I never had what I'd call truly anonymous sex with any boy. I think the quickest time between meeting a boy and having sex with him, was about an hour. I "picked up" relative strangers (boys) four times, all of them during this promiscuous phase from 11 through 13-14 years old. The first was Brandon, when I was 11 y/o. He was a 17 y/o boy. He wasn't a true pickup in the sense of being a stranger - his family and my family were friends - but I barely knew him, and the first and last real interaction I had with him was the sexual incident. That's what this piece is all about.

The second, when I was 12, was a 13 y/o whom I met on a family vacation trip to Florida. The third was about a month later; he was a 16 y/o lifeguard at the municipal swimming pool. And the fourth was a 15 y/o boy I picked up at the YMCA when I was 14. This last incident was the only true stranger of the list - he was the kid I knew for about an hour. Both of the last two weren't exactly true pickups - in both cases I made the first moves, but both were very willing, and it was pretty much mutual after the initial phases with each.

I "seduced" (i.e, took the initiative with) Brandon. (I'd like to make it clear for the record, that I greatly dislike the word "seduce"; unfortunately, there's no better term to describe what I did.) When he found out my age, after, it shocked him. In retrospect I'm sure he didn't realize a prepubescent boy would know anything about sex, much less take the initiative. There are issues buried within that shock, and I want to say something at the end about that, forcefully.

Brandon was the second boy I ever had "real sex" with, and the first who was post-pubescent. This was the first time a boy ever ejaculated in my mouth (liquid). Moreover, of all the boys I had sex with, Brandon and I had the greatest age difference - more than five years, maybe close to six (I have no idea when his birthday was). I consider this story very significant for all those reasons - and for two more: (a) the sex itself was very intense; and (b) the postscript is troublesome.

Brandon and I had sex only once. It happened in late June, only 1.5 weeks after Alex moved away with his family. I already missed Alex terribly. The majority of my emotion was missing Alex as a friend - but I definitely missed sex with him. He had been my only "true" sex-partner (I don't count mutual masturbation as having sex); and we did it alot, as I've said. I was unbearably horny within days after Alex left.

I contemplated how to approach every single one of my friends, but for various reasons none of them seemed feasible at that point - some were out of town; some were already too homophobic to even ask; and I knew many just plain weren't interested.

Some friends of my grandparents had invited our extended family and two other families with kids to a pool party and barbecue on this particular weekend. Our extended family in this case was my grandparents, my immediate family, and my mom's brother and sister and their families - 15 people in all. Besides the adults, there were 7 kids in the family at this party: me, my brothers Wally and Beav, my two cousins Nina and Bill, and my other two cousins Joey and Randy. All four cousins, as well as my brothers, were younger than me, ranging from 5 y/o to 9 y/o.

(I never had sex with any of them, incidentally. I had an "incest taboo" about my brothers. To this day, the idea of brother+brother sex makes me slightly queasy, although I can't condemn others as long as it's consensual and safe. I had nothing of the kind with my cousins. I would've done it in a heartbeat with Bill or Randy in particular, if circumstances had been different - they were both hot kids, especially Randy. But they were too young during my boy- sex phase, and by the time they old enough, I had moved on to females; and in any case they were committed to girl-chasing from day one. For that matter, my female cousin Nina turned me on, too... But I digress.)

I don't remember much background about the other two families at this party. I think all the adults knew each other, and I had met some of the kids in those families before, but none of us kids knew each other well at all. I don't even remember how many kids there were, but it was a bunch - maybe 25 that were old enough to play together, plus a number of toddlers and babies. Enough swimmers to have two (or sometimes three) sizeable armies fighting pitched battles in the pool for most of the afternoon and evening, off and on.

More boys than girls in the water, too - I remember that. Some girls sat out the whole thing, and some left the water before we finished. I don't recall that a single boy abandoned the pool at any point during the whole party - not for long anyway. I'm sure everybody took bathroom breaks - I took at least one, maybe two. We were all guzzling Chek Cola in between battles. I remember very well the sight of a whole row of Chek Cola cans lined up on the pool's edge. (Chek Cola was the house-brand of soda pop sold by Winn-Dixie Supermarkets, a Southern institution. Chek Cola [and Chek Orange, Chek Root Beer, etc.] were cheap - they were what your parents bought when there were armies of thirsty kids around. It tastes like sludge to me now; back then, it wasn't Coke, but it was okay.)

The kids in the pool ranged in age from around 5 to 17. I remember three kids at the party in the 16-17 y/o range: a girl (who didn't get in the pool at all), and two boys. One boy I don't remember much about, except that he smoked cigarettes and wore glasses. The 3rd kid was Brandon, my soon-to-be partner.

