This is a work of fiction. Or at least, some of it is.

Well, to be perfectly honest, while there are elements of truth in the first three chapters, I also made a lot of it up. Although in most cases, I'll not be saying exactly what's made up and what's not. See, at first I was going to write a book and soon as I was old enough to admit that I was responsible for it, I'd become rich and famous and all that stuff. Fourteen-year-olds can often think that things like that will really happen. Well, I could anyway. But I'd just finished what is now chapter three when something unexpected happened and so at that point, I guessed I'd make it like a journal.

So okay then. For the most part, the first three chapters just tell more about who I wanted to be, then things started happening and even though it took longer than I was thinking it might take for things to get as interesting as my first three chapters... they eventually did and I had a lot of fun getting there. Most of the time, I did.

---

Except actually, this is sort of a double issue. From time to time, I'll be doing that, okay?

Oh, and one other thing. My name is Wesley. Just thought I should mention that part right away.

My father is a fundamentalist minister, so from an early age I knew about sin and Hell. If you sinned and didn't repent before being run over by a train or something, that's where you would end up. For eternity. And Hell wasn't a place where they just made you watch "Love Boat" reruns over and over, it was worse! So I didn't want to go there. Only in my case, there seemed to be an awful lot of ways to sin. It's difficult to feel saved when you're getting a belt on your bottom. Because I forgot. Because I didn't pay attention. Because I put it off when he said to do it right then. Because I put a church bulletin on the heater so I could watch it turn brown and curl up, but it caught on fire. That was a big one.

In the second grade when my teacher told my folks I enjoyed reading so much I sometimes neglected to do my other school work, they thought it was kind of funny. But at some point in the third grade it ceased being funny and by the fourth grade it was a nightmare. I think from that point on I felt like I was headed straight to Hell almost all of the time. At least up until I was twelve and decided I didn't believe in it any more.

But anyway, one of my biggest stumbling blocks always was just keeping my clothes on. It wasn't that I was an exhibitionist - actually, at first I'm shy about undressing in front of anyone else - but whenever I was by myself, if I had a chance I would take off as much as I figured I could get away with. For a long time I tried to convince myself it wasn't a sin if nobody even saw me, but the way my folks reacted it soon became apparent that they felt differently. Like when I was playing under the house and decided to take all my clothes off. That didn't work out too good. I was five at the time, but I still remember it pretty vividly.

So after that I was more cautious, but still, if the opportunity presented itself, I got naked or at least as near naked as I could. I just liked the feeling. But this was always by myself. We lived in eastern North Carolina then, out in the country. So there really weren't that many people around.

During the summer I could get away with wearing just soccer shorts. I didn't even have to bother with a shirt. Well, of course I had on underwear, but if I was by myself and could get far enough away from the house, I'd take my undies off too. It really felt cool. Not to mention sort of breezy. I was a scrawny little kid and those shorts made my legs look like match sticks. But I just liked the way my dick moved around. Only at eleven it often caused sort of a strange tickling feeling. I would be noticing how it felt wiggling around, then it would start tickling and making a little tent. So I would pull one leg of my shorts up and let it look around while I was walking through the woods, or turning cartwheels. Whatever. And of course I'd be looking at it too. It was cool watching it get longer, from around two inches to about three and a quarter and pretty soon it would be sticking almost straight up. But aside from just letting it get hard, I hadn't done much with it. Sometimes I'd push it down and let it pop back up a few times, but at that point in my life, I really didn't know much.

Like for example, once my father came in on me just as I was getting out of the shower, and it was sticking out then. It just happened, that's all.

But he asked me, "Why's your thing sticking out like that?"

So I told I didn't know why. And really, I didn't.

But of course he wondered if I'd been playing with it. And again I told him the truth, which was that I didn't even know what he meant. Apparently I was fairly convincing, because he let it go. Although he did tell me that I'd better hope he never caught me playing with it, because if he ever did, it was going to be too wet to plow. So I guess he sort of put the idea in my head, even though I'm sure I would have gotten around to it sooner or later anyway. But after that, I definitely wasn't planning on letting anyone else know about me taking off my underwear and making it stick up, not even my best friend Chris. It was my secret. Or at least it was until the day I picked up Sister Cox's car keys.

I guess I did, anyway. I don't remember doing it, but it is true that I had a bad habit of daydreaming and when I did I would sometimes pick up things absentmindedly without realizing it and fidgeting with whatever it was I'd picked up. Anyway, she was visiting us one afternoon. So I have no idea why she put her car keys on a table in the hallway in the first place, but I guess I picked them up. Then about an hour later I was out by myself in the woods not too far from our house bombing the living hell out of a milk weed with rocks. Only it really wasn't a milk weed. It was a fortress. I'd bomb awhile, then I'd stop for an on-the-scene report from the Assyrian's point of view. (Or whoever. Assyrian would be a pretty good guess, though.) Well, they were ab-so-lutely PET-rified. Well, good! And they had thought themselves invincible. Yeah, right. They had no idea what bad really was! Then I'd look down at my dick sticking out from under my hiked-up shorts, right out in the open, (and it did look pretty fierce) then I'd cut loose with an even deadlier barrage. Only just when all seemed lost for the Assyrians, the bombardment suddenly stopped. It was a miracle!

The miracle turned out to be my father, who dropped by to inquire about Sister Cox's car keys. Did I have any earthly idea how they ended up in the refrigerator? At least that was what he was wondering first as he was walking up, but then he could not HELP but notice me fearfully looking back at him turning red as a beet, all the while keeping my back turned as I vainly tried to make myself a bit more presentable. I swear, that has to be the stupidest thing I have ever done in my entire life! Which is really going some. There were my discarded undies laying on the ground in plain view and to make matters worse, my thing was sticking up. Not out like when he saw it before, straight up! And it wouldn't go back down.

