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Messing Around With Mike

Jayman, I know it seems like Mike and I had willpower to resist all things oral but that simply wasn't the case. Those acts were off the table and weren't even considered. How much of this was because we didn't understand how a BJ worked and how much was because licking, sucking and kissing would have been gay is hard to determine. Both were factors, for sure. For whatever reasons, we never went there and, frankly, were never even close, probably because of another one of your observations. We certainly weren't sexually frustrated. If we wanted to cum, we found a way to do that within the next five minutes. That was good enough.

We were lucky that Southern California didn't have ticks or other insects harmful to naked boys. Our biggest concern were the red ant colonies in my back yard. We alternately stayed clear of them and tried to kill them through drowning their nests with water.

I do have one confession to make and it brings up a topic I've wanted to get to. I wrote Messing Around With Mike with the intention of publishing it on Solo Touch, a masturbation site. Besides serving my particular fantasies, a few years ago they published a four part, 16,000 word story of mine, Antelope Patrol. I know a lot of people have read my story there. The traffic for it is high. I expect similar attention will be given to Messing Around With Mike. Solo Touch won't publish a story with any kind of genital penetration of an orifice, be it anal, vaginal or even oral. It may seem a weird restriction but it's their rule. Because of that, I eliminated brief explorations Mike and I made into anal sex. Early on we each tried it once and knowing nothing of lube, we were totally unsuccessful. Mike was more into anal stimulation than I was, and even he didn't want it that much. We, too, threatened to use candles and the like on each other but the most we ever did was insert an occasional finger. Even that was rare.

My question is this: if I don't publish Messing Around With Mike on Solo Touch, where should I publish it? If you had a seven part, 22,000 word memoir of young teenage gay sex, where would you want to see it published?

A word of caution about my Antelope Patrol tale. If it was a Hollywood movie, the trailer would say "based on a true story". Yes, my Boy Scout patrol, the Antelope Patrol, for a little over half a year became a jerk off club. But I made a mistake in writing Antelope Patrol by trying to incorporate Mike into the story. While not a character - the Mike in Antelope Patrol is a totally different dude - his spirit shows up all over the story. In real life, the scouts in Antelope Patrol were into quick, secretive jack offs, never mutual and often clothed. My scouts in Antelope Patrol are much more adventuresome. I should have told the true, much less stimulating story of the real life Antelope Patrol and waited to tell Mike's story later but I didn't.

My buddy will be here for three more days as we finish up recording his College Dudes. I will get back to regular updates on Monday.

For now, please tell me, where would you folks publish Messing Around With Mike?
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Thank you for this detailed and wonderful insightful description of the joys of youth sexual growth. I never had an intimate friend in my childhood who would explore the intricacies of masturbation with me. I was just lucky to have friends around and if sex did occur it was just coincidental.
Thanks, angelone. I appreciate your kind remarks. :001_smile:

We were caught twice by my mother. The first was an afternoon when Mike and I were sitting in the den, the main room of my house, in our typical state: nude, with clothes strewn everywhere. Suddenly we hear my mom outside the back door, opening the outer screen and coming in. Oh, fuck! We had totally missed seeing her drive up. The moment she comes through that door, we’re dead. She can see into the den from the kitchen door. We have maybe two seconds to clear the room. We grabbed everything and in a complete panic, ran to my bedroom. We started throwing on clothes but we were too late. Instantly my mom was standing outside my bedroom door, wondering what the commotion was, open this door please, what are you boys doing? open this door right now, I said open this door! We got decent enough to finally open my bedroom door and she wanted answers. We had none to give her. We weren’t doing anything. She absolutely knew we were up to no good but she didn’t know what it was and she couldn’t prove anything. Mom kicked Mike out of the house for a week, grounded me for the same, and I was told once more he’s a bad influence. Did this stop us? No.

Sometime later, my mom was gone for the whole day and we had the house to ourselves. We were into first class messing around. Mike was tied up by a rope twisted around him half a dozen times, making him unable to move his legs or arms. The den was trashed. Strewn around were Playboys, nudist life magazines, rope, towels, clothes, playing cards, soda pop, a roll of TP, and I’m sure at least one household item covered in cum. We were both messy, sweaty, stinking of spunk and having the greatest time of our lives...for one more second because during that next moment we both glance out the front window to see my mother driving up, home hours early. In an instant we realized we were totally fucked. It will take me fifteen seconds to untie Mike. We probably have that much time, and with luck we’ll also have enough time to grab all the incriminating evidence lying around. But what do we do then? We won’t be able to get cleaned up, dressed and put everything away before she gets in the door and we know she’ll call for us immediately. Already damn suspicious, this time she won’t wait for me to open my bedroom door. She’ll barge right in and find enough wrong to nail our naked asses. We are completely screwed. I untied Mike. At least that got him to stop screaming, “Untie me! Untie me! Untie me! Untie me!” In desperation we came up with a high risk plan. We’ll make a break for the avocado tree to dress and regroup. We ran around nude a lot but this would be our most daring naked run ever. To get to the tree, we'd have to go through the screen porch and across the back lawn, totally exposed for maybe 75 feet. After that we’ll be somewhat sheltered, that is if no neighbors are in their backyards to see us. If we can make it to the avocado tree, we’ll be OK. It is our safe haven. Plus this is our only hope. Madly, we gathered up clothes, rope, magazines, cum rags and anything else that would get us jailed for life in two big bundles, and ran, Mike leading the way. I still have the mental movie of a naked boy’s ass with body attached, hands filled with crap, crossing my back lawn in a dead sprint. Somehow we got to the avocado tree without my mom or any neighbors catching us. After the adrenalin rush wore off, we cleaned up with a hose and got dressed, finding I was missing a shoe. That was child's play by this point, as we went back down to the house with Mike going in the back door to distract Mom while I went in through the screen porch, supposedly to go to the bathroom. We totally got away with it. So do you think this near death experience, escaping discovery and utter humiliation by mere seconds, and only by making a naked panicky dash hundreds of feet through my backyard in the middle of the afternoon while cradling our clothes and sex toys, just to hide under a tree, do you think this might have slow us down? Hell, no.

I'm back. I'll have a update tomorrow.
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Smiley, your stories conjure up so many memories of myself and my friend David, as well as some other adventures I had in a friend's basement involving tying up one of our friend's Jeff. He was naked with his hands clasped to an overhead pipe in the basement. This was at age 13, and Jeff had a rock hard boner. My other friend Charlie also tied a rope to Jeff's erection and was yanking on it making his young cock twitch. We were actually almost caught by Jeff's older brother Steven, who came to the back door of Charlie's house and yelled to see if his younger brother was there. Little did he know that his brother was naked and tied to a pipe on the ceiling with a string around his erection. We got away with it.

We also once stripped Jeff naked and tied him to a bed, as we peered in on him from an outside window. But these episodes never involved masturbation or cumming, except for myself when I was alone later reliving what had transpired as I jerked my 13 year old cock off, imagining going further with Jeff and Charlie.

Thank you Smiley for making me think of these activities that I had put way on the back burner of my memories.
It's hard to imagine that stuff like this actually happens or happened. I guess I grew up in the most bass-ackwards, repressed shithole possible. My childhood was more or less completely about not having a clue who I was and being put upon by just about anyone who had half a mind to do so.

I'm glad someone had such glowing experiences as a kid; and, I find it terribly fascinating that you ended up living most of your life straight.

