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Warning, this story may contain explicit descriptions of sexual acts between boys of various ages and/or men and boys. If this is not to your tastes, please leave now.
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By Chris Carr
Copyright ©
Ever had a good handjob? No, really... I mean a real good, howling at the rafters, body wrenching, ball busting, fist job? Well, it’s not something I like to brag about, but when it comes to sending a dude into sheer nirvana, I’ve become pretty good. Guess all those times whacking off my friends paid off, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
I think it started with Melvin, the buck toothed kid from around the block. I guess having a pool in my backyard made me something of a celebrity, at least among teenage boys. As word spread, my popularity increased and boys were literally coming out of the woodwork. Tall boys, short boys, fat boys, skinny boys, cute boys and of course, the ugly ones too. Melvin wasn’t exactly what I’d call ugly, he just wasn’t that cute. A rather dark complexioned boy, he had curiously shiny skin that glistened in the summer sun, and his mouth seemed crammed full of teeth. As if competing for space, they bulged his cheeks in an almost chipmunk fashion and his two front teeth were unusually large, giving the impression that they were bucked.
He was gangly, his arms awkwardly dangling from his sides and he had skinny legs and big feet that seemed destined to find every rock to trip over. He was such a Melvin. But my cousin Lyle, who's frequently over my house as he stays right up the street, loved him, the two of them enjoying endless wrestling matches. It was the only time Melvin wasn’t awkward. His scrawny body suddenly agile, he’d twist and contort around my cousin, miraculously triumphing to pin his squirming form to the ground. He even managed to coerce me into a round or two.
"Whasa-matter Sonny?" He’d taunt, those two front teeth gleaming, "You scared?"
It was the teen kryptonite, an attack on one’s fragile manhood. Across the yard we’d scrap, Melvin’s wiry frame aptly assisting him. To my surprise, though I was older, and bigger, he was quite strong, almost pinning me to the ground at times, but I’d find a stronghold and hold on until we both conceded a tie. I hated contorting and sweating in the grass like that, it was so primitive. For some reason, it seemed a right of passage for teenage boys though and I couldn’t always avoid it.
Melvin would twist into pretzels with my cousin, with the boys next door, probably the mailman, had he took him on. It was just one more reason I hated Melvin, his smug, self-aggrandizing aside. Which is why when my cousin mentioned his wanting to join our "club", I almost went into shock. While I made no allusions to Lyle’s obvious naïveté over the sensitive nature of this petition, I found myself actually getting excited. Heck, at that age, a chance to see anyone’s dick could excite me but Melvin?
Once word got out we had a pool, it was like boys started coming out the woodwork. What started out as chance excuses to see guys naked turned into something I'd never anticipated. The boys none the wiser, I'd conspired with Lyle, who was happy to comply, to turn every visit into a dick peeping opportunity. Cajoling them out of their clothes as we changed to swim, I I found myself practically ‘swimming’ through a myriad of dick peeping possibilities. Peeping led to touching, which led to exploring which, eventually, led to my "club". I got the idea one night while brainstorming on a way to see more dicks. Well jeez, by that time, I was a true addict!
What if word got out that Sonny had a club? Boys like belonging to clubs, I reasoned, hoping that my idea would spread so rapidly, even the most reluctant boy would venture a quick sexual encounter, just to avoid exclusion.
To my delight, my plan worked and as boys quietly started inquiring about membership, I’d suddenly be presented with another dick encounter. Mostly I’d have them drop their pants until they got hard, but on many occasions, the environment was just ripe for something more. Sometimes the boy needed help getting it up and I’d take that opportunity to finger his sluggish tool. Then there was the occasional boy that, before he could get his freshly washed briefs open, his dick would be straining so hard at the white fabric, it’d make a tented impression. I loved those instances best as there was no telling where things could go from there.
I guess it was word of this same club that had somehow reached Melvin, prompting him to ask my cousin about joining. But while I was excited about another chance encounter with a new boy, I had to take into account which boy I was considering this time.
"Did you tell him what it took to get in?" I asked, the following day. Lyle nodded his head yes. "But he can’t be gettin’ all stupid," I cautioned. "Uh huh," Lyle acknowledged but I wasn’t totally convinced.
It was with some trepidation we finally met, a couple of days later. Melvin had agreed to an ‘interview’ and, late that afternoon, he stopped by. He Lyle and I chatted for a couple of seconds then I told Melvin that if he wanted to, we could go to the ‘clubhouse’.
The clubhouse was really the pool cabana, a renovated shed that guest used as a dressing room. Mom and dad used it for temporary storage at times so there were some old boxes in there which we used as seats. As soon as we got inside, I locked the door and we both pulled up a box/seat. Melvin’d become very quiet since we’d left the house and his expression had darkened. His head down, he stared somberly at his feet.
"Well," I finally said.
"Well?" He returned, those steely eyes of his glinting.
"See, just what I thought," I said, feeling rather disappointed.
"What?"
"Man, you the one told Lyle you wanted to join."
"I didn’t tell Lyle I wanted to join, he asked me if I wanted to."
"But… he said…" I looked toward the house, wondering just what was up. "Then… do you?"
"What I gotta do?"
"Man, I thought Lyle said he’d told you. You tryin’ to be funny or something?"
"Dang, Sonny, I told you, Lyle ain’t told me nothing, ‘cept, you got a club and do I wanna join?"
"I’m goin’ to get that rat," I swore under my breath. I looked at him, contemplating the risks. "So…you want in or not?"
"I guess," Melvin said, hunching his shoulders.
"Then I gotta see if you really mean it. Stand up." Melvin hesitated, then finally stood. "You got to really want to get in though," I stressed.
"Ok."
"O..K… what?" I said.