Brandon was a big guy - biggest kid in the pool, I think. He had light brown straight hair and a squarish face. He had a nice body, but not distinctively so. His upper body was completely hairless except his armpits and head. I have trouble remembering exactly what he looked like; my dim recollection is that he looked like Glen Campbell, the 1970s country music singer, except that he (Brandon) was a little overweight. I hadn't paid much attention to Brandon when I'd met him before - I don't think I'd even talked to him before this day. I never saw him again after that evening. Our paths didn't cross that summer, and that fall he went away to college.

My family arrived a little late, which was not unusual. As soon as we got out of the car, you could hear the pool-mayhem underway - shrieking and splashing. Some social pleasantries had to be exchanged; but of course all three of us kids were about to break a leg getting to the action. Fortunately the adults understood :). Actually, I think they were glad to get rid of us. This was one of those parties where you knew the adults were thinging, "Good! The rugrats can play in the pool, while we grownups can have some civilized time with each other." As a parent, today, I understand :).

We had to change into our swimsuits first, so the family directed us to the changing room for the boys (really a maintenance closet) next to the pool. (I have no idea where the girls changed - somewhere inside the house, I assume.) We ducked in there and stripped and got our suits on, all in record time. I wore regular swimming trunks, as did my brothers. Back then, boys did wear Speedos sometimes for regular swimming, if they had them. My brother and I both swam competitively, so we had a couple of Speedos each - we could've worn ours, and nobody would've thought much about it. We didn't that day, for no particular reason that I recall.

I remember that there were kids' clothes literally thrown all over the room. Boys don't fold stuff up neatly, especially when there's a pool waiting :). We added ours to the chaos and ran out to the action. My clothes that day consisted of cutoff Levi's, boxers underneath, a tank top with horizontal stripes, and flip-flop sandals. I also had on a small cross on a chain that I wore around my neck. All of this was my standard summer outfit (except the tank tops weren't always striped). Clothes were/are important to me, and I always notice and remember what I wear and what others wear, for some odd reason... maybe I'm compensating for colorblindness.

The pool-party action consisted of various pool games that we kids played back then. The two primary games were Chicken Fights and Sharks. I think I've described those elsewhere, so I'll pass on the details. My memory is that somehow, all kids knew things such as how to play Sharks, by some unspoken kid-radar, even though we grew up in separate circumstances. I always loved those pool games. You can't do chicken fights any more in public pools - too dangerous, so they say. Possibly. But I miss them.

We knew most of the kids somewhat, and we got to know the rest quickly. You know how it is when you're kids - friendships are instantaneous. At this point I was not thinking about sex in the least; my mind was on pure water fun, and on helping my team win in particular. I took competition pretty seriously, and I was one of the better swimmers; so I got to be a "designated shark" fairly often, and chomped my share of victims :).

I'm pretty sure the first direct interaction I had with Brandon was snagging him when I was the shark. I remember singling him out and going after him, simply because he was the biggest of the prey. I got his lower leg, as I recall. From that point on he was on my radar screen - not in a consciously- sexual sense, but I'm sure it was percolating subliminally.

Eventually the barbecue stuff was ready, and we all got our plates and found various spots to eat. The food was pretty good: barbecue pork, baked beans, corn on the cob, cole slaw. I remember the food very well for two reasons: (a) it was good, and (b) I spilled my third plateful, and got to watch the dog scarf it down. He even tried to eat the cob :).

I sat with my cousins for the first plateful; but I always liked getting to know people and making friends, so for the second round I went over to another group of kids - a group that included Brandon. I can't remember if I zeroed in on this group specifically because of him, but it's very possible. I do remember thinking I'd like to get to know him better. We sat and talked about stuff. I probably told a few stories. I have told stories practically since the day I could talk, and it's been a major part of how I make new friends. It's a great ice-breaker, and people usually like to hear them. A few years later, when I read the book Watership Down, I instantly related to the way the rabbits used stories and storytelling as the ceterpiece of their social organization.

Toward the end of this round, Brandon started talking about his car. He had a light-blue two-year-old Austin Healy convertible - "with overdrive", he said proudly. I've always liked sports cars, so this got my attention immediately. I said, "Neat! Can you give me a ride sometime?" At that point, my only conscious thought was about the coolness of riding in an Austin. He grinned and said, "I don't know... maybe." I said, "Aw, c'mon, man!... Well, can I see it, at least?" I don't remember what he said in reply - it wasn't affirmative or negative. So I didn't have any firm expectation, but it was lodged in my mind as a good possibility. I wasn't thinking specifically about that evening, or any other specific time; but the seed was planted.

Back in those days, you were supposed to wait an hour after eating before swimming again - the belief was that you'd get cramps and drown if you went in right away. (This later turned out to be a myth, but everyone accepted it without question then.) The grownups told us that we had to wait an hour, and then we could play another hour, and after that the pool was "closed" and we'd have to find some dry-land stuff to do till the party ended. As always, we fudged on the hour-wait. I remember telling the others that if we cut it to a half-hour, that would give us an hour and a half of pool-time. Some other kids held out for 45 minutes, and a few nervous or obedient types wanted to go the full hour. We ended up compromising at 45.