Your composition is quite good. Never once did my eyes catch on a poorly-constructed phrase or glaring misspelling. I have absolutely no idea where you should publish it. Thank you for sharing. The most accurate way I could describe its effect is that it was retroactively inspiring -- if that makes any sense at all :).
Thank you for your insightful remarks, akrasia. :001_smile: I'm glad you are enjoying my story. Also thank you for the compliments on my writing. There ain't a writer out there that wouldn't be flattered by your words. And as alway, mikeyank, I appreciate your sharing. You make me feel like not such a weirdo. :001_tongue:

To me, my story almost seems impossible, too, akrasia. It certainly was another lifetime ago. I do worry about this in telling my tale. The believability factor is worse telling it like I am here, episodically. It is written as a narrative and somehow that gives my memoir more heft and body. By pulling the individual stories out and posting them here, it becomes a Greatest Hits collection. I talked a little about this problem a few posts before but this is how I put it in Messing Around With Mike:

...listing so many of our sexual adventures here, one after another, makes Mike and me look like we knew what we were doing. Hardly. We were ignorant, horny teenagers. Many of our stunts failed. Looking back from forty years, I am clear we were excellent at two things, risk taking and satisfying each other sexually, but that’s it, and even those two took us a lot of time to learn how to do. These events are the end result. You should have been around for the practices. While they were often funny and with great sex, our sessions also could be rough, angry and disagreeable, with one of us leaving mad. Mike would get so angry when I wouldn’t do something his way, he’d put on his clothes and just walk out. But two days later we’d get together and talk which would lead to a compromise, a card game, someone getting naked…well, you know the rest.

Another problem in posting individual stories is a lot of the connecting explanatory bits get cut out. Let's have a housekeeping post or two to fill in these missing parts.

As I've said, Messing Around With Mike is long, 22,000 words and in seven parts. Part one is our first time together, posted upthread. Part two opens with this paragraph:

Right after Mike’s and my initial jerk off session we became constant jack off buddies and stayed that way for over a year. I had started hanging around with Mike early in junior high, well before the incident in my parents’ bedroom. Becoming my best friend, he served as a big brother for me, more experienced and a bit dangerous. I knew my parents didn’t like him. More accurately, they didn’t trust him. They were right to be worried. As I’ve said, the first boner I jacked was Mike’s. My first drunk was with Mike when I was thirteen. The only day I ditched school was because of Mike. I felt my first pussy while with Mike. If my folks had known what we were doing when they weren’t around, they would have sent me to Australia with five dollars, a canteen and their best regards.

After talking about how Mike and I would play a lot of games, I wrote this. It really should have been up front in this thread, too, as it helps the believability factor. For all of our elaborate games, many times we'd just drop our jeans and jack off together. I don't write about those times.

Sometimes we didn’t go through all this hoopla and simply jacked with our clothes on, especially if we were in a hurry or thought we might get interrupted. We’d drop our pants and blast on the ground or into a tissue. I will admit to being the one who pushed us to get naked to beat off whenever possible, although with Mike, pushing him to get naked for sex was like pushing a cat to drink cream. When we did have the time and opportunity to strip, very often at this point we’d just jack off, using any of the four hands available in the room. Outside of the fact we were both strong righties, we really weren’t picky which hand it was and we tried every combination we could imagine.

In part three, I finally get around to describing our crotches.

I was enamored with Mike’s pubic hair. Being older, he was more developed and for a fourteen to fifteen year old, positively hairy, with light blond hair on his arms and darker blond hair on his chest, legs and ass. His pubic hair was baby soft and milk chocolate brown. Mike’s balls were enormous and quite hairy. I had little hair on mine. I had nuts. He had balls. With both of us circumcised, our dicks looked about the same in width and angle of attack when hard but Mike’s was always half an inch longer. We measured each other’s often as we were both still growing but I could never catch up to his dick. Mine ended up at a smidgen shy of six inches long – we’re calling it six inches, OK? – with Mike’s at a little over six and a half. Mike’s pubic bush was also more impressive than mine. Mine looked scraggly. His was a lush forest. His bush plain felt good, it was so soft, its tender hairs wrapping around my fingers when I ran them through it. I also like playing with his balls. They were probably my favorite part of his body. I know large, hairy balls are a cliche but these really were. In fact, they were the only thing remarkable about either of our packages.

I take that back. My favorite part of Mike’s body was the shock of dirty blond hair that always fell across his forehead. Parted on my left – his right – it never stayed in place. I especially liked it when he was pouting. Mike would get mad at that falling wave and push it back aggressively with his hand, an angry teenager at war with his hair. Jeez, I loved that. I really missed the boat when it came to Mike’s hair. Sure, I ran my fingers through it, but not as often as I should have, and I never spent a day preening his hair, washing it, combing it, maybe even giving him a trim. He also would have gotten a shave, young Mike already having to do that, although I loved touching his stubble, downy soft as opposed to the rough sandpaper of my father’s beard. I don’t know if Mike would have gone for all of this. Don’t fuck with a peacock’s feathers, man.

Oh, well, I did fondle his balls a lot.

Let me end this post with one of the present tense stories. It of a prototypical backyard campout for Mike and me, although as it is one of my compilation stories, with all the events happening, not just on one night, it is better than all of our campouts save one. (Our best campout, you'll read about later.) Maybe I should have written multiple semi-interesting stories instead of fewer action-packed ones but I thought otherwise. This is porn, after all. At least I don’t have us cumming eight times in an evening. :wink:

Mike comes over for a campout. We set up the tent in the afternoon, with a fast, no game, no naked, grab-your-dick-and-go jack off session under the avocado tree. A quickie. That night in the tent, using flashlights we read our dirty magazines. I dare Mike to run naked down the alley behind my house to the highway and back. It’s a short but very exposed run. Besides the seven houses serviced by the alley, the goal is the busy residential street on which Mike lives and the last fifty feet to the target mailbox is brutal, a stretch as bare as us. We decide to break our standard two-guys-nude practice and have the other boy along, clothed, as a spotter. As the darer, I go first. Mike runs second. We don’t get caught. We also don’t stay dressed afterward. Instead we start playing cards for more dares and penalties. Losing first, I have to go outside the tent and jerk off standing up. Mike shines a flashlight on me for a while. Back inside, he wins again, ordering me to lie down and while kneeling over my chest, maneuvers so his balls rest on my mouth. Breathing through my nose, his smell is overwhelming and just fine, thank you. Mike then beats off, talking dirty, his dick waving above my face. When he’s ready to cum, Mike slides down my body and shoots onto my chest, hitting my chin and spraying my cheek. Fucker.

In search of a new challenge, we return to naked running, daring each other to make a lap around the house. We’ve done this before but this time the dare is to do it with a boner. As opposed to our other runs when we’ve generally gone one at a time, we decide to do this one as a pair. We stand outside the tent and jerk ourselves to get hardons. We take off, our dicks pointing the way. We’ve agreed to stop at the first gate, which leads to the front yard, and as I’ve gone soft, I stroke myself back to an erection. Mike plays with his. Dashing across the front lawn, we’re laughing at the same time we are telling each other to stop laughing. We continue through the second gate back to the tent, pulling on our hardons as we run. Back safe, we run around and twirl and jerk ourselves off, shooting our sperm at the world. This is fondly remembered as the Boner Run.