But of course he noticed my expression and how I was keeping my back to him, so he asked, "What are you DOING?"

"I'm SORRY!" I wailed.

"I asked you what you are DOING! Turn around and look at me!"

And so reluctantly, I did. With my hands clutched in front of my tent. But of course I knew it was all over, I was already starting to cry.

He looked stunned. Almost speechless. And very angry. He went, "Wesley, what.." then he noticed my discarded undies. Then he became ominously calm. He picked them up.

"These yours?"

"I... I.."

"You've been playing with yourself, haven't you?"

"NO! I just-"

"Move your hands."

Only I couldn't.

So he moved them for me. Then he spun me around, yanked my shorts down, ripped his belt off and got right to it.

It was the worse whipping I could ever remember. And that was even before Chris walked up on us. My soccer shorts down at my ankles, my old man beating the shit out of me and HE walks up. Couldn't he tell something bad was going on? Why didn't he just stay away? Shit, I never even told him I got whipped. Now he knew. He knew everything. But at least that ended the whipping until we could get to the house. Where of course it resumed again, but miraculously it didn't last much longer. I was surprised, really. I thought he was going to just about kill me. But no, he just yanked my shorts down again to see if my thing was still up - and it wasn't, it had practically gone into hiding by that time, and then I had to turn around, bend over and grab my ankles and WHAP WHAP WHAP some more.

Usually I just shut my eyes and gritted my teeth till it was over, but this time for some reason I had my eyes open. So I was looking back between my legs watching it jiggle and bounce and I will be a son of a bitch if it didn't start getting stiff again! If he had turned me back around... I don't even want to think about it. But fortunately he didn't. Possibly because WHAPETY WHAPWHAPWHAP and I lost my balance and ended up face down in the floor. So huffing and puffing he gave me a few more belts, then he threw my underpants at me, told me to put them on and he'd better never catch me without them on again and that was that. And yes, my thing was still hard when he slammed my door behind him. But no, I didn't play with it at that point. I might not have any common sense, but I'm not an idiot.

But anyway, two days later Chris found me out in the woods feeling sorry for myself and he said he was sorry and it really made him feel bad, so before long we'd made up. It felt so good being best friends again it was almost worth the whipping. But one thing he said was that he always hated it when his father whipped him like that... with his.. pants and everything down, and if I got a funny feeling in my groin about then, whose fault was it anyway?

(If you want to know the truth though, I don't think his father ever whipped him period. I heard him get yelled at, and I was scared, but I think that's as far as it ever went. Well, he got grounded a couple of times and that made me feel bad too seeing as how I had a fairly vivid imagination, but I appreciated his trying to make me feel better. I think even then, I loved him.)

Oh, and one other thing before things start getting interesting. You know that thing about not hardly ever feeling like I wasn't on my way to Hell? Well, it went a little deeper than not doing my homework or running around without my underwear on. I was having a lot of disturbing thoughts about Chris. He cussed. Who do you think taught me to? He hardly ever went to church. Because his parents didn't think it was necessary. So he mostly did what his parents told him to do. Which is exactly what the Bible says you're supposed to do, by the way. I didn't much care for going to Hell myself, but yeah, I guess at times I figured I deserved it, only Chris didn't. No way. He was my friend. I loved him. Which is probably why I don't think I ever felt redeemed again, no matter how hard I tried, because there always was one thing I could never accept.

Anyway, we sat there for a few minutes silently being best friends, then Chris cleared his throat and asked, "Does it still hurt?"

"Not very much. It'll be okay."

"Well... if you want me to, I can give you a rubdown. I bet that'll make it feel better. You want me to?"

I think it was that sort of funny hitch in his voice which was causing that tickling sensation in my groin. I'd never heard it before, not from anybody, but right away I knew something interesting was afoot. Only I had no idea exactly what it was.

"What do you mean, rubdown? What do you have to do?" I wondered.

"Well see, I found this book. My dad has it is his room. And sometimes people give each other rubdowns, you know, they rub all over everywhere and it's supposed to feel real good. So you want to try it?"

Nobody ever touched much in my family. Which I guess is why at times I still have difficulty touching anyone else and also is why it feels so damn good to do it. So I was interested. "I don't know. What do you have to do?"

"We'll do each other, okay? I do you, you do me. You know, rubdown."

"Well, okay, what do you DO?" I really wasn't sure.

"Well.... okay, well, first you got to take off your clothes," and with that, he looked over at me sort of cautiously.

I'm fairly sure I blushed. "You mean EVERYTHING?"

Chris looked down at the ground and answered, "Well, the ones in the book didn't have on anything. ... But they said it felt real good."

So right then I was sure I wanted to see that book, but I wasn't too sure about taking my clothes off. Because like I said before, I'm shy. And he hadn't ever seen me naked before. That's what I was thinking at first. But of course I hadn't ever seen him either. And I HAD been having some thoughts at night about maybe us running away sometime and living out in the jungle and saving each other's lives a few times and not ever wearing any clothes... only I wasn't sure I could do it right at that very moment. But then it hit me. He'd already seen me. When I was getting whipped. Bet my thing was bouncing around like crazy, and he SAW it!

So I took a deep breath and said, "Well, you go first and I will."

"Take my clothes off?"

"Yeah. And then you rub me down. Then I will you, okay?"

"You promise?"

"Promise."

So we studiously took our shoes and socks off, he stood up, shrugged, hooked both hands under the waist band of his shorts, jumped and yanked both his shorts and his undies almost completely off before hitting the ground again. Almost, but not quite, as they snagged on one foot and he stumbled, but then with another hop and a giggle they were off.

