Here's a story about my friend Tim in 9th grade.

Tim was a friend who was on swim team with me, a diver; and he was so flexible he could sit with his legs behind his head. He never realized this talent had other uses, until I helped him. Not to give away the punch line or anything, but if you can put your legs behind your head, you will be able to give yourself a blowjob.

Tim was more an acquaintance than a close friend at first. He was a day boy also, and lived in a different part of town. We saw each other at practice but not generally otherwise, although we had some classes together. I think he was a few months older than me. I was one of the youngest in every grade (I have an August birthday), so that would be logical. I was 14 at the time this took place, in December; Tim might have been either 14 or 15. I'll never know. Unless, of course, I go to one of our class reunions, run into him, and ask, "Say, Tim, how old were you when we went over to my house and I showed you how to give yourself a BJ, anyways?... Oh, this is your wife?... Pleased to meet you... By the way, did you know that Tim had this special talent..."
Hmmm.
Maybe not :).

In my state at that time, boys' swimming was a winter sport. Practice began each year in November, with first dual meets scheduled in December. Then in late December, schools closed for the 2.5-week Christmas break. Swimmers who didn't want to lose ground (or water, in this case) when the season resumed, had to keep to our practice schedule through the holidays. Our coach scheduled practice for 2-3 hours every weekday during break; and, although it wasn't mandatory to attend, it was understood that if you were a "serious" team member, you'd be there. I went, every opportunity we had. I was a serious swimmer. And besides, pool practice was fun during break. We were all more relaxed, and there was time for goofing off and doing typical boy stuff like farting underwater and giving Speedo-wedgies. Our coach was kind of strict but had a sense of humor, so as long as we got in some serious workouts, we could goof.

Well, in this one morning practice, during a break, the divers were goofing - doing stuff like hanging upside down off the high board by their legs, jackknifing, and so on. (No cannonballs, in case you're wondering - our coach threatened to emasculate anyone who cannonballed during practice). I had been doing some fly sprints or something like that, and needed a rest, so I was sitting with a couple of other guys on the edge of the diving pool, our legs in the water, watching the divers. There were three divers at practice that day, I think (we usually had four, maybe five on the team during any given season.) One of the divers - the youngest - was Tim.

I wasn't paying much attention to the board activity; I was busier talking to my friends. I barely noticed when Tim came up to the end of the board, and announced to the gang, "Hey, I bet nobody else can do this!" And he proceeded to sit down on the end of the low board, pull one leg up with his hands, and tuck it behind his head. I think nobody was paying real close attention; this wasn't particularly different. Nearly all of us could do that, and in fact it was similar to one of our stretching exercises.

But Tim wasn't done. He proceeded to grab his other leg, pull it up, and tuck it behind his head, with his ankles crossed behind his neck. Now that was different. I don't think he held everyone's attention, but he had mine, from that point on.

It's hard to describe what this looked like, but maybe you can imagine... The relevant point is that, with only one leg tucked, his face was still some distance away from his pelvis. With both legs, that distance was a matter of inches.

Add to that the facts that he was, of course, wearing nothing but his Speedo swimsuit, and that naturally there was a bulge in the appropriate place, and that his face - specifically, his mouth - was almost touching this bulge... I don't know how this struck the other guys, but I sure as hell began envisioning possibilities. I would guess that, regardless of orientation, it had to have occurred to the other boys there.

Nobody brought that aspect up aloud, of course, even if they were thinking about it - Coach would've hung you up to dry if you said anything directly obscene within his earshot. But Tim's feat was worthy of some reaction. We gave him the appropriate typical responses - applause; commentary (e.g., "Way to go, Tim, why don't you do that in the next meet?"); and a bunch of bad puns about the "tuck position", which is an actual diving position (but nothing like Tim's position.) Tim leaned and toppled off the board in this position, on purpose, and that was the moment. Maybe five seconds, total.

Naturally, that was not the end of the story as far as I was concerned.

As you know if you're reading chronologically, I was deep into sex with boys by this point. In an all-boys school, we didn't have many choices: abstinence,or boy-sex; that was about it. There is a difference, though, between "I'm only doing this because there aren't any girls" and "I'm doing this because I like it." I told myself the former, but I was the latter, no question. Even though I was genuinely bisexual, and got off on Playboy like most other boys, I liked boy-sex. It's ridiculous for me to think back and remember how many times I told myself - and mostly believed it - that all my previous experiences were just whims, or a brief passing phase. But denial was easier. Social pressure is a powerful thing.

I was the initiator, usually. I was the boy who showed all the other boys how to jack off, and how to do more than j/o if they were halfway willing. At this point, I had been into BJs for over three years, and was very glad to share this marvel with all my friends and acquaintances. I didn't force anyone (at 5-foot-6 and 130-odd pounds, who can?) - but I didn't automatically interpret reluctance as "no", either. I did seek out opportunities. I thought of myself as helping my friends, by sharing something cool I had discovered.

Tim seemend like a nice kid, a good potential friend. And more to the point, Tim's display had given me an idea.