Going back into the tent, we return to our porn and close the night with an extended and quite sensual mutual masturbation session, with a lot of touching and body contact. At one point, Mike is lying on my back, rubbing his hard cock between my ass cheeks, threatening to force it down my butthole. If Mike had actually done half the things he said he’d do to me, I’d sound like Marge Simpson’s sister and walk with a limp. Instead he keeps his boner well away from my puckerhole. Rolling around, I rise up on my arms as I pin Mike to the tent floor and hump the crack in his ass, after which I collapse onto him and rub my whole body up and down his back. All foreplay, we wait to cum until we get into a 69 position, and even then, only after long, slow jacks. We sleep in separate sleeping bags.

Tomorrow will be a very busy day for me so the next update will be Thursday.
This will be the last housekeeping post, with odds and ends left over from telling Mike's and my story.

You have to get part 5 of Messing Around With Mike, or post #47 in this thread, to learn this tidbit:

One time when Mike came over, he asked my mother if I could come out and play. She said, “Mike, you’re too old to ask if someone can come out and play. Come up with another word for it.” From then on, he asked her if we could mess around. While my mother was no fool and I’m sure knew the sexual connotation of the phrase, she didn’t associate it with Mike and her son. She just thought of it as a term young boys would use. But Mike and I thought it was hysterical that she accepted the phrase. Plus it gave us an official name for our activities, one we could use as code when talking on the phone. We were messing around.

I have a section on our jack off techniques.

Our games had an unexpected consequence that helped us grow sexually. A common penalty was to jack off in a new manner, one that we’d thought up. We had no manuals, guides or even older brothers, and absolutely no knowledge of various sexual positions, but we were willing to try most anything once. If we could imagine it, we’d make the other guy do it. Usually this meant assuming simple or even stupid positions like standing on the couch to jerk off. I remember beating off in a chair but upside down, my legs hung over the chair’s back. I can’t tell you why except that I must have lost a game. Sometimes the position was a bit more complicated but still doable, like perching on all fours over the other guy. Other times it was impossible. Even though we tried, we couldn’t stand on our head, our back leaning against a wall, and successfully jerk off. We didn’t know the right ways and the wrong ways to have sex so we tried every way.

Mike had his own particular solo jacking style. Most times he jacked off using a normal grip but he also liked to rub himself to a climax using the palms of his hands instead. Many times I saw Mike jack off and spend more time rubbing his dick than jerking it. If he had the time, this was his favorite way to get off. It allowed him to use both of his hands. He also would rub his thighs, a hot area for him. He’d start rubbing his dick, thighs and chest, and get rocking away on his butt. To work his dick, he’d get a conveyor belt action going on its bottom side, rapidly bring one hand after the other from his balls up to the tip of his cock. To cum, Mike would go back to using just his right hand to rub his dick, up and down its underside, pressing it against his stomach. He’d work it furiously. At the moment he blasted, he’d either just continue this motion, switch back to a conventional grip, or a couple of times I saw him release his dick and press it between both of his hands as if in prayer, with his thumbs together under its tip. He’d aim and shoot this way, using both of his hands to rub his dick as he was cumming. It was very different and I loved watching him do it. Even if he was jerking his dick in a more conventional manner, and to be sure he was more likely to jack his dick like the rest of us by gripping it, often he’d still be rubbing his body with the palm of his left hand.

Mike even had his own jack off position. Ignoring the times I saw him jack his dick while kneeling, sitting, standing, upside down, on his side, bent into a pretzel to see if he could cum in his own mouth, or hanging by his knees from a chin-up bar, just to name a few, Mike normally jerked off like the rest of us, lying flat on his back. But he also could beat off with his butt in the air and loved to do it. Like the occasions he rubbed himself off, these sessions took more time and were special. They’d start off like normal but at some point he’d bring his feet up to his butt so that his knees were pointing straight up. With his left arm on the ground as a lever, he’d arch his back so that he’d pull his butt off the floor. Using a conventional hand grip, he’d proceed to drive his dick into his right hand. He’d fuck his hand as much as he’d jack his cock. Mike could keep this up. While often his ass would bounce against the ground, I saw him hold it in the air for at least half a minute, fucking his hand all the time, and then, at the moment of cumming, boost his butt up further so that it was over a foot from the floor. Squirting that high meant he shot downhill and all over the place. Afterward his feet would kick back out and his butt would fall to earth. I have no idea of how many times I saw him do this – maybe a dozen – and it was remarkable each time. We deliberately tried incorporating this into me giving him a hand job. Involving me had two advantages. First, he could leave his right arm on the ground, too, and get much better leverage. Second, I could put my free hand under his ass to help hold him up.

Finally, it was from Mike that I learned cum shots can age well. Before Mike I thought jerking off was a sprint. From him I learned it also could be a marathon. Don’t get me wrong. We had many more fifty yard dashes to the finish line between us than long distance races. But when he could, Mike liked to make things last and in this he quickly found a convert. If we had all night, sometimes we’d play with each other for at least half an hour before we finally shot. That’s pretty good for young kids.

With all this experience, over time I believed less and less that Mike’s and my initial jack together was his first. When I questioned him, Mike always defended that it was. As opposed to other times when I could easily tell he was lying, I couldn’t here. Maybe I was wrong and he was a quick learner. An only child, I know Mike spent hours alone in his bedroom beating off on days we weren’t together.

The description of my sexual techniques and preferences will be a short one. I was as plain as the missionary position.

I can't leave you with no sex in a post so here is one of the present tense stories that ends Messing Around With Mike.

I go over to Mike’s house and his mom is home. We go into his bedroom and he locks the door. I’m jealous. I don’t have a bedroom door lock as my family allows each other privacy, but I wonder if my allowance is about to be cut off. Mike’s mom is in the kitchen cooking so he says we are safe here. If we keep it down, we can do what we want as she won’t check up on us. I don’t care if he says this is cool. I still don’t feel comfortable here so we decide to strip down, jerk off with no games and get done quickly. After we take off our clothes, Mike lies on the floor. Kneeling over his crotch, I fall back and sit on his thighs. I shuffle around until our dicks lie next to each other. I grab both of them in my hands and fondle them together. I’ve got two handfuls of boy cocks. Quickly I get us both hard and then jerk them together with my right hand, stroking them as one. They’re slippery devils, tough to keep paired, so after a minute or two I let go of Mike and jerk my own dick. As Mike starts beating his, I back down his legs a hair to give us room. We jack off like this, our dicks still next to each other but now in our own hands. At one point Mike pushes my hand out of the way. I slide back up as he takes our two hardons in his hands and squeezing them together, keeps up the jack. His fingers entwined, Mike’s hands wrap around our dicks as he continues to stroke us up and down. I’d recognize those palms anywhere as I realize he’s palming both of us at once! Mike lets go and once more we each grab our own cock. We jack until we climax, blasting onto his stomach. He cleans up with some tissues. Getting dressed and leaving his bedroom, we’re in there for a half an hour, tops.

We have similar sessions on maybe five or six occasions, jacking off in his bedroom during the day with his mom or both of his parents in the house. It weirds me out every time. Mike’s fine with it, even wanting to continue the time we discover his parents have moved to right outside his bedroom window. They’re sitting in a small outdoor patio, a patio Mike said they never used, having a drink. Mike’s window is high on the wall, transom style, and with a curtain. He says they can’t see in. I say I don’t care and get dressed to go home.
Ending? Who said ending?

We are admittedly in the home stretch but there are plenty of more good stories left, including our best campout - with a thirteen year old girl! - and and 1,700 words on a hand job I gave Mike. It was a great hand job although Mike did most of the work. You'll like it. :cool:

I've got another five or six posts left, depending on how I organize them.
Some guys on this board won't care for this next post. Hey, this is what happened to Mike and me. Hopefully you can enjoy the thrill of discovery that was at the center of this evening.