During the wait, different groups did different things. My cousins had brought a Clue game (a board game in which you solve a murder mystery, for those unlucky enough to have never played), and my brothers and I joined in on that. I don't remember what the others did. When 45 minutes rolled around, we plunged back in. Some other kid called out a big countdown of the remaining seconds - "10! 9! 8!..." - and I remember hoping none of the grownups was looking at his watch.

The post-dinner pool action was substantially identical to the pre-dinner action. Our 1.25 hours went by quickly. (Possibly it was a longer or shorter length of time - I don't know that anyone was being strict about these time- limits; and looking back I suspect the main reason they closed the pool early was so nobody would have to carry a gaggle of wet kids home in the family car.) Eventually a delegation of grownups (moms) came over to tell us to get our butts out and change into dry clothes. So out of the water we went.

The changing room/closet was nowhere near large enough for all 12-14 boys to change at the same time. The first four out of the pool got first crack at it, and most of the rest of us formed a line. A few boys went inside the house - I assume they had changed in there; maybe those were the modest kids. So about eight of us were left waiting. Naturally, the "line" didn't last long. We got into wrestling matches and chasing games and similar stuff while waiting. I recall chasing my brother Beav and my cousin Randy. I had to pick, so I tackled Randy. Rolling in the grass. Just good clean boy-fun. Sun in my face. The way-down-deep, clean green terrific smell of summer everywhere.

The result of this distraction was that I was in the last bunch to get into the changing room. I had three other boys in there with me (four was about the limit): my cousin Randy, some other kid whom I've forgotten - and Brandon. It wasn't quite a madhouse in there, but we were all still hyper from the fun - jumping around and laughing. Brandon was fully part of the fun, and I recall thinking, "Cool - he's more like us younger kids; he's not a snotty teenager" :)).

The excitement of the chasing stuff was still upon me. Here were three other boys in various stages of nakedness. I was real interested in sex with boys. And I was horny from 1.5 weeks without Alex. All this added up: I was erect as I could be, before I even got my swimsuit off. Up to that point, I wasn't thinking primarily about sex; hadn't even thought about the potential sexuality of the changing-room situation before I got in there. But my body knew, and reacted. As soon as it did, my mind got re-focused rather quickly.

The fourth boy was a little shy, I guess, and he changed with his back to us. I tried to see his dick, but only caught a glimpse. I have a vague recollection that he had some pubic hair, and wasn't hard, but that's it. My cousin Randy I'd seen before, but he was 7 years old and I just wasn't interested in boys that young. (He had a very big weenie for a 7 y/o, for those wondering.) At any rate, he was the quickest to finish dressing; he stripped off his suit, pulled his clothes on without drying off, and left, real fast. I think he was embarrassed. The other boy finished and got out right after Randy. That left me and Brandon, alone in there together.

Naturally, I had looked at Brandon as soon as he got naked, while the other boys were still in there. His dick seemed really big to me, as did all adult- sized dicks. He wasn't hard at that point. He had pubic hair the same shade as the hair on his head. I looked to see if I could spot his balls, but I couldn't - I assume they were drawn up from the cool pool water, or maybe it was just the angle or bad lighting. But there was no mistaking he had a penis.

Seeing him was exciting to me. I felt the flush, and my hardon got stiffer. I don't know if Randy or the other boy even noticed; if the did, they gave no sign. But Brandon noticed. Boy, did he notice. He stared.

I wasn't at all shy about my body, and I had no qualms about walking around with a boner to begin with. As a kid, whenever I got a stiffie, in general I took no pains to hide it, regardless of the situation. And... I had learned by now that displaying an erection to another boy or boys, was a sure-fire way to get a reaction, and as often as not I could make it a positive reaction. I was beginning at this point to consciously zero in on the sexual possibilities that might be available with Brandon. So I didn't do anything to conceal my condition - I more or less flaunted it. I remember thinking, "Hey, displaying my boner works to get other boys interested - maybe it will work here...? Let's see what happens..."

I had to hunt around the floor of the closet for my clothes - in the chaos of undressing for the pool, I'd just flung my clothes, and in the subsequent chaos of other boys getting dressed, my stuff had been thrown all over the room. So I was bouncing around the room, locating my boxers, my tank top, my shorts, my flip-flops... and the whole time, Brandon was watching me as he slowly got dressed. I was talking away at him the whole time - I have no idea what I was saying, except that it was about the party fun. I don't know if he answered, but he didn't say much if he did.

It happened that one of my flip-flops was down by Brandon's feet. I squatted down next to him. At that point he had put his briefs on (regular white Hanes or equivalent), but nothing else. He was holding his T-shirt, but making no move to put it on at that moment. I was still naked, still stiff as a little 2.5-inch poker. I was delaying getting dressed till I collectted all my clothes, deliberately. As I squatted down in front of him, I looked up at him, deliberately, saying something as a thin excuse. I was looking straight at the bulge in his underwear. It was distictly bigger. He wasn't erect, but he was getting stiff.

