A Boy's Journy: Part I - Biography

Biography

[Author’s Note: Everything in this section is true. This is a sexual biography of my early years. Part II – “Into The Future” will be fictionalized]

I remember the first time I ever got an erection. Of course in the years since then I have learned that baby boys get erections in the womb, and I almost certainly had a number before I was six years old, but that’s the one that sticks in my mind as the first one. I was sitting in my dad’s lap. It was winter, cold outside but warm in the kitchen. It felt good, safe to be in there. The physical contact felt to encompassing, like a warm blanket wrapped around me. And I reacted, or rather it reacted.

That first erection was magical for me. I knew nothing about sex. Heck, I didn’t even realize at the time that girls didn’t have one of those neat toys. For me my penis was for going to the bathroom only. Until that day. I wasn’t scared, I was amazed. Who knows what goes through the minds of kids when something unknown and unexplained happens like that. For me, I was convinced that I was the only one in the whole world who could do that. I thought I had been given some gift, some super power. I didn’t learn to masturbate until much later, and in the years after my amazing discovery didn’t even play with it in the sense you might think. I figured out that I could make it hard, and that it throbbed and tickled when it was, but that was it. Make it hard, let it get soft again. Make it hard, let it get soft again. It was a neat trick but nothing more.

A little over a year after my first erection, I finally, through eavesdropped bits of my older brother’s wisdom figured out that erections were a normal part of being a boy. It was never discussed openly, and I don’t remember being particularly crushed that my super power turned out to be so normal. I had learned something new and dealt with it. That’s the way I have always been. Smart. Studious. If there is something I need to know about I study it, read about it, accept the truth about it. Some things are just facts. Enough facts about something and you can form an opinion. AN opinion becomes a belief becomes a certainty becomes a basis for taking an action, living your life a certain way, doing certain things.

Not that my sexual education burgeoned after that. On the contrary, nothing much more happened until I was 11 and ½ years old. That’s when I discovered masturbation. Again, like my erections I had no clue what was going on. I stumbled on it by accident, like so many boys do. I was in the bathtub, playing with a wonderful invention called the “Showerpik Water Massage.” It’s an ingenious device, basically a shower head on the end of a long hose, designed so that one could sit in the tub and still be able to wash one’s hair like a shower. The designers thoughtfully put a massage setting on it as well that changed it from a gentle shower to a high pressure, pulsing massager. Wonderful for working soreness out of muscles, I am sure, and also to the delight of many young boys (and girls for that matter) was perfect for the joys of self-pleasure. I didn’t immediately recognize the potential of this wonderful tool until one day I was playing with the showerhead, pretending it was a boat when I accidentally pointed the pulsing water jet toward my penis. It was a revelation that shook my world. My penis immediately sprang to attention and was tickling like mad. I tried it again. My penis was already hard this time and the pulsing water jets felt good. Really good. I wanted more. The pulsing jets were too strong on the sensitive underside of my penis – it hurt when I tried that. I tool the showerhead and placed it directly on top of my penis. I was lucky that the circumference of the showerhead just fit the shaft of my penis. I could feel the vibration all the way through my penis. The head flared out and the muscle that flexes your cock tightened up. I could feel the most intense feeling in the area on the underside of my penis, even though it wasn’t being directly stimulated. It didn’t take long to have my first orgasm. I mean it had been over 11 years since I had had one. You wait that long and see how long you last!

It was incredible. I didn’t know what it was, but it was awesome. Again I was not the worldliest boy when it came to sex, so I naturally assumed that I was the only one in the world who had ever done this. I wanted to do it again. And again. And again. The problem? I didn’t realize that it could be done in other was than the shower massage. Even though I was still six months away from my first ejaculation, I was horny. I couldn’t get enough. Looking back I am sure that my parents realized why I was taking three baths a day. They were kind enough not to question me about it other than a couple of months into my multi-bath routing my mom asked me if I had any questions about sex and mentioned that it was normal for people to “play with themselves.” Funny thing, I felt more guilt after I learned that I had been “playing with myself” than I ever did before that. It was short lived, but there was a period of time in that first year where I tried to quit. I couldn’t. One vivid memory is being so horny on Christmas day because I hadn’t fed my 3 orgasm a day habit, and vowing that I wouldn’t do it because it would be a big sin to do it on Christmas. I did it anyway.

