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This is another of those almost-random collections of thoughts with a loose central theme. In this case, it's a bunch of stuff that I couldn't or didn't turn into full-fledged stories, along with a few more reflective thoughts, all tied to the fact that I was a promiscuous little kid - particularly from 11 years old through 14. So, in no particular order... ----- Here's a fun little memory: Boner swordfights! Has anyone else ever had a "sword" fight with another boy your age, using your erect penis as a weapon? I'm sure I'm not the only one. But I've never run across another story about that particular silliness. It's about what you'd think: You and your friend strip naked (you could take off just your pants and underwear, but we never did; it was more fun naked), get hard, if you aren't already (I always was), get up close, and go to it. It's not something you want to do for hours, but it's an entertaining little experiment. I guess this sounds like something a boy might do around ages 7-9, and then grow out of it as he got more mature. Perhaps. But I didn't think of it until I was 12, in 7th grade. And I wasn't too old to get silly. :) I only convinced a few other boys to do it (three, as I recall), but we had fun. My boner swordfight with my friend Shaun was my first, and it's as good an example as any. We only did it once - in fact, I never did it twice with any boy (it was kind of juvenile, after all... :)) Shaun was the 1970s version of a latchkey kid - he was an only child, and his mom was single and worked until 5 o'clock, and he got home from school at 2:45. I didn't get home until after 5:00 if it was a sports practice day, but if it wasn't, I arrived at around 3:45 to 4:00 p.m.; and that was my situation on this particular February day. We were in his bedroom that cold afternoon, with nothing to do. I suggested that we have a sword fight - the regular way, not involving weenies. The particular idea had come to me because I saw some little-kids'-type plastic swords in his old toybox in his bedroom. He was up for it, so we went outside and played with them for awhile. It was cold and damp, and we got bored with that after 10-15 minutes. But during the process, I'd gotten this idea. In fact, the idea came to me at a specific moment during the battle: when I twisted to avoid Shaun's flailing, and he promptly took advantage by trying to poke his sword up my butt, through my pants. I wasn't into anal stuff, but it was hard to avoid making a connection. I guess Dr. Freud would have plenty to say about swords and phallic symbols, and maybe he'd have a point. :) Now, Shaun and I had already fooled around, to a degree. He was the first boy who actually watched me reach orgasm, when we were 10 years old and I demonstrated to him how I turned the little tickle into a big tickle. I tried my best to convince him to try it with me, or to let me do it to him. He let me feel his hard-on a few times, but he never wanted to go farther. He never backed out of any sexual situation, either; he just had his comfort level, and that was it. This afternoon, I wasn't sure he'd go for my idea, but my usual philosophy was "if you don't ask, you'll never find out." So, after we went inside and threw the swords back into the toybox, I said, "Hey... how 'bout a weenie swordfight?" At first, Shaun just looked at me, puzzled (later, he told me he thought I meant hot dog weenies. :)) But I unzipped my pants, and he started laughing, so I figured it was cool. We were alone in the house, with a half-hour till his mom was due, so privacy wasn't an issue. We shut the door to make sure, then stripped naked. Both of us had boners already. And... well, what's to tell? We got close, face to face, and thrust our pelvises forward to make contact, and went at it. There was one rule, we agreed beforehand: no poking your opponent in the balls. But everything else was fair game. We did more parrying than thrusting, as I recall. The whole thing lasted even less time than the original swordfight outside, and it wasn't all that erotic. We both stayed erect the whole time; the friction of handling your penis was enough to ensure that. But I didn't get anywhere near orgasm, and I doubt Shaun did. He got tired of it first, as you might guess, and said, "Okay, I call 'uncle'", and collapsed back on his bed. I could've taken advantage of his defenseless posture, but I didn't. :) I fell across the bed, too, facing him, both of us giggling. Cool. Naturally, I was not going to lose an opportunity to check on whether Shaun was ready to take that next step. So I said, "Wow, that got me horny - are you?" Not much of a line, but it was spur-of-the-moment, after all. Shaun