I took a deep breath, got up (there was no way this was going down with me lying beside him on the floor) and walked over to the sofa and sat down. Long silence. What could I tell him? What might open a door without letting too much of who I was out of the bag before I got feedback? What feedback did I expect?
"I'd like to tell you about elementary school." Another long pause. I wasn't getting very far, was I? David sensed my problem.
He said, "I'd love to hear any story. If it is important to you, then I'm glad you want to share it with me."
What was he telling me? Did he have any idea where this was going, or was he just saying vague kindnesses? Another deep breath. "I used to play strip poker with some of the neighborhood kids back in about fifth grade."
David asked, "Girls, boys, both?"
"I don't know where we would have found willing girls. This was just boys. It started with two kids that lived up the street, brothers. One a year old than me, one a year younger. I'm not sure how it started. I think they must have played together before, and perhaps with an older cousin they had. In any case, we decided to play strip poker."
The story took about forty minutes to tell. Beginning with the two brothers, a small group of us had played strip poker, leading to various kinds of physical teasing of the naked loser. It was more teasing that eroticism, and died when the key players moved, we all moved on to junior high school, and most importantly, I think, began to reach puberty.
David was a rapt listener throughout, asking appropriate questions and encouraging me with my story. I had pretty much reached the end when it was dinner time. We went off to his kitchen where we ate some left-over pork roast and various goodies that only teenagers would put together in a single meal-with Coke to drink (never allowed in the 1950's as the mealtime beverage if your parents were home).
I sat there eating, listening to the silence. I was thinking how stupid I had been to expose myself as I had. What was David thinking? Would he tell anyone?-it wasn't exactly the kind of story that I could afford to have going around school. David was looking at me most intently. I really liked David. I had believed I could trust him. Now I had no choice.
"David, please don't share any of that story with anyone."
"Did you really think I would?"
"No, I didn't, or I wouldn't have told it. But having come this far I'm scared."
"Don't be. I'm not sure why you told me the story, but I recognize that telling it showed a great trust in me. I take that as a big compliment."
"Thanks. It is."
After a while David asked, "Have you finished? Or is there more to the story?"
"I don't know. I guess there is a part two, but it encompasses only one afternoon."
"It is a much more embarrassing story. I don't know if I can."
"All I can promise is that I will listen, and will not throw it back in your face."
"I'm not sure why I'm telling you all this."
"Neither am I. But you started for a reason. I don't think that reason has changed."
"What do YOU think the reason is?"
"Charlie, I, I, I think something sexual is trying to start. I can't believe I just said that. But you don't start talking about sex unless sex in on your mind. Am I right?"
"If you are right, can you handle it?"
"Charlie, we are getting nowhere. There is a round two to your story. You want to tell it. I want to hear it."
"I'm not sure I want to tell it."
"Yes, you do. You may be fearful and embarrassed. But you wouldn't have told me there was more if deep in your heart you hadn't wanted to tell me."
"Give me a little time to get my thoughts together. This happened after school one day in the fall of ninth grade. It had to have been a Friday, because school got out early on Fridays and that was the only day that there would have time for this to have happened between school and dinner.
"A boy from school, also in ninth grade, came over after school to play. We often did that, and one parent or the other would drive the visitor home, often after having him for dinner. Billy was my guest that afternoon. Classes at Parsons school were very small, sixty ninth graders, including thirty boys. We all knew each other, but Billy and I hadn't been real close. But we had been back and forth to each other's houses, gone to a couple of movies together, and so forth. We sat around my room, my bedroom, and talked, played a couple of board games, and were a little bored. Billy said, 'Llet's bet on the next game.' I think the game may have been Clue."
"Did you really play Clue?" asked David. "So did I, but the game comes down to a fairly routine formula for solving the crime, and if the other guy doesn't know the formula you can win well over half the games. Once you know that, the game isn't much fun."
"You're right, but I'm not sure that I knew that then. In any case, I don't remember having any big advantage over Billy in game strategy that day. So here is the second part of my story:
I asked Billy what he wanted to bet. "Money?"
His answer floored me. He said, "Torture."
"What?" I almost whispered.
"Torture, like a game, not hurting people. If I win, I get to torture you. If you win, you get to torture me. You can't hurt the other guy; just tickle, tease, and stuff."
"Have you done this before?" I asked.
"A few times. I think that Sam started it. Sam likes to build roads on people's chests."