The months after that first orgasm were important ones. I started to grow soft, straight, silky pubic hairs. I had my first ejaculation. I was just going into the 6th grade. I may not have been the first boy in my class to start puberty, but I was among the first. We didn’t shower in PE in 6th grade, so my only experiences with a penis was pretty much with my own. I had seen a cousins a few times while skinny-dipping, and had seen my older brothers on a few occasions but that was it. I never gave it much thought until my penis became my favorite toy. It was in 6th grade that I met Michael. Michael was short and had a voice like Fran Drescher on “The Nanny,” but never one to turn down a friend, we started hanging out together.

My family owned a couple of thousand acres about 20 miles from the town where I grew up. My grandmother lived there and we would go with my father and spend the weekend there every weekend. It wasn’t long before I invited Michael to come spend the weekend with me, and for the first time I consciously set out to see someone else’s penis. I wasn’t physically attracted to Michael, but I wasn’t repulsed either. I was curious. I suggested to him that we go swimming in one of the many man made ponds on our ranch. I never wore a swimsuit growing up, and of course he didn’t have one. I had the good sense not to just start stripping down, but instead nicely suggested to Michael that we could skinny dip. To my surprise, he accepted.

I have no idea what must have been going through Michael’s mind that day. Here we were, two sixth grade boys getting totally naked out in the middle of nowhere. He shucked his shirt, I shucked mine. Shoes and socks, off. Jeans, off. I hesitate but he doesn’t. With his thumbs hooked in the waste band of his white briefs he pushed them down and stood before me in all his glory. Or lack of it as the case may be. He was totally pre-pubescent. His penis was small like a baby’s. He was completely soft. I had to follow suit but I was worried. What was in my underwear was not anything like what he had. I had pubic hair. My penis was twice as long as his. I was hard as a rock. Even with Michael naked in front of me I still wasn’t sexually attracted to him. I guess I just wasn’t at that stage in my development because even though I was glad he was naked, and I was enjoying studying his penis it was more an intellectual exercise for me. I wanted to compare his with mine. I was erect because I was going to be naked in front of a real boy. Not some stupid family member. And he was naked in front of me. All of this happened in a matter of seconds, but to me it seemed – and still seems in my memory – like it happened in slow motion. Michael was still looking at me. Even though he had not show any hint of embarrassment or modesty, I couldn’t help it. Even with my limited sexual knowledge I knew that I was different from most of my classmates. I could see the changes in myself and even though we didn’t shower in school, I could recognize that the majority of my friends and classmates were like Michael. Still little boys. I turned aside and dropped my underwear. I turned back around. My penis was hard. Not huge, but big compared to Michaels. Twice the size. And thick. Maybe Michael was better educated in the ways of naked men than I, I don’t know. He didn’t bat an eyelash. We were the same age, in the same class at school and he was there with me, taking in my hairy, erect penis and he acted as if it were the most natural thing in the world. We played and swan the whole day. Nothing sexual happened. He never got hard. I never got soft.

That night I had my first sexualized experience with another boy. I say sexualized because neither one of us played with ourselves, or each other, but it went beyond the innocent looking of the daytime. I was the one that started it, of course. I had been hard all day and wanted to know what his looked like hard too. Being only 12 and not very sophisticated it never occurred to me to just ask him. So I started to tease him about his small penis. Really nice, right? Fortunately he took it all in good fun. Maybe he wanted to go farther, I don’t know. I bet him that his penis wasn’t even 3 inches long. He defended the size of his manhood which led us to walk the mile back to the house for a ruler.

