Where it happened: Various places
Langauge: English
Sex: Male
Rating: 5
Category: Straight
One may well ask, “first time for what?” With this in mind, I shall now recall the various sexual highlights of my life.
Like many children, my first sexual experiences were with a couple of playmates when I was about 5 years old. “Rodney” was the grandson of an elderly couple who lived next door; we were outside under my back porch playing, and we checked out each other’s equipment. That was the first time I’d seen another boy’s penis.
“John” and I were a little more adventurous, probably owing to the fact that he was a year older than me, and rather persistent in his advances. The first time with John was when our mothers were doing their coffee thing in the kitchen; John and I were playing up in my room. I remember mutual anal exploration taking place, with penises being largely ignored. My mother caught us in the backyard (in full view of the kitchen window) groping each other’s genitals through our clothing; her blushing, indignant response was the first indication I had that this was somehow “dirty.”
There was then a period of inactivity for a couple of years. When I was 7, John, then 8, invited me upstairs to an old barn which backed on to his property. His friend “Sonny” was also there. We basically took turns peeing from the hayloft to see who could “go the farthest,” and checking out each other’s equipment. As circumcision had been in vogue, there seemed to be nothing unremarkable about my playmates’ genitalia.
Having been indoctrinated into the carnal delights of boyhood, such as they were, I decided to check out the four-year-old son of the proprietor of the local pool hall. “Bobby” was a most willing accomplice: not only did he show me his penis, he also favoured me with a display of taking a shit under the back-steps of the pool-room. Neither of us seemed concerned about the lack of toilet paper. How we never were seen from that alley-way remains today a source of amazement.
From ages eight through thirteen, I led what could best be described as a semi-monastic existence. I didn’t have a huge number of friends, and those I did have were not really “into” sexual exploration; and, at that point in my young life, neither was I.
When I was about 11 years old, my cousins and I were staying at my older sister’s place over Christmas. When we were getting undressed for bed, I noticed that my 14-year old cousin “David” had, by comparison, an absolutely enormous cock, and a lush growth of auburn pubic hair. (Some people go all their lives wondering what colour a red-head’s pubic hair is: I found out quite early on!). Not being terribly discreet, I made some comment which embarassed him to no end. “I wonder if that will ever happen to me?” I mused.
When I began to approach puberty, at around 12 years of age, I was rather surprised to notice hair beginning to grow in strange new places. My genitals obviously would have had to undergo some enlargment, but when you check yourself out every day, it’s not quite like Aunty who comes to visit once a year, declaring, “My, how you’ve grown!” Remembering my cousin, and finding body hair to be aesthetically rather repulsive, I remember using my mother’s safety razor to rid myself of the offending follicles.
I remember a growing curiosity, manifested in a number of ways. Dirty jokes and songs on the playground, courtesy of the older boys formed the beginning of a modicum of sexual knowledge, ratified by ransacking the upper reaches of a downstairs closet for the antiquated sexual manuals which my parents had stashed, but never managed to throw out; two companion volumes, “Mother and Daughter” and “Father and Son,” both of which contained not only line-drawings of male and female genitalia, but also explicit photographs of the ravages of gonorrhoea and syphilis, as well as dire warnings of the consequences of masturbation (or, using the preferred term, “self-abuse”). A particularly weighty tome, “Sex, Marriage and Birth Control” was rather a difficult read, but there were pictures which were quite entertaining to a 12 year old’s mind. Although these explorations were purely solitary, this was basically the lull before the storm.
The summer I was 13, I went off to camp in mid-July for a week. Although nothing happened there, my return from that week marked the beginning of a series of sexual escapades which I recall with a great deal of embarassment and shame, and yet a sort of wistfulness … as in, “If I only knew then what I know now … “
Shortly after I got back, my friend John, mentioned above, paid me a visit. He clearly had one thing on his mind, as we went downstairs.
“Do you want to see something neat?”
“Sure,” I replied.
At that point he unzipped his jeans and produced his 6.5 inch erect penis, surrounded by a bush of curly dark hair. Hitherto, I had never seen an erect penis before, save my own. “Watch this,” said John, as he grasped it in his hand and pumped his wrist back and forth. “It feels really good … now watch close.” I was mesmerised, as I saw the first drops of pre-cum appear at his glans meatus, and then a volley of sticky white semen ejaculating from his angry cock, landing on my father’s workshop floor. I remember him asking me to show him mine, which I was ashamed to do, since I was nowhere near so well-hung, and moreover quite incapable of the ejaculatory feat just displayed. I resisted, but relented at the threat, “I won’t be your friend anymore if you don’t.” I don’t even remember being erect, but do remember, after John’s cursory inspection, administering a handjob to John. “Rub my balls … it feels really nice.”
The fact that John basically had no use for me other than sexually, and was not above blackmail to prove it, led me to seek out other friends, who were mainly a year or two younger.
At this point, things become rather blurry in a sea of young cocks. It is safe to say that in the small town I grew up in, I managed to make the acquaintance of most of my classmates’ genitalia. “Lloyd,” age 12, had a short, stumpy penis, quite undeveloped, with an almost reddish-brown glans; “Glenn,” age 13, had begun puberty, with a member that was about 4 inches long erect; a scab near his circ line bore mute testimony to frequent masturbation; “Robbie,” who delivered on his bike for the local grocery store, had 5.5 inches erect, and s sparse growth of pubic hair; “Wally” had just begun to grow, with a silky-smooth glans, 3.5 inches hard, and no pubic hair at all. There were many, many more.
