In my narrative about Alex and me and losing our virginity at 10 years old, I wrote "the aftermath was kind of a crash." I can't say it any better than that for Kenny and me, this time. I went back on my heels and lay down on my back in that straw (which, sure enough, was prickly and bristly), and stared up at the cobwebs and stuff in the ceiling. I was sore and throbbing, around my anus and inside... and now, I became aware, for the first time, that I was leaking. None of my books had mentioned that little detail, and it hadn't occurred to me what happened to the sperm after it got inside you. But the whole thing didn't help my sour mood.

I didn't realize it at the time - luckily, considering my state of mind - but that wetness I felt between my butt cheeks wasn't just sperm leaking; it was also blood. The possibility that I might bleed during or after getting screwed never crossed my mind, even though that seems like a dumb thing to overlook, now. But I had this idea all along - probably from reading those Big Three Books, which were heavily devoted to sexual variations from the norm - that anal intercourse was routine, sort of like blowjobs, except somewhat painful at the beginning; and that doing it was just a matter of adjusting. I now understand that's often true - if you do it right, and prepare. We didn't know that, obviously.

It was rare, back then, for me to stay in any kind of bad temper for very long. (I'm still basically that way - but the older I get, the tougher it is... :)) Kenny had rolled over on his side, and wasn't saying or doing anything. I was lying there, glaring at the ceiling and thinking my selfish "why me?" thoughts, for maybe a minute. It was quiet. You could hear sounds in the barn: the horses shifting around (they'd quit snorting some time back - maybe they realized we weren't there to feed them); some rustling up in the rafters (mice, I guess); and creaks and squeaks from the old wood. I'd paid no attention to the sounds before, but now, in the quiet, they seemed loud.

It sounds like a cliché - but something about the ordinary nature of those sounds brought me back to reality. I snapped out of my bad mood as quickly as it had struck me. One second, I was feeling like I'd been treated in grossly-unfair fashion by whichever gods were in charge of anal intercourse (I was fairly sure this wouldn't be the same God we were told about in Southern Baptist Sunday School :)); and the next second I was mentally slapping myself for being a jerk. I hadn't been too nice to Kenny, and it was hardly his fault.

I was about to get up and go over to him, but I was still tired and sore and drippy, so I lingered. I recall lying there, still listening to those quiet sounds, looking up at the ceiling... and it was hard to see the ceiling up there... the light's getting awfully dim in here...

Dim?? Oh my God! It's getting dark!!! How long have we been in here, anyway?? Kenny's mom will kill us! And what about the Stable Lady - do horses get food in the evening? My dog always does... And here we are, two 15 year-old boys, on forbidden school property (military school property), mostly naked, tube of KY, our cocks all swollen and slick, no way to hide what we were doing... obviously, this could be a Bad Scene. (As if we couldn't have seen that from the very beginning ... :))

I sat up fast, panicked now, and looked at Kenny. He was on his right side with his eyes closed. He didn't go to sleep, surely? I shook his leg. He opened his eyes and looked at me. He looked a little glazed. So he was asleep. (It turned out he wasn't; he was just zoning out - very understandable. But I was panicked, thinking "oh, great - one more thing to slow us down.") I scudded over on my butt (ouch!) and shook his shoulder, and stage-whispered: "It's starting to get dark! We gotta go!!" Kenny opened his eyes wide, just stared at me for a second, shocked - obviously, he'd lost all track of time, too. And then, instantly, we were scrambling all over the stall, grabbing our clothes, kicking up dust (and sneezing), and getting dressed in a major hurry.

I wasn't paying much attention to my pain - too busy being panicked. But I had presence of mind enough to be aware that I was still wet back there, and that if I didn't take care of that, I would have this nice big tell-tale stain on the back of my pants, which would be a bit tough to explain to anyone who saw us.