We finally had the ruler and the moment of truth was upon us. I still had my erection, but his little button had not budged all day. I measured. Five inches. I told him that he had to get it hard. In his first display of modesty he turned around. I could see his arm moving as he manipulated his penis. When he turned back around his little soldier was standing at attention. All three inches of it. Turns out I lost the bet. I was very interested in his erect penis. Like mine his throbbed with his heartbeat. He was circumcised like me, but the doctor had done a really poor job. He had a very pronounced scar, and not just discoloration like normal, but a lot of scar tissue that made his penis look weird. His shaft was short and skinny, but his glans was huge. It was bigger than mine and when stuck on the top of that small shaft looked really funny. Almost like a little lollypop. That was it for a while with Michael. We skinny-dipped several more times that summer, but no more sex play and no more erections for Michael.

My 7th grade year was another watershed time for me. For the first time we had to take showers after PE. I was scared to death that I would have an instant erection like when I was skinny dipping with Michael, but that never happened. I guess the fear itself served to keep me flaccid. What did happen, though, changed my life forever. It was the first day of class. We didn’t do much in gym class that day, but it was the showers for us nonetheless. We all headed in and as one might suspect, there were boys who removed clothing and hit the showers with abandon and there were those of us who were a little more reserved. And believe me it had nothing to do with size or development. By the time we all had assembled in the shower I could see that there were only two other boys who had pubic hair in the whole class. While at some point pubic hair and penis size become status symbols, at that moment I would have given anything to have my penis be half an inch soft and hairless. No one ever said anything to me, I wasn’t teased, but I wanted to be like the other guys. Amid the trauma of showering I was able to look at my classmates. The variety of penises was amazing to me. Most were hairless of course, but even among those some were little button nubs pulled tight into the body, some were relaxed and hanging out. Some were thicker, some were thinner. Again I realized that I enjoyed seeing all of those guys naked. I didn’t realize why until about three minutes later when I exited the showers with my towel around the waste and say him. Tim. I didn’t know his name was Tim at the time, and I didn’t have words to express what I was feeling, but I know my jaw dropped and I stared and felt the all too familiar feelings down below. I knew I had to get dressed, but in that instant my world changed. Nothing mattered but Tim. I was in love. He was beautiful.

I had no concept of sexualized love at that time. I couldn’t have told you I was in love with Tim, but I was. I dropped out of regular PE and joined the junior high tennis team so I could be with Tim. One huge regret in my life is that the tennis coach didn’t require showers. I was missing out on a room full of naked boys, but I was with Tim. We never did become friends, mostly out of my shyness. I couldn’t talk to him without getting flustered. I thought about him day and night. He couldn’t possibly want to be friends with me because he was Tim, and I was just Bryan. It didn’t take too long to make the connection between Tim, and boys in general, and my penis. My thoughts turned to boys. I saw cute classmates and wondered what their penis looked like. How big was it? Did it have hair? Did they masturbate? These thoughts always led to a huge erection in my pants. Thoughts of friends and classmates became my masturbation material. I was finally putting everything together about puberty, penises, erections … the whole works. I read everything our public library had on sex and puberty and with a short time was fully aware of what it all meant, and that it was normal for a boy my age. At least the puberty and horniness. The books never said anything about an interest boys. Without any evidence to the contrary I didn’t worry about it. Of course I was aware that most of the people in my class either were not in puberty yet and were kind of asexual or were horn dogs for the girls. It would be another couple of years before I applied the term “gay” to myself, but even in 7th grade, even without knowing I knew enough not to share with anyone that my interests were not directed toward girls. Junior high school was the age of teasing and taunting anyone who might be a faggot, although I am sure that many of the people using that terms didn’t know what it meant – or at least understand its full implications. I was one of the lucky ones. Even though I was never in the popular crowd, I never got labeled as a faggot either. Ironic since I was in fact a faggot. The boys who were tormented, the slight of built, the effeminate boys were fascinating to me. They were cute. I wanted to be with them. I wanted it to be true that they were faggots. Maybe they were, maybe they weren’t gay. We know now that you can’t tell by the way a person acts whether they are or not. One of the great regrets in my life is that I couldn’t even find it within myself to be a friend to those tormented boys. Fear of being painted with the same brush stopped me. I was safe. I was in the closet. I stood by silently while those poor kids were tormented without mercy. I carry that burden to this day.