"Shit, I got a boner" he said. Then he turned and looked at me expectantly. It was my turn.

"Yeah, I think I got one too" I allowed. Then real fast like, not giving myself any more time to think, I pulled my shorts and undies down to about my knees and then took a peek down. Yep, that was a boner all right. And it sort of tickled.

For about a minute we just looked at each other. Chris was every bit as skinny as I was and about the same height. He had black hair and was very brown except for where his swim trunks had been. His penis wasn't much bigger around than my index finger and about three inches long. It was reared up nearly parallel with his lower abdomen, angling slightly to the left.

I was blond. My face, chest and legs were browned from the summer sun, but from my waist down to maybe about two-thirds above my knees I was almost milky white. My penis was fatter, slightly bigger around than my thumb and like I said, about three and a quarter inches. And was standing almost straight up as well. (So really, neither of us looked terribly unusual and it seems almost a waste of time to bother describing it all, but I like recalling it.)

Finally he wondered, "So you want me to rub you down, right?"

Well, of course. So I got on my stomach, he straddled me and went to work. It felt very nice and sent shivers down my spine, down my legs, down to my toes and back up to my groin. Nothing major, just nice little shivers which were slowly feeling better and better. Especially when he started rubbing my butt. I sort of felt like I needed to pee. Right down my crack he went. That felt good! Then on down my legs and I didn't feel like I had to pee quite as bad. Then finally he turned me over. His penis was still very erect and occasionally seemed to twitch ever so slightly. And I wasn't entirely sure, but sometimes mine seemed to twitch a little as well. I had never felt anything like this. Slowly down my chest he worked his inexperienced hands. Down to my tummy. It tickled. My breath quickened. But darn it all, he detoured at my midsection! Went right around it! On down my thighs he went, down my legs, on to the soles of my feet, then with a flourish he said, "Well, I guess that's it!"

It was? Pointing between my legs I asked, "Well, what about there?" I tried to make it sound like I was only joking, but I really wasn't.

"You'll do the same?"

"Sure" I said.

So he grabbed my penis and pulled back on it like it was a little gear shift lever and it felt like an electric shock. A very pleasurable shock. Then he started twisting it around. Still sort of like he was shifting gears. And this incredible feeling was starting to shoot through my whole body almost but just as he was about to go into high gear I lurched up to a sitting position, grabbed his hand and blurted, "Whoa! Time OUT!" Damn! He just about made me pee all over both of us!

"`Bout made you pee, didn't I?" he said knowingly.

"Yeah!" I said breathlessly.

"So now you know why I didn't bother it, don't you?"

"Yeah, I guess so" I said sort of sadly.

And so he got on his stomach and I rubbed HIM from head to toe. I particularly enjoyed rubbing his butt and down his crack, and he seemed to enjoy it quite a bit as well, but then anticlimactically he decided he was about to pee before I even FINISHED with his butt. And I hadn't got to his front period. I was a bit let down.

But oh well, if the genie wasn't out of the bottle, the cap was very loose. In fact, I was thinking about making myself pee that very night. I mean, I went to the bathroom to pee all the time, right? So okay, I'd just give myself a boner first then I'd make myself pee, that's all. Except naturally I was awfully worried about being found out and I wasn't even sure what was going to happen. What if I passed out and peed on the floor? Since up till then the best pees had always been the ones where I had to go real bad and I always peed for a pretty long time when it was like that, how long would it last THIS time? Could be for about an hour or so. That's an awfully long time to pee without my father coming in to see what I'm doing. So no, there was no way I could risk it. Darn! Only right about then I suddenly had an idea, and I couldn't hardly wait until the next day.

Only the next day I found out I had to hoe the garden.

Chris called about nine. He sounded excited. And slightly mysterious. Could I come over?

No, I had to hoe the garden.

"Well, is it okay if I help you? That way, we can goof off this afternoon, right?"

Well, whatever it was he wanted to show me, it must be pretty good I thought, because best friend or not, he didn't like work. And of course I had something I wanted to tell him about too. That idea of mine. Only my idea was more like a devious scheme that I wasn't going to tell him about till later on after it worked. Which it just might.

So anyway, shortly afterwards he was helping me. It made me feel all warm inside. Chris was actually helping me hoe the garden! We worked in silence for awhile, (I could tell he was being mysterious and wasn't going to say anything about whatever it was he wanted to show me till later), so finally I began to hatch my plot. (I was fairly sure whatever he was going to show me was related to what happened the day before, but I still liked my scheme.)

I said, "This afternoon? You want to play Indians?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

Then I added, "Amazon headhunters".

Chris hoed in silence for about a minute, then he remarked, "Most Amazon headhunters don't wear any clothes."

"Nope. Not anything. So what do you think?"

"Let's hurry up and get this garden done!"

Then a little bit later he added, "But let's make like we're capturing each other and like if one of us gets captured, then the other one gets to tie him up and all, okay?"

Sometimes it seemed almost like we could read each other's minds.

Nothing much more was said for several minutes, then Chris said, "Well, why don't I be a headhunter and you be a missionary?"

"Well, missionaries always wear clothes" I replied.

"Not if... well, you be a missionary and I'll capture you" he said.

Well, I caught that, but pretending I hadn't I said, "Oh, I guess. We can try it, anyway."

And so early that afternoon there I was walking along minding my own business out in the jungle in my Sunday best blue soccer shorts. I had my underwear on too.

Suddenly, out of nowhere came this high pitched blood curdling scream, and a naked headhunter pounced right in front of me. And he had a poison spear. Which he was going to spear me with if I didn't surrender and do exactly what he told me to do.

"Please don't hurt me," I begged.

