Date: Wed, 13 Jun 2012 10:04:31 -0700 (PDT) From: Arthur Arthor Subject: Johnny and Friends - Young Friends - oral I have a regular suck buddy that, over the years, has shared several episodes of his life with me. Actually the only time he is not talking about his life -- such as it is -- is when he has a dick in his mouth. This is one of his stories. [I opted not to use "There are eight million stories in the Naked City, yada yada yada.] Johnny was in the seventh grade. He was new to the neighborhood and all of the neighbors treated him like the angel that he was. That is, all of the neighbors except for myself. My place had been usurped as the adorable child; the child that got hugs and fresh baked cookies from all of the older dames in the neighborhood. I had become the pimpled-faced teenager that smelled like a sweaty and not like a sweetie and along comes this - this towheaded charmer with a smile that you knew had to have been formed by the devil to tempt the weak. Johnny was the Webb's orphaned grandson and lived with them one street over and a few houses down from our house on our back alley. In some neighborhoods, our paths may have never have crossed. I might have never been aware of his existence had his Granny not been augmenting their Social Security income by taking in ironing. My mother was only too glad to pay her to do ours. I first saw him when he came with his Gramps to pick-up our washed and dried clothing that needed the loving touch of Mrs. Webb before all of the wrinkles were removed and they could be placed on hangers. I was taken aback by Johnny's looks. He had dark brown eyes with the longest lashes I had ever seen. He had a lilt in his step and a lilt in his voice as is only possessed by a child. I liked him. I liked him, and, at the same time, was jealous; jealous because he had so much more going for him than I had at that age. Jealous because he offered me a cookie that Mrs. Havlon had baked and given him that morning. Mrs. Havlon always gave me cookies in the past, but she never gave me a huge bag like she had given Johnny that morning. Okay, so it was only a dozen cookies! She had never offered me more than six. I was pissed, but said nothing. I reached into the bag and crushed several as I removed one and thanked the little tyke for sharing. The cookie had a bitter taste. For the next few months, I shunned Johnny. I ignored him when I could and I told him to go away when he would try to talk to me. At the same time I was discovering that my penis was not only fun when I masturbated but that that activity could be shared with others - and more; much, much more. Greg, one of my classmates, had invited me over for the weekend when my parents were going on a trip on which I did not want to accompany them. They were only too glad to have some time to themselves. We were in Greg's room when he asked me how often I beat my meat. I denied that I ever had done that. Never! He laughed and told me that I was a liar. He said that there are only two kinds of boys - those that beat their meat and those that lie about it. So, I had to be a liar. Then he smiled and removed all of his clothing. He told me to do the same. I was transfixed as I gazed upon his nude form. Oh, I had seen him naked in the shower at school. I had seen all sorts of naked boys in the shower, but I had never thought of them in a sexual way. I always thought that that was reserved for my true loves - my right hand and Hilda Hardcastle, if I could ever get Hilda to even look at me. Hilda was a distant hope but my right hand was my constant lover. Greg reached for my shirt and yanked its tail from my trousers. I flinched. He only laughed again and told me to get with the program as he cupped my crotch with one hand and pushed me onto his bed with the other. The hand on my crotch started gently kneading my scrotum and his thumb rubbed my rapidly extending penis. My initial fear was replaced with lust. I ripped the buttons from my shirt and yanked my trousers and underwear down. I forgot about my shoes; then impeded the removal of my clothing, but, what the hell; the important stuff . . . my stuff . . . was exposed. Every part of my flesh was electrified by the slightest tough from Greg. Greg was giggling as he observed my reaction. As I settled down and reached for his dick to return the favor, he erupted into laughter. We continued cupping each other's scrotums, rolling the contained nuggets to and fro, running our fingertips lightly over the other's perineum, moving closer together, and, finally, Greg was on top of me. He humped his pelvis into mine. The feeling of his flesh on mine was impossible to put into words. It transcended ecstasy. My heart had never beaten with such rapidity. My breathing was spasmodic. My dick was likened unto an iron spike ready to be hammered by John Henry. Greg lifted himself on his arms as he continued his humping. I pulled at his shoulders to return him to an embrace. I wanted as much of his skin on as much of my skin as possible. He told me to relax, because, if I liked this, I was going to love what was to come. He rolled off of me and took my shaft in his skilled hand and stroked with a cadence of a fiend. I reached between our reclined bodies and clasped the dick that was then humping my thigh. I could not match Greg's manipulations and could only hold it as Greg pumped his hips. To my dismay, Greg suddenly stopped and sat up. I pleaded with him to continue. He only smiled and rotated himself to where his head was even with my crotch and vice versa. I had never seen a dick as close as that that was then only inches away from my face. It was mesmerizing. I reached and clasped it once again and Greg reciprocated. Greg told me that I should do to his exactly what he would do to mine. He stroked me; I stroked