I know it's kind of gross, but here's what I did. I'd spotted an old brown rag hanging on a nail when we came in the stall. Not a great choice - but any old port in the storm. I grabbed it and wiped. The cloth was rough and hurt like hell, but it helped. The light was too dim to see the rag very well, so I have no idea if it was clean or dirty. Fortunately, the dimness also kept me from seeing my blood, which under the circumstances would've freaked me. I offerd it to Kenny, but he shook his head. It turned out that Kenny neither leaked nor bled as a result of our adventure. Lucky for him his boyfriend had a small weenie. :) (Fair is fair - Kenny didn't get away completely unscathed, either. Details, later...)

We finished getting dressed, somehow having managed to avoid losing any of our clothes during the afternoon's events. And now, another crisis. The only thing left was putting the KY back in Kenny's gym bag... here's the tube, no problem... the cap must be nearby, somewhere... right? Where is the damn cap, anyway?!? Yes, the cap had vanished - of course the cap had vanished. We hunted for a bit, but there was no way, in all that straw. I'm sure our haste didn't help. We gave up and Kenny just stuck it in his gym bag, wrapping the end in some of his clothes to keep it from oozing. How to deal with the fact that his mom was bound to notice? Cross that bridge when we come to it - I didn't think of it at the moment, and I doubt Kenny did, either. He ended up buying a new tube, as things turned out, squeezing it down to the level of the old one, and sticking it back in her drawer, two days later. As I said, if she noticed, she never mentioned it.

(I guess I have this persistent problem with losing incriminating caps to tubes and bottles and stuff - you may recall the narrative about the first time I got drunk? Actually, I think all boys lose stuff like that. It's just that usually the consequences don't loom so large. :))

That light seemed to be getting dimmer by the second. We needed to zoom. Aggh! I got the stall door unlatched (which turned out to require some fumbling, naturally - Murphy's Law again), and we got out of there and across the barn to the door. It was a quick trip to the doorway, but I remember two things distinctly from that small journey: (a) the daylight was brighter than I expected, out in the main open area; and (b) I was struck with another completely ludicrous thought in the midst of that serious situation - we ought to say goodbye to the horses, maybe? (I didn't... although "thanks for the memories" might've been appropriate... :))

I was in the lead, got the door open, we stepped out. And almost immediately, we realized: It wasn't getting dark, after all. It was getting cloudier. That's why the light was dimmer. It was growing late, but evening wasn't here quite yet. In my panic, that thought had never occurred to me. If I'd worn my watch that day... (In hindsight, I don't know that it would've helped - I doubt I would've had the presence of mind to look at my watch during that scramble to get dressed and out of there. And I'd probably have taken my watch off at some point during sex - sweat makes my watch slide down to where my wrist joins my hand, and that sensation annoys me - and it might have vanished down in the straw, along with the KY cap, which would've been most uncool.)

Kenny and I looked at each other. I don't know about mine, but the relief on his face was obvious. I said, "It's not night yet. I thought we were dead!" He said, "So did I!" We both giggled with relief.

Our feeling of reprieve was short-lived. It wasn't evening yet, but the time wasn't far off. And those thicker clouds could mean rain, we knew. (They didn't, as it turned out; but you never know...) My biggest worry, now that we were dressed and out of the barn, was Kenny's mom. Would she be pissed? I didn't know if Kenny had talked to her about how long we'd be staying. We set out down the path. I asked him, "How late did you tell your mom we'd be?" He said, "I didn't say... she just said to call when we were done studying." Okay, cool. One less worry.

