
might hurt him.
"Um-hum (yes)."
"They get all bunched up. Its good to let um out for a while."
He smiled, enjoyed the idea.
I'd kept up the rhythm on his penis, bring the skin up, rolling it
back down.
"Is this how you work on your dingus?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"What name do they call this at school (I of course knew no such word
was used at his home)?"
"Ah, jacking jacking something."
"Jacking off?" I offered.
"Yeah, that's it."
"How often do you jack off?"
"Maybe once a week," he said.
"Do you squirt?" This was a critical question for me.
"Um-hum (yes)."
I was elated. I had all this knowledge about him. We were really
partners, in this together. Nothing barring our way.
"Do you need to squirt now?"
"Um, not yet."
"What do they call that at school?"
"Ah shooting or making jizz'" he answered.
It seemed to me that Malcolm sure had a lot of information at his
school earlier than me, but he was in an urban area, had a lot more
students around.
My finger play with his scrotum had got his balls up real tight. They
were a dark swelling seated hard under a wrinkled patch below his
straining erection. I wanted to push on to the next level now while
things were going smooth.
"Roll on your side, that way (away from me)," doctor' ordered.
He did.
"Pull up your knees."
He did, forming an angle like sitting on a chair.
I was now seeing his bare behind, the roll of jeans and underwear just
under the lower crease of his thin cheeks. Malcolm had "snake hips"
that is he had no curves: slim waist, small hips, slim behind.
"What do you call this (hand on his bare hip).?"
"Ah, butt?"
"And at home?"
"Butt or hinney."
"Lets use hinney' O.K.?"
"Yeah."
Using that hand on his hip, I cautiously lifted up, opening the crack
in his behind. I took a look. It was a small dark dimple, a cinch knot
in the smooth brown crease.
"What's this?"
"At home, same as butt."
"Um, what's something better?" I asked.
"'Hole,' hinney hole?'"
"That's good."
I reached over and found his penis drooping. Some smooth handling got
it stiff again.
"Have you ever put anything into your hinney hole?" I asked.
"No," a little surprised at the idea.
"Ever put your finger in?"
"No."
I relaxed his cheeks, directed him by hands to roll back flat. His
penis looked very stiff even angry, lots of flush color through the
dark skin on the shaft and the head was a deep clear red, showing the
pee slit as a pink little mouth.
"That's it for the first exam."
I had him raise up, dusted off his behind, rolled briefs and jeans.
"Slip your pants up but leave your dingus out so it knows it's gonna
be squirting soon."
He smiled at that. It was a silly thing to him.
He got his pants up, bucking the belt in place but the droopy erection
stuck out through the briefs and open zipper.
I lay down where he had. He sat beside me like I'd done for him.
Malcolm immediately undid my belt, catch on my waist band and zipper.
He motioned for me to raise up. In a single movement he hauled my
clothes down nearly to my knees. What he saw was a white lower belly,
very excited penis and bulging scrotum caught between full thighs. My
penis like his was capped with a foreskin though mine was white
showing tracery of veining and did not dangle off the end when hard.
My erection was longer by an inch from his, something over 4 at the
time. It too listed drunkenly to the left.
Malcolm took a moment just looking at all this. His attention went
especially to my erection. It was longer and fatter than his.
"It's bigger," said in a low voice to himself.
"Ah yours will grow just like mine did in the next few months,
honest," I consoled him.
He took both hands, one under the scrotum and the other at the base of
my erection, getting them to interlock and circle my genitals. My
penis bobbed and wobbled under the attention.
He laughed a little at its struggles. Liked watching its antics. Then
he put one fist around the base and drew back the skin in a light and
gentle touch. He capped it again, peeled it again. Watching carefully
how it bristled.
"What do they call it at home?" he asked, eyes not wavering.
I did not want to say, to reveal myself to him. But I decided I must
or the game was no fair.
"Ah when I was little my dad called it do-lolly,'" I was immediately
embarrassed, ashamed of the baby-ish term.
While he was smirking, unsure if he should laugh, I quickly added,
"But we can call it dingus or dick, like with you."
He did not laugh, kept up the slow stroking.
He drew the foreskin down half way easily. He looked at the bright
fleshy bulb of the head, far fuller than his, like a mushroom. He was
so close that he could have easily smelled the moistness from it, like
a yeast odor, not strong or bad but organic or animal.
"Does it hurt (when peeled)?" he asked.
"No, it can go down all the way."
That was an invitation for him. Gently he kept up the pressure toward
the base and fold by fold the foreskin rolled off the head right down
over the cap. Malcolm continued until the skin was all on the shaft,
leaving the head bulging at the end of a smooth stalk.