Our most memorable backyard campout was the night Mike successfully arranged to get the neighborhood tramp to come over. Calling Shelly the tramp isn’t fair. We were three neighborhood tramps. Shelly snuck out of her house around midnight, walking the two blocks over and coming in through the back alley. We first played strip poker - what else? - and I could tell Mike was deliberately trying to lose. He was the first one naked, nervously pushing the hair from his forehead as he sat there, exposed. Shelly was next and as the winner, I made them both stand up outside the tent and show off their nude bodies to me and to each other. I’d never seen a live nude girl my age before. At thirteen, Shelly only had small patch of fuzz on her pussy and the little mounds that were the beginning of boobs but that was enough for me. Back in the tent, Shelly agreed to let us shine a flash light on her to check her out as long as she could do the same to us. Off came the rest of my clothes. This was a tough trade for me. I’d never been naked in front of a girl. My little head made the decision. We sat in a circle, our legs spread wide for each other. We all had flashlights. Mike was still soft. I was hard. Shelly looked beautiful.

After a while of shining lights onto each others’ privates, Mike and I got up close to Shelly’s pussy, my face inches away from it. He spread her almost non-existent pussy lips. Fuck shit fuck, there’s her hole! How would you ever stick a dick through that? Shelly had to point out her clit to us. What did we know? Mike continued to fondle Shelly’s pussy – he tried to stick a finger in her and she stopped him, saying that hurt – while I was too scared to touch her. Shelly demanded equal time. First she went to Mike, getting right over his dick. After she played with it and his balls – even she thought they were huge – Mike was as hard as I was. Then Shelly switched her attention to my cock. She started handling it, not doing much other than pulling it from side to side and checking things out, but that was all I took. Saying, “No, no, no, no, no,” I told her was going to blast. She backed away and I shot up like a geyser. I’d never spurted so much. A puddle lay on the floor of the tent. A few seconds later we all were laughing. OK, they were laughing a lot more than me. After investigating my sperm, Shelly returned to my softening cock. Her touch still made it jump. An hour ago, no girl had seen me naked. Ten minutes ago, one had made me cum. Now she was playing with my dick. To say I was in a daze is an understatement.

But it was Mike who needed her attention. He’d brought along some rubbers this night and he put one on. He wanted to fuck Shelly, and she said she wanted him to, but even I could sense that Shelly was still a virgin. None of us wanted to take the brutal steps required to change that. I’m not sure we even knew how. There would be no fucking tonight. Instead, Mike lay on top of her and rubbed his dick against her tummy. He started humping her and quickly came in the condom. During this time I noticed Shelly had reached down with her hand and was rubbing her pussy. After Mike got off her, I asked Shelly about what she’d been doing. She said she was playing with herself. You mean girls can beat off, too? Wow! Mike and I stared bug-eyed as Shelly went back to masturbating, switching off between her hands, making high pitched, little girl squeaks, and soon climaxing with a squeal. I simply could not believe I was seeing this. (I am supremely fortunate to be able to carry around my brain the movie of a thirteen year old girl rubbing her pussy and having an orgasm. I play it every now and then and it always makes me feel all fuzzy inside.)

Afterward, Mike said he needed to pee and that he wanted to get rid of the spent condom so he put on pants and left. While he was gone, at his insistence because I was still too scared, Shelly and I lay together and felt each other up. God bless you, Mike. I got brave enough to touch her boobs and pussy. Her slit was still wet. Whoa! She played with my dick and balls, getting me hard again. At least this time I didn’t spurt at her touch. After a bit, Mike returned and he and Shelly made out for a while, kissing and letting their hands explore each other. Damn it, we didn’t kiss. When they finished, I made some crack about how I didn’t get a kiss and Shelly leaned over and gave me a tongueful, which, after overcoming the initial shock, I returned. It was my first French kiss. Soon, Shelly left. Mike and I were both so turned on by the evening, we immediately dove into an especially explosive mutual jack off session. We jacked, rubbed and humped the night away, cumming with passion multiple times, recounting the night back to each other in great detail, all while making little girl squeals and then laughing. I had never been so sexually alive in my thirteen year old life.
Let's get back to good ol' fashioned boy on boy sex.

This next story may have been Mike’s and my last time together. I can’t remember. If not, it certainly was near the end. I know I was very upset that Mike was leaving. His family moved out of town soon after this.

Those of you with good memories will remember me playing a mental movie for you of a mutual jack under the avocado tree where Mike and I sat in our favorite position, up close to each other, face to face. It was the first story in this thread. That movie was shot at the end of this session with Mike. I'm reposting the pertinent part after the new story to keep everything on the same page.

Mike comes over and my mom is home. We shoot hoops. Before playing a round of HORSE, we decide the loser will have to jack off the winner five different ways, winner’s choice. I can’t make a shot today and lose miserably. (We’re actually were pretty well matched basketball players. He is taller, bigger and stronger than me but I’m playing a lot of basketball at the Y around this time. I have a better layup where Mike has the better jump shot. My corner baseline shot is deadly. We are both decent from the free throw line. I play better defense because defensively, Mike is a wus.)

We go under to the avocado tree and both strip down. Sitting next to each other on the ground, Mike tells me rub his dick. I reach over with my right palm, getting him hard. Continuing to rub his boner, I get on my knees as my left hand rubs his chest, neck and belly. Next, Mike has me lie on the ground. Kneeling above my head and looking down over me, he moves down so that his dick is above my face, his balls tapping my forehead. He says this is number two. Lifting my right hand, I jack him with a backhanded grip as my thumb hits his pelvis, not my little finger. We’ve used this position a couple of times before and I have to admit, I sort of like it. For number three, Mike gets up and turns around, this time kneeling over my chest, facing me. He then drops down onto all fours, his hardon smashing into my face. I turn my head sideways. Looking back through his arms, Mike tells me to jerk him off. Swinging my head back, I try but there is really no room, his crotch is so low. I know there can be plenty of space between us if Mike is hovering over me on his hands and knees but today he obviously wanted to jam me. His balls are bouncing underneath my chin and the tip of his dick is in my eye. Stroking him, my hand hits my nose. I turn my head back to the side. Fuck Mike for shoving his hard fucking dick into my fucking face. I jerk him the best I can but that’s not saying much.

Laughing at my difficulties, Mike rises back up to his knees. I tell him to keep it down. We’re hiding under a tree, after all. I never let go of his dick and keep stroking him, his cock now waving over me a safe and sane foot away. We do this for a while, trying to reestablish a rhythm. I say this is four. He says it’s three, the other position not working out. After a round of four – three – four – three, it starts turning into an argument, a whispered one but still an argument. The hand job stops as Mike gets off of me, saying that jack wasn’t worth counting and it’s three. I say anytime you shove your boner in my face, that counts. We keep arguing. I know what’s going to happen next. Mike is about to get dressed and leave. He did it before when we had our big fight over this same fucking issue and I’m not going to let him do it again. This asshole doesn’t get to stick his hardon in my face and walk out. Calmly I say, “OK, Mike, you win. It’s three. Now let me give you four.” I squat next to him – he’s sitting on the ground - and casually reach for his dick. But he doesn’t get the fine hand job he he’s expecting. Instead, I turn into a demon and start beating on his dick as hard as I can. Mike’s stunned. I squeeze his cock and yank it for all I’m worth. Here’s your fucking four! I’ve never jacked him violently before. Now shrieking, Mike tries to slide away from my attack but I stay with him, attempting to break his pelvis with the bottom of my hand a few more times. Before he can escape, I let go, shouting at him, “Fuck you!” I bet the neighbors heard that. Mike looks in shock. My fury over, I sit down and from out of nowhere, start to cry. I try to stop but I can’t. It’s just too much. I break down, still looking at Mike, blurred by my tears. I hang my head, sobbing into my hands. Mike doesn’t move. Starting to regain my composure, I grab my t-shirt to wipe my face. I stop crying and sit up straighter, only a few sniffles left. We sit and stare silently at each other for quite a while.