We got down to the bottom of the hill, where you had to jump across a little stream. As I came down on the other side, I felt the jolt of my landing jar loose some more of Kenny's sperm from inside my butt. Great - now I'm gonna have a wet spot - gross. I clenched my buttocks together, trying to hold it in. I have a bubble-butt, so that worked reasonably well - as well as it could, considering the fact that we were walk-trotting up the hill. The downside was that clenching my buttocks made my anus hurt. You can't win... :)

We got back up to the main school area without incident. Only a few kids were around. The boarding-school students were in their dorm rooms - you could see the shadows in their windows. The boarding boys had a mandatory study hour before dinner at six o'clock. So that would make it sometime after 5 p.m. We'd been out there in the barn since practice ended at 4:15. Geez, it seemed like hours... (Later, when his mom picked us up and I got a handle on the time, I estimated that we'd been out there a little over one hour. Subtracting the time walking to and from the barn, my wait for Kenny before he showed up, looking around for our clothes afterwards, etc. - the actual sex was about 20-25 minutes.)

We went into the library building, where Kenny headed to the pay phone to call his mom, and I headed to the little boy's room to take care of my leakage problem. (Sorry if I'm grossing anyone out... It's an autobiography. Can't just put in the fun parts, ya know. But if you don't care for these details, feel free to skip the next few paragraphs. :))

I went in the stall, pulled my pants down, sat down, checked my underwear (no evidence that I could detect), and then realized that I needed to shit. I flexed the appropriate muscles. And promptly I had another nice-sized jolt of that by-now-familiar stinging pain... accompanied by what sounded like diarrhea, interspersed with a string of wet-sounding farts.

I was feeling sour again. Diarrhea. Great, just great. The perfect way to end the afternoon. And the wet stuff I'd thought was leaking out of me - was that diarrhea, too? The whole thing was a false alarm, as it turned out - nothing so evil as diarrhea. I just assumed it was diarrhea, out of habit, until I checked a few minutes later. Oh yeah - I guess sperm coming out would sound like that, too. Duh! :)

As I expelled Kenny's deposit, I looked down at my cock. I hadn't thought to clean it off at the barn, and I'd become aware that it felt sticky as we walked back... and I was hoping it was just KY and sperm. Now, I looked, and was relieved to see that it was clear stuff. My books said not to get alarmed if you found some poop on your weenie - just wash it off, no harm. Maybe so, but I was just as happy I didn't have to deal with it right then.

The urge dwindled after a minute or two. I got a wad of toilet paper, wiped, and looked at the paper (I always looked, still do) - and saw that it was streaky-red.

Nasty jolt of fear. Was I torn up inside? How bad? Would I have to go to the hospital? How to explain? God...

I looked closer at the tissue. Yeah, that was blood. Not alot, but it was blood. Oh man. This whole thing was a mistake. Why didn't the books warn me? Well, let's wipe again, see how much is coming out... I got another bunch of toilet paper, folded it up (I usually wadded up my t.p. in a big clump to wipe, back then, but I wanted to see the blood on a flat surface), and, instead of wiping, I just held it against my anus. I had convinced myself I was bleeding internally and that it was coming out through the sphincter.

After a few seconds, I pulled the tissue out and looked. More blood - but not all that much... and it wasn't centered on the paper, where I'd put it against my anus; it was up higher. Huh?... What's going on?... Oh - maybe I'm bleeding around the edge, not inside?? Quickly, I checked again with a new piece of t.p. Yeah, no mistake - it wasn't inside, it was the rim. That didn't seem so bad.

At this point, I looked into the bowl. I was still half-expecting to see a bunch of blood, and definitely expecting to see diarrhea. It wasn't either. There were red and brown streaks and blobs, of course. But mostly it was normal, familiar boy-come. Like I'd seen in the toilet a million times, after masturbating, or after spitting out a friend's load (or occasionally my own). A little stained, but otherwise recognizable. The light dawned: So that's what all the liquid and wet-farting was about. Duh! :)

Well, you get the idea. :) I'll skip some details so I can get to my point in a minute. I flushed, getting rid of the evidence and getting some clean water in there to deal with. I got more t.p. all wet; blotted it around my traumatized anus (ouch) to clean off the blood; got a finger wet, stuck it up my butt (real ouch!) to make sure the bleeding wasn't inside, too (it wasn't, thank God), and to see if it was dilated like my books said (it seemed to be closed up tight by now); then soaked yet more t.p. and washed off my penis. I know - toilet water, kind of gross - but I didn't think it would be too cool to stand at the sink doing all this. :) Lastly, I got a couple of squares of toilet paper and stuck them up my butt, just inside the sphincter muscle, so the muscle held them in place. Even without the bleeding, I was sick of the leaking and didn't want a wet spermy spot on my pants; and the blood was not cool at all. Sticking dry paper in there hurt like hell, but it was the lesser of two evils.