"Lay down. Flat on the ground. On your back." he commanded.

Fearfully I did so.

"Now you're tied up, okay? You can't move."

And sure enough, he yanked my soccer shorts off. Then he yanked my undies off too. I acted horrified and had a boner. Well, of course. And so did the savage.

"Oh no!" I wailed, "What are you going to DO?"

"I'm going to torture you!" he snarled, "I am going to make you pee all OVER yourself!" then he fell on me and I went, "Ack!"

And that was almost exactly what I had in mind in the first place.

And so he yanked, and he pulled, and then pretty soon he just started rubbing it real fast between his palms. Shivers went up and down my body again. Then those shivers started getting more intense and I couldn't hardly stay still. I was wiggling all OVER the place, tied up or not. I could feel it coming on again. Whatever was going to happen, it was going to be major! I was going to flood the entire jungle! But I hadn't quite been driven insane yet, and I figured maybe I should sort of warn Chris. He didn't have to stop, but he might possibly want to get out of the way.

"Oh shit! Oh shit, shit, Chris I am about to DO something!" I warned him.

Wickedly, he didn't slow down a bit. If anything, he speeded up.

"Really! I- oh, ma-AN, oh- shit! SHIT! Chris-I-am-abouttoexplode!" and then all at once I thought maybe I had. But it was the most wonderful explosion I had ever experienced. (Okay, fine. I hadn't really experienced any explosions before.) But this feeling shot through my whole damn body and my penis started jerking around and for a little bit I was beginning to think it wasn't going to stop. I almost passed out. Way way back in the back of my mind there was this feeling that this time I'd really done it, it wasn't going to stop, nothing was coming out, my father would find out... but I just didn't care. Well, actually I'd grabbed it and I was trying to make it stop, but it wasn't going to. Not for more than a minute.

Then once the storm was stilled and I was trying to get my breath back, Chris giggled, "Damn! Yours REALLY jerks!"

"What do you mean?" I said breathlessly, "You mean you KNEW that was going to happen?"

"Yeah" Chris said smugly, "Last night I keep thinking about how good it felt? So I climbed out on the roof because that way I figured I could wet all I wanted to, and anyway, I kept messing with it and then all at once it happened. Damn! I almost fell off the roof!"

"So that's what you wanted to tell me, right?"

"Well, sure! You know you can do it over and over?"

"How many times?"

"I did it two more times last night, and a couple more times before I came over this morning, so I don't know. I guess till your peter falls off. ... Mine's a little sore right now, though."

Oh. "So you don't want me to do it to you then." I'm sure there was a note of disappointment in my voice.

"Well... We could go over to my house, that way we won't get eaten up by mosquitoes, and you could do it real slow... because shit, we don't have to worry about anybody seeing us so we got plenty of time and anyway, you didn't get to finish my rubdown yesterday. So you want to do that?"

That was probably the best of day of my whole life. At least up till that point. From worse to best in only a couple days time!

I went very slow, exploring every inch of his body. Or at least almost. I mean I got pretty close to his hole, but I didn't mess around with it. Because I thought it would be gross. But aside from that, I went everywhere, even to the soles of his ticklish feet and between his toes. Chris said it felt great, even if his eventual orgasm was a bit more understated than mine. He had been softly moaning a bit and breathing kind of fast and curling and uncurling his toes, then he sucked in his breath and started opening and closing his legs, then all at once he arched up, his penis sort of quivered, then it softened a bit and he sighed and that was all there was to it. But he still said it felt awfully good. So of course he did me again, then I did him again, then he did me again, then... well, you get the idea I guess. Till they got sore.

In the days that followed, we learned about all sorts of erogenous zones. We wrestled. We bathed together. All at once, I liked taking baths. Sometimes we were soft, but that state of affairs never seemed to last very long. We were insatiable.

And so it was only a matter of time until one afternoon while wrestling on the floor Chris put his mouth on one of my titties and started blowing on it. He slobbered all over it. But that felt good! So I just slobbered on HIS titties and it was good for him as well. So okay, after a bit he moved down and slobbered on my belly button. (Mine's an outie, his was an innie.) That felt good too, so I returned the favor and even licked at it, which Chris said felt even better than being slobbered on. So of course we had to find out how it felt to lick on each other's titties and then how it felt if you kissed them and then if you sort of sucked on them. Well, it seemed like about everything short of biting on them was a new and wonderful experience, so inasmuch as no one else would ever know about it and we were best friends and would be forever, it didn't take long until we arrived at a MAJOR erogenous zone.

Yes, I took his straining little erection between my thumb and forefinger, looked at it speculatively for a few seconds and asked, "Dare me?"

Chris giggled. Just a little nervously I think, because while we didn't know what queer meant, we did know what dirty meant, and this was really dirty. But shit, he said, I'd already poked mine in his mouth anyway, about a day ago when we were wrestling. Just for a second I'd poked it right in and he said it didn't hardly taste any different than any other place he'd had his mouth. I didn't remember that exactly, but it looked like I was going to do it.

"So if I do it, then you'll do it, right?"

"Yeah, sure" he replied. Suddenly he seemed almost serious.

So I took a deep breath and much to my surprise, it wasn't yucky at all. Chris got almost as animated as I usually did. He was almost squealing with delight and his legs were quivering and his feet were beating an erratic staccato on the floor. "Man!" I thought, "this must really be GOOD!" and I redoubled my efforts. I licked and I sucked, I ran my tongue over his little pink slit and then all the way down to his tummy and wondered if I could get his balls in my mouth as well and he shrieked, but I could tell he liked it because he was pushing my head down further. Well heck, I couldn't GO any further, in fact, I really needed to come up for air, so I pulled away.