"Roads? Oh, yeah, I know. By the time you dig, scrape, shape, pour, roll, and finish the road from the belly button to one of the tits you have turned the guy's chest red and tickled him to death."
"You in?" asked Billy.
"Let me get the rules straight. If you lose, I can pretty much do anything I want to you as long as I don't seriously harm you or anything like that?"
"Yeah. To begin let's set a 3 minute time limit."
"OK. Torture Clue it is."
He beat me and built a road. He made me take my shirt off and built the road on my chest, beginning at my belt buckle. He was good; it alternated between hurting and tickling. Every time he tickled me and I moved my arms to stop him he would roll me over and spank me-once if I had moved one arm and twice if I had moved two. Three minutes went by pretty fast, and we started a second game.
At this point I was getting pretty horny, though Billy hadn't introduced any sexual aspects of the game. I won the next game and debated what to do with Billy. I thought of removing more of his clothes than he had, but I was afraid to go that far. In the end I did unto him what he had done unto me, except that he was good at not moving his hands and I never had a chance to spank him.
I won the next game too. I started a second road, this time starting at his neck and heading down. I didn't really want to stop at his belt buckle, but I hadn't gotten up the nerve to pass it. It frustrated me that I couldn't tickle him enough to get him to move his hands. Without really thinking I grabbed at his groin. Boy did his hand pop down to protect himself. I said, "Ha, gotcha. Now you get spanked." He rolled over but instead of spanking him, I goosed him good.
Then he rolled back on his back and put his hands over his dick pretending to protect himself. That seemed to be my clue, and I said, "The deal was that I could do anything. You made me take off my shirt; take off your pants. He looked at me and rolled his eyes, but he complied. I was almost shaking, wondering where this would go, but I took a chance and said, "Now your underpants."
Almost to my surprise he complied. He was about half-hard, but when I tickled his dick he got hard immediately. Then the three minutes were up.
I guessed that this was the moment of truth. I asked, "Another game?"
"OK." He got dressed and we were ready to play. He said, "Let's make the time five minutes if we are going to play like that."
"OK." I won this game too. Maybe I did know the right formula for playing Clue. I looked at Billy and said, "Back the way you were." This was now almost exactly like my strip poker sessions of four years earlier. And I basically did to Billy what we did to each other back then.
David interrupted me for the first time since his comments about playing Clue. "Why didn't you jerk him off? I thought that was where this was headed."
"David, I had just turned 14. I didn't really know what jacking off was. I had never done it. Boys at school were just beginning to talk about it, but only obliquely. I was pretty naive back then. I think most of us were." Let me go on:
In any case, Billy let me play with him. I forgot about road building and twisted his dick, bent it, tickled it and his balls. I hit it, pinched his nipples, pulled his public hair (we hadn't had that back in fifth and sixth grades), but concentrated on his dick.
Billy won the next game. He got on top of me, unbuttoned my shirt, opened my pants, pulled down my shorts, and went to work. He did none of the torture or teasing stuff. He tickled my dick and balls, and my nipples some, and then started stroking my dick up and down. I honestly had no idea what he was doing. But it was so different from the previous games. Before I had had to steel myself from being tickled, swatted, pinched, and so forth. Now it felt good! I laid back and just relaxed. I remember thinking, if I have to let him play for five minutes, and it is like this, I guess I'll just enjoy it. It feels good.
Abruptly, I was the most embarrassed ninth grader you can imagine. I came all over my stomach and chest as well as Billy's hand. I had never seen cum in my life. Here it was all over, and in front of Billy. He certainly had "won" Torture Clue! I got up, went to the bathroom as fast as I could with my pants down around my ankles, and cleaned up with toilet paper. Billy had the decency not to say, "Hey, I've got a minute left."
I came back to my room. I must have looked very sheepish, but nothing was said by either of us. We have never mentioned the incident to each other to this day. I would have been very vulnerable to Billy teasing me and telling others, but he never did. That afternoon I suggested we go down the basement. We did, and we played ping pong until time for him to go home.
In the next few days my thoughts of the incident all focused on my embarrassment. But after a week or so, I began to think about how I had thought it felt good as Billy jacked me off-I had been able to put a name to the event. I decided to try it myself, and the rest is, as they say, history.
David had listened intently through the telling of my story. Now he sat silently. At last he spoke. "Thank you for telling that. I promise that no one will ever hear the story unless you tell it again. I won't." More silence, and then he went on, "I need to think about this before I respond."