After brushing his hair off his forehead, Mike taps his belly and tells me to come over for five. I know what he means. I move over and jockeying my legs under his, we sit close, our faces only four, maybe six inches apart. I’m about to grab his dick when instead, Mike hugs me. Huh? We never hug each other. I mean, yes, we’ve hugged, mostly in games and during sex, but not like this. Startled, I hug him back, lightly at first, then hard, young boy bear hug hard. He returns the passion, adding his own strength. We hold this for quite a while. Every inch of Mike familiar to me, I’ve rarely touched his soul. I feel my dick turning into a boner and soon there are two. Finally letting go, we keep our left hands on each other’s shoulder and again stare at each other. Mike is smiling. Reaching down and grabbing the other’s dick with our right hand, we jack until we blast. Draped over a tree limb is a well used cum rag we wash out with a hose upon occasion. We use it to clean up and go back to shooting hoops.

In my mind’s eye, we’re naked under the avocado tree and in the middle of jacking each other off. It’s a warm, sunny day and Mike is smiling. He looks me in the eye, inches away, then down at our dicks, and back at me. Mike needs a haircut, with an out of control fan of hair swinging all over his forehead and covering his eyes. I look down to see our right hands going up and down each other’s cock. It’s dark and tight down there. There’s sweat on both of our chests. I raise my eyes back up to see our left arms, over the other’s shoulder, forming a bridge between us. Mike’s smile has turned neutral with his eyes blank as he looks down and to the side, concentrating on the jack. I also feel Mike in this movie. Still looking away, his breath hits my right breast. I feel Mike’s physical heat and hear the short huffs he makes. Our hands constantly bump, our fingers brushing each other’s stomach as they go up and down. He rides my thighs with the beat. We’re dancing. It’s not just our dicks but both of us that are bouncing around. We aren’t jacking each other’s dick. We’re jacking both of our dicks. We’re jacking ourselves. It’s one big jack.

We did have some great sex together. :thumbup1:

No post tomorrow. I have other business to attend to. Go Pack Go.
I thoroughly enjoyed your latest post, Smiley. You may have answered these questions previously, but I am curious if you had any contact with Mike in any way, after he moved away, and if he was straight and married, etc.

Do you think that if he stayed, things would have progressed further, as indicated by two of his ways that you had to jerk him, involved having his hard cock right in your face. Did you think about putting it in your mouth?

Mike obviously made a huge impression on you, as you remember so many intimate details that I'm sure you've played out in your brain, many, many times, over the years.

Great post, Smilie. As we've noted before, we've both had similar experiences, both in the scouts and with my best friend David, as you did with Mike. My experiences were not identical to yours, but when I read your stories, I feel like I'm right there, under the avocado tree with you, silently invisible and watching the action.
Smiley, I have been wondering the same as Mike Yank if you and Smiley ever looked eachother up and visited eachother later in life. Or is there another Chapter coming that we do not know about?:thumbup:
Thanks, Mike. Your contributions to this thread have been invaluable to me. :001_smile:

Yeah, great story. This may be my favorite one in the whole piece. We're so kids and playful and sexy-craved and emotional and needing each other, it just has it all. I'll have more on this particular story, and how it has been stuck in my brain, in the next post.

I don't want to duck your "have you ever seen Mike again?" question but it will be answered in the last post of the story, as will the blow job question regarding our older selves. To answer your immediate question about a couple of young teenagers, if Mike had stayed around, either we would have broken up or, yes, we inevitably would have evolved to oral and anal activities. I don't see any way around it. One, we would have need those new activities to keep our relationship fresh. Two, we would have finally found out a blow job has nothing to do with blowing. Three, Mike's anal fascination would have expanded. The question of are we homos would have finally been answered truthfully: "Fuck it. Maybe so. Who cares?"

Another question I've thought about is what if I was a young teenager and knew Mike today? The pressure on being straight, while still great on young boys, is not as unbearable as it was in Mike's and my day in the 1960s. Would it have been OK to come out to my parents when I was 14? Back then, never. Now? Maybe so. Declaring myself gay when I was 14 would have changed my whole life and I'm not sure for the better. I would love to discuss this with the guys on this board. At that age, I didn't know who I was, sexually. I'm sure there are guys who are a 5 or 6 on the Kinsey scale (here is a great discussion of Kinsey started by David) who knew they were gay at a very young age. Same for heterosexuals. But a few years ago I got into this discussion with my best friend's daughter who, when she was 14, privately declared to me she was a lesbian. I asked her if she was she sure? I didn't know for certain my sexual orientation when I was her age (on Kinsey's scale I now know I'm a 2, leaning towards 1). She admitted she wasn't certain. I recommended against making any broad decisions, reminding her of her Britany Spears phase. :wink: While we have never discussed it further, I see my best friend's daughter is now dating guys. When the time is right, we'll have the conversation again.

If I had come out as gay when I was 14, would that have been the best for me? I don't think it would have been.

I'm not trying to make a recommendation for others. You are your own sexual self. Still, I'd love to hear your opinions here.
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I'll let you know up front this post won't have any sex. Instead I want to talk about memory, specifically regarding the last story under the avocado tree. I hit on this a bit before but learning how to judge the accuracy of memory has been a great revelation to me in writing Messing Around With Mike.

The story started with the movie I played at the end of the last post, of Mike's and my mutual jack off while sitting close under the avocado tree. As I said in the first post of this thread, that is my #1 memory of Mike. A year ago if I'd thought of Mike, that would be the first thing I'd remember. Elsewhere in my beef stew of Mike memories would be two other avocado tree moments: One, of Mike shrieking and desperately trying to slide away as I yanked violently on his cock and, two, getting a hug from Mike. When I started writing my story, these were three separate incidents. About halfway though, as the fog over my memories of Mike lifted, all of these events were suddenly in one day, with my attack on Mike first, then the hug and finally the mutual jack.

But that was just their order in a timeline. Other sections of the timeline were empty. And it wasn't as if I was placing these stories in the timeline. That timeline existed before I started writing my story about Mike. Instead, what's happening is that I am in the middle of remembering a whole session under the avocado tree. What I'm remembering is my previous memory of this day. That old memory is the timeline. In the past I remembered this whole session. It was an important one. And now I'm starting to remember it again.

Over the next week, other parts are revealed. Next to come was knowing these events were right near the end of Mike's and my time together, if not our last session. That realization came from two things. First, I remembered yelling "Fuck you!" to Mike after letting go of his cock, but more, I remember not caring if the neighbors heard me. We didn't have to protect the secrecy of our avocado tree playhouse for much longer. Second, layered in the fond memory of our mutual jack was a desire for this to go on forever and the loss of knowing it was to end permanently. There is a bittersweet quality to the memory of that particular mutual jack with Mike. This won't happen again. It's over.

At that point, the end of this avocado tree session is pretty well locked down. In anger I attacked Mike, beating his dick with force. We broke with me swearing at him. We hugged, and it was Mike that started it. Yes, now I remember, Mike hugged first! Our embrace was deep and passionate, after which we jacked each other off. Very soon after this, Mike's family moved away.