"Ok, whatever," He consented. My heart pounding in my chest, there was a crashing sound outside on the patio that caused me to almost leap out my skin. Melvin and I stared at each other, wondering if it was just a cat or what, but I was so excited over his offer, I didn’t stop to investigate.
"In that case…. take your pants down," I blurted.
Melvin’s eyes bucked, and there was a tense moment as he stared at me. "This what everybody did?" he contested.
"Yeah," I hurriedly affirmed. He stared at me another long, uncomfortable minute, then reached down and unfastened his pants. Staring straight at me, he pulled them down, revealing his clean, tighty-whiteys, and smooth, spindly legs.
"Now your shorts." Blink, blink.
"Man, David did this?" He challenged. I blinked, searching for a response. "I can’t tell you what the other members did but, this what it takes to get in," I pressed, hoping it was enough.
Following another prolonged silence, he eventually hooked his thumbs in the elastic waistband of his briefs and slowly lowered them, just below his robin’s egg sized balls. Savoring the moment, I gazed in wonder, the neighborhood’s most unlikeliest candidate standing in my clubhouse, his dick out. Captivated, I gulped, temporarily forgetting what we were doing.
"And?" Melvin said, snapping me back.
"And…uh… Oh! K’, you almost there. Now…" I hesitated, wondering if I should press my luck or just thank my lucky stars. I mean hey, I’d got Melvin to pull his pants down and show his dick. He stared at me, awaiting my next command, his flaccid dick snapped close to his groin.
"Uh… now… now, you have to get it hard," I chanced, my heart thundering in my ears so hard, I could barely hear myself talk.
Melvin stared at me for what seemed an eternity. In fact, he stared at me for so long, I started to get nervous. What was he doing and why was he just standing there, staring? Moments passed, heightening my already anxious condition then, just when I was certain all was lost, he muttered, "Can’t do it," glancing down at his limp dick.
Frozen, I sat on my box/seat, staring at him for a couple of seconds. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? He stared back at me, then looked emptily down at his dick again.
I stood, earnestly searching his face some indication I was on the right track as I approached. He looked up at me, warily regarding my every move.
At 13, Melvin’s body showed signs he’d just entered puberty. A sparse growth of boy fuzz encircling the root, his dick itself dangled somewhere between boyish smallness and teen elongation. Though the shaft was slender, it sported a large, mushroom shaped head.
I slipped my hand around his drooping length and squeezed it lightly. Melvin said nothing, his eyes glued on my actions. His little growth stirred slightly in my hand, the head swelling as I gently stroked it. Melvin trembled a little, his twin, boy orbs roiling into action. Emboldened, I took up a position beside him to better facilitate my efforts. Extending my hand to firmly stroke his responding length, I found a rhythm. Melvin seemed fascinated, his eyes widening as his dick sprung into action.
A gentle breeze from off the pool wafted through the louver windows, temporarily cooling our heating bodies. I was now stroking Melvin’s brick hard tube, all 5 1/2 inches of it. The head gleamed in the bright afternoon sunlight, fully distended. Melvin let out a tiny hiss when my hand slipped up around it.
Gritting down on that great multitude of teeth in his mouth, his cheeks bulged. Swiping my hand back and forth, I watched as his dick strained upward, the head swelling so, it shone. Melvin hissed through his clenched teeth, his hands bawled into twin fists, then, his groin pushed forward and an excited pearl of boy cum leaped from his throbbing dick.
Grunting and hissing, he went over the top, his immature dick doing a lot more spasming than producing but he was nevertheless enthralled. After that first discharge, his flow quickly dwindled, leaving his dick to pretty much dry spasm and quiver. A pool of warm cum forming at his feet, he bucked and grunted, hissing in delight.
With a couple of final strokes on his waning erection, I finally released him. He stood there for a couple of minutes, his dick never really going down.
"Dang," he muttered, observing the little pool of cum he’d made. Then, with even more astonishment, he spied the one volley that’d fired across the room. "Damn!" he mused, shaking his head. "So, am I in?"
"Oh yea," I said, stroking his dick one last time.
It wasn’t like every boy in the neighborhood started lining up for a hand job after that episode but, before long, it started to feel that way. Had Melvin told all the boys what had happened or was this just the fates, smiling down on me? I wasn’t sure but wasn’t about to ask either.
Not long after that incident, we were hanging out in the pool one day when Melvin suggested to Randy that he ought to join my club. Randy was a strapping, 14 year old from the neighborhood who’d matured somewhat prematurely. Nobody fucked with Randy, hell he was too big. Already sporting a peach fuzz mustache and a chest that rippled with muscles, I’d fantasized about him a thousand times but wouldn’t have dreamed of asking him to join. Thank God Melvin was so bold.
Randy asked a couple of questions as we waded about the pool, but I remained quiet, deferring instead to Melvin who handily answered his inquiries. Turning to face me, he finally said,
"Why you ain’t told me ‘bout your club?"
"I… I didn’t think you’d be interested," I returned, flummoxed.
"So… can I get in?"
"Yeah, but you got to be cool," Melvin interjected.
"Cool? Cool ‘bout what?"
"Just… be cool," Melvin urged. Randy stared at him, confused. "Be.. down," Melvin clarified, wading around him.
"Wouldn’t be askin’ if I wasn’t down," Randy said, swiping a handful of water at him.
Melvin ducked, then, with a curious smirk said, "Then you cool."
The day Randy was due for his interview, I was a nervous wreck. What had Melvin got me into? Maybe it was a trick. Maybe they were conspiring together, purposely using Randy, the only boy big enough to beat the living daylights out of me. Pacing backwards and forth, I was actually thinking of calling the whole thing off.
"He come yet?" Lyle said, startling me. I was so consumed, I hadn’t even heard him enter the pool house...
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