During the year things settled down somewhat. I had done my research and knew what there was to know about penises, testicles, puberty, and sex. I was in control finally. No guilt, no embarrassment, just facts. And acceptance. The one event that threw a wrench into my life was a trip to my step-grandfathers farm. It was much smaller than my family’s ranch, but unlike our place he actually worked his land, raising cattle as his living. Here I was a young just pubescent boy with hardly anything but penises and testicles on my mind and was suddenly confronted with what was a fact of life on the farm: gelding the cattle, or “cutting” the cattle as it was called. Even being as attuned to things sexual as I was it took me a bit of time to figure out what exactly was happening. My step-grandfather used the old-fashioned knife method. The cattle were rounded up into the corral and one by one led into the chute that contained a device to hold the calf’s neck while the rancher worked on him. Give him his shots. Put a marking tag into his ear. Cut him. I didn’t take part in the activities because I didn’t know what was going on. As I wandered around I finally became curious because when they were finished with a calf they would throw something off to the side. I walked over and saw a pile of testicles. I didn’t have to ask what they were. It was obvious. Some testicles were laying exposed on the ground, others still in the scrotum. I was hard as a rock; I walked to the house so I could go to the bathroom and masturbate.

I continued my friendship with Michael and we continued to talk about sex with each other. I never mentioned the calf cutting, but I taught him a lot about sex– at least I was able to fill him in on what I learned from my reading. We talked about masturbation but for the longest time denied to each other that we did it. I am not sure why. Every time we would get together that we could have some privacy we would get naked and look at each other. He was still hairless but there came a point there sometime after that 6th grade year that would already be hard when he stripped his clothes off. No more manual manipulation required, just the anticipation was enough. Being ashamed to admit that we masturbated, the whole thing while fun and interesting was also a bit frustrating for me, and I assume him as well. Just try running around naked with a boy talking about sex and feeling each other’s erections. All that and no release. Masturbate in front of him? No way. That would make us faggots. Eventually I would excuse myself to the bathroom for a quick jerk off. Whether he knew or not, I don’t know. Hell for all I know he might have been having a quick jerk himself while I was gone.

My older brother supplied the next part of my sexual education, quite by accident, with the simple renting of a movie. “Shocking Asia” was a movie – really a documentary of sorts – of oddities and, well, shocking people and customs in Asia. It’s a series of vignettes each dealing with a different subject, all narrated by the same person. I was watching the movie with my brother and his friend when a segment came on about a man who was undergoing a sex change operation. After my encounter with calf cutting I put my reading and research skills to good use to learn about this strange thing that had affected me so strongly: castration. In my research I had come across information on sex change operations so I knew a little about the topic. Nothing in the detachment of books and articles could have prepared me for what I saw. They followed the patient into the operating room and showed the details. All of them. Skinning the penis. Cutting away the root. Lifting the penis away from the body, off the catheter. Like before, I was hard as a rock. I honestly can’t tell you why both the castration of the calves, and then the images of the sex change operation affected me so much. I don’t know if it’s possible to be predisposed to interest in castration. I can tell you that I knew I never wanted to be a girl. It wasn’t a sex change that I wanted, although there was part of the operation that did fascinate me. The loss of the penis. All of the sudden calf cutting and thoughts of losing my testicles seemed meaningless. What would I do if something ever happened to my penis? Because of my research I was very well aware of the functions of the sex organs. I knew about hormones and that they were produced in the testicles. I knew that when the testicles started making testosterone that puberty started and with it the sex drive. And almost instinctively I knew that if a boy lost his penis but not his testicles that he would have a sex drive with no way to do what I did when I got horny – jerk off. A couple of weekends later I had the opportunity to have Michael over again on a Friday night when my Dad was at work. My brother was out with friends and I had arranged to have “Shocking Asia” there for us to watch. It was easy since it was not an “adult” movie and was right out on the shelf to pick up. Dad never knew what was on that tape. We were naked, watching the movie when it reached the critical part. We both had erections as we watched the end of that man’s manhood. The death of his penis. I vocalized the thought that had entered my mind: what if a guy had his testicles, but no penis? The whole scene had made Michael horny but I could tell that it was much more serious for me than for him.