I had been trying off and on for about four years - since well before puberty - to suck my own penis. I had gotten the initial idea from one of my Big 3 Books at age 10, which contained a case study in "auto-fellatio". I tried it almost as soon as I read the chapter and realized what "auto-fellatio" meant. Well, I don't know how many pre-pubescent boys can fellate themselves, but I sure couldn't. Not even close. I was too small. I gave up after a few weeks, and tried it only sporadically, until puberty. As my cock grew bigger, I tried again, periodically. I never made it. I guess that's about the only thing I regret about having a small penis :).

Tim's performance that day had put the thought in my head: "Hey, if he can do that, then why can't he go a little farther? It should be easy... wonder if he's thought about it? Maybe he's even done it? Hmmm..."

After practice I made a point to talk with Tim, just get-more-acquainted stuff. I liked making new friends, so this was standard for me with many kids at school that I didn't know well - but I did have an additional motive. I didn't know if friendship would lead to anything more, but I was not at all averse to the possibility. As I recall, we just talked generalities - practice, school, etc. Tim had to leave soon, but we became better friends.

At practice the next morning, I sat next to him and kept up the conversation, interspersed with talking to my other friends. The others were talking to Tim a little, too. He answered them, but he wasn't very conversational; and as with most boys, they weren't going out of their way to draw him into conversation. Tim was a little shy, I was realizing. I was anything but shy, and I wanted to get to know him, so I was happy to keep up my end of the exchange. He warmed up after a while, and seemed to appreciate that I took an interest. I liked him, as I did most boys - most people, in fact.

No flexibility-demos that day for Tim, or anyone; as I recall, it was a more serious workout. He was a diver and I was a horizontal speed kid, so after that first 10 minutes we were in different workout routines. But I hadn't forgotten. When practice ended, I made a point to walk with Tim back to the showers. I was enjoying getting to know him - and I also needed to check something out.

I was fairly sure Tim was pubescent - his voice was changing, and he had a little armpit hair. And he had a good-sized bulge in his Speedo, which was promising for the experiment I had in mind. But bulges in Speedos - even wet Speedos - couldn't tell you everything. I wanted to get a better clue about his length, which was the important thing. So I wanted to get next to Tim in the shower, because I wanted to scope out his weenie. The experiment depended on it. And besides - let's face it - I just wanted to look :). (As I think I've said elsewhere, luckily I could do that without getting spontaneous erections. Showering with other boys actually wasn't especially sexual to me. As a sports-minded kid, I'd done it so often in non-sexual contexts.)

Those of you who are familiar with competitive swimming know how the locker rooms are often set up: you have to walk through the showers to get to and from the pool. Going to the pool, you were supposed to rinse off before entering the natatorium, so you didn't get body oil and dirt and whatever in the pool water. Going back, you could take a serious shower with soap if you wanted - we all did. (You'd be surprised how much you of a sweat you work up swimming in cool water. And besides, Coach told us we'd better shower with soap after practices, or he'd flunk us. Since just about the whole school ended up in one or another of his history classes, he had the power. I don't know if he really would've flunked us, but nobody wanted to test his limits. A bunch of young Latrell Sprewells, we weren't :)).)

In addition to showering, by the way, in order to get to and from the pool, we also had to wade through a really disgusting greenish foot-bath - about six inches deep and filled with chemicals that killed athlete's foot fungus. I haven't seen one of those in years. It was kind of gross at the time. But, as someone with an occasional chronic athlete's-foot problem today, I can see the value. I never had athlete's foot until I was in my late 20s, and was swimming at the YMCA, where they didn't do the chemical thing.

Anyway, team custom after practice (and swim meets) was to take a "real" shower with soap. The usual post-swim routine was to rinse off for a few minutes, to get rid of sweat and bromine (our pool used bromine instead of chlorine in the water - they're similar chemicals, I think). Then you stripped off your Speedo, spent a minute or two rinsing it out (chlorine/bromine is death on the fabric in Speedos) and wringing it semi-dry, and then you soaped up and rinsed. Hair-rinsing was important, unless your ideas of attractive boy-fragrance included "Eau de Bromine" :). I never minded the smell, actually. Today, as soon as I walk into a natatorium and catch the odor of chlorine or bromine, it makes me feel happy, and sometimes a little nostalgic.

There were either six or eight showerheads in the pool-route showers; i.e., either three or four on the wall to your left and a parallel number to your right as you entered from either end. (I'm drawing a blank on the exact number, for some reason. Is that odd, or what? I don't understand how I can recall obscure details in conversations or passing scenes from 25-plus years ago, and yet totally forget the number of showerheads in a room I walked through at least twice a day, six days a week, 3.5 months a year, for five years - probably over 6000 times. The human mind is a peculiar thing... :)))

Not all of us could fit in the pool showers at once, so if they were full, you went down to the locker-room showers. I usually did that, since I was rarely one of the first kids out of the natatorium (usually I was running my mouth, joking around with my friends). This day, Tim and I were near the head of the pack. As we walked in, there was one open showerhead left - and Tim took it.