Three of my compatriots stand out in my mind as having provided me with really unique experiences. “Brian,” two years younger, but probably my closest childhood friend, was the only boy in town who wasn’t circumcised. I was absolutely enthralled with his foreskin, and the shiny mauve glans which lurked beneath. He was 11, quite small, even for his age, but an excellent student — one of the smartest kids in the school. My recent acquisition of a student-type microscope led to the examination of certain bodily fluids; I was capable of pre-cum, but nothing more. Even my young friend scoffed my quest for the little wrigglers on the glass plate: “You won’t find any sperm in THAT.”
Another boy named “John” became probably my best friend when Brian’s father was transferred. He was one of a very few kids in town whose parents were divorced … this was back in the days when such matters were considered somewhat scandalous in a small town. John had no lack of friends, and I felt really pleased to be among his inner circle. We were all basically decent kids, not into vandalism or such like. John, his three sibs, and his mother lived in a big, lightly run-down old brick house. The atmosphere there could have been described as happy, but chaotic. His mother was one of my favourite adults all the way through high-school and university — one of the few people who didn’t sneer at my dreams and seemed to take me seriously.
I remember one famous weekend in the wintertime, when John and I pored over a well-thumbed copy of David Ruben’s, “Everything You Always Wanted to Know about Sex But Were Afraid To Ask.” I was terrified that his mother would walk in; but John assured me that she didn’t care: in fact, she had bought the book for the kids! A couple of days later, John and I had gone skating one Sunday afternoon, and returned to my place for supper. My parents were away, and, being old enough not to have a sitter, we had the place to ourselves. I had some pretty strong feelings for John and was quite anxious to see him naked … and he quite happily obliged. His body was beautiful — totally hairless, with the beginning of pubertal enlargment, and cleanly circumcised. I would have willingly sucked him, and began to move in that direction, but he wasn’t interested in that. So I was content to give him a hand-job, and, in so doing, was able to bestow what turned out to be my very best friend’s first orgasm! It was dry, but unmistakable … the shuddering, and the little moan and sigh as he climaxed will ever remain one of the high points of my sexual life.
“Larry,” one of the last boys I had checked out before swearing off sexual activity, had a really unique anomaly: hypospadias. His urethra and glans had not properly formed in utero, and his meatus was on the bottom of his penis. He probably could have charged admission in our little circle!
My reputation began to deteriorate, however. Ironically, those who were among my greatest detractors were oft-times party with me in these escapades. I basically swore off this kind of activity, before I was ruined completely.
The other irony is that all this took place before my first ejaculation, which I will never remember. John (the first one) had taught me how to jerk myself off, after which I did so many times, but with no payout. On the third Sunday in May of 1969, shortly after my 14th birthday, I was getting dressed for church, and sitting on the foot of my bed, masturbating as was my usual custom. The usual pleasurable sensations ensued, but then — BANG — out it came, all over my bedroom carpet! “Wow,” I thought, “I guess this is it!” And at that point, I began my masturbatory career, sometimes three or four times a day, variously into the toilet, wadded-up kleenex, and even an old sock.
Wanking was my constant and sole means of sexual realease during high school: having learned to masturbate before I was capable of ejaculation, I have never had a wet dream.
I never had a steady girl-friend until university. The first time I had ever fucked a girl was toward the end of my freshman year; she had a reputation, and was written up quite liberally on the washroom walls, but I didn’t care. A bunch of us went out to an outlying part of town, and, on the mile-and-a-half walk home, we stopped to neck quite frequently, and by the end of the evening had arranged to meet the following night. I declared my room “reserved” with my room-mate, who was sporting enough to find alternate shelter. I bought a condom from a senior who lived upstairs, and was ready for the big event.
What a let-down. I was so damned nervous, I couldn’t find the right hole, and then went soft. So, she climbed on top of me. We fooled around enough that I was able to get it up again, and shot my load of cumjuice. She didn’t cum at all. Afterwards, though, I reached down to take off the rubber, and found it missing. She reached up inside her cunt and produced it! Conscientious type that I am, I was worried that she might get pregnant, but she told me that she was on the pill, and that the condom had really been quite unnecessary. (Yeah, right — after half the campus had gizzed inside her.)
My last two experiences I had before I got married some years later was when I was nineteen, and was essentially seduced at a summer camp I worked at by a 14-year old named “Kevin.” I brought his circumcised ramrod — with a “mushroom” head instead of a “strawberry” — to a messy white orgasm. Unfortunately, it didn’t last beyond that night, and he was quite standoffish, and even hostile afterwards. Kind of made me wonder, since he was very much the aggressor. Maybe the chase really is more fun than the catch. The legal implications make me shudder to this day.
My last pre-marital experience was with “Nancy,” who lived kitty-corner to where I worked. For some funny reason, I was never able to bring myself to enter her, but was content to bring her off to orgasm by hand. And her orgasms were incredibly strong. I basically learned the finer points of female anatomy through her.
I shall stop here, for I am now married, with a wonderful family, and a highly successful career. The off-handedness and clumsiness of “recreational sex” was a part of my life which no longer exists, and I will not cheapen that which means so much to me by putting it up for the world to see.
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