"Don't stop!" he implored, so I hunched up closer and down I went again. Chris was going "uhuhuhuh... oh SHIT" and kicking his legs and I will be damned if I didn't start quivering all over about the same time he did. Which was still another first.

Then after he caught his breath he returned the favor and I could see why he had been carrying on so. It was fantastic.

And so in the few remaining weeks we had left before moving to Atlanta, we did it many more times, even trying a few awkward sixty-nines. Once in the bathtub we decided to clean out each other's holes. That was about the only place we hadn't investigated. So I poked my finger up his hole and he poked his up mine at the same time. His eyes widened noticeably as I pushed well past my knuckle and I'm sure mine widened as well. It felt good! Then we wiggled them around and yes, that felt even better.

"See if you can get it in deeper" Chris said breathlessly. We were REALLY being nasty!

But that ended almost immediately after I popped my finger out.

"Eww! Gross!" he exclaimed, and that took care of that. We simply couldn't overcome our squeamishness. Not then, and not in the remaining few days before we moved.

He promised if I wrote him he'd write back, but that was one promise he didn't keep. I don't guess he was much at writing letters anyway. I have often thought about him, and three years later I wonder what he's up to, whether he's gay and what he looks like now. I wonder if I'd even recognize him. But mostly I don't even want to know how he's changed, I'd just as soon remember us when neither knew very much except that we were best friends forever.

And that was take one in which I was gay and had known since I was eleven. The first part was true, but the really gay parts never took place. I don't know if they could have or not, but the bottom line was, I had no idea how that would have changed things.

Take two was called "Getting Kicked Out Of The House". This time, I was fourteen and was only starting to come to terms with being gay. Or at least possibly, I was. Gay. So at least that reflected the way things really were for me at the time.

And I suppose now would be as good a time as any to mention a few more facts. My mom ran off with the song evangelist right after a revival when I was six. Some revival that was! But she was living up in Minneapolis and like I said, soon after I was eleven, my father took another church in Atlanta. And he also remarried. A woman named Mildred. You might sense some hostility on my part. Well, you should.

But anyway, I decided to include my first chapter of "Getting Kicked Out" in this installment because to tell you the truth, in the first chapter nothing much happened. Sexually, I mean. Although at least there was some nudity.

Getting Kicked Out Of The House- Part 1

(There HAS To Be an Easier Way Of Doing This)

Travis lived in my neighborhood and the first year after I moved to Atlanta it seemed like his greatest joy in life was making me eat dirt. Or giving me a pink belly. Or sitting on my face. Or sitting on my face and farting. Which of course was really embarrassing, because he's a year younger than I am, but the problem was (and still is) he's a lot bigger than I am. Travis is large. I wouldn't call him fat exactly, but he is large. Even though it really is true that after about a year of taking his abuse I finally fought back, but that was mostly because I didn't have much choice.

I was up in this blown-over tree, I mean WAY up, a good fifty or sixty feet, when he showed up, sat on the trunk down below and announced that I was going to break my fucking neck if I didn't get down from there.

So I just told him if he'd get his fat ass off the damn tree, I wouldn't worry about breaking my fucking neck at which point he told me I'd better HOPE I broke my mutherfucking neck because if I didn't he was going to kick my little ass all the way home and back again and that was a promise. Then he sat down at the foot of the tree and waited. Said he had all day.

Now one interesting fact about this is that those cuss words that came out of my mouth just happened to be my very first ever uttered in public. See, there were several other neighborhood kids hanging around that day. And when I said what I did, they all laughed, but they weren't laughing at me, they were laughing at what I said. And at Travis. So I'd gained face.

But if I stayed up in that tree until either the fire department or my father had to come get me down, then I would lose all the face I'd gained. And not only that, if my father caught me up in that tree then I was REALLY going to get it. So I didn't have much choice, so I told him okay, I'd fight him over at the basketball goal if he would just please stay off the tree until I could get down. So everybody (except Travis) laughed some more, I climbed down, went over to the basketball goal where he was prancing around acting like he was expecting a ring announcer to introduce us and I hit him. Right on his nose. And it started bleeding.

Then I thought, "Oh shit! Now I've DONE it!", but he almost started crying and said I hit him before he was ready. So I hit him again. Then he started blindly throwing haymakers, but emboldened by my unexpected success, I danced around making like I was Muhummad Ali or somebody and even though he hit me a few times, it really didn't hurt much more than being frogged, so I kept going bop bop bop until finally he just turned and stalked off. He said he wasn't going to fight me anymore because I was dirty.

I yelled, "Well, tough shit!" That day was one of my proudest ever.

But I guess I do have some severe emotional problems at that, because the next day I saw him off by himself moping and I will be damned if I didn't start feeling bad about it, in fact I ended up telling him I was sorry.

I don't know, I guess because Travis never was all that popular around the neighborhood I felt sorry for him. And sometimes it was like he was the only person I could run around with. Neither one of us was worth anything when it came to playing sports, but I think he's worse than I am. He seems to be inherently clumsy. So pretty soon we'd made up. And yes, I felt good about it. Bless my heart! Then before long, he sat on my face again. But no, I didn't bust him in his nose. I did not like him sitting on my face, but... shit. How can I explain this?

Well, really, there isn't a good explanation, but most of the time when he ended up sitting on my face or whatever, it started out we were just playing around, even if after awhile I got the impression that basically he was just beating the shit out of me, but at least whenever we started playing like that there usually wasn't anybody else around.

Although after I bloodied his nose he didn't sit on my face quite as often. But then about a year later things started getting weird, only I wasn't ready for weird at that point. He started grabbing me between my legs sometimes. And he said he could shoot off when he hadn't even come close to starting puberty, in fact, his was even smaller that mine, but anyway, when I said he couldn't, he said if I wanted him to he'd show me how.

