“How was that one?” He asked, rising on his elbows.

“Not bad,” I answered after swallowing twice and releasing my gentle grip on his balls to wipe a drop of his goop from my chin. “Thanks.” I was grateful for his contribution, but thankful that it was now over with.

Wes’s dad and my dad were both WWII reservists from the Puget Sound area who’d been recalled for the Korean Conflict to serve as instructors at Fort Lewis. They’d stayed in touch afterwards and got together once a year and drink and swap stories. We moved to Spokane when I was really little so I didn’t remember Wes, but when I was about nine years old he and his parents stopped in for a visit. They were on a family vacation and were on their way to Yellowstone and were just going to stay a couple of days.

I took to Wes right away. He was a year older than me, but not much bigger and was also an only child. He was a city kid who’d never been out in the country and we spent the entire time messing around the sparsely settled woods and ponds around the house. He enjoyed himself and I was kind of sad to see him leave.

They came again a few years later. I had just turned twelve at the time so Wes would have been around thirteen. This time his parents dropped him off on their way to some relative’s funeral in Billings, and he’d stay with us for four days or so and then they’d pick him up on the way back to Seattle.

Dad had finished my bedroom and bathroom by then, which was a large addition over the garage and on the opposite end of the house, coincidentally, from the master bedroom. That was during Spring break and it rained and was cold out, so Wes and I spent most of the time in the large room screwing around and watching television. Wes had just entered puberty, and I was at the age when I was starting to get curious about things, and we eventually got around to checking each other out. I was showering at school by then and was more or less comfortable about being bare assed in front of other guys, a couple of which, like Wes, had a little hair on their crotches. After swearing me to secrecy Wes also showed me something else about his body that that he’d recently discovered. I was amazed at how much bigger his dick got, but totally mystified about why it felt so good to spew out a little bit of white stuff, and wondered why he didn’t just go pee instead.

I had finished the seventh grade when Wes next visited, so I was probably almost thirteen years old. It was early in June, and this time Wes came out alone on the bus to spend all week with us. I could tell right away that he had changed; he was not only taller but also more muscular and had a deeper voice. Later on that evening, stripping for bed, it was also obvious that he was a lot hairier than he had been a year ago, and that was kind of a sore subject with me. Some of the other guys in my age were getting their hair, but I was still prepubescent and felt like a little kid around a bunch of real live Men. They rubbed it in too, and make fun of me and the other dozen kids in the class whose nuts hadn’t yet dropped. I was scared shitless that next fall, when I entered the eighth grade, I’d be the only hairless little kid in the class and I desperately wanted to look like the other guys.

“I wish I had hair like yours,” I said, eying his bush. He was still a kid, barely fourteen, but the downy curls of a year ago had thickened and darkened and now pretty much covered his groin. His dick and balls had grown too, but what really impressed me was the hair. “I wonder when I’ll start to get some?” I pondered aloud.

“Probably any time now,” he answered, scooping out my crotch. “Have you, you know, uh, planted the seed yet?”

“Huh?”

“Well, you’ve got to have some testerone or something like that before anything will happen. Your body makes it itself later, but you’ve got to have some to start with from someone else.” He said, sounding as if I were a little on the slow side for not knowing something so basic.

“How do I get some?” I had to know more.

“Well, you can get your mom to take you to the doctor for some shots. They give them to you right in each nut, or you can get some from another guy.”

Even though I didn’t have any hair down there my nuts were definitely more sensitive than they used to be, and Kenny’s pop to them a couple of weeks ago had dropped me to the ground. The very thought of a doctor poking them with a needle was enough to make me cross my legs and squirm. “How do I get some from another guy?”

“Easy. The stuff that comes out when I, you know,” he paused to pump his fist in and out a few times, “is loaded with it. You just swallow some and you’re on your way. I started getting hair two weeks later.”

That sat me back some. On first blush it seemed like drinking from a toilet and I wasn’t so sure that would be better than taking a shot. “How much of it would I have to drink?”