But why were we fighting? I was stuck there for a while and then I remembered "five ways to jack off." With that clue, the whole front half of the day came into focus in a matter of hours. Images of jacking Mike backhanded, followed by him flipped around, kneeling over my stomach while I jacked his cock, with us saying 4-3-4-3, and lastly of his dick being shoved in my face with me trying to beat it, all came into view in my mind. I also strongly remember the anger I felt toward Mike at this moment. That bastard was going to walk out on me because I couldn't properly jack his cock with it slammed into my face. That's why we fought.

These new images fit perfectly into the timeline in my mind. The emotions provide greater color and depth to the memory. And continuing is a strong feeling that I've always know this. I'm just knowing it again now.

Details start filling in the picture, like that the "five ways to jack" penalty was decided before our game of HORSE on the basketball court and our cleaning up with the cumrag at the end. The images are now connecting together, no longer separate ones on a filmstrip but have instead become a continuous memory. I start to write the story. Sometime during an early re-write one last section of the movie popped into place. I remember I broke down crying after attacking Mike, bawling my heart out. I also remember Mike just sitting there, not knowing what to do. The pop psychologist in me knows that this strong emotional upset is probably the whole reason I remember this day and yet it was my deepest buried memory. Remembering it made the timeline complete. In fact, the only part of that story I guessed at was jack #1 and how I got Mike hard. I still can't remember that part of the day but Mike liked to have his dick rubbed so it's a good guess. That I would use my other hand to rub his body was also SOP. Jack #1 had to be something like what I wrote.

I could give you a similar take about remember Mike's and my one big fight, starting with him teabagging me and ending with him humping my face with his hard cock. The only difference was that happened earlier in the process of writing Messing Around With Mike, so that story was revealed through rewrite after rewrite. Every new detail caused me to go back and refine that story. I even have one memory I didn't put in. After Mike's retribution, I remember looking at my watch to see how long it took. With the visual memory of my watch on my arm are the words "18 minutes". I had already written it took about fifteen minutes so I let that stay. I knew if I wrote it took exactly 18 minutes, someone would say, "Come on, you can't possibly remember that. You're making this all up." Too much detail can be a bad thing.

I've never had the experience before of judging the truthfulness of my memory based on whether the memories are new or previous ones. I have deleted thousands of words from Messing Around With Mike because they couldn't pass this test. I wanted this story to be as factual as possible, and in general I don't trust fresh memories of Mike. It has to be an old memory for me to trust that it is real.
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Smiley, I do find your memories of these events to be a fascinating psychological study. Your recollections are interesting of their own accord, as well as jarring memories and feelings regarding my own youth. While commenting on your stories, I've mentioned some of my childhood friends who I "experimented" with as well.

You mentioned that the hug that Mike initiated is your strongest memory of this entire situation. In my boy scout memories, and the period around it, the most important character is Chuck, who was at age 13, and even more so, at 19, the handsomest young man that I've ever encountered in my life. In fact, he set the standard, and I've judged all of my sexual partners in comparison to Chuck.

I never had any true sexual contact with Chuck, and I assume he is a 100% heterosexual man today. As young teenagers, my friends and I would all "goose" each other, which was actually grabbing the other guy's crotch through his pants. I can clearly recall one incident at age 14 or so, in my family living room, sitting on the couch, when I goosed Chuck but held on and felt his cock. He made a comment, about why was I holding it so long, and I instantaneously let go.

As your hug with Mike is a pivotal moment in your relationship, there was an incident which plays out in "the movie in my head", of similar impact. I can't recall our exact age, but I was up in Chuck's bedroom on an afternoon after school, and he showed me some family photos. I was sitting in a chair facing the window in his room. He stood behind me, as I was looking at the photos. He began to describe some of the pictures, and leaned over from behind, and put his right cheek next to my left cheek, and we were actually cheek to cheek. My body and head got very warm, and this moment may have lasted only seconds, or perhaps minutes, but today around 45 years later, I can recall my exact feelings, and the exact position we were in.

My final memory of Chuck was at age 19, during the summer after our first year of college, I went away for a weekend of camping with Chuck, and another friend. Chuck and the other guy, were into tripping on acid, while I had not tried that yet, nor was I ready to that weekend. We camped on an island in the middle of Lake George in upstate New York. It was a hot weekend, and we rented a motor boat to get to the island, and did some water skiing too. For the entire weekend, 19 year old Chuck, wore only a small red swim suit, which is the equivalent of a Speedo today. His smooth, lightly muscled body was on display to me, as was the bulge of his cock in his swim suit. I smoked pot, while they were tripping, and I was sitting next to Chuck, wanting so badly to touch his body, perhaps kiss him, but he was a beautiful young straight guy, and I was gay, and never made the move.

Again Smiley, I appreciate your stories, which certainly conjure up some very strong memories of my own. Thank you.
mikeyank, you are so welcome. :001_smile: You know how much I appreciate your contributions to this thread.

Your stories of Chuck remind me of one from my past I wrote about in Antelope Patrol. This excerpt is true as opposed to much of the fiction in Antelope Patrol. Being Southern California, we had pools instead of lakes. We were 13-15 years old in this story when we were goosing each other, just like your friends and you (Robby, not a Scout with us but who appears in this story, was probably 10 or 11). Different than your experience, I had periodic circle jerks with these guys, just never mutual ones. I've edited it down a little from the original post over on Solo Touch.

The last meeting of the Antelope Patrol's jerk off club was at the Fields' house. We were supposed to have weekly patrol meetings, and this week's meeting was in the Field's back yard. The Fields had a swimming pool and the Antelope Patrol was all for that. We liked to swim. Fun things happened when we swam, activities made more likely by the tall privacy fence around the Field's pool. The meeting at the Fields' house was the core five members of the patrol: Dave and Don Fields, Barry, Stookey and me, plus Curt. Also home that day was another Fields, youngest brother Robby. Robby looked just like Don, only smaller and even thinner. We started out swimming in the pool normally, being good boys and proper. Curt showed us some fancy dives. Mrs. Fields got ready to run errands, leaving eldest brother Dave to keep us in line. After she left, the fun started. I can remember Don showing us how he could dive into the pool and lose his trunks. Barry was easily thin enough to pull off the same trick. Don and Barry kept adjusting things and diving in until they got they got their suits to come all the way off their feet. Curt was more direct. He stood on the end of the diving board and stripped off his suit, throwing it to the side. Curt proceeded to see how high he could jump up and down on the springy board. He easily flew three feet into the air. It seemed like his soft dick went up four. Curt did a cannonball for his dive. I hoped that didn't hurt. We roughhoused in the pool, dunking and goosing each other, trying to get each other naked. I remember us ganging up on Stookey, stripping him of his suit. At some point, I was stripped of mine, too. Soon, all seven of us, including young Robby Fields, were naked in the pool. One of the pair of swimming trunks had been thrown onto the roof of the house although the Fields brothers said they'd have no trouble getting them down. Besides a game of horse diving, where you had to duplicate another boy's dive off the diving board, there was more grab-ass, aka naked-boy-water-wrestling. We tried to avoid Curt as he would latch onto any loose, floating body part. It was tough since he swam like a dolphin. After a while, we got out of the pool, grabbed towels and went into the Fields brothers' bedroom.

Those were young, fun days when casual genital contact was often a harmless diversion. We'd grab another guys cock or balls underwater just to give him a squeeze. And as opposed to Chuck, nobody told us to stop. :tongue_smilie:

OK, guys. Get your dicks out. With my 6", I say I'm the biggest.