So I can think of some boys who could've showed me how and I wouldn't have minded, but not Travis. No way. So I started having less and less to do with him.

Then one afternoon he showed me what a red-eye was. And while he was at it, he also showed me a brown-nose. That son of a bitch sat on my face, pulled his pants down and then, "Snuf, hedg thaff kame.. Damn! Geth outh my fath! Cud it outh!"

Well, he did, but the damage had already been done. "Oh shit!" he crowed, "I got you but good! Go look in a mirror at your nose. I dare you!"

I didn't have to look in a mirror, I could smell it. It wasn't as bad as it smelled but still, after calling him quite a few names I got the hell out of there and I didn't have much to do with him from then on. Or at least not until just recently.

The problem with Travis was that he'd gotten a reputation as a funny boy, which in my neighborhood is one step removed from being queer. So apparently he'd gotten weird on other people as well. But at any rate, if labeled a funny boy, then you're definitely going to be looked at with suspicion and it also goes without saying that anyone who hangs out with you is also going to be looked at with suspicion. Well, if it was somebody I liked, then I don't guess I'd care if I was looked on with suspicion or not, at least not all that much I wouldn't, and if not for my father, I might not care at all, but if it's somebody I don't like then it's not worth it. Whenever I used my common sense that's how I looked at it, but every now and then I would get... well at first I was just curious. Slightly.

Like for instance one afternoon I was out riding my bike going no place in particular, when I saw him sitting on his front steps wearing just a pair of red gym shorts and tennis shoes. So I would have totally ignored him, but he yelled out, "Hey dumb ass, I haven't seen you around lately. Where you been keeping yourself?"

So real cool like I peddled up to him and I said, "Who you calling dumb ass?" then in case he got the impression I wanted to fight, I added, "I've been around. So what have you been doing all summer?"

"Oh, this and that." That's about as deep as our conversations ever got. But I couldn't help but notice that his shorts had rode down pretty far on his chubby stomach, so I could see a good deal of his v and I just had to wonder. Was he wearing anything underneath those shorts? It didn't look like it. Last time I'd seen it, his penis had been pretty small, but now it looked like maybe it wasn't. So had he started growing hair yet? If those shorts rode down just a little more, it looked like I'd find out. Up until right then I wouldn't have wanted to see him even partially naked, but all at once I did.

"I got a paper route" I said wryly. "I ain't kidding you, it's a bitch. You mowing lawns again this summer?" Meanwhile I was wondering if there was a way to casually sit down on the steps a little below him. About three below would probably work out fairly well, I thought.

"Nah" he answered, "It's bad enough just mowing my own damn lawn. I just got finished. Man it's hot! ... You want to ride around some?"

I shrugged and swung off my bike, then laid it over and sat down on the bottom step. "Oh I don't know," I replied. "Maybe. We going anyplace in particular or we just riding around for the hell of it?" As it turned out, the view of his v was a lot better from up on my bike and I really couldn't see up his shorts all that much either. But I guessed it would look cooler if I stayed where I was for at least a minute or so.

"Well you know the old Horton place?" (Unable to remain perfectly still while talking, his legs swung open briefly, and hello!) "There's this sort of cave out back" he continued, "I mean it's really cool. So you want to check it out? Nobody'll bother us. There's not ever nobody around anyways. So you want to?"

Innocently I said, "Oh I guess maybe for an hour or so, but I can't stay gone too long."

Maybe I enjoy chronicling the depths of my depravity. It sure looks that way, but sneaking a peek up Travis White's gym shorts... now that is really bad. But I was intrigued. Because he wasn't wearing any underwear and while I didn't see any hair, it seemed a safe bet that he'd at least grown a little because I did see his dick and it was big! His nuts were big too. And perhaps it was slightly erect or maybe it was just the way he was sitting, (or possibly it's just that I am just totally depraved) but it also seemed to be peering out inquisitively in my direction.

But it was only a glimpse and then his legs swung closed again and he said, "Well okay, wait for me out here then. I got to go put on some more clothes. I'll be back in a minute."

So right then I was disappointed and it didn't get much better after we reached the Horton place. I was hoping he'd get weird on me again. I didn't want him to sit on my face again, but he could have started wrestling around and grabbing between my legs, he could have tried to pull mine out, at the very least he could have wondered if I ever jacked off or how big mine was, but he didn't. Although at least he took a piss without bothering to turn his back. So okay, that was nice, since it allowed me to confirm that my first impression wasn't exaggerated. But he didn't have any hair. I swear. When he fished it out, he pulled his fly wide open and he still didn't have on any underwear so I got a good look and he didn't HAVE any. And I am just sorry as shit about this, but I found it intriguing. Even though pubic hair is important to me. At times it's almost more important than even the size of the penis. It's like a bench mark.

But in spite of that, on my way home that day I stopped at Walgreens and picked up a bottle of Nair. Why did I do that? Why did I get an erection when I made the purchase? And why did I become even more erect when I actually - GASP - smeared the stuff into my sparse bush? And not only that, the longer I stood there letting it set in, knowing full well that with each passing moment I was drawing closer to that point beyond which there was no undoing it (or at least not for awhile), the stiffer I got. And when I got into the shower and saw just how well that stuff worked, I REALLY got stiff. So naturally I whacked off and had a thunderous climax.

Then I felt guilty and I thought to myself, "You fool, now you have done it! Why did I do that? WHY? You are so stupid!"

But that's nothing compared to how I felt the next morning. At first I was hoping it was a bad dream, but it wasn't.