Normally, I would've kept going. But I wanted to stay with him, to check him out - and talk, too. Lest I sound like a total pervert, I'd like to state that, on many occasions, I deliberately stood next to friends in the showers, with nothing more in mind than keeping up an enjoyable discussion. Of course, this was a bit different, since I wasn't showering at the moment...

{In retrospect, now that I think of it, maybe this did look a bit odd. I mean, there's Danny, standing around with this one kid who's stripping naked, not showering himself even though there are plenty of spaces down in the locker room... Maybe it was obvious. I dunno. I didn't think of it at the time. I didn't have a well-developed sense of self-consciousness back then. :))

After a few minutes, some other kids cleared out, and I took the showerhead next to Tim. We kept yakking (principally me doing the talking, still). Having started a minute or two earlier, Tim was stripping by the time I got under the water. As we talked, I discreetly took note that: (a) he was well into puberty, as I thought; and (b) he appeared to have adequate size and length for the experiment I had in mind. We were both in a similar stage of late puberty, I'd say, judging from amount of pubic hair, which in my experience is the easiest indicator, or at least the quickest to check out. His penis was average - somewhat longer and thicker than mine, since I'm small in that area.

I don't think he knew I was scoping him out, by the way. I know he didn't check me out. He was shy and kept his back turned, mostly, as most boys did (I was always the big exception).

That was about it, that day. Tim finished before me and went down to get dressed. His locker was somewhere away from mine, so I didn't see him again that day.

We talked more and got a little closer, friendship-wise, in subsequent practices. But I'll try to make an already-long story slightly shorter, and get to the pivotal date: the day before New Year's Eve. That was our next-to- last practice for several days, with the holiday and the weekend. (Yes, friends, next-to-last - we did have practice the next day, New Year's Eve... told you our coach was strict.) Tim and I were sitting together and chatting regularly by then. We didn't have all that much in common, actually, other than swimming, but I've never felt that alot of common interests is a necessary prerequisite for friendship. I remember talking about hockey, mostly. We both wished we lived up North, so we could play hockey. Neither of us knew a single thing about hockey, since the sport hadn't penetrated down South at that point. I think the Atlanta Flames (now Calgary Flames) were the only hockey team any of us had the slightest knowledge of, and that wasn't exactly junior-high level play. But we dreamed...

By this point, I felt like I knew Tim well enough to get a little closer. And after tomorrow, it was a long weekend till practice started again. I asked Tim what he was doing after practice. He said, "Not much." Good :). I said, "Well, want to come over to my house for a while?... We can play Pong." (Pong was, for those who don't know, the very first home-TV video game ever. I think I've described it elsewhere, so I won't repeat. Suffice it to say that Pong was a boy-magnet - not to mention just plain fun to play with your friends.) Tim said, "Pong? Okay!" I have no idea what that game cost my mom, but it was worth every penny if I'd bought it myself :).

Our school ran a special bus those 2.5 weeks to accommodate the athletes required to practice over break. The plus side was that you didn't have to bug parents about getting rides (not an option for me anyway, since my mom worked); the minus side was that, if you lived near the end of the route, you had a long ride home, since this was one bus and kids lived all over the city. That 9th-grade season, I happened to live at the end of the route, the next-to-last stop going home. (There was a plus side to that, even - I was the next-to-last to get picked up in the morning, so sleeping in was a small luxury :)).

That day, Tim and I initially made plans to ride the bus to my house. Tim's mom usually dropped him off and picked him up. He tried to call her after practice, but she'd already left for school. What to do? My bus would leave before she got there, probably. We decided to chance it; Tim said his mom could drive us both to my house and pick him up later - or at worst, she could drive me home, if he couldn't stay. Sounded like a plan. So we sat around with some other kids in the drafty hallway outside the gym, making idle boy-b.s. conversation and looking out the window at the chilly December rain, our still-wet hair freezing us. (Boys didn't use hair-dryers back then; hair dryers were a "girl thing".)

As we waited, Tim got a little worried his mom wouldn't go for the plan, since it meant more driving duties than she'd expected that day. I said, "Well, if she can't, we'll just do it sometime when we can work it out... like, you can ride the bus with me if you tell her ahead of time; then she'll only have one trip." He said, "Okay... I wanna play Pong today, though." (Good - so did I. :)

It turned out to be okay. Tim's mom was a nice lady, and was glad to let him come over and pick him up afterwards when he called. I don't remember much about the ride home, except that the station wagon was constant bedlam, since a bunch of Tim's siblings were in there with us. I think he had two brothers and two sisters, all younger; and there were no mandatory seat-belt laws then, so the interior felt like one big wriggling mass of kids. I wonder if Tim's mom ever threatened to leave them off at the side of the road if they didn't behave, like my mom frequently did :).

We got to my house. Nobody home, as expected; my mom was at work and my brothers were at Grandma's and Grandpa's house. Of course, Tim wanted to go for Pong immediately, and I was perfectly willing. So we went at it with the controls.