I was lucky no one came in during all this, incidentally. Our school had no doors on the toilet stalls. It would've been possible to hide what I was doing, but awkward; and I didn't need any more panic. I don't think another kid would've given much thought to my presence, but a teacher might have wondered, and quizzed me.

Okay. Here's my point. As I said, I wanted to go into some detail about this part of my experience. It's an aspect of anal intercourse that I don't remember reading or hearing about in any detail, before or since. Maybe it's out there, but I haven't seen it. Or maybe my experience wasn't typical - I have no way of knowing. But obviously, it can happen - and it's unnerving and scary to have stuff like this happen to you without warning. If a boy wants to get fucked, like I did, and he does it, and then he has to deal with all these unknown after-effects, he's gonna find it upsetting. Boys will continue doing stuff like this (and so will adults) - and it's not a risk-free thing - but nobody needs that unnecessary fear.

Along the same lines: I am not going to go off on a long tangent here about safe sex. I hope everyone reading this knows the basics. But I'll say it anyway: If anyone, of any age, wants to have anal sex, use a condom. We didn't. We were fortunate to live in a time when AIDS didn't exist, and STDs weren't as common as today. As many chances as Kenny and I took - and anal sex wasn't the only risk we took in our relationship by any means - at least none of the risks were potentially fatal. (Assuming the Stable Lady didn't routinely pack a handgun, that is... :)) Wearing a rubber may not be as much fun, but it might save your life, and the lives of others. Besides, if nothing else, at least you won't risk getting poop on your weenie. :)

Back to the bathroom: I got finished up, washed my hands with soap for what seemed like forever, came out. Kenny was waiting by the outside door, looking for his mom. I said, "Did she get mad?" He said, "Nope... but the bad news is, that after we drop you off, I have to go shopping with her and my sis at the damn after-Christmas sales." I said "Oh man, that sucks... well, maybe it won't take too long... what kind of shopping is it?" Kenny looked at me, and suddenly he got this big grin on his face. And he said one word: "Sheets."

It was pretty funny. :) Buying new, clean sheets. Maybe you had to be there, but after what we'd been doing... We had a good laugh (in the midst of which I felt myself oozing again - more clenching - glad I stuck that t.p. up my butt - man, I'll be sooo glad when this stuff is gone... :))

Kenny said, "Watch for the car - I have to go, too." I stood lookout while he disappeared into the boys' bathroom. He was in there for quite a while - I didn't ask why. :) After a few minutes, his mom and sister pulled up, so I went to tell them Kenny would be coming out soon. I didn't want to sit in the car with them - I figured they'd want to make small talk while we waited, and I wasn't in the mood - but Kenny's mom insisted. So I had to sit in the back of their station wagon, while she asked me about school, swim team, and all that, while my butt ached and I felt messy. I escaped finally by telling her that Kenny was in the little boys' room and might not see us when he came out.

I went into the bathroom. Kenny was washing up. I went over to him and whispered, "Your mom's here... Hey, are you kind of... uhh..." He finished for me: "Sore?" We laughed again. :)

The ride home was uneventful. Kenny's mom was yakking away about everything. I was usually a talkative kid, but I was quiet that evening; fortunately, she didn't notice, or say anything if she did. Kenny never said a word for nearly the whole ride. (Neither did his sis, but that was typical; she was moody.)