Well, I don't know, I guess I found the idea of a big dick without it's customary crown to be sort of interesting and I started wondering how I'd look without my hair. And then I got to thinking that maybe if he found out I didn't have any either, he'd start acting weird again. He might even suck my dick. Then I'd surprise him and return the favor. Then after that, maybe we'd get truly weird. Maybe one afternoon he'd say something like, "You know what me and my cousins do sometimes? We cornhole each other. You ever done that? You can do it to me if you'll let me do you. You want to try it?"

So I'd say okay. I liked imagining him sticking it in. I'd be beyond shame, I wouldn't even be embarrassed if I cut a loud whistling fart while he was at it.

The things I thought of the next few days while I tried to get up enough nerve to ask him if he wanted to ride out to the old Horton place again, the things I thought of to draw him out of the closet! Weird things. Unsanitary things. Disgusting things. Things that are in all likelihood anatomically impossible.

You see, my father also raises chickens and -.(and you really shouldn't get ahead of me here. Believe me, the chickens had nothing to worry about) - and it's my job to feed them. Well, the feed barrel is a fifty gallon drum set in a box on a platform maybe a foot off the ground and when the feed starts getting low. I have to climb up and lean over the edge, then while trying not to fall into the barrel headfirst, fill the feed can. And my feet are up off the ground. So I started fantasizing about leaning over a counter about that high and him whopping it in me. I guessed he'd have to be standing on a chair. And I probably would have found it pretty uncomfortable. It would have almost killed my stomach muscles. But I still thought about it. I started thinking just how vulnerable I would be leaning over like that, that's all.

Only I guess in such a position it would be almost impossible to relax the muscles I should relax, in fact, it probably would be impossible not to tighten them, so okay, it really wasn't a good idea then.

But anyway, after three days I got up enough nerve to go by his house. This was after I'd sneaked my father's razor out that morning and shaved again taking care of three or four stray hairs. And when I saw Travis sitting morosely on his front steps I thought for sure it was fate.

Which I suppose it was. Yes, he guessed we could ride out to the Horton place again, he sure didn't have anything else to do.

So when we were riding through the woods, I tripped and fell into a mud puddle. He was riding up ahead and I was walking, but anyway, "Shit!" I said, "Now I'm going to have to wash my damn clothes off and let them hang up to dry for awhile before I can go home, because if Mildred sees them messed up like this, she'll kill me!"

"You're kidding," said Travis.

"No I'm not" I said. "You don't know her. Well, I guess I can wash them out in that little creek behind the place. Then I'll let them dry out for awhile. I don't guess I have any choice."

So when we got to that creek out in the woods, he swung off his bike and said, "Well, do what you have to then." I wasn't sure, but I thought I detected an ill-disguised note of anticipation in his voice.

"Nobody hardly ever comes out here much, right? I mean you're sure about it?" I didn't want to seem too eager.

"Shit, I don't know. I don't guess so" he answered. I guessed he didn't want to sound too eager either.

"Well okay" I replied glumly, then for good measure I added a rueful "Shit!", then I sat down and started working on my shoes. In no time at all I was down to just my pants, only at that point I hesitated. There are a few things it's hard to grow out of.

I laughed self-consciously and completely in character. "Maybe from now on I ought to wear some underwear" I said and then with my back to him, hurriedly finished undressing, squatted beside the creek and began to earnestly wash my things out. I had only a slight erection. I was relieved, actually. And by the time I my clothes were hung over a low overhanging limb to dry, it was completely at ease. Then I sat down cross-legged and acted almost normal.

Only he never made any comment about my appearance one way or the other. No, he just said, "Well, I'll be seeing you around" and as I just sat there in stunned disbelief, he grabbed my pants and shirt and pedaled away. I had no idea he could move that fast. And he didn't just throw my clothes in the bushes either, oh no, they were GONE.

I said, "Uh oh."

No really, that's the first thing I said. I said it very quietly. Admittedly, my initial reaction was a bit understated, but I didn't want to scare myself. But I really was scared. I wasn't sure, but I had a feeling he wasn't coming back. And he didn't. I waited and waited and waited, feeling dumber by the minute but finally I had to admit to myself that he wasn't coming back. It was hard not to panic. (And that's another understatement.)

But believe it or not, after about thirty minutes of hiding in the bushes hissing out obscenities directed mostly at myself I said, "Oh fuck. I think I'll just whack off." But I couldn't get it up. I tried for at least five minutes, and if anything, my dick just got smaller. So see, I really was upset.

So finally I guessed I might as well try to get myself home. I was certain I was doomed, but I had to at least try. I had a very strong homing instinct. And anyway, it would have been at least in the wee hours of the following morning before traffic would only be even a moderate concern, no matter how I went, so off I went. And for awhile, there almost seemed reason to believe things might not turn out as badly as I had thought, because while trying to slip wraith-like through the woods, I happened upon a plastic garbage bag buried in some wet leaves. It wasn't in great shape and had a small colony of ants in it, but finally I managed to transform it into a sort of diaper, a bit on the drafty side, but still an improvement. Even if it itched like crazy. Which is another understatement. I shook it out as best I could, but ants are stubborn. A couple of times I almost said the hell with it. The places I got bit, boy oh boy. Strategic places. Made me hop up and down and cuss.

Eventually though, I managed to reach the edge of the woods. There behind a bush I paused, carefully looked both ways down a very busy street and then said to myself, "Okay, now... OUCH! SON OF BITCH!... what?" Did I dare go hopping down that street in broad daylight wearing nothing but my Nikes and a brown trash bag? (I could tell you the name of the street, but seeing as how there's only one Episcopal church on it, I won't. But it's busy. Six lanes not counting the center turning lane.)