My and Michael’s naked play went on through our 8th grade year and into our freshman year in high school. Michael was a late bloomer. Really late. It wasn’t until a couple of months into our freshman year that he started showing any signs of puberty other than his testicles getting bigger and his penis hanging a little lower. Then slowly but surely the signs appeared. The soft, straight, downy pubic hair appeared and he joined in our naked times together with even more interest. Then one Friday evening it happened. I was at my Dad’s house for the weekend. Dad was working the evening shift and my brother was out with his friend for the evening. I called Michael and of course he came right over. We didn’t get right down to the business of getting naked. We ordered a pizza. It came. We ate. We decided that a game of strip poker was in order. It made no sense since we had seen each other naked many times before. We had even touched each other before. Why we need an excuse to get naked that night I don’t know. Maybe we just thought it would be fun. Who knows? By the time we were both naked we were about as horny as two young teenage boys can get. He had grown about an inch to a nice 4-inch erection. I had added about another half inch which put me at 5 and ½ inches or erection – as big as it ever got. We were both leaking precum like crazy and were about to pop. I told him that I was hornier than I had ever been. Remember, at this point we had never admitted to one another that we masturbated. Michael’s reply was that there was only one thing to do about it. That was enough recognition for me. I went into the bathroom and sat on the toilet. He followed and sat on the counter and watched as I masturbated myself. It didn’t take long for me to ejaculate and it was a weird feeling – I needed the release but felt very vulnerable for letting Michael see me like that. I grabbed the toilet paper and wiped the semen from my hands and penis, and from the floor where it had dropped. Michael began masturbating himself. I watched fascinated as his hand moved up and down the shaft of his penis, his balls bounding in time. When he got close to orgasm his leg muscles tightened up and he pointed his toes straight toward the floor. He ejaculated quite a bit, but instead of shooting it pumped slowly out over his fingers. I handed him some toilet paper. He cleaned up his semen and we flush the evidence of our ecstasy down the toilet. For all of the embarrassment leading up to the event, and my feelings after I had ejaculated, after the whole event there was no problem. We were both happy, there were no feeling of guilt. We dressed and went to ride our bikes.

The next weekend we were eager to try our skills again. This time we got naked as soon as he entered the door and sat down on the couch. He suggested that we compare the size of our penises again. This time by laying on each other, penises touching so we could see who was really bigger. I am sure it was an excuse for the physical contact. When our penises touched it was like a bolt of lightening has passed through me and I think he felt the same thing. I was still bigger. We rolled off of each other and he uttered the magic words: “I’ll do you if you do me.” He was left handed, I was right handed so it worked out perfectly for mutual masturbation. We had touched each other’s penis, but never in any way like this. I can’t claim that it was the best masturbation session I had ever had. After all, who can please you like you? But the physical contact with another person, the giving of pleasure to another person and receiving it back from him was incredible. He came before I did and as before there was a large amount of semen. Feeling Michel’s penis in the throes of orgasm was magical for me. He pointed his toes toward the floor, I could see his glans expand and all of the sudden is semen was pouring out over my fingers and down his penis, into his pubic hair. To his credit he never missed a stroke. A minute later I ejaculated. Semen hit my chest and his arm. As he continued to pump the force of the ejaculation weakened and semen covered his hand and covered my shaft like a lubricant as he continued to pump. I reached out my hand and stopped him. We cleaned up, got dressed and went out for a bike ride. It wasn’t the strongest orgasm I ever had, but it was one of the best experiences I ever had. For no particular reason we never had another mutual masturbation session after that. We masturbated in each other presence many times though, and enjoyed touch each other and talking about sex. He moved away at the end of that school year, out of state. I wouldn’t see him again until I was a senior in high school.