There was one thing at the end of the ride home, though. It was special then, and it's special now. Kenny was like alot of 15 y/o boys - brash, tough exterior; and inside, a sensitive kid. Most boys never let other boys see that. Even as close as we were, Kenny usually didn't let me see it. The basis of our relationship was "best friends", after all - nothing mushy (nothing we'd admit). But every once in a while, he would say or do something sweet and tender. It was always momentary, and you always got the idea he'd deny it if it were ever brought up. But it was unmistakable.

One such time was the night we had sex the very first time, sleeping over at his house, and afterwards he told me "I want you to spend the night forever." And now, this evening, there was another.

His mom pulled up to our house. It was full dark by now. I was in the back seat, next to Kenny. I was getting ready to open the door, had already said goodbye to his mom and sis, and was turning to say "See ya tomorrow", to Kenny... and thinking, hazily, "I'd like to say more than that, after this afternoon, but I can't, his mom's here..."

And as I turned to him, Kenny reached over and took my hand for a half-second and squeezed it. Just a half-second. So unexpected, so sweet. That got to me. I couldn't speak. I wasn't choked up, but I was afraid at that moment my voice would come out quavery. So I squeezed him back, then with the same hand I shoved his shoulder, like boys do, and got out, and they drove off.

We never talked about those moments. I'm glad. It might've broken the spell.

I went inside. My mom was in the kitchen. I had been worrying a little, in the back of my mind, that I hadn't called her to say I'd be late. It usually wasn't a big deal to her - but sometimes it was, and I'd catch minor hell if that was the case. It wasn't this time.

Dinner, homework (or in this case, no homework - I'd left all my books and stuff in my gym locker, thinking I'd go back there after we were done, and then totally forgot), and then, bedtime... but first, a shower. This was important. I still felt like I was dirty, with all that stuff up my butt, and on my dick. So I got in, and washed up thoroughly - real thoroughly, all over. I took the opportunity to probe my rectum again with a finger, checking for blood and dilation. I didn't get too far - it was still plenty sore. But no blood, and it was closed tightly.

In bed that night, I thought about beating off. I still felt a little cheated that my orgasm was lousy. But I quickly decided against it - I thought it might make my butt hurt, and I was wiped out in any case.

Well, this is long enough already, so I'll compress some detail. Next day, I was still achy, but better - no more bleeding, no more leaking boy-sperm. My standard morning dump came like clockwork, only slightly less-solid than usual. I did make one change in light of my condition: I wore briefs instead of boxers that day, and the following day too. By Saturday I was confident that I wasn't going to leak or bleed, so I switched back.

The only bad moment I had was swim practice that day, Thursday. For one of the few times in my life, I was nervous about changing in the locker room. I had no idea what a recently-penetrated anus looked like, or how obvious it was. I just made sure I didn't bend over with my back to anyone. :) And the brominated (similar to chlorinated) pool water stung me around my sphincter. That was getting very old. (Fortunately, the pain was mostly gone within the next 48 hours, although certain aspects persisted for about a week, like hurting when I pooped or when I tried [duh!] to ride my bike.)

Speaking of how my anus looked: I was fairly curious to get a look at it. I wanted to, that night after we did it. But the only hand mirror was in my mom's bedroom ,and I couldn't think of an easy way to get it; and the wall mirror in the bathroom was too high to see. Kenny and I got together that weekend, as you'll see, and in the course of things we checked each other out. His didn't look any different that I could tell, and he said mine didn't either. But we'd never paid any attention to each other's sphincters before this, so I don't know.

That Thursday, I didn't see Kenny again at all. I was busy catching up on my missed homework, for one thing; and our paths didn't cross. Friday, he sought me out at lunch. We couldn't talk at the table, with friends around. But we got together long enough to make plans for a Saturday sleepover - his house, this time.

