Whacking Rocks
by J.J. Janicki
It started on a Saturday afternoon when I was on the corner of Third Ave and Locust Street whacking rocks with a baseball bat. The Cards were trailing 14-11 with one out in the bottom of the ninth, so being a Cards fan, it was obviously time to buckle down. I mean, this was getting serious!
But maybe I should explain the rules first. So okay. On the other side of Third was an empty warehouse. On the roof was a home run. If I hit the side of the warehouse on the fly, it was a triple. If it bounced to the side of the warehouse, it was a double, and if I at least managed to clear the fence surrounding the warehouse, it was a single. Everything else was an out. Except for foul balls. Unless I fouled off three in a row, then that was an out too. And of course there were some ground rules, the most important one being not to be whacking rocks across the street during the afternoon rush hour. Not that the town I lived in was all that big, but at least Monday through Friday there was more traffic than at other times. On a Saturday though, there was hardly any.
Except as it turned out, there was a car on the corner of Locust, and while the details are hazy, I'm pretty sure the guy didn't come to a complete stop like he was supposed to before turning left onto Third. No, he just pulled right on out at about the same instant a screaming line drive left my bat.
Except I'd fouled it off again. To the right. Towards that car. I could see the guy's face and this was a really mean looking dude. So I did the same thing George Washington would have done if he'd been whacking rocks across the Potomac when he was my age...except I'm not at all sure what would have been on the Potomac back in those days...
But never mind, because if George had accidentally whacked a rock into a canoe and if the canoeist looked an awful lot like Arnold Schwarzenegger, then he would have run like hell and that's exactly what I did soon as I heard the clang.
Not that it really clanged, it was more like a thud, but that's not the important fact - what's important is that I'd just hit Arnold Schwarzenegger's car with a rock. I think it hit his hood. So at least it didn't hit his windshield: if that had been the case, he might not have ever stopped looking for me, but whatever, I flung my bat aside and took off fast as I could. It wasn't good for anything besides whacking at rocks anyway, so it was hi-yo Silver big time and the hell with it.
Once, though, I glanced back over my shoulder – when I was about half a block away – and I noticed that the guy had stopped. Then I noticed him flinging his door open, running out, grabbing my bat and then running back to his car. It took him one second. Or, at least, it sure didn't take long, then he was screeching off after me again, and his car could go a lot faster than I could run. I didn't know what he intended to do with my bat, but I had some suspicions, so the way I looked at it, I was in a desperate situation and the best idea would be to take some shortcuts.
So I tore down a driveway and into the vacant lot that took up most of the middle of the block. I was going to cut across the lot, then I was going to zoom down Oak Street for a few houses, then I'd zip down another driveway, then across... well, at least off to somewhere else. Where, I have no idea, but you see, the reason I've by now forgotten my escape route is that about halfway across the vacant lot, I noticed my plan wasn't working as well as I was hoping, because up ahead I could see Arnold turning on Fourth Avenue, and he was headed for Oak Street. So in other words, he planned to cut me off at the pass and then he'd return my bat.
Or maybe he had something else in mind, even if I still thought my bat was going to come into play one way or another. I didn't have time to consider all the possibilities then, but I have since. It happened over twenty-five years ago, so there's been time enough, even if to be perfectly honest, I'd still just as soon not. So...
So Arnold's car briefly disappeared behind a clump of trees, and that seemed to be a good time to jerk my sweat pants back up and reverse course.
That was another problem, a couple of times I'd come close to losing them and I wasn't wearing my underwear or even a shirt that day. It was a secondary concern – getting away from Arnold was still far and away my primary goal – but that doesn't mean I wasn't concerned about losing my pants either.
But back across the vacant lot I flew like the wind until I spotted a row of trash barrels, and I ducked behind them. Then, after yanking my pants up again, I cautiously peered out between two of them. I had no intention of staying there, but I needed to catch my breath and as long as he was patiently waiting on the corner of Fourth and Oak... “Oh shit! He's gotten impatient! Son of a bitch!”
Right. He was striding in my direction with his bat slung across his shoulder. Because it sure wasn't my bat any more, but I jumped up and started running fast as I could again, trying not to think too much about how my obituary would start out in tomorrow's paper. It had sort of flashed through my head, something like: “Emory McCaslin, age fourteen, was savagely beaten to death...”