said, simply: "Nope." Oh, well... maybe next time... :) ----- I am terrible at judging sizes. If you asked me to estimate the biggest penis of all the boys I had sex with, I could tell you that with no trouble: it was my boyfriend Kenny. But actual estimates are tough for me. I sucked his dick over a hundred times, and I still have no firm idea. Here's the best I can gauge it: Typically, I got it about one-third in my mouth before gagging. I measured my mouth depth last night (first time I've ever thought to do that), and the ruler goes to 3 inches before I gag. My mouth was smaller then, of course - maybe 2.5 or 2.75 inches. So that would make Kenny between 7.5 and 8 inches. That seems about right... but it's still an estimate. Other big ones belonged to Jeff, the boy I got drunk with at age eight; Ricky, my first masturbation partner; and Joe, the 12 year-old at Y-camp with whom I came so close to losing my virginity. Joe's status is hard to judge, because he was the first post-pubescent boy I had any kind of sexual contact with, and I had no standard for comparison. He sure seemed gigantic to me at the time, though. The smallest penis I ever played with is tough to judge. My own was near the low end, except during the growth spurt I had at age 13 when for a few months I was bigger than nearly all of my friends. Estimating the smallest is a bit unfair, because some well-endowed little boys grew to become no bigger than average through puberty, and others with little cocktail weenies acquired sausages when the hormones kicked in. I don't know why I care about inches. Size does matter in certain circumstances - the prime example being letting Kenny fuck me without preparation - but otherwise, it's trivial. I guess I just like keeping statistics. :) ----- Some thoughts on what boys do during sex, and why: I liked sucking dick. Taking a boy's penis into my mouth fulfilled something for me. I felt full - complete - filled up - like I'd waited all my life to have his dick in my mouth. The feeling of being full, and satisfied, like it took away an emptiness. Some of that feeling undoubtedly stems from an overall oral craving - the same pleasure you get from smoking a cigarette, or sucking on a piece of candy or the tip of your pencil. Humans universally seem to like doing that kind of stuff. I assume it's connected to the instinct we mammals have from birth to suck - if newborn babies don't have that instinct, they won't get milk. But sucking a boy's cock is different to me than sucking on a piece of licorice or whatever. (I'll pause so everybody can say "Duh, Danny!!" All together now - one two, three... :)) What I mean is that it's not just satisfying a desire to suck. It's another person. I believe people need each other. People have the ability to fill in gaps in one another. Put your hands together and lace your fingers. Your left hand complements your right. Isn't that cool? Two boys can complement each other that way. And because I like women, I'll assert that male and female complement each other. This website would quadruple in size if I went into male-female relationships, so I'll merely say that for me, the male-female complementarity is even deeper and ultimately more fulfilling. Getting sucked by another boy was also complex. Like being wrapped in total safety and comfort and bliss. It was physically awesome to have my whole penis stimulated, but there was more to it than the physical sensation. Sixty-nine is more than the sum of the two experiences. I think 69 is as close as you can get to the dual, co-equal complementarity you get by lacing your fingers. There's a special dimension to sucking a prepubescent boy with a small cock, and there's a different special dimension to sucking a boy who can shoot. It's indescribable to take him in all the way, up to the root. You can't do that, usually, if he's into or past puberty and his dick is big - but a wet orgasm was an awesome way to end the experience. Apples and oranges. I felt fulfilled the first time I swallowed a boy's sperm. I don't much care for the taste, but there is a psychological dimension that I really did like. I liked having mine swallowed too. Can you ever get both feelings simultaneously? Can you take another boy in up to the root, even when he's sexually mature and has a big cock and can ejaculate? I guess a kid with a big mouth and another kid with a small weenie could manage, but I never did. :) There is a way to accomplish that, though - very definitely. I only did it once. But that was sufficient to show me that you can receive full penetration and a climactic liquid result. I'm talking about anal copulation, of course. There was pain that time, and I was too focused on that. But I was very aware