I was, of course, thinking about how to work things around to the sex angle. It would've been cool, either way; it was always cool, either way. If we'd never done anything the least bit sexual, that still would've been a great day. I liked having friends over. Sex was an awesome bonus, if it happened, but it didn't have to happen. All of the above notwithstanding, however, I wasn't gonna miss an opportunity to show a new friend a new thrill.

Playboy and Penthouse magazines were always a good opening. I had a few Playboys in my room. (I didn't get Penthouse very often; it was tougher to snag a copy, although I preferred it to Playboy. Playboy had all those irrelevant articles - they made it tougher to get to the naked girls. Playboy was for reading; Penthouse was for jacking off. :)) I decided to maneuver things around to looking at Playboy with Tim.

After Pong, I fixed some lunch. I think we would've done that as soon as we got home; I was always hungry after practice and I'm sure Tim was, too. But Pong got priority. We had sandwiches and Fritos, as I recall. It's hard to recollect something as unmemorable as what we ate for lunch. I do remember vividly our snack later in the day, but that was part of a strategy :).

We did a few other post-lunch things for about an hour, like watch TV and play living-room soccer (sounds damaging, until you realize that I had a Nerf soccer ball), and several rounds of Paper-Wad Horse. Paper-Wad Horse (my name for it) consists of playing basketball "Horse", except you use wadded-up pieces of notebook paper and a convenient trashcan or the like for your goal. (I described how to play Horse in the narrative about my second summer at Y- camp, so I won't repeat that here.) Suffice it to say that Tim beat be solidly every time. I'm lousy at basketball, paper-wad and roundball versions :).

We hit a lull in the action after a while. I'd been waiting for that. After we'd sat around on the floor for a few minutes, I brought up the topic: "Hey, I know what we can do... You ever look at Playboys? Wanna see mine?" No hesitation: "Okay, sure." He was interested. So far, so good.

We went upstairs to my bedroom. I got out the magazines, which were stashed under my mattress (talk about clich‚s... :)) We both sat down side-by-side on my bed to look at them.

After a couple of pages, I looked at Tim's lap. The magazines were on the bed between us; that wasn't deliberate, but it worked out well to leave him uncovered. He was wearing tight Levis (the fashion then - I was wearing the same thing), and it was easy to tell that he was hard. Immediately and obviously. Good sign. After making a few comments about the women and sex, I went direct.

In hindsight, back then, at 14 y/o, I was still working on my "approach". I'm putting that in quotes because I didn't think of it as an "approach", or that I was "working" on it. It was trial and error. A year or two later, I was more conscious and deliberate in my thinking - it would be fair to say I had a set of strategies and techniques, then. A year or two earlier, it was just half- conscious thoughts, like "wonder if this'll work?" At 14, I had figured out some stuff that worked, but I wasn't systematic about it.

I asked Tim, "Do you ever got boners?" (Obvious answer, but I didn't want to push him too hard.) He didn't answer, and I saw him blush. I knew how to deal with that. I said, "It's okay, it's cool... everybody does... I do, all the time." He still didn't answer, still embarrassed. After a few seconds, I asked him, "Do you know about jacking off?... I do it alot... I can show you how, if you want..."

This all sounds really forward, written down like that. I guess it was forward. But boys tend to be blunt and direct.

I figured his answer to that would tell the story. So I waited. If he said, "What's jacking off?", then the odds were fairly good but not great - boys usually were willing to learn, up to a point (and the point where they wanted to stop was variable, depending on their threshold for new and different experiences). If he said, "Uh... well... okay", that was of course cool. If he said, "Yeah!", that was even better. If he said, "Yeah!- let's both do it!", then I'd hit the jackpot. (That happened a number of times, though never with boys as shy as Tim.)

And of course, he could always say "Aww.. I don't think I want to." Or stronger: "No!!" Or get up and walk out. Or even hit me. "No" wasn't so bad; I could switch topics, like "Hey, it's okay... we don't have to... wanna see what's in the fridge?" That usually got us off-topic and things were copacetic. Walking out happened to me several times, and it usually meant a strained situation with that friend subsequently, although recovery was possible. I only got hit once. That's another story, to follow.

I would've been surprised in Tim's case if he'd said "What's jacking off?" He was 14 y/o, maybe 15, and in late puberty, after all; I doubt too many boys get that far without discovering it. He seemed too shy to be the "let's do it" type. And the friendship vibes were too good for him to just walk out. I was therefore expecting either a tentative "okay", or some type of decline.

Tim didn't do any of the above. Instead, he said, "But what if your mom comes in?" (Goes to show you: no two boys are alike, nor are their answers - categorization is worthwhile only up to a point. :)) His nervousness was apparent. It was a fair question. I knew she was gone for the afternoon; so did he - but what was the chance her schedule would change? (Almost zero, but how could he know?) I said, "Don't worry - her boss would never let her go early. And anyway, the front door squeaks really loud" (which was true). "Nobody's here but us... wanna try it?" And I touched him lightly on the shoulder.