But that's distracting, so trying not to think about it, back down the driveway, back down Third, made a quick right on Appison Lane, jerked my pants up again – Oh, my God, I hope nobody saw that - and then four houses down on the other side of the street I suddenly saw a glimmer of hope. It was right there on the mail box: “John Schilling”. So maybe John Schilling was Thad Schilling's father. I knew Thad. We were both in the band. He played trumpet, I played trombone, so we at least knew each other. We weren't best friends, else I would have known where he lived, but he was friendly enough, so maybe – if he really did live there – and if he happened to be home...
… But desperate times call for desperate measures, so down his driveway I flew, then gasping for breath and clutching at the waist of my sweat pants with one hand, I bounded up the steps leading to the back porch and started pounding on the door. I was being as polite as I could under the circumstances, but...no answer. No one was home. “Oh God!” I wailed. I was about to give up hope.
In fact, I already had, but I was standing there trying to think of another plan, when from behind me I heard, “I'm back here, Emmie, I'm in the garage. ... Um, what are you doing here?”
So in as few words as possible, I told him. I was there because I'd accidentally hit this guy's car with a rock and he wanted to beat the living shit out of me with a baseball bat, that's why I was there, and I thought that was reason enough, but in case it wasn't perfectly clear, about then I heard the rumble of Arnold's mufflers.
Well, okay, I wasn't positive, because thankfully, I couldn't see him (so hopefully, he couldn't see me either) but I was still fairly sure, so throwing all social niceties to the wind, ZIP, I was in his garage.
It went something like this: I heard Arnold's mufflers, so I lurched towards the garage with the intention of getting my butt inside.
Only Thad yelled, “No, wait!”
But the garage door was open and I couldn't wait, so just like that, I was inside.
Then in a small voice, Thad said, “Oh... shit.”
So my jaw dropped, and even if it still wasn't my main concern, I managed, “Uh... sorry, I mean...”, then I sort of shrugged and trailed off.
Then Thad asked, “So you going to tell anybody?”
I stammered, “Well, of course... not. ... I mean, it's your... garage, so... well, I don't guess... your parents are home... right now, but... well, it's okay because sometimes, I... I mean, I've done some stuff I wouldn't want anybody to know about either, so...”, then I shrugged again and added, “I mean, we're both boys, right?”
Or in other words, you never know quite how to react when you stumble across an acquaintance who's in his garage without his clothes on.
Even if that still wasn't my primary concern.
But even so, as the sound of Arnold's mufflers gradually faded away, that secondary concern was coming into play. It was probably too much to hope for, but still...
I honestly don't think it's possible to feel any more mixed up than I was right at that moment, but in the interest of clarity – or at least in the interest of something that might bear a vague resemblance to it... At fourteen? Yeah, right.
Well, okay. I'm not going to start at the very beginning, because there's no telling where that might end up, but I guess I should explain that I'd only been living in... well, we'll just call it Mayberry and leave it at that, but I'd only been living there for about a year. I was in one of those single parent situations and always had been. But my mom – she's the one who stuck around – changed jobs often. She'd be a waitress here, then a waitress there, and then a waitress somewhere else. So we weren't like upper income. Not really.
But obviously the fact that we were constantly moving made it difficult because it was hard to make friends and, to make matters worse, because of our economic status, I often felt inferior. It doesn't matter if I should or should not have, I did, and that's all there was to it.
Then further complicating matters was the fact that I was almost certainly gay. Not that I'd ever done anything, but I thought I might like to. “Might.” Well, until you've actually done something, it's difficult to know if you're going to like it or not, you know?
But let's see: when did I first start suspecting that I had some gay tendencies? That's how a psychologist the year before put it, but it wasn't uncommon at my age and I might grow out of it. So while it wasn't exactly like she was putting a stamp of approval on my “tendencies”, at least she didn't refer to them as “homosexual tendencies”. That makes it sound like you've got a disease.
And as for how those “tendencies” came up in the first place, the simplest explanation was that my dick went up in the shower after gym class and the little bastard would not go back down, but instead of coming up with an excuse like I was thinking about a girl I'd recently seen naked, such as: “Whoa Nelly! Boobs and everything! Big `uns!”... which then could have led to several other boys popping wood... because it sure doesn't take much to get a thirteen-year-old excited...