that Kenny was giving me something special, too. right I still wonder. ----- The summer of my twelfth year, I was in the water more than out of it. I was on the rec-league swim team (that was my last summer swimming, as it happened; I needed to work every subsequent summer), and I just hung out at the pool alot with my friends. There was a lifeguard at our pool. I'm not gonna give him a name in this narrative. He was an okay guy, and he deserves to be called something more personable than "the lifeguard", but the truth is that, at the moment, I'm tired of making up fake names for everyone. :) And, more to the point, I don't know if he knew my name. He probably did, because I had a reputation at our pool. But he never called me by name, so I'll never know. Every August, our neighborhood pool was reserved for a community festival. There was a barbecue, games for the little kids, stuff for the adults to do (I've forgotten exactly what the adults did at those festivals, since I never paid any attention), and, of course, swimming and water games. This particular festival, the lifeguard on duty was this particular lifeguard. I had gotten to know this lifeguard pretty well. I'd talked to him alot, of course - I talked to everybody. My main interaction with him, and with the guards in general, took the form of being warned for my smart-ass behavior. I won't drag this story out, I guess. Here's what happened. At one point in the evening festivities, I had the opportunity to tell this lifeguard to "bite my weenie." I was showing off to my friends, proving I was a tough guy by mouthing off to the authority-figure. The lifeguard told me to watch my mouth. Cut to summer darkness. The festival was winding down. I was walking out with my friends, getting ready to grab my bike and go somewhere with them - destination as yet unplanned, but probably somebody's house. The lifeguard called me back. I told my friends I'd catch up with them. The lifeguard asked me where I got a mouth like that. A conversation took place about the term "bite my weenie" in which I told him that I'd gotten a mouth like that from biting people's weenies. I was still smarting off, and didn't mean it literally - not in my conscious mind, anyway. But then, he asked me if I had ever done that for real. I answered him directly, in these exact words as I recall: "No, biting somebody's dick would hurt. But sucking it feels good." This conversation led, after about 15 minutes, directly to the back seat of his car, a dark blue Chevy Caprice. And there, I proved to him that sucking a dick feels good. But he showed me something even better - how to 69. In one sense, it wasn't a successful experience, because I didn't orgasm. For one thing, that was the first time I'd had a boy licking and moving his tongue over the top of my penis instead of the bottom, and that didn't feel the way I was used to feeling. And he came fast, and I got caught by surprise and had to swallow, and his sperm didn't taste all that good. (He was a cigarette smoker - I don't know if this is scientifically valid or not, but the boys who smoked had semen that tasted more bitter, or something. I didn't like smoking by that time, so maybe it was psychological.) And the third reason is that he stuck his finger up my butt. I guess that's a thrill for alot of guys. But it doesn't feel good to me in the least, and when he did it, I got super-distracted. I pushed his hand away, but it was too late, because I lost my concentration, so to speak. I didn't go completely soft, but I wasn't close to coming either. I didn't come during the 69 itself, but this lifeguard was a considerate guy. He didn't suck me off after we were done, but he gave me a hand job, and let me shoot all over the back of his seat and his floor mats without complaining. That was kind of cool. When it was over, it was over. I got out, said, "See ya around," got on my bike and went over to Paul's house. I debated with myself whether to tell him all about it, but I decided not to. I wasn't sure I felt good about what had happened. It was a little too much like what had happened with Brandon the year before - and this time, I'd left, not the other guy. Finally, a couple years later, I told Paul about that night. Paul said he wasn't surprised, because he'd noticed that lifeguard staring at my butt in my Speedo, and my 12-year-old bulge, all summer. Did I ever have sex with the lifeguard again? Nope. Did I see him again? Yep. The whole rest of the season - which was all of about 10 days. The next day, and all subsequent days, he acted like he didn't know me. I still wasn't sure I felt okay about it, so I didn't press the issue. And I never saw him again after that season was over, and the pool closed for