I was sitting in his sofa, a deep one that was a little hard to rise out of. He walked over, put out both hands to mine and firmly, but slowly, lifted me up to a standing position. Then, even more slowly, he leaned toward me and kissed me gently on the cheek.
Zowie! What the Hell did that mean? I simply didn't know. My mind raced but didn't go anywhere. I had rarely been kissed by anyone except family, and in our family men didn't kiss. I really think that this was the first time (since I was a baby, I suppose) that a male had kissed me. I wasn't ready for it. I just stood there.
David sort of smiled and said, "It's late. I'll call you tomorrow."
It wasn't that late-only about 8:00 p.m.-but clearly David was ready for me to leave. As I walked out his door-without another word being said-a whole bundle of thoughts raced around my head. His promise relieved one of my fears. I knew I could trust David, and I was sure that he would keep his promise never to repeat the story. But the other fear was still there: that I had crossed a line, and that in crossing it I had put our friendship at risk. The evening ending so abruptly certainly made me consider this a real possibility. That would hurt almost as much as his blabbing the story all over school next week. Was it a goodbye kiss? And then there was the nagging question of what his response would be. Was his kiss a response? If so, what did it mean? When he said he would call tomorrow, did he mean to "respond," as he put it. Or did he mean just a routine, "Whatcha doin'?" type call? I didn't have a clue.
I stepped out the front door, walked to the street and climbed into my mother's 1951 Packard sedan. Big, even for the fifties. When we had bought it I was eleven years old, and my mother said that it was going to last for ten years. Telling this story in 2005 I can assure you that it did last the ten years, and a little more. Ran great the whole time. As a teenager I loved it. It would seat an army, had tremendous power-a straight-eight engine-and I had had it up to 100 mph on a deserted (late at night) straightaway I knew on the edge of town. It outperformed most of the little sporty cars of the day, including the Studebaker Silver Arrow that my father owned and which was the other car I got to drive. I think that my mind turned to the car to suppress real fear.
I started the engine and was about to drive off when David's front door flew open and David raced out, waving for me not to drive away. I sure as Hell didn't. He came down to the car, and I opened the window. "Come back inside. We can't leave it like this."
Questions running through my head, I stopped the engine, got out, and walked toward the house. David fell in beside me and took my hand. He squeezed it a little two or three times as we walked back to the house.
We went in and he closed the door. When the latch clicked he said, "I didn't know what to say. I still don't. I think you're scared and so am I. But I couldn't let you leave like that-even though I thought I needed time to think. Hell, I still do need time to think. But you deserve more than I gave you."
I was getting all kinds of positive vibes from all of this, but he still hadn't said anything that really told me anything.
"Turn around," he said.
"Turn around." I wasn't sure where this was going, but I decided to trust him. I slowly turned around. When my back was to him he stopped me. Then he leaned his body next to mine and we were touching. His groin was pushed hard against my butt. I thought I could feel a hard-on but I wasn't sure. He wrapped his arms around my chest, slowly, and hugged. Then his right hand began to slide lower, across my stomach and down to my belt buckle. He slipped his hand inside the waist band of my pants, being careful to get under the waist band of my Jockeys as well. My heart pounded-or did it stand still? Must have been one or the other, because I was ready to burst. If he pushed down any further he was going to encounter a very hard dick. He did. He just touched it lightly, and then he withdrew as slowly as he had pushed his hand in.
I turned around and started to speak, but he put his hand-the one that had just touched my dick-to my mouth indicating silence. "I'll talk," he said, "but only a little. Then I do want you to go. I couldn't let you leave wondering where you stood. You took a chance with your story and you need to know it was received, understood, and appreciated. As we walked back to the house I thought maybe holding your hand might tell the story. I had thought the kiss would. But neither really tells you anything. Both could be misinterpreted. I don't think my hand was the least bit ambiguous. I still have to think, hard and maybe long, about how I want to respond. I have no idea where this is going, or where I want it to go, and I certainly have no idea where you want it to go. I need to think. So do you. But now I have shown you where I stand. We'll go from there. Good night, Charlie. I thank you for the story more than you know."
And that was it. I walked to the car, started it, and drove off. No last minute reprieve with the door flying open and David running out. Just the road, the headlights, and the few other cars out in that residential neighborhood now that rush hour was well over. It was only about six minutes home. I came in and went up to my room. My parents were watching TV, and all they wanted was a "Hello, I'm home." They got it, and I was in my room, sitting in my easy chair, trying to figure out the events of the afternoon and evening.