Damn. Why didn't I think of that?
Well, I didn't, I just acted like I was mortified, and actually, I was. Totally. Whether it should be that way or not, in junior high, being gay is not a good thing and from then until we moved again, I was an outcast.
At least when it got back to my mom, though, she took it fairly well. “Well, hell, Emmie, if you is you is and if you ain't you ain't and if you is, at least you ain't gonna be trying to get into every girl's pants like that sack of shit that ran off and left us.” Famous words to live by. “If you is you is and if you ain't you ain't.” There's a certain Zen-like quality to that, but...
Well, at least I'm not trying to start from the beginning. Even if I will tell you when it occurred to me that I probably wasn't cut out to be a heterosexual, it was when I saw my first picture of a naked lady. Some kid brought it to school – and later got into all kinds of trouble because of it – but the thing was, that picture was a bit lacking when it came to presentation. She was on a log with her legs wide open and yeech!
Even if what I said was, “Geez! That is wild!”
And it was interesting, but then so is a Venus Fly Trap. I'm just saying, is all.
But anyway, there I was in Thad's garage and his parents weren't home and obviously he wasn't expecting them to show up anytime soon and he was naked and I hadn't seen any boys naked recently because it seemed to have an undesirable effect on me but it really wasn't in my best interests to leave right away because of Arnold Schwarzenegger wanting to possibly kill me and the fact was... (Deep breath. Breathe!)
Well, the fact was, Thad had recently displayed some tendencies as well. First time I noticed was when we were in band practice. The trombones sat above the trumpets and during a brief break, the boy next to Thad said, “Pull it out.” Of course this was said in a low conspiratorial tone of voice, but Thad looked around and then he unzipped his pants. (!!!) Then he made like he was going to pull it out.
Well, seriously, you're not going to pull your dick out in the middle of band practice, but still, this behavior continued. Christopher (the other boy) would whisper to Thad, then Thad would slyly unzip and pretend - and he kept getting just a little more daring than before, to the point I'd actually seen his undies shining through – but then Thad would whisper the same thing to Christopher, so then he'd pretend...
So I thought that was interesting. I was trailer park trash, Thad and Christopher definitely weren't, but apparently they still wanted to look at each other's dicks! I was stunned.
I was, because up until then I'd assumed that Thad wouldn't have the slightest interest in another boy's dick because he seemed to get along fine with girls. I didn't know if he was going out with one, but girls were often wanting to talk to him and usually he was glad to oblige. Sometimes, he'd even flirt. Or at least, I considered it flirting, but apparently he still wanted Christopher to pull his dick out!
And as for me, I wasn't interested in Christopher's because he wasn't my type, but I was in Thad's. I thought he was cute. He had reddish-brown hair, was outgoing and it seemed as though everyone liked him. But in spite of that, he always acted friendly to me as well. We weren't best friends, but at least he never acted like he looked down on me.
So one afternoon when we were out on the football field practicing marching around in circles, I whispered, “I dare you to pull it out.”
Thad grinned and said, “Okay, I will. Just watch me,” and sure enough, about five minutes later when we were standing in formation, I looked over and he started pretending like he was zipping down. Or maybe he really was. I couldn't tell for sure, but then...
Actually, what he was doing was sticking his finger out from the general area of his zipper, even if I wasn't sure at first. But it was my turn, so I pretended to unzip, then I started making that familiar jerking off motion with my hand. Making like you're jerking off in the middle of band practice, that is daring! But Thad laughed like we were now co-conspirators, so, cool! I went home very happy that day.
Even if I was still wondering if he'd started or not. I could have accepted his not having started – and if that was his dick and not his finger, then he obviously hadn't – but I hoped he had. Just because.
Then about a week later, during my lunch period I decided to go over to the gym because his gym class was in session. As long as I had my clothes on, I could look disinterested, so it was safe to look at some of the cuter boys in their shorts. Especially Thad, and that was cool enough because he'd usually wave at me.
And I was still trying to figure out if he'd started yet. He didn't have any hair on his legs, but that was okay, because I didn't want him to be that far advanced anyway. No, I was hoping he was pretty much like me, with just a little hair above his dick and nothing much else.
Only, he hadn't dressed out that day. It was almost summer, but still, if you were feeling under the weather and if one of your parents would write a note for you, it wasn't a problem. Except that now I couldn't look at his legs, of course.