He was still looking down at the magazine, still embarrassed. But he was interested. He didn't shy away from my shoulder touch. And... it was just vibes. I can't explain how I knew that, but I could sense it. Instinct, perhaps.

As I've said elsewhere, I've usually found that th single best way to break the ice and let things happen, is demonstration. I was never shy about going first (and, truth be told, I was kind of an exhibitionist). Besides, it was the best way I could think of to prove we didn't have to worry about my mom coming in. So I stood up, turned to face him directly, and without ceremony unbuttoned and unzipped my Levis, and pulled them and my underwear down to below my knees. My dick was stiff as it could be. He watched me, as I knew he would. Yeah, I showed off. I didn't get in his face, but I made sure he had a good view, so to speak. That behavior - facing him directly, making sure my erection was the central focus for his atttention - that part was pure Danny, back then. I had no shame :).

I sat on the edge of the bed, and without pause proceeded to start stroking. I was on his left, and I'm left-handed, so this luckily was the best viewing angle for Tim.

Talking was always an important ingredient. Silence makes alot of people uncomfortable in any case, and this could be a heavy situation if I let that sink in. So I was talking to him the whole time, telling him a story about a 17 y/o chick I had seduced the summer before. Absolutely fraudulent and bogus, of course - I was a virgin with girls. But I knew enough from my Big 3 books to fake it convincingly. And stories like that did get me hot, after all - though not as hot as the real thing, which was in my bedroom that afternoon.

Tim didn't take his eyes off my weenie. And I watched him - mostly his face, reading his reactions, but I glanced at his crotch several times. His face showed an emotion I recognized - fascination. And he was as hard as a stale Twinkie the whole time. Very good signs.

After maybe a minute, no more, I said, "You want to try it...?" He didn't react. This wasn't negative - it meant he was sort of frozen, watching me. Fascination. I could tell he wanted to. You can tell. I said, "It's easy... just pull your pants and underwear down, and sit here like I am. Just do it like I'm doing." And after a little coaxing, he did.

Tim was coy about pulling his pants down. He turned his back, and I heard him getting his pants unzipped, and then he pulled them down. He was wearing white briefs - no surprise, although I didn't recall ever seen his underwear before. His back still turned, he pulled the briefs down. I noticed he didn't hesitate.

Incidentally, lots of the boys turned away at that moment of initial exposure, the first time we did anything, as with Tim that day. It's a modesty habit, naturally. Kind of silly considering the circumstances; the next thing he was going to do was sit next to me and beat off, very visibly. But habits die hard...

He sat down next to me. He didn't look at me, just looked down at his hard-on; then he quickly grabbed it and started stroking. His dick was about 3.5 to four inches long, I think, and thin. I'm not good at judging length, but it was long enough that when he started to j/o, his hand didn't cover the whole length.

You could nearly always tell right away, as soon as the boy started, if he'd masturbated before. Tim had obviously masturbated before. It was obvious when he started. He had a practiced technique. (Again, at 14-15 y/o, I would've been surprised to see otherwise - although over the years I did run into a few boys that age who had never jacked off before I showed them.) Tim used the full-hand-grip method, almost like a fist. So, he's not a novice, I thought to myself. He's just nervous about doing it with someone, which clearly is new to him. I could understand that.

At this point, I realized we had a logistical problem. Tim's pants and underwear were still on, bunched down between his knees and his ankles. So were mine. My own presented no problem. Neither did Tim's - if all he was going to do was jack off. But I wanted to try to get him to suck his own dick - and he couldn't do that unless he put his ankles behind his head, and he couldn't do that unless he took off his pants and underwear, and shoes, too.

Well, following the leader usually was the most effective method. As soon as I realized the problem, I kicked off my shoes and stripped my jeans and boxers off, saying to Tim, "Let's get our pants off - you'll feel better." (Not a strong reason, but it was spur-of-the-moment, after all.) He didn't hesitate on this one - he wiggled his Levis and briefs and shoes off all in one motion. He never let go of his boner. I don't know if that's how he normally did it during masturbation, or if it was just how he got undressed every night - the latter was true in my case, and a very boy-like thing to do in any event, so maybe that was the explanation.

Seeing Tim jacking off was getting me hot, as always. I usually am a slow-to- orgasm type, but with someone else - especially the first time - it came quicker. About 15 seconds after he sat down beside me, I felt it coming on, and I decided to let it come. When I felt the first impending sign, I reached down under the bed and grabbed the rag I kept under there for this purpose - an old worn-out pair of briefs in my case. (Don't all boys have a rag under the bed? And isn't it usually an old worn-out pair of briefs? I saw that a whole bunch of times, in other boys' bedrooms...)

Tim watched me as I leaned down to get my rag. He showed no surprise - he knew what I was doing. I aimed my erection into the briefs and fired, continuing to stroke throughout, making sure he could see the whole process. It was a pretty good orgasm for j/o - not special, but good, as I recall.