I'd been going through some changes over our experience. The farther it receded into the past, the more I felt as though I never wanted to do that again. When he fucked me, it was good - awesome - at the end, right before he came in me. And I knew I would've enjoyed fucking him, if I hadn't been so sore. But you know how it is. I was remembering stuff like the different kinds of pain, and the lousy orgasm, and the panic, and the leaking, and especially the blood... and it didn't seem worth it.

Saturday, the plan was for me to come over after morning swim practice, so that afternoon my mom drove me there. (For once, I was glad Kenny lived too far away for me to ride my bike - that wasn't gonna happen, judging from the evening before when I'd mounted it without thinking, getting ready to ride over to Paul's house. Aauggh! I ended up walking. :))

It was a fun afternoon and evening, despite the occasional low-level reminders from my butt that it had accommodated something unusually big and stiff. I generally had a good time with Kenny, no matter what we were doing. My 15th year was the height of my pinball fixation, and we spent alot of time that evening down at the 7-Eleven, playing their mediocre machines and enjoying ourselves thoroughly. We didn't have the opportunity to investigate the aftermath of our mutual penetrations until that night, after we went to bed. It was funny, in (ahem) hindsight (pun intended. :))

Kenny had a single bed. Our fiction was that I slept on the floor in his sleeping bag while he slept in the bed. So, every night I was there, I'd unroll the sleeping bag, get it all arranged, we'd close the door - and then I'd get in bed with him, or else he'd join me on the floor. At some point during the night we'd get back to the locations we were supposed to be in... sometimes. And sometimes we'd fall asleep and not wake up. Fortunately, his mom never opened the door. If she needed us, she'd knock. Kenny told me once that she used to knock and then come in, but then once she'd walked in while he was in the midst of changing clothes. Perfectly innocent, nothing else going on - but he was naked, 14 years old, and very obviously post-pubescent. They both got really embarrassed, and she never did that again.

We got into his bed. He was in his PJs, and I was in my boxers. Under normal circumstances, assuming his mom and/or sis weren't rattling around nearby, it was pretty much a given that as soon as the door was closed, we were getting naked. We both knew this was a little different. Neither of us had said anything about the afternoon in the barn.

We got in bed, and lay facing each other. I whispered, "Well... wanna ream out my guts right now? Or should we wait five minutes?" This was an inside joke from school. Our 10th-grade biology teacher (who also happened to be Kenny's wrestling coach) asked that rhetorical question all the time. If you didn't bring your homework, for example, he'd ask the class, "Should we kill him right now? Or wait five minutes?" Of course all the boys answered, "Kill him right now!" It had long ago been turned into an inside joke by the boys in his classes - probably beginning five minutes after the first class in which he uttered it, I'll bet. :)

Naturally, Kenny answered: "I wanna ream your guts right now!" We both laughed. :) Then we sobered. I knew it was time for the truth. It wouldn't be that hard - we knew each other very well, and we could be honest and say what we thought. Even though I'm essentially heterosexual now, and boy-sex and boy- love is all in the past, one of the things I miss is that ability to be honest. It's tough with women. There's nearly always game-playing, and trying to read the signs: "is she going to take this the wrong way?" I don't know how that is with two adult gay/bisexual men, but I imagine it's similar. Adults play games. With another boy, you could say it straight out. Sometimes he'd take it the wrong way - and if he did, you could straightforwardly apologize. I miss that.

That's what I did - I said it straight out: "I don't know if I wanna do it again. It hurt like hell." Kenny nodded. "I could tell." I went on: "And I had some blood." That surprised Kenny. "Oh, shit... I didn't know about that. Are you okay?" "Yeah... it wasn't up inside me. Just around the edge. I guess you stretched it too wide, or rubbed it too much, or something." "It's not still bleeding, is it? I mean, you don't look like you're hurting... Hey, did you put a Band-Aid on it?" Laughing, both of us. :)

I said, "I think it's back to normal, except it still hurts when I push on it and stuff. Or when I take a dump... Oh yeah, I sat on my bike last night - owwie zowwie!" He laughed again. "Me, too! I was gonna ride over to see Jimmy [a kid in his neighborhood whom I didn't know] last night. I got on, and there was no way. I ended up walking." "Hey, that's exactly what I did! And even walking didn't feel so hot, after a couple of blocks." "Yeah... maybe we should get those walkers, like old ladies use." Laughing. It was fun. :)

Kenny sobered again, looked at me. "Have you looked back there?" I was a bit surprised - I'd forgotten about trying. "No, I didn't have a decent mirror... did you?" "Nope. I tried, but the mirror was too high" (he gestured at his closet, which had a hanging mirror inside.)