He was sitting up in the bleachers, but when he heard the side door open, he looked over and waved. By then, we were getting along real well, even if our pull-it-out game had mostly petered out.
Apparently not entirely, though, because he grinned slyly and mouthed, “Pull it out.”
So I thought about it, made a gesture down towards my zipper and then I gave him my best “come hither” look. What I mean is, I glanced back at the door, then sort of meaningfully back at him.
He shrugged. Then he made his way down to the coach, and asked, “Is it all right if I go outside and talk to Emmie for a minute? It's about our band practice.”
So then we were outside. On one side was the gym, on the other, a retaining wall, so we were mostly out of sight. Anyone passing by on the sidewalk out front might be able to see, but it wasn't likely, so not only did I unzip, I opened my fly and started fumbling inside my undies. (And by the way, I always wear underwear when going to school. Always.) But I actually opened the fly in my underwear a little. I'm not sure if he saw anything or not because my hand might have been in the way, but then I quickly zipped back up and said, “Now it's your turn.”
So... “Okay. Let's see here,” and he pulled his zipper down, yanked his fly wide open, reached inside, pulled the fly on his undies open and started trying to guide his dick out! “Guide” because he had a boner!
But then he stopped, grinned a little uncertainly, and said, “Maybe I better not this time.”
And that was that. So I know it's not much, but I almost floated home that day. Thinking stuff like, “Oh, he's grown one all right. I can not believe it!”
Or in other words, it looked to be above average. Not that I saw all of it, just from his red bush to maybe two inches on down, but it sure seemed to be big around.
It's not like I was a size freak. I'd seen some who hadn't even started, but if I thought he was good looking, it didn't matter. Puberty's strange, though. Thad outweighed me at least twenty pounds, but he was almost the same height. So I was in the neighborhood of 5'3'' and about 100, and because I'd barely started myself, I wouldn't have been surprised if he hadn't. But on the other hand, bigger than expected definitely caught my attention.
Meanwhile, though, back in the garage, I wasn't sure what to do and apparently neither was he. Doing something weird is one thing, but having someone barging in on you is a different matter. So there I was, feeling awkward, but unable to think of a graceful way to exit, mostly because I really didn't want to leave, not with Arnold still out there looking for me, I didn't, so I honestly didn't know what I was supposed to do next. I'm pretty sure my lower lip was quivering. I was about to start crying. That would really be great. Almost perfect, in fact.
But fortunately, after a deep breath Thad said, “Oh, don't worry about it. We can stay here as long as you need to. I wouldn't want to see you in the hospital or worse and I guess if I'm going to keep acting like a pervert, sooner or later I'll get caught at it anyway.”
“Well, I could go in and get your clothes...”
“Yeah, well, I sort of like being a nudist. ... Most of the time anyway. But since we have some time on our hands... and since you've caught me being weird, you were saying that sometimes... well, what weird things have you been guilty of lately? Just name one, okay? ... It's only fair, you know.”
“Um...” I looked over at him, but not surprisingly, I also took another glance at his lap. Life-threatening situation or not, it was hard not to. So yes, he had a bush, I had to verify that, and it was decent. Then just below... well, my impression when I first came busting in was that it looked like a Vienna sausage. Except for the end, of course, and it was bigger around, but it was soft. At first, it was, so apparently being embarrassed was as conducive to feeling horny as being afraid that you're on the verge of being killed. Only now it seemed to be expanding and it also seemed to be... !!??!! It was! He was getting hard!
So it occurred to me that this was as good a way of killing some time as any I could think of. “I can stay here as long as I need to, and I offered to get his clothes, but...”
I cleared my throat and started again. “Well, you might not believe this, but I almost lost my pants when I was trying to get away from that guy. It happened more than once and... when I was crossing Third, when I got to your street, they were about halfway down to my knees... and I don't have any underwear on. I mean... well, I don't know, it feels cool with your... dick and all moving around, but...”
Thad giggled a bit breathlessly, and exclaimed, “Oh God! You might as well have been totally naked!... I do that too sometimes. At least sort of, but okay, let's compare notes here. So the question is: as skinny as you are, you have to know there's a chance of them falling down, so do you want it to happen? You can always say it was an accident, but still, do you really want it to happen?”