I knew what that meant. I was really getting hot now. I wanted it to happen, somehow, or I wanted to know the reason why.

I wanted to reach up and touch him. I wanted that badly. I almost did it. It was crazy. The door was open, and there were people, kids and grownups out there - the inside wasn't lit, but it wasn't private. I had enough remaining shreds of sense to realize that. So I blurted out the only thing I could think of: "Hey... Can we go for a ride in your car now?"

He understood exactly what I was asking. I saw the surprise in his eyes. He said, "Uhhhh..." I didn't want to lose this opening. I stood up and faced him, full-frontal, about a foot away. My erection was sticking out at him. I looked him in the eyes and said, "Come on! It would be so cool to go for a ride. Can we?" He was staring at me. I looked at his underwear. His bulge was bigger. I didn't look away.

He said, "Uh.. well, uh... uh...... ummm... okay."

At that moment, I knew.

It was a familiar wave of feeling: I had won! YESSS! It was precisely the same feeling I got when I had talked any of my friends into jerking off with me. I had made a difference, and it was going to be fun, and it was going to be exciting. I can't describe that feeling. It's hot and wet and shoots through you like electricity, and gets you all hot and hazed-over. It's really similar to the peak-moment you get winning at sports - only specifically sexual. And it's similar to the feeling of getting to the top of the first gigantic hill on the roller-coaster and knowing that there's no turning back - in one second, you're gonna get a ride you won't forget, and it will overwhelm your senses.

Of course, I had none of this conscious awareness at the time (nor did I think of it in these terms until years and years later). I was just hot and horny, and knew I had succeeded in persuading a boy that it would be fun to do it.

I finished getting dressed, pretty fast as I recall. Brandon was a little slower but finished about the same time that I did. I left first, turned left out of the closet (the party was off to the right, near the oppposite corner of the house), angled around the edge of the pool toward the fence. Brandon was behind me. The pool was surrounded by a five-foot-high chain-link fence. Beyond was the driveway, where everyone had parked. I hadn't thought about the fence. The other way out meant going past the crowd, and maybe questions about where we were going. I wasn't too worried, but all the same I wished the fence weren't there.

Brandon came up behind me. As I said, he was big. He didn't say anything. He just put one hand on my left calf, and cupped the other hand underneath my crotch, between my legs, and lifted me up to the top of the fence. His hand came into direct contact with my hardon inside my cutoffs. This was the "standard" way kids helped each other over fences, or up to tree-branches, of course. But I knew he had another purpose, too. The usual way you lift someone is to center your palm right in between the other kid's legs. You didn't usually slide your hand up to touch his pubic area. But Brandon did. He was feeling my erection.

I've always been lucky, and rarely had a problem with premature orgasm. I imagine this would've triggered it if I were prone to them. Not that it mattered. As many reading this will know, prepubescent boys are multi- orgasmic, with no down-time between climaxes. I guess technically I was "early-pubescent" by this point, but I didn't lose that multi-orgasmic ability until around the time I began shooting white stuff, 6-8 months later. It was a happy day when I began doing that, but I missed my multi-orgasms, and still do.

I got over the top of the fence easily and dropped to the outside. Brandon heaved himself up over the top with little trouble. I was halfway dreading that someone would call after us, "Hey! Where are you kids going?" But no one did. And then we rounded the corner, out of sight.

We took off at a trot to the driveway. I spotted his car right away; it was parked on the grass down by the street. I said "Race you!" and took off running. Brandon easily caught up and passed me, long before we got to the driveway. He had some extra weight around his middle, as I said, but he obviously could run and climb fences. He got to his car and jumped in without opening the door (the convertible top was down). I caught up and was about to do the same thing, but he held up his hand and said, "Whoa, whoa... let me clear the seat off." He shoved some clothes and stuff down onto the floor, then reached over and opened the door. I got in.

All of this was happening in a big hurry. I don't recall a single conscious thought during this time. I was just in heat.

He started the car and we backed out into the street. Immediately he accelerated - he didn't peel off, but close. He got it up to a speed that was definitely way too fast for the residential neighborhood. I loved it.

I have no idea to this day where he took me. It wasn't a part of town I knew well to begin with, and I was paying no attention whatsoever to streets or turns. I was drunk - about two-thirds on sex, and about one-third on the ride itself. Four years later, after I got my driver's license, I went driving through that part of town numerous times, looking for where we did it. I never found out. I still have no clue. It's not the most important or significant thing in the world to me, but I wish I knew.

We ended up down past the far end of a new cul-de-sac street in a new subdivision, with a grove of pine trees just beyond. Brandon drove up to the edge of the pine trees and stopped, and killed the engine. There were no houses close by, just trees and grass.