Something else I found by trial and error: if you can manage to keep talking all the way through your orgasm, it can be pretty damn erotic to your boy- partner. That's not always true, but it can help, especially the first time. I kept talking throughout my ejaculation (as best I could, in between the other noises) to Tim, telling him how great it felt, what a thrill it is when the white stuff comes out. He didn't respond, but he watched me throughout, and kept up his own rhythm.

Now, here is a critical moment, and it's something I had discovered by this time - a "technique" if you like, since I did it consciously and deliberately: The most opportune moment to approach a boy about going further than j/o with you, the first time, is that brief interval after he starts stroking but before he comes. He's excited. Nothing seems too odd to try; he just wants to come somehow. But you have to work fast. That's tricky, if you are about to come yourself, or if you've just finished. But it works. Timing is important. Experience helps. I figured this out by observation and experiments.

I liked giving blowjobs. Most often, if this window of opportunity presented itself, I would suggest I finish my friend by giving him a BJ, if I thought the boy was willing and ready. Sometimes I judged wrong, and it backfired - a number of times the boy quit jerking off altogether as soon as I mentioned sucking. (Sometimes that happened anyway, regardless of timing.) BJs are a big step up from masturbation - even from masturbating each other. But if you caught the boy near that peak of excitement, he's probably never going to be more willing and ready than he is at that moment. I think this timing technique may well have been the main reason I had so much boy-sex, back then.

I didn't know if Tim was willing to go further - he was a brand-new partner, and I usually didn't bring up the idea of sucking a boy unless we'd had some history together. But I wanted to see Tim suck himself, if possible, and I didn't know what chances I'd have after this. So as soon as I finished, I said, "Want to try something else? ... Remember how you could put your legs behind your head at practice? ... Did you ever try that with a boner?"

He didn't say anything. (Tim was a quiet kid, if you haven't noticed. :)) He just looked at me, a little glazed. But he quit stroking, moved up on the bed, and pulled his legs up in position. He was in exactly the same position as on the diving board, except now his Speedo was gone, and his dick was stiff and pointed up at his belly. His balls were very visible, and they were drawn up against his body. In my experience, that often meant approaching orgasm - not always, but often.

(That position also gave me a great view of his anus, too, by the way. Anal stuff was not much of a turn-on for me at the time, however, so I paid little attention.)

I had never said in so many words that my suggestion was so he could suck his own dick, but he obviously figured that out. He just pulled his stiffie up with his hand, bending it out from his stomach, and put his mouth on it. It went in as far as his glans. Tim was circumcised and he had that dark ring down below the glans - that was still visible. Thje whole thing happened quickly, and looked effortless on his part.

I was expecting to have to coax him, so this was a nice development. But once he got it in, he didn't exactly know what to do. I think the whole thing was such a novelty. He just sat there with it in his mouth, still looking glazed. I said "Are you sucking?" Then he did, a little, but it looked half-hearted. He didn't move his mouth at all. His cheeks got that hollow look, but that was it.

Well, this anatomical feat only lasted maybe 6-8 seconds. Then he unhooked his legs and lay down flat on his back, and said "My back started hurting." I said "That's okay.. it's cool you could do it!... Do you want to finish jacking off?" He didn't answer, or do anything for a second. So I moved up next to him and took his saliva-slick boner in my hand and jacked him off, imitating his full-fist grip. He must have been excited, or else he was a quick-trigger, because he shot off in a few seconds. He arched his back and groaned, and his cock swelled in my hand, and then he spurted.

A little surprisingly, his semen didn't strike me as "mature", for lack of a better term - it was thin and watery, and looked more like the stuff that boys in early puberty ejaculate. I remembered that well, from the time before my own ejaculations had turned white; and I'd had sex with enough other boys that I knew the stages, or thought I did. The quantity was more than I expected, considering the quality. I think Tim had three or four separate "spurts" - not sure about that. I remember thinking at the time, "Wow, he's shooting alot... so how come it's not white?" (As it turned out, more data on Tim's sperm became available, later on... I'll describe that before we're done.)

I didn't have anything to catch it at the moment, my briefs having been dropped to the floor and the two of us up on the bed - but he was lying flat on his back, so it was no big deal. He shot all over his belly and chest, up near his chin with the first one; the remainder collected in a puddle around his belly-button.

The part after climax is always anti-climactic, isn't it? When he finished, he went limp in my hand, quickly, and I let go. I laid down next to him (I had been sitting) and started saying stuff like "wasn't it great?", and talking about girls again. A few of the boys didn't like to be talked through that part, but most did. And the girl thing was critical for most boys - without that, the whole thing seemed too "queer", and that was a source of conflict for most. (I'm not trying to be insulting here. It's just that nearly all the boys with whom I had sex were heterosexual - or so they claimed - and this was their form of protective cover, mentally. We could debate whether and to what degree that was dishonest, but that's 20/20 hindsight; I don't know that we had much choice. And in any case, I was trying to convince myself, too - and had halfway succeeded - that I liked girls only, and that this was something I was doing out of necessity, nothing more. Ludicrous - but again, that's hindsight.)