him. He . . . WHAT THE HELL WAS HE DOING? My whole body quaked. My dick was the center of the Universe being drawn into the vortex of a black hole. Every electron in my body was joggled into erratic orbits and my body was melting into erotic bliss. I had to look to see what he was doing. I had thought that that was what he was doing, but also thought it impossible. Sure, in a word fight one might say `suck my dick', but that is like saying `go to Hell'; one does not seriously expect one to do that. Greg stopped. He looked between our bodies and said my name. I needed no further prompting, as I knew what he wanted. Tentatively, I first smelled his dick and kissed it. Gregg remained passive while I opened my mouth and placed my lips around the base of his bulbous glans. I tongued the fleshy delicacy trying to ascertain its taste. It had no offensive taste, if any, so, I followed Greg's lead and laved his shaft with spittle and sucked him like a piglet on a sow. It was not until I felt the onrush of orgasm that I realized that, as with beating your meat, ejaculation would be the coup de gr�ce to this magnificent deed. I pulled off of Greg and warned him that I was about to shoot. His answer was to continue swirling his tongue around my engorged shaft as I shot my seed into his mouth. I thought, `What the hell,' as I again took him into my mouth. His hips lunged forward as he unloaded a copious volume of his essence into my mouth. I sloshed it around to savor the taste and found that, while it seemed unsavory, it was not totally off-putting. And, if Greg could do it, so could I, so, I swallowed his offering as more was flooding my mouth from his seemingly unceasing ejaculations. When he finished, his scrotum was draped across my nose. It is a wonder that he did not crush his nuts as he was pounding my face. We lay for a long while side by side; quieted by our mind numbing orgasms, in, what I would learn to be, a soixante-neuf position. Now, I can never get enough of soixante-neuf. Finally, I opened my eyes and saw that Greg's penis was still there and half-hard. I moved to it and, once again, engulfed it into my mouth. It took only second for Greg to return the favor. We were slow and methodical as we suckled and stroked the hot flesh of the other. That weekend, Greg turned me into a first-class cocksucker. I had found my calling and after that I was always reading people to try to ascertain their proclivities. All that is beside the point to this story, but it allows the reader know where my mind was following my weekend with Greg. It was several months that Johnny's Granny had to take his Gramps to the hospital and she asked my mother whether or not we could look after Johnny while she stayed at the hospital with her husband. Of course the answer was in the affirmative . . . much to my chagrin. That was an eventful day in two ways; I had passed my driver's test, and I had two half beds in my room and Johnny, my nemeses, was to sleep in one. I resolved myself to remain aloof. I spent most of the morning acquiring my driver's license and most of the afternoon driving by my friend's homes to honk and wave -- rubbing it in, if you please. I arrived home to find Johnny napping in my room. I slammed the door and went to the living room to ponder my plight. I needed relief from my pent-up anger. So, I slinked off to my alternate masturbatorium, the unfinished part of our basement, for a glorious session of self-abuse. Becalmed, I then returned to my room and found the `precious angel' watching cartoons with his back propped-up on the headboard. I turned the volume down a bit, grabbed a book, and plopped down on my bed to read. I had one foot on the floor and one in the center of the bed. It was unintentional. I did not want to draw attention to my family jewels. I sensed that eyes were upon me; quickly I glanced to see that, indeed, Johnny was watching me more than the cartoons. `Damn!' I thought, `I'm not going to give him the pleasure of seeing me with a hard-on!' I raised my offending leg, crossed my feet, placed a pillow on my middle as a prop for my book, and continued reading. There were a few times that I heard him make an intake of air and quickly exhaling as one would do when on the verge of speech, then, thinking twice about it, abort the process. As I turned pages, I was given the opportunity to cast a furtive gaze in his directions. At one point I observed him adjusting his underwear by yanking at the material at his crotch. Interesting, I thought. Later that evening we were again alone in my room. When he removed his shirt and shorts to ready himself for bed; the sight called my boner bone to full alert. I retrieved a pack of playing cards from my bookshelf and asked him whether he might like to play some cards. My sudden initiation of a conversation startled Johnny, but he readily acquiesced to my suggestion. I handed him the pack and proceeded to equalize our states of undress. I sat on his bed sideways; drawing one knee to the center of the bed and hooking my foot in the crook of the other. Johnny was my mirror image on the bed -- in posture only. I told him to deal. He dealt. I did not ask what game he intended to play because I was in the middle of my own game. I picked-up my cards and arranged them -- in no particular order, for I was eyeballing the small mound in Johnny's shorts. I then tugged at my shorts, as if to un-bunch the fabric. I was looking at Johnny's dark eyes and realized that I had scored a point in my game when his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as he caught sight of my cotton clad pride and joy. It was a monster when compared to Johnny's fingerling, but, alas, it was only my five-incher. I don't know why I said `alas', as I loved my five-incher then as much as I love my six-incher