the year, and autumn came, and I found other boys to experiment with, and life went on. ----- When sex was over, it was over. Unless it happened during a sleepover, most of the boys left when we were done, in my experience. Not everyone split immediately, but not that many lingered for hours. Most of the time, we did something un-sexual right after. I was usually the instigator of that. Many times, we'd finish sex, and then we'd play a real game. Remember "Pong"? It was the very first video game for TVs, I think. Pong was manufactured by Atari (remember Atari?) We had Pong at my house. Many, many times after sex in my bedroom, I'd challenge my friends to a game or three of Pong. A boy needs something "grounding" after sex, especially if it's his first time. In my early days especially, I introduced alot of virgin boys to sex. And they were shook up afterwards, sometimes. Not badly, or in shock, but just overwhelmed. Games, or eating snacks (my other favorite after-boy-sex pastime) were great for reconnecting to reality. But even with Pong, even with food, even with talk and respect and friendship, they always left. The boys always left, after. ----- D.J. and I were close friends. Nothing romantic. Just a couple of horny 13 year-old kids who figured out how to have fun with each other. He was the first boy I ever successfully 69ed with (i.e., both of us reaching orgasm.) Nothing special about that story, really... we'd progressed from masturbating side-by-side, to jacking each other off, to sucking each other off, over a couple weeks' time. That autumn of my first year as a teenager, D.J. was my coolest friend, because he liked to do the same things I did: play soccer, listen to music, race BMX, and suck dick. Not necessarily in that order. The story of how we tried 69 is pretty ordinary. I had the basic idea down from experimenting with the lifeguard, and I wanted to try it again, so one evening I suggested that we try it. D.J. was very willing - enthusiastic, in fact. And... we got on his bed, got positioned, attached our mouths to each other, and started sucking. I played with his balls, which he really liked, and he shot his wad quickly. It took me longer, but I was determined to get it right this time, so I basically willed myself to come, and I did after a few more minutes. I can't say it was physically exciting, but the psychology of 69 was deeply satisfying to me. I think the story of our little cooking experiment is alot more interesting. :) One rainy afternoon, D.J. and I were home alone at his house, fooling around with each other as usual, our favorite indoor activity. I had been in science lab that day at school and they had been cooking stuff on the little open-flame burner thingies, so my mind was on what happens when you cook stuff. We were about to get into it, and I said "Hey, you ever wonder what would happen to sperm if you cooked it?" D.J. said, "No! YUCK! Why would you want to?" I said, "Just for the hell of it." I told him about the lab thing I'd done, which was supposed to involve making something like Silly Putty (except my experiment didn't work...) He got a little more curious after that. So, we did it. Sixty-nine. Neither of us liked to swallow, and always spit it into our hand or something. This time we both spit it in a teacup I got out of his mom's cabinet beforehand. After we got back to normal breathing and got dressed and brushed our teeth and all that, I said, "I'm gonna cook this stuff in the oven and see what happens." By that time D.J. was back to being down on the whole idea. But I wanted to find out, so I took the cup and put it in the oven (regular oven, not many microwaves back in the 70s) and cranked it up to the top setting. It took a while, but eventually it cooked, all right. And it smelled terrible! Maybe it was the sperm, maybe it was the saliva; probably it was both. I had to throw the teacup away, because you couldn't scrape the stuff out - it was all blackened and baked on. That pissed off D.J. because he thought his mom would ask alot of questions about where her teacup went. (She never did.) Later on it got to be a big joke between the two of us. He never let me forget it. ----- As time went by and my experience accumulated, I developed techniques. It was mostly trial and error, coupled with a few educated guesses here and there. I suppose you could call them seduction techniques. I dislike the term, but I guess it fits.
I have mixed feelings about that today - about the fact that I accumulated
enough experience to develop techniques. I'd feel more comfortable if I could
believe that I was a happy innocent, wandering through the world of mutual
anatomical discovery alongside my friends. Sometimes, it really was like that.