At moments of peak sexuality, all my non-visual senses seem to open wide. I guess that's natural to me. Other people don't seem to do that, or at least don't undertand when I try to describe it. But it means that for peak moments, I recall the sounds and smells and tastes very vividly, decades later. It's hallucinatory in its intensity, as I've said. I recall vividly the sounds of the moment, that evening - I am hearing them in my mind's ear as I type. The converse is that my logical memory is very fuzzy. I can only approximately remember conversations and such from those moments. I guess this makes sense - after all, sex isn't very logical :).

As soon as Brandon killed the engine, you could hear the insects buzzing and chirping, birds singing, a lone bluejay. The breeze in the pines. Way off in the distance, the faint sound of kids' voices. And the ticking of the Austin's engine as it cooled.

I was the aggressive one. I was nervous, too. I mean, here was this guy I hardly knew... and he was older... alot older. But I was crazy with lust after Alex left, and I wanted to fool around with Brandon. I took the first step, and the next.

There was a little conversation about the car. Then a pause. Maybe five seconds. The unspoken hung between us.

I have always known, intuitively, how to move on beyond those pauses. It works for me, whether the situation is sexual, social, or professional. I don't know why. It's like some genie whispers inside my head,and I know what to say. Sometimes it turns out to be the perfect thing; sometimes it's a little off- target. But it always moves the conversation off dead-center, and it's always interesting, no matter where you go from there.

This time, I said to Brandon, "Want to see my weenie again?" Just like that. He didn't answer me - he just looked away. I'd seen that reaction before. It meant "Um... yeah..." And it meant he was willing to experiment. A negative reaction would've come swiftly, and he would've looked me in the face.

Without waiting for an answer, I lifted my butt up off the seat, unbuttoned and unzipped my cutoffs, and wiggled them and my boxers down below my knees. I can't remember if I had lost my erection between the pool and now, but it was stiff now. Brandon had turned to look as soon as I lifted up. He was staring at my weenie. I said, "Can I see yours again?" He didn't move or react for a second. I said, "Come on... I saw you looking at mine back there - it's fair."

Brandon twisted his head each way, looking for passers-by. I followed suit. But we were alone. Then he looked right at me, and said (this is an exact quote): "You can't tell anybody. Anybody. Okay? Promise?" I said, "I promise." He said, "Okay, then." He slid his seat back a little. And then he mimicked my earlier actions - lifting his butt up, unhooking and unzipping his shorts, and pulling them down along with his briefs.

Brandon was wearing these Madras-plaid shorts that were popular back then - long (for the era) and loose-fitting - and I hadn't been able to tell if he was erect or not, until he got his briefs down. His penis was semi-erect. I still couldn't see his balls, down between his thighs. His pubic hair was rather sparse for a nearly-adult boy - or so I realize now; at the time it seemed like a forest.

Brandon was clearly nervous, but I remember that the next thing out of my mouth made him grin a little: "Wow! It's big!" (It was really kind of average, but compared to Alex and my other friends, to me it was, like his pubic hair, extreme.) He said, "Yeah... just wait. Yours will get big, too." I said, "I know... but I can already do stuff. Like jack off. And I can come. But I can't, you know, come." I was a little nervous, too, and I immediately fell into a short giggle-fit over the silliness of that comment. I didn't realize till later that he hadn't understood my meaning - that I couldn't ejaculate. And that turned out to be a significant misunderstanding.

I hadn't been looking at Brandon for the last few seconds, but when my giggles subsided, I looked back at his face. He was grinning more now, in reaction to my giggling. The unspoken tension seemed less now.

I can't remember now if what happened next was a result of deliberate forethought on my part, or if it was spontaneous. I do know that I was curious about his balls, which I hadn't seen yet. Maybe that genie suggested the words. At any rate, I said, "Are your balls big, too?... I want to see... Can I see?" And I reached over and touched him, right on the head of his dick. I was intending to lift it up so I could see underneath. But that touch was electric to me. It always was, with a boy. With no conscious thought that I recall, instead of lifting his penis up to look at his balls, I put my thumb on the sensitive underneath side and my fingers across the upper side, and squeezed it, softly.

He might have jumped at the touch; boys did that sometimes. But he didn't. I think he anticipated it. I rubbed him a little. The size of his dick was still new and different. But the feel of it was the same as any boy's. Hot, swollen, skin sliding across the flesh underneath. Nature's most primary urge. And it swelled immediately to full erection.

The size of his dick startled me a little. But more startling was how dark it was. I had only seen one adult-sized erection before - my uncle's, by accident, and his was only half-erect. I hadn't realized that they were so much darker than little boys' weenies.

The sequence gets hazy at this point. It was like a lightning bolt that strikes, and then splinters into a million pieces. I know I took the initiative. I stroked Brandon's dick for a short while, listening to the cicadas tuning up for the evening, and the birdcalls, and the barking of a distant dog or two. Brandon made no move to do anything with me (and I didn't expect that, yet) - but he pushed his cock against my hand, and spread his legs, and made noises back in his throat, and sighed, and put his hand over mine.