We had the idea at the same time. I spoke first: "Want to check each other out?" "Yeah - I was just gonna ask you! I'll get my flashlight." He slid out of bed, went to his toy box (Kenny still had his little kid's toy box, and still kept alot of his stuff in it), came back with one of those Eveready flashlights - chrome-plated, with little ridges up and down the entire length, around 7-8 inches long, and the width of two "D" batteries.

I don't know how common those flashlights were elsewhere, but just about every boy I knew had one. I'd had one myself for years, taken it camping just about every time. They were perfectly ordinary, everyday items to me. I didn't give it any thought that night - we just needed a light to inspect each other's butts. Only later, after we split up, did it occur to me that this flashlight was almost exactly the size of Kenny's erect penis, both length and thickness. (Two-cell flashlights today are about the same size, if you want to visualize what I'm saying.) It's too bad we never thought to do a direct comparison at the time, like Alex and I did, measuring our prepubescent boners with 100- millimeter cigarettes. :) The thought of getting one of those flashlights up my butt gives me cold chills today. What was I thinking, letting a boy with a cock that big fuck me, with almost no preparation? Well, at least his dick didn't have little metal ridges running down its length - yeeowww!! :)

Kenny had the flashlight, so I figured it was my turn to go first. I had been reclining on his bed, half-sitting up, talking to him as he went over to the toy box and returned; now, I lay down on my back and pulled my legs up with my hands so my knees were on either side of my chin (that hurt a little, too). Kenny got down there and proceeded to do a thorough visual proctological exam. :) Actually it wasn't thorough at all - he spent maybe 10 seconds looking. He snapped off the light. I said, "Well? What's it look like?" He shrugged. "Normal, I guess... I mean, it doesn't look scabby or anything." I didn't think to ask him about bruising, and I don't know that he could've detected it just by looking, since neither of us knew what color a normal anus was supposed to be. In retrospect - okay, in hindsight, hahaha :) - I expect it was bruised. That would explain the week-long soreness, at any rate.

He gave me the light and we traded places. He got in the same position, and I looked. Kenny's butt and anus all looked completely "normal" to me, too. I had no idea what they were supposed to look like, so I just went with his criteria - no scabs, nothing looking like it was torn. As for bruising, even if I'd thought about it, I would've been clueless - being colorblind, I can't tell if someone (including myself) is bruised or not, unless there's a major contrast with light skin all around the bruise.

I said, "Yours looks okay, too." He said, "Okay... I wasn't really worried, anyway. I never saw any blood. Man, you must've had a cow when you saw that." "Yeah... and I was thinking, how can I explain this to my mom? 'Hey mom, can we go to the emergency room? I accidentally sat on a cucumber...'" We laughed. A second later, his words sank in - no blood?! I said: "Whaddya mean, you never saw any blood? That's not fair!... How about leaking? Did you leak?" "Umm... nope. Not that I noticed." "Man, you got off way, way too easy!" (All in good humor. I wasn't mad at all, though it looks that way, written down here.)

Kenny said, "Oh yeah? Well, did you get shit all over your dick?" I was mildly horrified. "Ooh, gross - did you? All over, really?" "Hell, yeah. And I didn't even know it till I got home that night and went to take off my underwear. It was pretty bad." I gagged, literally. "Gross-o!!... Okay, I guess we're even." At the time, I genuinely felt bad for him - the idea of shit all over one's dick struck me as being alot worse than minor bleeding and leaking. Obviously, in hindsight, you don't want to go into anal intercourse without realizing that it's possible. But both of us had been ostrich-like in that regard - ignore it and it won't happen.