“You trying to be my shrink or something?”
“No, I'm trying to be my shrink. ... Shit, Emmie, I'm not putting you down or anything... And I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm the one who's naked here, not you, but I'm just wondering why, `cause you can't ever tell, we might have almost the same reasons.”
I glanced over and noticed that his dick was still rising. It was up to about a 45° angle, close to six inches... give or take... and...
He looked down at it and then back at me. “Cool, huh?”
... “Yeah... I guess...”
“What do you mean, guess? Guess? You're popping one too,” (tent) “so you know good and well how it feels. It's the best feeling in the world! But back to our discussion. What's your motivation for running around almost naked? I'm just curious, all right?”
So of course mine kept rising – it's nice, feeling it crawling up – but pretending not to notice, I continued, “Well, the first time, I didn't have much choice. It was about two years ago, and it was laundry day, so the deal was, when I got up that morning, all my underwear was at the laundromat. But while my mom was taking care of the laundry, I was supposed to do the grocery shopping. She left a grocery list and some money, so...”
“Hey, I don't mean to interrupt... except I guess I am... and this isn't any of my business, so you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but do you sleep naked? I'm just curious, that's all. So do you?”
“Well... in the summer... um... well, sure, why not?” I answered. And I also lied, because most of the time, I wore pjs. At least the bottom, but it didn't seem like that was what he wanted to hear. So like I said, why not?
“Cool!” he said, “I might try that myself sometime. But anyway, carry on. ... You know, with your story.”
I glanced down at him again. 55°. Maybe even 60! I was giving him an erection, just by talking about being naked!
And I was giving myself one as well. In fact, I was already as hard as I could be, but...Right. Keep talking. And so...
“Yeah, right. So I just put on a pair of basketball shorts and a tee shirt that came down past my knees, and off I went. That was so cool. It felt like I really was naked. Nobody else knew about it, but... well, you know, I could feel my dick moving around... except in the produce department I started popping one, so then it wasn't moving around so much...”
“I'm excitable too.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” Now it looked as big around as a... Polska Keilbasa!
“I guess it's hard to miss, huh? But anyway, there you were in the supermarket with a hard-on. So...”
...“Oh that. Well, like I said, I had that shirt on, so it wasn't like anybody could see it, and it wasn't very big then anyway. But as far as today goes, no, I didn't want to lose my pants. When I was hitting rocks across the street, if I felt them slipping down some, I'd always pull them back up. So I'm sure nobody saw anything. At least not until I had to start running, but I don't know, maybe I get a charge out of the possibility. It's like I'm taking a chance, I guess.”
“So it's like you'd be an accidental exhibitionist or something.”
“Yeah, well, awhile ago, if it had come down to me not having any choice but to run: that's all I could do, just run like hell without being able to stop and pull them back up, then I would have been a streaker in no time at all, there's no question about it.”
“You ever do that? Streak?”
(Gulp)... “No, never did that. Go streaking, I mean. I've never even been tempted to and if a little while ago, if I'd ended up running naked down the street, I would have been embarrassed as shit. ... Weird, huh?”
“Well, damn, Emmie, at our age, we're all weird. Haven't you ever heard that before?”
It was the way he said it. It was as though all at once, he was a little professor, but of course, he was sitting there naked with a hard-on that wasn't about to go down. But in spite of that, there he was, seemingly unmindful of it, spouting those words of wisdom. So I couldn't help it, I started laughing so hard my sides were hurting. I was trying to say something, but all I could get out was... well, to give an example: “Oh shit.... Thad... Oh God... Thad... oh... shit!” I had tears in my eyes, I was laughing so hard.
But finally I was mostly over it, so I straightened up, and... “Um, sorry. You just... well, it just hit me funny, that's all. ... But yeah, you're right... doctor. We're... yeah, I guess we are.”
“We're what?” He didn't look upset, but he was definitely puzzled. And really, there was a simple answer. (“We're what?”) One word. Weird. So why did I skip it then?
I did because the way I was looking at it, he was being even weirder than I was and it also occurred to me that I couldn't have that. Feeling very weird might make him want to get dressed again.
So I hunched up, and seconds later, except for my shoes, I was naked too. He had a hard-on and so did I. Except for his being larger, we were now both in the same boat. I took a fluttery breath and said, “We're both weird. About as weird as we can possibly be.”