Climbing stairs, or a ladder, is an unconscious act for nearly everyone. You don't stop to think, "Okay, now I'm putting my left foot up another level, now it's my right... left... right..." You just do it, and soon you're at the top. At most, you might think semi-consciously about the rhythm you set up, the alternating beat of your two feet against the wood, carrying you higher and higher.

It was like that with Brandon, that evening. I went a step higher... he responded, exciting me... I went another step, exciting him... and by the end, we had gone as high as we could. As high as I wanted. As high as Brandon wanted. Or maybe too high.

I don't know if he realized I was going to suck his cock, until I did it. I don't think I realized it either, although I had certainly thought about it earlier. It was big, and that made me slightly unsure - I remember thinking it was too big to fit in my mouth. But I was high.

I leaned over toward his boner. I think I startled him - at any rate, he pulled back a little and gasped when I did it. That may have been surprise at what I did, or maybe he was just gasping because I caught him off-guard. It wasn't the gasp of contact; he did it before my mouth touched him.

I opened really wide and put my mouth over his penis, and gently closed it down. I had the head and just a little of the part below the glans. I started gently sucking him and running my tongue up and down the underside, as best I could considering the awkward angle. This felt unfamiliar to me, since Alex was so much smaller and I could get his whole cock in my mouth down to the root. I was afraid to bob my head up and down because of the size, so I just moved back and forth a little, and sucked and licked. It seemed wrong to leave most of his dick untouched, so I put my hand, or actually my circled thumb and forefinger, around the part of his shaft below my mouth, and stroked him while I sucked. This was all pure instinct. If I consciously thought about any of it, I don't remember. Alex fit all the way inside my mouth, so I'd never tried this stroke-while-sucking technique. But I knew it was good. Instinct, primordial.

I do remember the taste of his dick. It was very different than Alex's. It was saltier and... well, just different. The smell was also different. I can't put those differences into words, even though I think I'm recollecting them perfectly.

While I was sucking him off, he reached over and felt my erect little shaft. I don't think he was jerking me off; he was just feeling it. He kept doing that the whole time I sucked him, until he started coming. At some point during his orgasm he let go, but by that time I wasn't paying attention.

I have no idea how long I sucked Brandon's dick, but it wasn't long enough for my mouth and tongue to get tired. It was long enough to bang my head on his steering wheel a few times, which was distracting :). I was dimly aware that he was going to ejaculate at some point. I had already decided I would try to swallow it. I didn't want to get it all over his car seat; and besides, I wanted to do that. I wanted it. I wasn't sure how it would taste. But I didn't care, and anyway it was too late, and I wasn't dwelling on it.

At some point after I started blowing him, but before he came, his pre-come fluid started oozing out of the tip of his cock. I know it wasn't there when I first put my mouth on him. I was unfamiliar with pre-come then, except in the haziest way, and so when I tasted and felt something liquid, I thought he was coming. I stopped sucking, which was my habit with Alex. But Brandon groaned and put his hands on the back of my head and pushed me down onto his dick a little farther (not enough to gag me - fortunately I have a good gag-reflex). I got the message and started sucking again.

Very soon after that, I felt his penis swell and throb, and he started twisting and making some noise and trying to push deeper. I did know what that meant - Alex did the same thing, and so did the boys I'd jacked off. But I knew he would shoot sperm. I didn't care. I was still living totally in the present moment.

He gave a jerk and pushed his dick into my mouth. That time he did gag me for a second. I backed off; and at that very second he started shooting.

After the first spurt I can't remember much detail, because I was busy swallowing. I think I quit sucking and moving my tongue in order to concentrate on this new thing. I know he was still twisting around - it was hard to keep my mouth clamped over his penis, but I didn't want to let go and lose any. It seemed like a huge amount of semen.

I remember my first impression of the taste - it was slightly bitter, and mixed in with the bitterness was a flavor that at the time seemed like chlorine. It wasn't especially pleasant. But my distaste was overwhelmed by the excitement it caused me. I had a huge feeling of pride in myself, because I had made a boy come - shoot sperm - and because I was swallowing it all. The act itself of swallowing Brandon's sperm was very erotic to me at that time - I don't know why. Swallowing his ejaculation excited me. It was so damn deep...

As Brandon finished ejaculating, his spurts became easier to swallow - less fluid, and less velocity. I was glad, because at this point the taste was getting to me a little bit, and I was also having trouble keeping up the swallowing at his peak. Finally his dick gave another throb, but little or nothing came out; and I felt his muscles relax.

Almost immediately he pushed my head back, off his dick. He was still very stiff. This part was similar to my experiences with Alex, except for three things as I recall: (a) his penis was so much bigger than Alex's (and bigger than when we had started); (b) it was so much darker (darker than when we started, too); and (c) I could see the whitish remains of his semen, as well as my saliva, all bubbly-looking all over the head. This last fact was the most dramatic difference - I was slightly startled to see that, even though I knew what semen looked like.