"What did you do?" "Duh! Took a shower - what do you think?... No, I liked it so much I put Saran Wrap over it, so it would never dry out and stay nice and squishy." ("Saran Wrap", if anyone doesn't know, is thin plastic that you wrap leftover food in, to keep it fresh. Fifteen-year-old-boy sarcasm at its finest. :))

I guess I'd be a failure if I ever had a partner who had a scat fetish. :) I was halfway thinking about doing something more conventional with Kenny that evening - maybe 69, our mutual favorite - but talking about what he found on his weenie killed my desire, cold dead. "Pretty gross... Well, I'll say I'm sorry if you will," I said. "No, you go first." "Uh-uh, no way. You screwed me first, so you have to say it first." "Yeah, when hell freezes over..." And on it went. :)

We talked about the experience itself, some. I told him what it felt like from my end, both receiving and penetrating, and he gave his version. This was when I told him about the toe-curling thing, and the reason why I'd laughed. We both found that pretty humorous. :) We didn't talk about the fact I'd reacted like an immature little kid in those few minutes afterwards, although I did describe the experience of "coming without an orgasm", as I put it. Both of us thought that was decidedly peculiar.

Eventually, we drifted onto other subjects. Kenny told me about having to replace his mom's KY tube, after we'd lost the cap in the straw. It was actually kind of a funny story, although I felt sorry for him, because it embarrassed him. He'd walked up to the corner drugstore that afternoon, knowing he had to get it. Like millions of teenage boys before and after him who found it necessary to buy sex-related items like rubbers or KY, Kenny camouflaged his deed by buying a bunch of other unrelated stuff at the same time. (The other teenage-boy solution is to shoplift the stuff; but Kenny wouldn't do that - he was an honest kid.) He got to the counter with his pile of miscellaneous goods, and they rang up his purchases - and he didn't have enough money. He stood there, half-paralyzed, trying to think about what to discard... and the guy behind the counter was staring at him the whole time. Kenny said he could just tell the man was thinking "And just what do you need KY for anyway, little boy?" He ended up blindly sweeping about half his pile to one side, paying for the rest, and leaving quickly - bright red, I'm certain.

(Why does stuff like that always happen when you're buying rubbers or other sex items at the drugstore? As I said, that kind of thing never embarrassed me. But Kenny wasn't quite my temperament in that regard. Poor kid.)

This whole time, we were lying on our sides facing each other, whispering. It was getting late; we were both yawning. Finally I said, "I'm gonna rack out." Kenny said, "Hey, before you do..." I knew what he wanted. But after the poop conversation, I didn't want to do it. I was still grossed out, and I knew I couldn't get my mouth on his dick without thinking about it, and imagining the taste... But I couldn't tell him that. I didn't think it would hurt his feelings or anything... I don't know, it just seemed awkward. So I said, "No, maybe later... I'm still sore..."

Kenny didn't argue or press the issue. There was a little more conversation, and not long after I drifted off.

The next morning, when we woke up, it was a different story. Oftentimes on sleepovers, we'd have sex as soon as one of us woke up and began to grope the other. That's what happened this morning - Kenny woke up first, and I awoke to find my hard-on engulfed in his mouth. We went straight to 69. Neither of us put our hands anywhere near each other's anal sphincters. This was the first orgasm I'd had since the barn, and even in my hazy, still-half-asleep state, it was good. The contractions made my anus twinge, but not badly enough to be distracting. And it was a normal old orgasm. In the back of my mind, I was still worried that being screwed had messed up my insides and I'd never have a good orgasm again; so this brought a vague sense of relief in addition to the rest of the sexual afterglow. It was a good footnote to the whole episode. :)