“Probably a weeks worth, just to be sure,” he said.

“You mean, you save it or something?” I still didn’t have a very good handle on what was going on.

“No, silly. It has to be fresh, and any exposure to air will ruin it. There’s only one way and that’s to drink it right from the source.”

The implication of what it took to be a man finally sunk in, and I immediately balked at the idea. I pondered the problem for two whole days, wondering if the kids in my class with hair had taken the shots or had done it the way Wes was suggesting. I thought about asking Dad, but it seemed like kind of a delicate subject, and besides that Wes seemed to know all about it and he was easier to talk to.

I was still rolling things around when Wes spoke up on the third morning. “I’ll have to leave in five days, you know. If you want it, you’ll have to start now to make sure you get enough.”

“How do I go about it?” I followed his instructions, and even though I didn’t enjoy doing it, but by the end of the week I could at least tolerate the taste and could handle it without choking or puking.

Wes left the next week, and I was not only glad that he’d came but also happy to see him leave. I checked my crotch carefully every morning and night, and sure enough, two weeks later a smoky haze of hair began to materialize. It was fine as silk and nearly transparent, but it was still hair and by the time school started it had thickened and darkened to the point that I was guaranteed admission into the coveted Eighth Grade Men’s Club.

As eighth graders we had to set in a classroom one day a week for lectures on Health and Hygiene instead of dressing down for PE, and during the second week we learned all about the changes that most of us either had just went through or were about to go through, and about the pituitary gland, puberty, and testosterone. “Don’t worry if you aren’t quite as far along as some of your buddies,” the teacher lectured, “it will happen eventually and there’s nothing you can do to speed things up, and besides that, hair doesn’t make a man.” Sex education ala 1963.

I could have spoken up and asked him about taking the shots or the alternative, but suddenly felt embarrassed about asking the question. A little later I discovered the joys of sperm production and I suddenly realized that Wes had used me for his personal pleasure. I was not only pissed off at him, but also at myself for falling for his line. Also, I’d overheard some men talking about another guy that they didn’t much care for, and one of the adjectives that they’d used to describe him was ‘cocksucker.’ That name didn’t leave much to the imagination, and like it or not, it fit me as well.

The school year ended and summer was almost over. I had grown a lot and matured some, and was looking forward to my first year in high school. Wes wasn’t going to come out that summer, and although I still hadn’t forgiven him I was at least reassured by the fact that I’d never have to see him again.

“Wes and his dad are coming tomorrow,” Mom informed one afternoon

“Huh?” My typical answer to most every thing she said.

“I just found out that Jane and Paul split up last winter and Wes is living with Paul, and Paul just got remarried. He wants to introduce his new wife to his relatives in Billings, and he asked if Wes could stay with us for a few days. Be careful what you say around Wes, though, because he’s not too happy about moving-they’re going to live in her house-and changing schools. Okay?”

“Yeah.” My other stock answer.

I almost didn’t recognize Wes. We had been about the same size, but now he had a half a foot on me and probably twenty or thirty pounds. He was also sullen and obviously had issues about his new stepmother, and as soon as we were in the house he split for my bedroom. I followed him a little later, and expected him to apologize or at least acknowledge that he’d conned me into doing something nasty. No way. He didn’t mention it and I didn’t have guts enough to breach the subject either.

It was late, and he was pooped so we both went to bed. Before, he had proudly stripped down and shown off his body. Now he went into the bathroom, closed the door, and came back out in the underwear that he slept in. He didn’t seem much more mature than he had a year ago, except now he had a little hair on his legs. He climbed into the lower bunk, closed the curtain, and went to sleep without saying a word to me. The next morning he took his clothes with him into the bathroom to shower, and then came out fully dressed. He scoped me out when I peeled down and went in and came out bare assed like always, but didn’t say anything. Later, after his dad and step mom left, we took off on foot for a long walk. He finally opened up a little and told me about having to move and start in at a new school where he didn’t know anyone, and worst of all. It was a three-year school, so he would essentially be like a lowly freshman again instead of a big bad sophomore. I kept waiting for him to talk about what he’d done the year before but he didn’t even hint at offering an explanation for we both knew was gross misbehavior.