He moved it so he could see it on the sides, top and the vee tie at
the underbelly.
"That looks neat," he said.
It felt good too. His hands were electric everywhere on me. I was
pleased too he liked my penis.
I reached over and found his penis semi-hard. I kept it in my hand,
lightly pinching the glans inside the slick covering foreskin as he
continued my exam.
My erection looked like a skinned eel trapped in his fingers. He
released the pressure at the base seeing the foreskin gather in folds
under the crown in a fat collar before he eased more of the slack up
covering the flange and then rolling over the head capping it until
there was just a center disk of red with the pee slit showing.
Using the same rhythmic stokes as I had, Malcolm jacked the skin up
and back. His other hand, previously coddling my scrotum began
attention there next, first pulling all the skin out so the bag rested
on top of my thighs and then feeling each testicle, rolling and
rubbing it. He had a special way of touching along the margins and
sides of the swollen nuts that was super sensual, making me what to
ejaculate right then. For variation he'd take very long stokes on the
penis, skinning it down completely to check the beaming head before
going back to the regular jacking.
"How did you first jack off? he asked.
"Ah sitting on the toilet playing around. It got stiff. When I worked
it over it squirted at me."
Malcolm laughed a little, more to himself, maybe remembering his first
ejaculation.
"You gonna squirt now?" he asked.
"No, I can hold off."
"How often do you do it?" he asked still working on my penis,
fingering my scrotum.
"Um mostly every day."
He was a little surprised. "Doesn't it get sore?"
"Ah if I do it again too soon but no."
"Where can you do it?"
"Um, in the bathroom usually or sometimes in bed when I know
everyone's sleeping."
He seemed to like that reply, maybe he masturbated in bed too. He had
a big brother, a baby sister, and probably less privacy than me.
Again he pulled the foreskin tight down to the shaft.
"Ah be easy or I might jizz."
"Oh, sure," he replied capping my penis again.
"Do you need to jizz now?" he asked.
"On the second exam, OK? We'll show each other how we squirt, O.K.?
His hand kept milking my erection. It felt real good.
"Ah at least do the hinney check first," I offered.
"Sure, roll over," he replied.
Releasing his stiff penis first, I rolled on my side, brought my knees
up real high to my chest and with my pants down much lower, Malcolm
could see everything real good.
He moved his hand over my behind, a smooth circle of both cheeks
before putting a thumb into the crease and doing a gentle separation.
He saw a pink to russet gradation of the pucker surrounded by very
white buns.
He kept me open when he asked, "What have you put into your hinney?"
Again time for a difficult admission from me.
"Um, a finger, when I bathe. I use soap. It stings at first but rinses
out quick and feels good."
"What's inside, poop?"
"Oh no," I answered, "its all clean there. It's um muscle, a smooth
tube. You can feel the finger rubbing inside."
Still looking, "Where did you get the idea to do that?"
"Ah that neighbor boy told me that his cousin, same age as us, gets to
play that way with his little sister."
"Put a finger in her hinney hole?" it did not sound attractive to him.
"Oh, no he puts his dick into her. She likes it. She tells him It
tickles!!'"
"Wow," Malcolm answered, impressed with the image. He applied more
pressure opening my crack to get even a better view.
After a moment he went on, "Hey, when we do things, lets do that too,
O.K.?"
"Ah you mean fucking?" I said, using a bad word, my voice going louder
in exuberance.
Malcolm warmed to the language, "Yeah let's fuck each other's
hinnies."
I continued the thought, "Until we squirt jizz inside too. Be fun."
Both of us laughing at the idea.
He released my cheeks. I rolled back on my own, could look over at
him. His penis was sticking out stiff and red from his pants.
"Ah," I ventured, "if you want to do the second exam to me first then
I'll do your check after. But one thing is I godda get my legs open to
be comfortable when I squirt."
"O.K." he replied, maybe a little curious about my private
requirements.
I slipped my pants and briefs close to my ankles so I could bring my
knees up, opening my legs in an easy posture.
He pick up my penis and supported the scrotum to go right back to
masturbating me. It felt so good.
"Ohh, let me get my shirt up," I said.
He stopped while I pulled everything up above my nipples. I was now
starkers from shins to upper chest. Malcolm took in the sight before
slipping his hand around my penis.
"I'll tell you when I godda squirt," I said.
He smiled (all these conditions !!), kept working on my genitals,
again the complete skinning.
I closed my eyes, felt utterly relaxed.