To begin with, even though I had thought of telling the strip poker story, I couldn't really believe I had done it. And I had never even considered telling the Billy story. It embarrassed me so, I don't know how I told it. But telling the first story had felt good. It was wonderful to let out a locked up secret. I guess I got on a roll. Now I wasn't sure how to stop the roll, or if I wanted to. I went to bed with all of those thoughts, and quietly jacked off as I went to sleep.
The next morning I wanted to call David; I almost did. But he had said that he would call me and I decided that I had to let him do it in his own time. That was about ll:00, which on an ordinary Saturday morning would have been about when I was getting up. But I had gone to bed early, and sleep had come only through the soporific effect of masturbation. My restless thoughts had awakened me early and kept me awake
David's call was quick. "I want to take you to lunch. A decent place where we can talk. How about Carl's?"
"OK. I'd like that. It might be crowded on a Saturday noon."
"If we go now, it won't be. Can you get a car and pick me up?"
"I'm sure I can. If there is a problem, I'll call you. Otherwise, see you in about ten minutes."
A quick conversation with Mom achieved both permission and a car-but it would be the Studebaker not the Packard. I made it to David's in the allotted ten minutes, without having to speed-too much. Nobody drives anywhere at 25 mph. David was ready and came out to the car. We didn't even try small talk, so we were pretty silent as we drove the ten more minutes to Carl's.
Carl's was a nice restaurant with a large fifties drive-in attached. They worked from the same building, under the same management, but were completely separate operations with separate kitchens. David and I often came to the drive-in late at night for a hamburger and shake. But today David indicated that we were going inside with the white tablecloths.
David started. "I had to think by myself before I could talk to you. You really opened your heart last night. I'm not sure I can do that. In my own way I want to try, but not now. As our relationship grows, I promise to try."
Well, I guess that was it. He was talking about a relationship that would grow. That just about wiped out all of my fears. I still had many questions, and I wasn't sure where we were going. But my real fears simply fell away. "David, I want to start with one question. It has been bothering me all morning. Why did you call me back last night and touch me, down there?"
"When I opened my front door to stop you from driving away I had no idea what I was going to do. But I had the feeling that my kiss had not communicated what I wanted it to. I still wasn't ready to talk, but I had to give you more. We held hands coming back in, but that didn't cut it. When I faced you, I knew what I had to do. You had crossed the spoken line; I would cross the physical line. I did, and when I did it, I became as vulnerable as you. With that, I could let you go for the evening. I didn't want to, but I simply wasn't ready."
"Are you now?"
"I'm all ears."
"I guess these next words are what I thought about all night. I had to face the question of whether they were true, and whether I could, and should, share them with you. But, as I said, I'm ready." This was followed by a long silence. Then, " I''m homosexual. I really have no interest in girls. They don't interest me sexually, boys do. Quite frankly, you do. So when you started your story yesterday, I was completely caught off guard. I wanted to grab you and hug you, and probably rip all the clothes off you. It took all of my willpower to just kiss you on the cheek and then stop. But I was afraid to go further. It meant exposing myself, and it meant opening myself to your rejection.
"After a night's thought, I realized I had nothing to fear. It was clear that you were afraid of exactly the same things, and that we needed to share those fears. And as we share them we will realize that they are groundless. And now, having said all that, I'm ready to eat!"
We did. David had made it clear that I was his guest for dinner. Not wanting to stiff him with a large bill, I ordered grilled chicken. David protested, "God damn it! This is a celebration, you order a steak or I'll stuff your chicken right up your ass."
This was not the David I knew. It was a bolder young man, more sure of himself, and sure of me. I knew right then I was in love.
Love. I didn't have a clue. I guess now in my sixties I still don't have a clue. How many of us do? The lucky ones. And yet I think I have been one of the lucky ones, and I still don't think I have a clue. Love just happens. The lucky ones recognize it. The luckier ones are able to do something about it. And the luckiest of all get it back. That day at Carl's restaurant I got lucky-I recognized it. But two high school boys, in love, in 1957, in the Midwest.... Well, let's just say that we weren't yet at the stage that we could do much about it.
But I did my best and ordered a large T-bone steak, very rare, and enjoyed every bite. David did the same. I think that there was a tacit agreement that we wouldn't try to talk and eat. But as the plates were taken away we knew that the time for serious talk had arrived. We both started at once, each of us saying approximately, "Where do we go from here?"