He didn't say anything, so I kept on talking, filling the silence, making him feel okay. I got a T-shirt out of my laundry and gave it to him, and he wiped up while I talked. It crossed my mind that this didn't have to be the end, that day. I was ready to go again. I usually was. And the stimulus of watching his self-suck was very powerful. But after a moment's reflection, I realized this wasn't the time. Tim was a novice, and I knew he wasn't ready; in fact he looked more than a little wiped out. I knew better than to push too hard.

With boys in general, after a couple minutes of post-orgasm grounding, you always knew one of a few things would happen: The boy would volunteer to go again (rare, but nice); or he would say, "Let's do something else"; or sometimes he would just want to leave. But most of them would just lie there, waiting for me to suggest something. The majority of boys let me take the lead. I wondered a little at their passivity, back then; now I realize that, since I was usually the initiator, they were just following my cues.

There were other reactions, too, from time to time. A few boys cried. I didn't know what to do about that, except to tell them, over and over, that it was okay, it was cool. I'll have more to say about that elsewhere.

Tim was in the passive category, as one might expect. After he finished wiping his semen off his stomach and chest, he dropped the shirt by his side... and looked up at me. He didn't say anything, but I could feel the questions coming from him: "What did we do? Is this okay?" I never pressed anything at that point, and I knew it wouldn't be a good idea in this case. I kept talking to him in a quiet,reassuring way, and after a minute or two he started grinning at my jokes and responding. It was gonna be okay.

I got up and grabbed my boxers and jeans and pulled them back on. Tim didn't move to get off the bed right away, so I handed him his underwear and Levis. He put them on lying down - just lifted his butt to pull his briefs and Levis up.

It was still important to make him feel okay, I knew. Sometimes the boys got cold feet later on, too, after it was over, and wanted to go home or whatever. I didn't want to lose a friend for any reason, and I was concerned that if I didn't take care of my friends at this point, I might lose them. My memory was still very vivid of Alex's quick departure after our first time, and how Brandon vanished at the pool party, and so on. I hated thinking that I'd run a boy off or killed a friendship. And I'll admit that I didn't want to lose any potential ongoing sex-partners, either.

There was a solution. At some early point in my experimentation, I discovered by chance a great post-sex activity for two (or more) boys: Eating! Right after one of these sessions, get something to eat. It was very helpful after a first-time experience. Eating right away worked almost every time to calm a new boy's nerves, once I figured that out. It was a nice back-to-earth thing to do with your partner afterwards, no matter how well you knew each other. And... well, hell - food was always great - we were boys!

I was pretty sure Tim needed that calming, grounding experience. And anyway, I was hungry :). I said, "Hey, wanna get something to eat? My mom probably has something in the kitchen... Let's go." And I led the way out of my bedroom, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. Tim came after me. When I heard him clattering down the stairs behind me, keeping his normal boy's pace, I was very reassured. A slow descent wouldn't have been good. I didn't think about that ahead of time - but when I heard his steps, I realized it meant things were gonna be okay.

My mom's snack food of the week was (ugh) "Little Debbies". If you aren't familiar with Little Debbies, they are little snack cakes or pies or pastries - sort of like Twinkies, except cheaper (in every sense of the word). I think they're mainly a Southern staple, although you can buy them all over the U.S., and maybe beyond. At any rate, Tim and I got ourselves a handful and poured some milk, and sat doewn and ate, and talked, and... basically, went back to being "ordinary boys" again. We ate like crazy, and were talking with our mouths full, and laughing. It was good, really good.

We didn't talk about sex any more, that day. That was over for the time being. And it wasn't fake or anything - we weren't tiptoeing around it. We had both just moved on. Sex wasn't the big deal then, like it is to adults. It was awesome and fun, riding that roller coaster; and when the coaster was over, you got off, and you didn't have any baggage to carry away with you. Adults don't ride coasters. They take trains. They get their tickets punched, and they worry about time of arrival, and they have a bunch of suitcases and packages to haul off when they get where they're going.

After about 10 minutes of eating and goofing around in the kitchen, I was literally giving what we'd just done no more thought. The only reminder was when I'd shift my legs or my butt and realize I had that post-orgasm "sensation" down inside. The sensation wasn't any stronger than usual that day, but I recall it vividly for some reason. (I've never figured out what causes the sensation. I guess it's the muscles in my prostate and the other moving parts in there, tingling. It's not pain. The word "sensation" is about as close as I can come to describing it.)

Tim stayed about another half-hour to 45 minutes, I think, before calling his mom to come get him. I don't remember exactly what we did after eating, but it was probably similar to our pre-sex activities - TV, music, playing indoor ball, etc. Those other things have a way of getting eclipsed in my mind after sex, for some reason. Even though I was into them at the time, I don't remember later. Maybe it's afterglow, or something.

I do recall one thing we talked about: I had the idea to let Tim borrow one of my Playboys. It was my idea, not his. I don't recall my exact motive; to keep his mind in the gutter where it belonged, I guess. I asked him, and he was sort of interested. But he hadn't brought a bag or anything, and we couldn't figure out how to get it past his mom when she came, so we dropped the idea.