What happened was, I looked across the street and saw this big Episcopal church. Now mostly what I know about Episcopalians is that my father considers them to be very liberal. He said most of them don't believe in much of anything. They have dances, play cards and go to movies. And they don't have the church doors open even on Sunday nights, much less on Wednesday nights.

So after thinking it over for a distressingly long time I guessed if I went over there, just maybe I could talk to somebody and explain that a gang of boys thought it would be a big joke if they stripped me naked and left me that way, but they were my friends in a way and so I didn't want to get them into trouble with the law, which if my father found out about it they would be, because he wouldn't let well enough alone until I told him who was responsible which would only make things worse because the only reason they did it in the first place was because he was a fundamentalist preacher who was preaching at them all the time, then just maybe whoever I talked to wouldn't ask too many questions and just get me some damn clothes. I'd wait somewhere out of sight until they could find some. They didn't even have to fit. Just halfway fit, that would be about perfect.

Yeah, if I could just get across the street, then maybe somebody would help me out. So I took a deep breath and started to dart out from my hiding place, then panic stricken I thought, "No wait a second! Here comes some fucking joggers! Just wait until they pass. And the traffic clears a little."

About ten minutes later I guess, there were no pedestrians except way on down the sidewalk and the traffic on my side of the street was clear for at least twenty seconds, so I said to myself, "Now, damn it! Go!" and I zipped out into the street, tightly clutching my trash bag in place with one hand.

Usually when I do something I'm scared to do but I have to do it sooner or later so I might as well get it over with, it's like I lose my hearing. I get this big ringing in my ears and that's about all I can hear. So that's what happened. I zoomed out into the center turning lane and then screeched to a halt waiting for the traffic to clear in the opposite three lanes and for the most part all I could hear was a loud ringing noise. But I did vaguely hear a lot of traffic. I think I heard some horn honking. And raucous laughter. And I know a truck passed right behind me. Almost blew my diaper off. I'm serious. I knew I still had the front in place but for a second or so I wasn't sure if my ass was out in the open or not and I was afraid to look. I was saying to the oncoming traffic, "Damn it! Come on! Hurry up! Please! PLEASE!"

Finally I saw an opening, so frantically I took off again. Then OH SHIT a car and a truck was bearing down on me much faster than I'd anticipated and self-preservation took over at that point and the deal is you can run faster if you're madly pumping both arms. It seems like you can anyway, and that's exactly what I started doing. Pumping both arms and the hell with my trash bag. And some people think I'm suicidal and/or self-destructive. Well, that should prove once and for all that I'm not. But yeah, I lost my trash bag just about as soon as I let go of it and started running for my life. It's a wonder I didn't trip over it, but no, one instant it was on, then all at once it wasn't. Oh, I noticed right away, but I did not go back and pick it up.

My ears REALLY started ringing, but ZOOM I flew across the last two lanes, across the sidewalk in one fairly amazing broad jump, and then I discovered the gate was locked. The gate through which I needed to pass in order to reach the church. I mean it was surrounded by a ten foot high wrought iron fence and the goddamn gate was locked!

So at that point, I panicked. I started crying. I couldn't help it. In retrospect, my best course of action would have been to curl up into a fetal position and wait for the police to show up - well, that's easy enough to think of when you're in command of your faculties, but I wasn't - so what did I do? I just took off blindly running down the sidewalk. It was horrible. I have no idea how far I ran, although I'm sure I didn't cross any more streets. Atlanta traffic is a BITCH, I'm not kidding you. So I guess I was just circling the block hoping for an opening into some sort of hiding place, but my ears were ringing and I was crying and I had an acute case of tunnel vision, so really, it was kind of hard to think, you know?

Then - RRRRR, RRRRR, WHELP WHELP - a police car with it's lights flashing and strobing and then someone was grabbing at me and someone else was blanketing me and before I knew it, I found myself in the back of a police cruiser and that took care of that.

At least until my father picked me up all outfitted in a nice orange jump suit that was a couple sizes too big for me.

First thing he said was, "That convict suit looks kinda nice on you. You might want to get used to it." Not the most promising start I could imagine.

Then as we reached the elevator, he added, "Had a real interesting talk with the officers who picked you up. Care to guess what we talked about?"

"It wasn't my fault" I mumbled.

"Oh, and why WASN'T it your fault?"

"Because... because..." Oh what was the use? "It just wasn't" I mumbled. "Because-"

He cut me off. Which is just as well, I guess. "I suppose you get a kick out of running down the street in broad daylight naked as a jay bird, don't you? Get in the car!"

(Well, there were several long pauses during my attempt at explaining things, so yeah, we were moving right along.) And in the interest of moving this narrative along, I will tell you that one of the policeman told him when they apprehended me, I had an erection. Which I was completely unaware of, and I wish they'd kept quiet about it, too. Dumb thing gets stiff on me at a time like that?? What was it doing? Was it just sticking out, or was it straight up? It's pretty noticeable either way, but done gone vertical really is a bit more blatant.

Blatant, my ass. How about demon possessed? Tell you what, if that thing had started pitching a tent in my jump suit at the very mention of it's previous behavior, I just might have gone for demon possessed. But it didn't, right then it seemed to be thoroughly ashamed of itself.

And I could tell my father was pretty ashamed as well. I mean, beyond telling me that only fags ran around naked like that and enjoyed it, (Which isn't true of course, but who was I to argue?), he had little more to say driving home. So it was over and done with except for the whipping and in the meantime I could wonder about some other things.

Like for instance, if the damn thing had that little self-control, then why didn't it just go ahead and shoot off on the arresting officers? Well, that might constitute an assault on a peace officer, (it probably would) so maybe it's just as well that it didn't.

Oh, and I could wonder how my old man was going to react when he discovered my hair had gone missing. Now, THAT was something to worry about.