Where indeed? Both of us paused a little, and then both said, at almost the same time, "To bed?"
Was it really that simple? Well, yes and no. We found that for each of us it really was that simple. But we also found, and continued to find throughout the remainder of high school, that finding the time and place was never simple.
That day both of us had parents at home. So we either had to find someplace else or wait until another day. Waiting was, for us, out of the question. Two underage boys checking into a hotel was simply not in the cards. So we got in my car and drove out of town. We figured that we would find a place. The weather in mid-October was warm and the ground was dry. East of town was some farmland with patches of woods. We found a place to park near a woods. It was completely deserted, and we simply walked into the woods. We found a little clearing with some grass and we both knew, at once, that this was the place.
I looked at David, and he stared back, dividing his time between my eyes and my groin. I simply watched his eyes. David said, "Do we play strip poker? Perhaps Torture Clue?" I grinned and suggested that we had neither a Clue game nor a deck of cards. But I was wrong, David did have a deck of cards, which he had evidently put in his pocket just for this occasion.
He handed me the cards and I tossed them into the grass. "No cards, and no games. I want you to take your clothes off because you want to, not because you lose a game. And I will take mine off for the same reason." I started unbuttoning my shirt, and he slipped his sweat shirt over his head. Since we each had on only one shirt, we were quickly bare to the waist. We hugged and felt our naked torsos for the first time. And we kissed. It was nothing like the little kiss of the night before. It was on the lips. Neither of us had ever kissed anyone passionately before, and we learned slowly. Eventually, our tongues found their ways into each others mouths, and the exploring began.
While the kissing was wonderful, and I don't think that I will ever forget that "first kiss," our minds were really on other things. We broke apart and began to unbuckle our belts. I said, "I think maybe shoes and socks should come first." We bent over and pulled them off, and we were now standing looking at each other in bare feet. Our stares never level each others groins.
David said, "I want to pull down your pants."
"OK." He finished unbuckling my belt, undid the button, unzipped my fly-with a little difficulty-and slowly pulled them down. I was hard as a rock and it showed through my briefs. I was embarrassed to have my hard dick sticking out. I am not sure why a hard dick can be so embarrassing, but it is. I guess we start learning as little boys to hide a boner. It is a real rite of passage when a boy can be comfortable with a hard-on in front of someone else. David stood back and looked. No laughing or teasing, just quiet looking.
I opened his belt, button, and zipper and pulled his pants down, finding his dick in the same condition. I couldn't take my eyes off the bulge.
It was time to kiss again, and we did. This brought our groins together and we could feel each others hard-ons. Slowly his hands worked their way down my back and he began to push my shorts down. I said, "Wait. I want to pull yours down and see your dick pop out."
He stood back and I slowly took hold of his Jockeys and pulled them down past his dick, which popped up and hit his belly, ending up sticking almost straight at me. He bent over and finished taking off his shorts and stood, naked, in front of me. "Push yours down," he said.
I did, and we were standing there, nude, looking at each other. My desire was split between wanting to kiss him again and wanting to take his dick in my hand. My hand won out, and I slowly enveloped his hard organ with my right hand. He took hold of mine. We stood there a long while, gently squeezing. I had an orgasm right in his hand, with it spraying all over his legs. It made me grab his dick hard, and he had an orgasm as well, but missed me and sent it all over the ground.
We were both embarrassed, but finally broke out laughing. We had had no idea how quickly and easily we would come. We hugged and kissed a long while. Then I used my hand to clean up my cum from his legs, wiping my hand on the grass. We sat down beside each other, silent at first, but knowing that another time to talk had arrived.
I said, "David, I know you jack off. All boys do. Tell me about the first time. When was it?"
"I'm not as good at talking about myself as you are, Charlie."
"Just because I got up more nerve that I ever dreamed I had last night, don't think that it's typical. That was incredibly hard for me. But I did it because it was the only way I could think of to try to move our friendship forward. It worked. Now it's your turn."
"God. You're right. But it is very hard. Be patient."
After a while David continued, "My mother explained the birds and the bees fairly well. She talked about intercourse, and sex, and babies. She even talked about wet dreams. Masturbation, however, was beyond her. But I heard boys talking, found a couple of books, and decided to try it. It was late in the year in eighth grade. One night my rubbing simply made it happen. All over the sheets. But no more mess than a wet dream, and I just rolled over in it and went to sleep. A couple of nights later I did it again, this time with the covers down. It spurted all over my stomach and chest.