When his mom pulled up and honked outside, we were looking through the record collection in the living room corner. Tim jumped up, saying, "my mom's here - see ya", and just headed for the door. That wasn't unusual for boys, no matter what we'd been doing; social niceties aren't well-developed at age 14. I went with him to the door, and said "see ya." And he left.

I had about another half-hour before my mom was due home with my brothers. I cleaned up the kitchen a little, then sat back on the couch... and fell asleep. That was unusual for me. Post-orgasmic fatigue? Maybe to some degree... but I think to a greater degree it was just plain ol' fatigue. Practice had been tiring - no more than usual, but then, it was a workout. And the day was still rainy and cold, and that's sort of sleep- inducing. Anyway, I woke up when the others came home and opened the front door with a big thud.

And as soon as I woke up, I remembered something I'd forgotten - the Playboys! They were still on the floor where we'd dropped them! The door was wide open! And where did I leave the incriminatingly-wet underwear? Were the bedcovers all messed up? I hadn't given any of that a single thought while Tim was still there - not even when we'd been talking about the Playboys. I must have looked really guilty as I jumped off the sofa and sprinted for the stairs. If my mom thought that was odd behavior, she didn't say anything, though. I got to my bedroom, retrieved the magazines, straightened the covers, stowed the sticky briefs and T-shirt underneath the bed till I could rinse them... without incident. Safe once again (*whew*).

The next day was our last practice until school started back after the holidays. Tim was there when I came in. I went over and sat next to him, as usual. He wasn't exactly avoiding me, but he didn't look at me and was even less talkative than usual. I expected that; it was kind of standard. I had some experience in how to handle this situation with a boy, the morning after, too: Just stay cool, and be friendly but not pushy, and let him get comfortable again. You have to break that ice slowly. But it was a balancing act - you couldn't break the ice too slowly, or it freezes hard forever. I knew Tim would get over it.

And he did, after a little while. I teased him: "Hey Tim, when ya gonna see the light, and quit this stupid diving stuff, and do some real swimming for a change?... I'll show you how to do a flip turn, whaddya say?" (For those who don't know, a diver can execute a flip turn practically in his sleep.) He grinned :).

To make it short, Tim warmed up and we were pushing each other in the pool and all that boy stuff within 20 minutes. We could be friends, still. I never wanted to lose a friend - not over sex. I rarely did, not permanently at least. I had my share of people who didn't like me as a kid - anyone with a smart mouth and an attitude like mine, back then, was bound to piss off some folks. But I don't believe I saw more than a handful of friends become enemies. I never turned on my friends, either - even those who disappointed me or let me down.

I think I'm lucky I didn't alienate more kids over sex. I was aggressive. And I had some bad reactions, as I said - some tears, some anger. But I kept on trying to be friends again, in a low-key but constant way; and most of the time, they came back. Not for sex, but as friends. That was always the best thing, anyway. If I were forced to choose sex or friendship, I'd pick friendship in a heartbeat. I wouldn't even blink. I feel good about that. I am loyal to my friends.

-----

I never got to give Tim a BJ - I never even touched his weenie again. Nor did he ever touch mine. It wasn't the only time we fooled around, sexually. We did jack off two more times together, once at my house and once at his, over the next few months. He was alot more relaxed, and we enjoyed ourselves more. My only real regret is that I never saw him suck his own dick again. I suggested it, both times, but he said it hurt his back. Possibly it was an excuse; I saw him do the diving-board thing at practice a few more times, and he didn't seem to mind that. But reaching your stiffie, and getting that much of it in your mouth, is a bigger stretch; so I'll give him benefit of the doubt. (I would give him that anyway. I liked Tim. He was a good kid.)

I won't describe those other two times; this narrative is long enough. But I'll mention that Tim's sperm was watery and thin, both times, although there was plenty of it. In the course of talking about sex, one of those times, he told me he'd been jacking off (ejaculating) for about two years, so it wasn't like the initial clear stuff you get in early puberty. I guess he was just an exception to the rule...

Tim got interested in girls over the summer, apparently, because the next fall he had a girlfriend. We never hung out together after 9th grade; our interests drifted in different directions. But we stayed friends. I remember that at graduation our senior year, he wanted his mom to take a picture of me and him together. Here is part of the note with which he signed my yearbook: "Danny, you're a Good Guy and a great friend. Keep the faith, baby." (That last phrase was a big item in our yearbooks around that time. I believe it came from the civil-rights movement, and was an expression of African-American solidarity. Using it in our school - an all-white military school with a conservative, traditional Southern outlook on such issues - was a subtle form of rebellion. In any event, it's a nice memento from Tim.)

And, speaking of yearbooks, one footnote: The year after these events, in the swim-team pages of our 10th-grade yearbook, there's a picture of... you guessed it: Tim, sitting on the end of the diving board in his Speedo, with both legs behind his neck!! His cute smiling face is peering out from the frame made by both legs, and his chin is almost touching his bulge. I wish I still had that yearbook, but it's long gone. The memory is quite vivid, though. And that makes me smile :).