And it sure felt that way. It felt sort of wonderful, but it also felt scary. He looked pointedly at my midsection and said, “It ain't all that bad, Emmie. I like the way it curves.”
... “Um... well, it just does, but... um... so okay, I guess you can see that it's not nearly as big as yours, but... um...”
“You shouldn't worry about it. It'll get bigger.”
“Yeah, well...”
“But if you don't mind my asking... how... about how long is it now?”
His voice sounded strange. “He's... asking me about my dick and...Oh, holy shit. He's...”
“I mean, you do measure it, right? I do mine all the time.”
...“About...” (then all in a rush...), “Well, how big is yours then?”
(Giggle)... “I asked you first, damn it!... But it's six inches. And maybe an eighth. So...”
“Four and a quarter. ... Almost.”
“Yours looks like a skinny wiener.”
“Yeah, well, yours...”
“But I still think it looks cool. So you wanna jerk off? We might as well, right? So you wanna?”
My jaw dropped again. Until that day, the pull it out game was the most thrilling thing I'd ever done. It was, because I really liked Thad, so I felt like I'd just died and gone to heaven. As far as I was concerned, it couldn't get any better. But us jerking off together... “Okay, now I'm in heaven. It can't get any better than this.”
So I shyly said yes, that would be a very good idea. In so many words, I did, because I was feeling light-headed and most of my words seemed to be hanging up, but...
“So okay, slide your butt over next to me. I do you, you do me. Deal?”
“Well, I didn't think it was going to get that much better, I can touch it!”
And that I did. Hip to hip, that in itself was almost the most wonderful feeling in the world, because it was so soft and warm, but then...
Well, actually, he grabbed mine first. It wasn't that I was hesitating on my end of the bargain, it was just that I was trying to savor everything, so I was still on us being pressed together and how it felt, but then his fingers closed around my erection and I jumped. When I first felt that incredible shock...
“Feels good, doesn't it?” In the middle of my gasp, he asked me that.
So in reply I think I said, “Sssss... yeah!”
Then I grabbed his and it jerked slightly. And it was... well, there's no way I can describe it. Except that I was having trouble keeping track of everything... and it was the most wonderful feeling in the world... and I didn't know how much more I could take...
Emory McCaslin, age fourteen, unexpectedly passed away.
But he sure did look happy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Well, I suppose I could have at least tried describing how it felt pulling on Thad's while he was pulling on mine, but there was just so much going on inside my head right then, you know?
Still, though, if it's all right for me to go back to when I was ten and had my first orgasm - because until you've actually had one, there's no point in trying to explain what it is because you really don't have a clue...
Except Tommy, the boy who introduced me to it was twelve, so I guess the way things are, it's possible that he could have been arrested, in fact, now things are so screwed up, I have a feeling that even if it he'd been the ignorant one and it had been me who initiated it, just because he was older, he still could have been in big trouble.
But then again, about 98% of the world's population would probably be in trouble as well. Unless the kid discoverers orgasms on his own, he's apparently not supposed to, and if by chance he discovered them because the washer vibrated and it felt really weird when he pressed up against it, then “they” still might want to take Maytag to court, so at the very least, Maytag corporate is probably looking at some sensitivity training, and... um...
Right. Me and Thad, me and another kid named Tommy, the other 98%, Maytag... I seem to be wandering.
Well, anyway, the biggest reason I didn't know about orgasms at age ten was because up until then I didn't want to know about them. And don't worry, mom, I'm not going to press charges, but seriously, there are things that you'd just as soon not know about when you're seven. Or eight. Or even ten, but...
I'll admit that I was getting curious. Was whacking off the same as jacking off? Was that any different from jerking off? I'd heard of these terms, but I still had no idea what they meant. Not any of them. Soo...
Tommy showed me. He gave a hands-on demonstration, bless his wicked little heart, and it was intense. Even if when he first touched my peter, it just felt... interesting. I was still a little doubtful, but it did feel interesting And then, well, I don't know, really. I mean, it was feeling interestinger and interestinger, but does every boy think he's about to pee all over himself the first time? Probably, because up until then, that's all it's been good for, just peeing, but after awhile, I guessed if he didn't care if I peed on his hand, then I didn't either. But that first orgasm, can you really put it into words? It may well be the most intense feeling you'll ever have in your life, because even if there are bigger and better things, that first time when it just keeps feeling better and better and you have no idea how much longer it's going to keep on feeling better and better, all you really know is that you don't want it to ever end... that might be as good as it ever gets.