today. It fits well in most mouths. I tossed my cards down and asked him whether he would like to touch it. He asked of what I meant. I took his hand and placed it on my hot and pulsing member. He was overtaken with fear and showed it by wrenching his hand away like he had been stung by a bee. I told him that everything was all right; that it was only us and no one else needed to know what fun we were about to have. I leaned over, clasped his arm, and pulled him to me. I sat him on my lap and whispered for him to relax because I was going to give him a thrill. I pulled the front of his underwear down to expose his flaccid boyhood. It looked as I expected to find on a heavenly creature. He strained to pull away and whispered his objections; knowing that this was meant to be a secret. I figured that he would have been running down the street by now, had he really objected. I rolled his little shaft between my thumb and two fingers to charge his battery. He watched me skin back his foreskin to expose his perfectly formed helmet. I tickled the most sensitive area on the shaft just below his helmet and was rewarded by a sudden gasp as his noodle was transformed into a first-class dick. The only problem was that Johnny was still not pleased. He told me that his Gramps had told him to never allow anyone to touch him there; that that was his and his alone. I told him that that was true, but sometimes it was a wonderful thing to share with others, and I wanted a share. I pulled his trunk back and placed an arm on his belly to give me better access to his goodies. I knew that I would have him, if I could only get my mouth on it. As I moved my head towards my intended target, Johnny whimpered that he was going to scream. Enough said! I released him and told him that I was only joking and stressed that I did not want to hurt him now or in the future. I put emphasis on `the future'; an implied threat of the softest form; albeit empty. I pulled his underwear back up and lifted him back to where he had been sitting. I told him that what I had done was a bad thing and that I was sorry. I told him that most of my friends like to play like that and that I assumed that he was old enough to learn the game, but I was wrong. I wiped a tear from his cheek with my thumb and asked him whether or not he could forgive me. He sniffled and was quiet as he momentarily felt his deflating member. I assumed that he was assuring himself that it was still there and not broken. At last he said that he forgave me. It seemed half-hearted but I was still glad of it. I turned the television on and plopped myself back onto my bed. I asked him what he wanted to watch. He shrugged. I gave him the remote and told him that he could watch what he wanted. I had a sudden inspiration and told him to put his shorts on and to come with me as I pulled my jeans on. He had a fearful expression and I reassured him that everything was all right. He followed me to the garage and I pulled my ten-speed bike from the hooks on the wall and placed it in front of him. I told him that I was going to be driving now and I thought he might like my old bike. He smiled and thanked me. Okay, I was paying off the kid -- cheap at twice the price. It was several weeks later that I arrived home to change clothes before going out again. I was surprised that none of my shirts were in my closet. I knew that I had several there that morning. My mother told me that she thought that my closet was musty and washed all of my clothing and she has sent them to Mrs. Webb to be ironed. She told me that they should be ready and that I could go pick them up, if I needed them now. I thought that strange but drove around the block to the Webb's house; pausing to think as I listened to end of a song on the radio before going to the door. I could see Johnny sitting on the sofa reading a book. I tapped lightly on the door and he told me to come in. I asked for his Granny and was told that she had to go take his Gramps to the doctor and would not be back for several hours. I asked about the ironing and he told me where it was. I fetched it and realized that it was only my clothing. Odd, I thought. I returned to the front room and Johnny smiled up at me. I asked him what he was reading and he told me that he had homework and was studying. Odd, I thought. This was Friday and I knew that his school, my former school, did not give homework on Fridays. Too many things did not add up to a logical reason for this whole thing. I paused for only a fraction of a moment and told him that he should also read a chapter of the Bible every day. I left and, after placing the ironing in the car, I started the engine and pondered what had just happened as I adjusted the radio. I drove away slowly and was not surprised that the Webb's car was parked at the end of the street - as was an unmarked police car; I could tell that from the license plate. So, my little friend had talked and my mother and the Webbs were trying to entrap me. I felt a certain sense of pride that I had won this gambit. When I returned home, my mother asked me how the Webbs were doing. I told her that they were not there, but that Johnny let me get the ironing. I told her what a weird child he was and thought that the Webbs should not leave him alone. Then I told her that I had met some new friends and that we were going to a Bible study class at the Episcopal Church in Fairfield. She was somewhat - no, she was totally surprised at this. I told her that Hilda Hardcastle would be there and I thought that I loved Hilda. An hour later, I am sure that my mother was reveling in the fact that her son had not attacked little Johnny and was now pursuing an age appropriate female, and at a church no less. As for myself, I was sucking on an Episcopal priest's son's dong.