In this next part, I make a bold statement and if there is anybody who can knock me down, it's someone from this group. Post it if you've got it. Otherwise, I'm Cock Of The Walk.

These next three stories begin Part 6 and are right in the middle of the present tense stories that end Messing Around With Mike.

The basic session for Mike and me: After school we get together, his place or mine, on the basketball court, under the avocado tree, inside or someplace else. For maybe ten or twenty percent of these sessions, we just drop our pants and jack ourselves off. If we have the time and it’s safe, we play a stripping game. The loser performs a simple dare. Sometime along the way, the other guy gets naked, too. We jack off using our own hand, each others, or both in all kinds of variations. We shoot, if outside on the ground or if inside, probably on ourselves, and clean up with a rag or tissues afterward. If schoolwork demands it, we stop there. But more often than not, we have the luxury of some more time and we’ll each blast once again. We get dressed. The visitor goes home. No kinky games, no public nudity, nothing too weird, just jacking off once or twice each. These simple sessions account for at least half the times we mess around and likely two-thirds. Multiply this by our frequency. During the first year we get together a minimum of twice and up to five times a week. It seems like we’re always together. When you start figuring it out, at the bare minimum we have at least 200 orgasms each while together and realistic projections say it could be double that. Through writing this piece, I now assume that when I was thirteen and fourteen, I climaxed 300 times or more with another boy. I know of no young teenager more sexually active than me. Mike and I tie for that honor.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Mike comes over and says he can’t mess around today. He has an open sore on his dick. I check it out and it doesn’t look too bad, but yes, there is a wet, red, round spot on his cock where there’s no outer skin. He comes up with a song and dance about how he got his skin caught in the zipper of his pants. I don’t believe a word of it. He’s just rubbed his dick raw because he likes beating off so much. I’m sure this is what happened because I’ve jacked my dick raw, too. I’m even more certain when a couple of days later he still can’t mess around because the open spot, instead of healing, has gotten bigger. Stop beating your dick, Mike!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Mike comes over and my mom is home. Under the avocado tree, Mike is pissed when I deliberately blast onto his hair. I shouldn’t have done it but what do I know about relationships at fourteen? My best relationship is with the family dog and I have to be nagged just to feed her. In general we restrain our teenage aggression and treat each other with compassion and respect. Sometimes, though, we go out of our way to annoy and even infuriate the other boy. My regard for Mike doesn’t stop me from smashing my dick in his face or cumming in his hair. It’s all part of the game, right? I have yet to learn the answer is sometimes yes and sometimes no, and can be both at the same time. We’re too young for an adult affair, clearly having the sexual and emotional maturity of fourteen year olds. Mike and I don’t have a relationship as much as an understanding, an unspoken agreement to explore our sexuality. We can suggest any act to the other boy and not get laughed at. While we will yell at each other, we never ridicule. More basic is our bargain to stroke each other’s dick, either during these explorations or just for fuck’s sake. It is the perfect arrangement for two young, horny bastards.

Through this partnership, our appreciation for each other has grown. We were friends for a year before we started messing around, and the reasons I was initially attracted to Mike also make him good as a sex partner. He’s stronger than me, both in his will and physical body. He’s also soft being a mama’s boy, as am I. We like touching each other a lot. He’s funny, lusty, quick-witted and outgoing. Other times he can be the perfect sullen teenager and I connect with that side of him completely. I also find Mike very attractive. While not a surfer, with his straight dirty blond hair falling over his young teen face, he’s got the look down pat. Add his skinny boy body and Mike’s hot. Since we’ve started having sex, our friendship has grown to one of warm, close fondness. We are attached, but are we in love with each other? Maybe puppy love. Our depth of feeling isn’t that deep and I’m not sure I’m capable of feeling adult love at this age. Even if we are in love, we never would allow ourselves to express it. We’re into girls, remember? Sure we have a sexual co-dependency thing going on, with “you jerk my dick and I’ll jerk yours.” But we are emotionally co-dependent, too. Mike is the only person in the world with whom I can be tender. He makes me feel good, and at an age when I’m often uncomfortable in my own skin, I long for that. He accepts me when I often can’t do that for myself. I need Mike’s affection, support and, yes, love.

After Mike jacks off, crowning me with his hair cream, we emerge from beneath the tree half dressed to wash out our hair with a garden house. We agree from now on to make the top of our heads blast-free zones.
This is it, folks. We are almost over with Messing Around With Mike. In the next few posts I will be giving you all of Part 7, the last section of my story.

We'll start with the last of the present tense stories and is another compilation one, centering on one of our slave days. Because of board limits, I will have to break this story into two parts. The hand job that is the center of this story came late in our time together. It may have taken place on the day we skipped school to mess around. We ended up at my house that day and that's where that great hand job took place. Some of the details within that jack happened on other days. I had to make this a good one as this is the last sex story in the piece. The rest of the slave day, the parts involving food, was from an earlier session and is just like it happened.

Mike comes over and my folks are out of town. It’s going to be another slave day and we play a game of strip HORSE to find out who will be. I lose the game and my clothes. I’m his slave. Mike first gives me a spanking, telling me slaves need to be beaten. He slaps me really hard this time and it ends up stinging quite a bit. Just have a fight with your mom, Mike? Letting me up, Mike tells me to get the whipped cream out of the ‘fridge. I tell him we don’t have any. For a second, I think he’s going to get mad but instead he smiles and says, “What else have you got?” We go into the kitchen. It’s a sign of the frequency of Mike’s and my games that I’m getting used to walking around my house nude. He grabs a jar of strawberry jam from the refrigerator and starts to laugh. “Bring a knife,” is all he says as he heads back to the den. Mike then ties my hands behind my back. I see what’s coming and am both nervous and excited. After removing his clothes, Mike lies on the floor and spreads the jam over his chest. I’m told to lick it off and I try the best I can. What doesn’t make it in my mouth lands on my face. It is an awkward position plus I’ve never licked a guy’s nipples before. Shit, I’ve never licked anybody’s nipples before. Mike then spreads some jam on his lower abdomen, right above his pubes. Again he tells me to lick it off and I do, managing not to fall face first into his crotch. Clearly disappointed with my success, a grinning Mike uses the knife to spread jam on his dick. I say there’s no way I’m licking that off. I never made you eat whipped cream off my dick, I complain. We negotiate. I agree to just wipe off the jam instead. As I’m bound, I expect Mike will do this in a way I’d rather he didn’t but, hey, I’ve seen his dick from zero inches away before. I get a reprieve as instead, Mike leads me into the bathroom. He helps me to my knees and after washing my face, puts a wet washcloth in my mouth. Standing in front of me, he tells me to clean off the jam. I try. This is different and although it really doesn’t work, the point has been made. We’re now even. He unties me and I finish cleaning him up with the rag in my hand, wiping leftover jam off his dick and upper body.

We go back into the den. Mike says this might be a good day to spread out towels. Oh, good, we like messy. I get out the blue towels from my bathroom and cover the couch. I’ll wash them when we’re done. Mike lies on the couch, his head to my right as I stand there, and tells me to play with his cock. I knell down beside him. I rub him as much as I jack him, knowing how much he likes having the bottom of his dick rubbed by the palm of a hand, be it his or mine. I jack him for a while and then rub him for a while. Mike’s hands join in so occasionally we have four palms giving him a workout. He rubs himself while I’m working on more sensitive areas. At one point I’m jacking his dick and fingering his nipples while he is pressing the butt of his hands deeply into his thighs. A minute later we’ve switched and he’s beating his dick while I’m stroking the rest of his body.