We made it through that day and the next without killing each other, but I was really pissed about him not saying that he was sorry, and I guess it must have shown. Mom asked me point blank if there was anything wrong, but of course I denied there being a problem.

Wes’ dad and the woman, as Wes called her, got back from Billings the following day, which was the Sunday before Labor Day, and Mom and Dad decided to take them out to a fancy restaurant for dinner and a little partying. There would be drinking involved, so Wes and I weren’t invited, and we were instructed to stick around the house and to be in bed by eleven. We watched TV for a while, and I finally decided to act. He wasn’t going to offer an apology, and I wasn’t big enough to beat one out of him, so I took another tack.

“You know that thing we did last year when you were here?” I challenged.

His face got red and he finally answered in a voice so low that I could barely hear him. “Yeah?”

“Well, I did it because I needed to, you know, and it worked, but I liked doing it, and I want to do it again.”

The relief on face was obvious, along with the bulge that was forming in his jeans. “Now?” He asked.

“Yeah, in my bedroom.” I answered. He was hooked.

I made a quick detour to my dad’s dresser and borrowed two extra pairs of his handcuffs-he was a cop back then-and and made a quick stop in the master bathroom and then hurried to the bedroom. Wes already had his pants and shirt off and was working his skivvies down over his boner. I was kind of surprised; the dick and balls that had so impressed me a year ago hadn’t grown much, and by now mine were just as big.

“I want to pretend that I’m an Amazon princess and that you are my prisoner,” I said, showing him the handcuffs. “I want to handcuff you to the bed and suck you until you’re dry.”

His face showed a glimmer of doubt but his cock was all for the idea and was the ruling force. “Okay, I guess,” he said, holding out his wrists.

I slipped the other ends of the cuffs around the bed posts of the lower bunk then took two short pieces of twine and bound his ankles to the other end of the bunk while his dick continued it’s salute.

“What’s that stuff?” He asked and I shook the can I had picked up from Dad’s bathroom cabinet.

“Shaving cream,” I answered, and shot a large dollop onto his crotch.

“NO!” He practically screamed as I rubbed it into his bush and onto his thighs. I didn’t even bother answering. I just took the Schick razor and made two long passes across his groin. The blade seemed like it was plugged up so I went to the bathroom and got some water in a glass and came back in and resumed shaving his cock and balls, pausing only long enough to rinse the razor and put more cream on his legs. I took my time and did a good job, and when I finally finished he was as smooth as I had been two years ago. I hadn’t even nicked him once. I left him hooked up to the bed while I put a new blade in the razor and returned it to Dad’s cabinet, then I finally unhooked the cuffs and returned them to Dad’s dresser, leaving Wes to finish his blubbering and untie his ankles himself. I went to the living room and turned on the TV, and was still watching it when our parents came home.

Wes was still sobbing when I went to bed, but he didn’t say anything or try to retaliate in any way. School would be starting Tuesday morning, and when he stripped for PE he’d have something to be sorry about.

They all left the next day and I never saw Wes again, but I heard what happened. He took off somewhere on the first day of school and didn’t show up for a week, and then turned up in the emergency room of a local hospital. He had no memory of doing so, but he had apparently tied a rubber tourniquet around his scrotum and castrated himself, and he had recently shaved off his pubic hair. There was some speculation that he may have ingested some of the drugs that were just starting to show up around Seattle, and there was another theory that he’s somehow fallen into the clutches of some pervert.

Dad asked me if I thought anything was wrong with Wes when he was here, but I didn’t tell the whole story, the one I have been sitting on for the last forty-five years. Wes, his parents, and my parents are all dead and gone, and I guess it’s time I aired out the linen.