Two boys, in a place alone together, and one boy (me) gets an idea... My first time with Alex, for example. We certainly weren't "innocent" by the classic definition. But we were sweetly naive about the mystery we were about to explore together, and the sweetness was matched by the explosiveness of what we found. But it was not like that, most of the time. More often, as I grew older, it wasn't naive at all. The sweetness still echoed faintly down the corridors, but more often I was calculating and methodical. It sounds like a paradox to say that I was spontaneous, too; but I was. What I did was skim the surface of life, laughing and picking up cues and running with them... and, when I realized they were cues, I coolly calculated odds and made my moves and judged results and adjusted plans accordingly. And all of that was only semi- conscious, at best. It's taken over 25 years for me to realize that's what I was doing. What techniques? Some were physical: when to touch; where to touch; how to rub or tickle or press; even which direction to stroke. A representative example, which I've mentioned elsewhere, is how to touch a boy's backbone. Start at his neck with the tip of one finger, just above his necklace if he's wearing one. Don't press hard... just a feather touch. Then run your finger down his spine, keeping to the exact center (and skipping over the necklace), all the way down, as far as you can go - to the tip of his coccyx (tailbone), if you can. The speed can vary, but not by much; around 1.5 seconds was best. It's electrifying to the boy, nearly always. Don't bother going the other way, up the spine. It doesn't work. Why does that work? I have no idea - not a clue. I found out it worked by accident, lying in bed with D.J. one night. We'd finished 69ing not long before. I did that to him - I have no recollection of why. But I noticed the effect, all right. I stroked his back in just that way, and then I touched him in a few other places, none of them directly sexual; and D.J. went into meltdown. We did it again right then, at his initiative, and that time he got on top, and he was wild. Most of the time, it wasn't that dramatic. But it worked. As a little kid, I found show-you-show-me to be a major ice-breaker. Showing off my own boner, with no shame and obvious excitement - that always broke the ice. I think 80 percent or more of my initial boy-sex encounters (i.e., first time experimenting with a particular partner) before age 14 or so, included me showing off. It got other boys at least curious, and often interested in reciprocating. I guess the most visibly "successful" incident was the time with Brandon at the pool party, but there were plenty of less spectacular episodes. Even up through age 16, I found that getting an obvious erection helped, although by that stage you couldn't get away with just pulling your pants down and saying, "Wanna see?" That wasn't too cool. :) But a stiff prick is hard to conceal inside your clothes, as every teenage boy has realized; and there were times I turned that ordinarily-embarrassing situation into an advantage, whether it was my own boner or the other boy's. Many techniques were verbal, and I've given examples throughout. Those techniques evolved over time, partly because I accumulated experience, but mostly because different words are appropriate at different ages. When I was 10 years old, I could ask a friend if he ever got boners. That question would be ridiculous when we were 15; instead, the question would be whether he wanted to look at Penthouse magazine. I've noted some examples, and there are dozens more. But I am not going to list them here, or anywhere. For one thing, as I said, most were unconscious or semi-conscious. But more importantly, I don't think it's a good idea. I am deeply conflicted about technique. Technique negates innocence. And innocence is sweet. ----- Sometimes I wonder how many of our very visible tragedy-stories, like the boy in Oregon who's accused of murder for example, could've been helped by a friend who reached out. The media always seem to describe those boys as "loners". Maybe a friend in younger years (not necessarily sexual) could've helped. To me, one of the things that makes boys shy and awkward is that they are embarrassed about how to handle their awakening sexuality. They hear other boys talking about their experiences and "conquests", and they feel like they are out of the race before it even started. One thing I was always glad to show them (but not push), was how to get started in that race. I thought of being initiated into sex as a favor I could do them. Maybe the folks at Los Alamos and Trinity on July 16, 1945, thought they were doing us all a favor, too. Maybe they really were. I don't know. ----- I'm looking back at my thoughts and emotions through the wrong end of a telescope - a telescope that's 25-plus years long. And that distance foreshortens things, and distorts interpretation. I never consciously thought and felt this way at ages 11, 13, 15. My self-analysis back then would've fit nicely on a bumper sticker. What about promiscuity? What about all those boys? Did I do them any favors? Was I Prometheus, who brought the fire to mankind? Or was I the serpent who gave Eve the apple? Or was I just a curious boy? I got cold. I got warm. I loved my friends, and I sucked them dry. Did I give them anything to replace what I sucked?
God alone knows. I believe in God, and in life after death. I don't know about
heaven and hell, but I believe in accountability. And so, I guess I'll know
then what I did, and what I get, and whether it's sweet or bitter.
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