I can already tell today it’s going to take forever to make Mike cum, watching him squirm, writhe and moan while approaching an orgasm. He doesn’t moan as much as he pants. He speeds up his breathing, grabbing air in short, hurried bursts. When he’s guttural, it sounds like a grunt. Today, he’s huffing. His body is already completely in motion. Having brought his feet up to his butt, thrusting his knees into the air for support, it becomes a little hard to jack Mike as he starts fucking my hand, his pelvis bouncing off the couch to meet my stroke. I have to match his rhythm just to keep his dick in my fist but once I do, his panting becomes quicker, louder and more emphatic. I place my left hand under his ass to help hold him up. With his movements and breathing unifying to become a single expression of sexual energy, I know he is close to shooting.

But not just yet. This afternoon, Mike repeatedly stops short of cumming, usually well short as it is easier to keep the pot from over-boiling if you turn the heat down early, and then breaks it all back down. He forces himself to relax and lie back flat on the couch, reining in his desire. This time before backing away, Mike got closer to a climax than he might have wanted and has to work hard to slow himself down. Nothing is slower than a time out and he calls three in a row.

Next Mike asks me to just rub him, staying away from his dick. I love these parts. I can roam his body, working everything from his face to his feet. I start narrowing my focus, first going to his nipples and then to his lower abdomen. This allows me to run my fingers through his pubes, which have never felt finer, in both senses of the word, and fondle his balls. Rubbing the inside of his thighs, I tell Mike to spread his legs. Standing over him, in one hand I roll his balls with my fingers while the other provides the lightest touch over the territory south of there, even reaching back to gently finger his asshole today, something I’ve seldom done before. He raises his hips to provide me entry and as he lowers them back down, he wiggles his ass to push my finger in deeper. I drop his balls and use that hand to give his taint a further workout. I’m almost upside down, bent over Mike, leaning on my elbow, my arm extended under him. Driving my finger in as far as it can go, I concentrate on this part of Mike for a change. So does Mike. He starts rocking back and forth on my hand. I find my finger can go in further. His knees splayed wide, my other hand continues to rub that sensitive space between his legs. This is certainly different. We’ve never done this before. After awhile, I remove both of my hands, knell back down on the floor and return to rubbing my palms on Mike’s belly and thighs. We start all over again.

- continued in the next post -
- the rest of the story -

I am in awe as Mike goes for well over an hour. It’s forever in fifteen-year-old-boy-blast-fast-and-often time. Mike loves to ride that rollercoaster. I would have jumped the tracks long ago. Eventually I realize this is our last climb up the hill. With my head lying on Mike’s stomach, looking down at his dick, we’re locked in the jack with a great rhythm going, our pushing and pulling in perfect sync. We’re one. Now let’s try and do it in the third dimension. His feet and knees coming back up, Mike’s butt is off the couch and in motion, forcing me to straighten up. Staying on my knees and putting my hand under his ass, I start pushing up to reinforce his stroke. My other hand comes down on his dick. We start off slowly to keep together and build up speed and power. Now it’s time to get serious. I switch my rhythm so instead of my two hands coming together in opposition, smashing his pelvis between them, I start moving them in unison to match Mike’s motion. He responds by driving his dick deeper into my fist. His ass is no longer resting on my left hand but jumping off it. I’m working hard just to keep ahold of his torso. Mike’s pants become yeahs, more emphatic with each breath. He’s not fucking my hand, he’s fucking me. With every stroke his thrusts feel crisper and his gasping becomes quicker. He’s moving so hard and fast I can’t keep up. I let him take over completely and just try to surf his sexual wave, although I actively keep holding up his ass and I certainly don’t let go of his dick. Pushing even more fiercely, his panting now sounds like a steam train at full throttle. His whole body is a spasm. It’s past time. With a giant “FUCK”, Mike’s butt rises further, forcing me to let release his cock but now with two hands free, I push his ass up high, well above his knees. Spunk explodes out of his dick, shooting wildly as it jerks. His first shot lands two feet over his head on the end table. One burst hits the wall. His chest and arms are streaked in white as more sperm continues to rain down over everything. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” With my gentle support, Mike’s butt slowly falls to the couch as his feet slide back down. His arms now rise, fingertips bouncing over his body. “Fuck…fuck…” His right hand lands on his oozing dick, stroking it dry. Mike’s breath is still hurried but his motion is settling down. He gives out a last sigh of “motherfuck...” Both of Mike’s arms fall to the couch. He is finally still.

Getting off my knees, I sit on the floor. I hear my dog barking outside. Without thinking about it, I raise my hand to grab Mike’s. It’s an expression of affection we’ve never used before. He squeezes my hand back. We sit there quietly as Mike’s breathing returns to normal. He turns his head to look at me and smiles. I start to smile back but there, look there – it’s all over his eyes and smile – there’s that expression of ecstasy I was looking for in our first time together. I want to kiss Mike, I really do. But I don’t. I squeeze his hand instead. We sit, time passing slowly. Raising his head, looking around and chuckling, Mike says, “Nice blast,” and asks me for something to clean up his spunk. I let go of his hand and grab my underwear, which are lying next to me on the floor, and pass them to him. Slowly rising to a sitting position, Mike gets up off the couch, telling me it’s my turn to jerk off. He also thanks me for the jack. That stops me. I mean, he did all the work…no, wait, maybe I did have a hand in it.

Mike rambles into the kitchen, looking for a glass of water. I replace him on the couch, feeling his warmth left there from his jack, and start beating off. After a brief stop in the bathroom to do some basic clean up, Mike returns and sits in a chair, sipping his water and watching me jack. He comes back from Nirvana and remembers he’s master of the day. After I climax, a great one for me but a pitiful one compared to Mike’s, he orders me to jerk off again. I barely stop, obeying his desire. After my second blast, Mike tells me to use my underwear to clean up the mess, his and mine, as remnants of Mike still dot the room. Allowed to go to the bathroom to pee and wash up, I return to sit on the couch and finish a diet soda pop I opened earlier.

Looking at each other, Mike’s eyes wander to the jar of strawberry jam that’s been left on the coffee table. His eyebrows raise and Mike’s smile of contentment is replaced by one from the devil. Grabbing the jam and the knife, Mike sits back down and orders me to stand in front of him. Using the knife and his hands, he smears the jam it all over my dick, balls, butt, ass crack and pubes, rubbing it in to make one real ugly mess. Yuck! Telling me to get dressed, I put my cum-stained underwear on over my jammed up junk. Getting dressed himself, we go out to the basketball court and shoot multiple games of one-on-one, playing until Mike gets tired and goes home. Defending the basket, he gooses me a couple of times to remind me of the disaster he left in my shorts. Don’t worry, Mike, I notice it every time I move, plus jam stains have started bleeding through my jeans. I drive a layup in and right over him, getting what little revenge I can. After I’m freed from slavery, I take a shower, starting fully dressed, and jerk off one more time in the bathroom. This afternoon has been quite the turn on. Doing a load of laundry before mom and dad get home erases the strawberries and cream evidence, as does touch up paint for the wall. I throw out the rest of the jam. God knows where that knife has been.

I hate to tell this to you but the tender moment at the end of Mike's hand job is a writer's fabrication. I wanted to have an arc to my story and reference back to our first time together, which begins Messing Around With Mike. I don't feel bad making this up as Mike and I had many tender moments of quiet intimacy, along with moments of complete ecstasy together while cumming. Call this section another compilation.