I sat up and looked at Brandon. He was breathing hard and just staring at me with a glazed look. At the time it didn't register much.

I wanted to come, badly. I didn't mind doing him first. In fact that was my preference, always, from the first BJ with Alex. But I was unbearably horny and wanted him to blow me. I scooted my butt over towards him, as best I could in the bucket seat, and got my boner sticking up toward his face, as close as I could, saying (probably babbling) stuff like, "Come on, my turn, you have to do it to me, I want it, come on..."

He still didn't react right away, so I reached over and pulled his head down. He got the message then. He leaned over and tried to get his mouth on my hairless weenie. But I had scooted too close to him, and he couldn't get the angle right; so he pushed my thigh away. At first I thought he was pushing me away, and I felt a pang of disappointment; but then he leaned down and closed his mouth on my dick.

Unlike the stark differences on my end that I found between sucking Alex versus sucking Brandon, his blowjob felt similar to the way Alex did it. He seemed to know what he was doing, very well. I doubt it was anything close to his first time. He sucked the whole thing in and sucked hard on it, moved his tongue and bobbed his head. I liked getting sucked hard. He did something unusual with his tongue - I still don't know what it was. He sucked me and sucked me. I was joined to him. I was lost in the red zone. It was the red death that rose and came, so slowly, so welcome. Oblivion.

I think I came quickly. I know it was intense. I shoved myself as deep into his mouth as I could. I was wriggling around and making a fair amount of noise, as always. I like to arch my back and push my cock way in, as deep as it will go, during orgasm, and I tried; but it's impossible in an Austin-Healy :).

At this point in my life, I'd been seeing a tiny bit of clear liquid for about a month - as I've said, Alex got to taste it only twice. I don't know if I shot (or dribbled) anything into Brandon's mouth, too. If I did, he didn't seem to notice. In fact, he didn't seem to be aware that I had reached orgasm. He kept sucking and licking and all the other stuff, right through my orgasm.

I finished coming, and quickly found myself too sensitive to continue. I pulled my shaft back out past his lips and pushed Brandon's face away. He looked up at me, and I saw he was surprised. At that moment I wasn't sure why he was surprised. We looked at each other for a second, and he said, "Don't you want to finish?" That confused me for a second; and then I realized he hadn't detected my orgasm. I said, "I did finish... I came... but there's not much to come out... remember?"

Now HE looked confused. Apparently he had missed my comment earlier. He said, "But nothing came out!" I said, "Yeah... I can't do that yet." Now he looked really confused. He said, "You mean, you can't 'sperm' yet?" (Down South, kids sometimes used 'to sperm' as a verb - a synonym for 'to ejaculate'.) I said, "Well, I had a little come out since last month, but that's all."

He looked at me, still confused. Then he said, "Uh... how old are you anyway?" I said "Eleven... I'll be 12 in August." As soon as I said "eleven", I saw the shock spread across his face. He said, "Eleven?!? ... Shit!!" I guess he thought I was older. I didn't have the slightest trace of pubic hair at that point, and I still had a little boy's penis. My testicles had gotten bigger a few months previous, and I had the traces of ejaculation, and that was all the puberty I'd been through. But maybe my behavior led him to think I was older; or maybe he didn't know.

I said, "It's okay. I've been doing this for a long time." Brandon was just staring at me now. He said, "Goddamn... 11 years old... if that ain't something... Goddamn... Well, for 11, you're the most... I don't know what..." That made me laugh :). I said, "Well, I know alot about this stuff." He just shook his head; then he laughed, and said "Yeah, you do." That made me feel pretty good :).

We got our underwear and shorts pulled back up. Brandon moved his seat back into position, and went to start the car. Then he stopped and looked at me. He said, "You ain't gonna tell anybody, are you?" His question surprised me, completely. He had made me promise earlier, but that was almost routine when you fooled around with another boy the first time. It hadn't occurred to me that it would be a major big deal. I said, "Uh... no." He said, "I want you to promise, again. Swear that you won't say anything. You have to." He was very serious - intense - and he was worried. I got the message this was really important to him, from his words and his tone. I said, "Yeah, I promise. I won't say a word. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my mother's eye." It was the strongest oath I could think of at 11 y/o.

In retrospect, I thought this "don't tell" stuff was just so nobody would find out Brandon was gay, or that he fooled around with other guys. I wasn't aware at all that 11 y/o boys could get 17 y/o boys in big trouble. I'm sure that was his concern. He didn't bring it up until he found out how old I was. When I told him, it bothered him. Alot.

Brandon started the car, and we backed out. We were both a little dazed still - I know I was. He drove back to the party - not slowly, but we weren't flying (probably just as well). I don't think we talked much on the way back. I do remember asking him about the car, the electric overdrive and the performance, and he told me, but I couldn't say what the answers were.