"How did you clean up?"
"What a question! It's right on target. It's the difficult part to tell."
"Yeah. I hadn't planned in advance. Without thinking I scooped it up in my hand and put it in my mouth."
"It tasted good. Honest. Ever since, I have always eaten my cum."
"God, David, that's gross."
"No, Charlie, it normal. You have to understand, what we like to do, if it doesn't hurt anyone, is normal. It's not gross. We are going to do a lot of things together. Other people might find them gross, but we will do them because we like to do them. We are normal. The things we do are normal. And you can bet there are other boys somewhere doing the same things."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to react like that. It is just that it never occurred to me to eat my cum."
"Try it, you'll like it."
"I don't think I could."
"You don't have to."
We were still standing in the clearing, naked. David took my now soft dick in his hand and gently pulled and squeezed. It got hard again immediately. "Lay down," he said. And I did. He lay beside me and slowly jacked me off. I came the second time almost as easily as the first-this time putting a little smaller load onto my chest. David immediately licked it up.
"Charlie, it tastes as good as mine. No way am I not going to eat your cum-unless you want to eat it."
I soon leaned over and jacked off David, his cum spewing onto his chest. He started to scoop it up, but I blocked his hand. "Wait," I said. I put my finger in his cum and then licked my finger. It didn't have much taste. I tried again. I wasn't either pleased or bothered by the taste. David said, "Unless you think it is really great stuff, leave it for me. I'm really into it." With that he scooped it up and put it in his mouth. He pulled his hand away with a big smile, with cum all over his lips."
To this day, David loves the stuff and I don't.
Twice was enough for us that day. Soon we were ready to get dressed. David said, "Let's not wear underwear today."
"We will feel it missing all the rest of the day, and it will remind us of this."
"OK." We got dressed and walked to the car, holding hands, with our Jockeys in our free hands. He was right about not wearing underwear. It can be sexy.
Our days were filled with each other. To the outside world-including our parents-we became best friends. We tried not to let it be to the exclusion of all others, and maybe we succeeded. You would have to go and ask them, if they remember this many years later.
Our lives became dominated by three things: sex, talk, and study. We both had great minds, though David's intellect far exceeded mine. But there was a big difference: David applied himself. He was the kind of student teachers dreamed of. I wasn't, unless it was a course that interested me. Math and science did. History did, but not the memorization that most high school history involved. The rest didn't. My grades were like a roller coaster. A's in one set of subjects; mostly C's with an occasional B and D in the rest. David wouldn't tolerate that. And I learned to tolerate David's insistence that my study habits improve. I shocked the world with straight As in my senior year. Wow. What love can accomplish.
The talk was of everything, but mostly about us. We admitted that we were in love. But we weren't ready to make a lifelong commitment. Well, that isn't quite right, we were ready, but we didn't see how we had sufficient control over our lives to be able to make such a commitment. I was a senior, going off to college. David was a junior with another year at Maxwell High. There wasn't a local college worthy of my interest. That meant separation. Neither of us was willing to ask the other to be celibate for a year, so we didn't see how we could talk about a lifelong commitment.
We talked about whether our commitment, either right now or perhaps lifelong sometime in the future, meant no other sex partners. We weren't sure. Homosexuals don't have babies, what was the harm of "playing around." Yet we knew that with commitment came the expectation that one would be exclusive. Whose expectation? The society made the rules based on heterosexual couples. We didn't count. We didn't accept the "society's" rule that homosexual sex was evil. Did we have to buy into the monogamy stuff?
It was all heady stuff. We talked and talked and came to no conclusions.
The sex was great. Our day in the woods was about the last warm day of the fall, so we were pretty much limited to when we cold be assured that our parents would be out in one or the other of our houses. Luckily, they were fairly busy, and we managed to find time for good sex once or twice a week, sometimes more and sometimes less.
We really liked jacking each other off, or jerking off as David called it. David ate all the cum and I didn't fight him for it. Often I scooped it up and fed it to him. I think he liked that the best. If he was going to eat my cum, it was logical that he should suck it out of me, and he did. God, what joy. After I had experienced that, I couldn't possibly deny him. And I found sucking him to be more fun that jacking him off. His cum didn't bother me, but it did lead to some wonderful kissing right after I sucked him. Neither of us every really thought about our anuses as objects of sexual interest. However, we experimented in every other way you, or we, could imagine.
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