Malcolm fell into a steady pattern of jacking while supporting my
balls, now tight against my belly. My penis felt so good in his hand,
the way he peeled it up and down. I told myself that he was going to
keep jacking my dick until I showed him how it would jizz. I wanted
him to see how he made me shoot. And in seconds that is what happened.
"O.K." I said in a whispered voice, my body thrilled all over.
Malcolm speeded up using longer strokes, peeled my penis head bare so
he could see the whole tip get violently red and swell. Almost
immediately spurt after spurt of jizz arced up from the erection
laying down streamers of milky ejaculate over my chest and stomach,
finally pooling in dribbles down his working hand.
He kept up short jacking strokes at the base, watching the shaft and
bulbous head dry spasm before deflation, drooping over then getting
very smaller, shrinking and shrinking in his dripping fist until the
skin buried the head beneath folds of excess skin until everything
looked like a tiny nub between my legs. The scrotum too had flattened
out like a deflated balloon with two loose marbles inside hanging way
low at the bottom.
Malcolm was elated. In a flush of words he said, "I like the way it
fired!!!"
So did I. It was fantastic.
Wow. I was groggy. With some complications I pulled a clean cotton
handkerchief from a pants pocket, passed it to Malcolm who blotted up
his hand before giving it back. I mopped up my front and with his help
brushed off any obvious patches of dirt from my back and side and
clothes so I could pull everything into order.
"You still want to check me or should we get back?" Malcolm asked as I
stood up.
He was probably worried that I'd lost interest, or maybe he didn't
want to show himself now, to be seen to be smaller and have less jizz.
"It's your turn. You need to be checked also," I replied.
We both sat down.
"Oh, take your dick out too," he said.
I complied, letting it peep very shrunken from my fly, a reminder that
just now he was bigger than me.
He lay back, compliant, not taking off his clothes. I did that,
pushing them down as far as I could to his ankles and arranging his
legs so they were open like mine had been. I separated his legs so
they sprawled wide, one knee up on my leg. Wow what a view.
His penis had shrunk back again, looked very small, curling like it
was asleep above the equally small scrotum. I took the advantage of
the position to press against one of his cheeks to separate the crease
so I could look at his fresh anus again. It looked so good. There was
a heavy dark "seam" running from the divide of the scrotum right down
to his pucker. Gee did that look cute.
Keeping the one hand holding him open and rubbing against that seam
just below his scrotum I put my other hand over his penis rolling it
lightly against his stomach until it responded lengthening and getting
stiff. It slipped easily into my hand for some masturbating, getting
the head pinched in the foreskin before jacking peeled it back showing
part of the red tip. I wanted to avoid stretching the skin over the
swollen head.
Malcolm laid as if deep asleep, eyes shut. He had put his hand around
my nub of a penis as if to keep it company.
I tried to imitate the rubbing on his scrotum he'd done to me, getting
his sac to wrinkle up tighter than a walnut. Intermittently I'd press
lower to have him feel I was opening his behind, examining his hinney
hole.
Over several minutes his penis became bristling hard. I kept it
covered in the slick skin so it would peep out just a little at each
down stroke. The shaft was ridged as bone. I could feel it as if it
were a straining muscle. I used methodical strokes, smooth rhythm,
watching his erection caught at peak excitement.
More time passed, then at another hinney check his erection began
spurting. It was a translucent milky stream, a fountain that went
straight up some inches and fell straight back onto the spewing head.
It pooled in the foreskin as if held in a cup, with the overflow then
running down the shaft and onto my fingers.
Transfixed, I continued jacking at the base watching the jizz refill
the foreskin for a while then ease off, the erection wilting and
drawing down in the skin, the sticky liquid draining out onto my hand
and down to his stomach and then running between his legs. In seconds
his penis diminished to a tiny squiggle in my fingers, everything
glistening in the pearly ejaculate.
At no time had Malcolm, either before, during or after, moved. He was
inert for his orgasm.
He laid that way for a further time, presumably soaking in all the
feelings.
I waited.
He woke up', smiled.
I handed him my sopping handkerchief so he could do some repair before
he stood up. We dusted him and his clothes off. Both of us got
everything back in its proper place, checked each other to be sure we
looked like we had not done what we had done and walked back the way
we had come. We said absolutely nothing.
We didn't have too.
We had found each other. We had found our sexuality. I knew and he
knew that the very next time and every possible time after that we
would have sex of some kind. Hinney fucking was next, afterward we'd
think up other things. Only imagination could limit us.
Questions? Comments? Want to share your experiences? Contact
stardog105@hotmail.com