Except I honestly think that first time in Thad's garage was better than that even. Of course I knew how it was going to end for both of us, but still, just having my hand wrapped around his dick... being in awe of how big and hot and loose and hard and soft and... well, sort of squishy... I mean, geez!
And the sound effects were awesome. And him doing me felt... well, simply awesome!
So I still seem to be at a loss for words. When it's like everything you ever dreamed about is finally happening, even if you really had only been dreaming about it for a year or so, it is unreal, it's so unreal, you can't even put it into words, no matter how hard you try.
So back to my first orgasm again, I really think the second time was better than the first. Because one: I still wasn't sure if it was going to happen again, even if once I started getting that feeling, I knew that it was, and two: this time, I was doing it by myself.
See, I never liked Tommy all that much in the first place. Which brings up the third reason the second time might have been better, because right after the first time when I was still mostly in shock as in: “What happened?”, he was laughing his stupid ass off. So for a little while, I was thinking that maybe he'd just played the worst trick on me I could imagine. “He's just killed my peter!” So I sure was relieved to discover that he hadn't.
But back to Thad again. It was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened, but still, there were some things I hadn't thought of yet. Not that I was worried about being practical when we started, but in the first place, he came before I did. I was excited, but since he was further along, it didn't take him as long as it did me. He was leaking before we even started, in fact. And while I still couldn't manage more than a watery jet or two, he could manage a lot. So it was messy and we hadn't thought about a Kleenex or a rag or anything. There were some oily rags scattered around, but that would just make an ever bigger mess.
But, “Um... let me... catch my... breath... okay? Don't worry... I'll get... you off... too... but... um... well, you can let go... of me now, okay?”
I guess he noticed that I looked a little disappointed, though, so he assured me that he wasn't going to leave me hanging, which cheered me up a lot, but I was still sorry about the mess and us not thinking ahead. (And I was also sorry he couldn't have lasted just a little longer, because I sure was enjoying pulling on it.)
But then he added, “It's not a big deal. It'll wash off, you know. And besides, we can recycle it,” and with that, he wiped a glob off of his tummy and started rubbing it on my erection. I never ever thought...
Well to be honest, I didn't know what to think.
“It makes it more slippery this way, and it'll feel better,” he explained. “But I bet it feels pretty good right now, huh?”
“Uh... well...”
Then he started slowly pulling on it again. So it was like, “Ohhh!”
Then he started rubbing on my balls, and then on that little ridge between my legs.
I hadn't ever done that to myself before. Until then, it had always just been up and down, up and down, pant pant, and it wasn't that I thought it was yucky or anything, but once I could produce anything worth mentioning, I'd always made sure that I caught it in some tissue. And not only that, once I'd had my orgasm, I always felt drained. Pooped out in fact. So that's why I was thinking that the show might be over once he came, because I didn't think he'd want to be doing anything more for awhile.
But he kept slowly pulling on it. So of course I was squirming.
“You ever rub around your nipples any?”
... “Huh? ... My... ohh! ... Well... no. ... I...”
“Try it. Just rub a little of my cum on. It's a trip! Just try it, all right?”
And he just kept pulling on it. And rubbing me places. That place between my legs? That was my perineum. I was like, “Oh. So that's... oh God.” I had no idea I had so many places that could feel good. If somebody is pulling on your dick, then there aren't many places that aren't going to feel good. If he touched it, it felt good.
But since he was rubbing me in all those places, I guessed I could rub some more on a few his places as well. He had a nice bush, but it was still soft, almost downy like mine. I stroked his softened noodle and it was still as interesting as it could be. I gently rubbed his plump balls. Just a little hair, but you had to check close for it. And his thighs were soft and warm and sweaty and a little sticky – really, he was a little sticky in lots of places - and...
Then it hit and I was like, “Ohhhhhhh!”
Then while I was still trying to catch my breath, he giggled and asked, “So you want to do this again sometime?”
“Uh... uh... yeah... sure. I think... I would... like that,” I managed.
“Cool! But now, I think we need to get under the shower. Think so?”
We? Did he just say we?
It was the best day of my life.
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