This was somewhere around the longest day of the year, and the sun was still up even though it was probably well past 8 o'clock. We got back to the party and parked in the same spot. I said, "How are we going to get in without everybody noticing?" Brandon said, "Same way we got out... We'll just tell them we went for a whiz in the bushes, if they ask." That seemed satisfactory at the time - although if anyone had noticed our absence and asked us why it took us so long, I would've been at a loss. I had no idea how long we'd been gone - looking back, I'd guess between half an hour and 45 minutes. The drive was about 10-12 minutes going, a bit longer returning, and I would guess the sex took maybe 10 minutes. Definitely a quickie. As always, it seemed longer. Peak experiences usually do.

Brandon helped me back over the fence - same way as before. He didn't seem to deliberately touch my weenie this time. I was soft by now in any case, so it was hanging down (to the extent that a prepubescent boy's weenie can be described as "hanging" :)). He cupped it as he lifted me, but I can't say it was on purpose this time. It hurt a little this time, because my balls were sensitive after my orgasm. But I was paying more attention to the party, seeing if anyone came close enough to spot us. Some little kids were nearby, chasing each other around, but they either didn't notice us or didn't care.

We walked over to the crowd together. I was just waiting for someone to ask us where we'd been. I needn't have worried. The grownups were all over to the side of the house, talking about Nixon or some such crap, no doubt. Many of the kids were running around the pool and the back yard, yelling. Others were just sitting around talking. My cousins were playing Clue again.

I said to Brandon, "Hey, let's play Clue - want to?" He said, "Um... well, I have to go take a whiz." He walked off toward the house. I called after him, "Okay, come back when you're done - it'll be fun." I sat down with my cousins. Bill did ask me where I'd been: "Hey Danny, you should've got here when we started - what've you been doing?" I just said "Nothing." And I joined the game.

I never saw Brandon again.

I don't know if he got interested in another aspect of the party... or if he got tired and went home... or if he got cold feet and left... or what. He never came back to the Clue board. Our game went on for about 30-40 minutes, and then it was too dark to see the board clearly, so we folded up. Not long after that, the party ended, and my mom corraled my brothers and me, and we went home.

I hadn't given Brandon's absence much thought, till I realized he wasn't going to come back. It bothered me a little bit. Selfishly, the main thought I had was that if I didn't see him again, we couldn't suck each other off again. It was a long time - years - before the potential emotional implications of his disappearance penetrated my awareness.

That night, in bed, I masturbated twice in a row, remembering and replaying the experience, intensely. I didn't get liquid, either time. Maybe I had shot what little I had into Brandon's mouth, or maybe there just wasn't any that day. Production was variable, then.

-----

What do I think about it now? The experience itself was one of the hottest, most intense I ever had in those years. The swallowing was incredibly erotic to me. It was never that good again. Later, with other boys, the novelty receded, and the taste came to the forefront; and I didn't like the taste. There were moments when swallowing was sweetness, though. My first few times with Kenny at 15 y/o, for example.

It's somewhat amazing to me now, to think about how casual - how carefree - sex could be, back then. You go for a ride, you suck each other off, you come back, and within a few minutes you're playing Clue and doing kid stuff and not even thinking about what you just did. Amazing. I wish life could still be that way - not just sex, but life itself.

About Brandon himself... He was obviously gay or bisexual. He wasn't one of my same-age friends, fooling around, experimenting, then settling into an orientation. He was into it. There was absolutely no way that was his first time, or that he didn't want to go through with it beforehand, once we left the party. But the change, when he found out how young I was... it's just sad. We both enjoyed the hell out of it, until then.

I guess in all honesty, I don't have much feeling for Brandon, beyond fondness for a good time that we shared. I'd love to talk to him again, but I have no idea where he is.

I have other thoughts, too. This, of course, is the closest experience to intergenerational sex I ever had with another guy. I have thoughts on that whole issue, but I'll put them forth elsewhere on the website. I do not consider this intergenerational. But it's different from same-age boys, too.

Here is what 11 year-old Danny would say (if he'd had the voice) to the Brandons of this world - to any older boy who is uneasy at finding out (or dwelling on) the fact that his very-willing boy-partner is younger than he realized:

It's okay - it's wise - to worry about the legal issues, because as screwed-up as it sounds, that's a real danger. And it's okay - it's wise - to be alert to my signals.

But, if you worry that I'm not ready, or that it's wrong, or that I don't know what I'm doing... stop. Just stop worrying. It's not your problem. It's not a problem, period. I know what I'm doing. I know what I want. It was, and is, as much my idea as yours. I know what it's all about, or I'm learning; and, just as you know that NO means NO, you'd better believe that YES means YES. Anything else demeans and belittles me as a mere infant, incapable of thinking and deciding for myself. I am not. WE are not. We are eleven, we are thirteen, we are fifteen; we are strong, we are smart, we are ready if we say so.

Listen to us. Don't do what you feel or know to be bad or wrong. Don't fear to do what's good and right, either.