Second Boy

The time between age 10 and 12 was a time of great upheaval in my life, both socially and physically/mentally. I started puberty while barely into my 11th year of age, and it hit me like a supersonic ton of bricks. I grew in height so quickly that my family was sure that I would be a giant over 6 feet when I finished, and it seemed every day I sprouted ten new hairs. I discovered the internet and pornography — though at the time it was mostly just my father's old Playboys — and learned how to masturbate properly. Sure, I had been masturbating since as young as I could remember, rubbing my penis on soft things and sticking all manner of objects into my anus, but had never reached an orgasm. Well, I decided one day that I was going to masturbate until I ejaculated, and it happened just that way. I also gained knowledge about homosexuality, natural development, anal sex, and all sorts of other naughty things. By the time a year went by, my dramatic puberty was on the verge of ending as quickly as it began. For some strange reason, it seemed to halt before it was actually finished. I never reached my full adult height or weight based on the size of the other men in my family (only 5'8" and 140lbs), my penis seems similarly small (5.4"), and I'm still proportioned like a 14-year old. Of course I'm similarly emotionally stunted, but I won't get into that.

 

Anyway, when I was 12 and this all started with R, I was already basically sexually mature. I had large testicles and a penis barely half an inch shorter than it is now. I was over 5'5" and had a full bush of pubic hair, and I was absolutely exploding with desperation to fuck every boy in the world. Curiously, I had never seemed to really notice R before. He was 10, and the little brother of one of my best friends at the time — a family I had known since I was around 2-years-old. However, in retrospect this seems quite normal. A difference in age of two years is huge when you're a little kid; you have completely different hobbies, watch different TV shows, have different sets of friends. At this time, though, I definitely started to notice him. R was absolutely gorgeous to me, and positively tiny. At least a foot shorter than me, very scrawny, and of course completely prepubescent. My memories of the sexual experiences with the first boy were still fresh in my mind, and I longed to repeat them. I hadn't yet recognized that I was destined to become a pedophile, that I was attracted to him specifically because he was sexually immature; at the time I just figured that I was lagging behind in things; at the time I thought that being "gay" was a phase that boys eventually grew out of.

 

However, another boy, L, one my age and from up the street, had beaten me to the punch, so to speak. I don't remember how it happened, but somehow him and me got to talking about porn, and he convinces me to go get my dad's magazines so we can masturbate while looking at it. L was cute, but as he'd started puberty my interest in him wasn't very intense; plus he wouldn't let me touch him much or anything, and I was too shy to ask to do anything else. Just looking and masturbating together was fine, though, and it happened several times. I recall once, rather hilariously, he attempted to "fuck" one of the centerfolds and tore the page with his penis. I panicked and tried to fix the thing with scotch tape. Somehow, he told me that he occasionally did these sorts of things with R, and so he he joined in on our games.

 

The three of us only got together a few times, when my father was out of the house at work, after school. We showed each other our dicks and looked at the porn, talked about sex and girls and did stupid little dares. Once we humped at the side of the house near the doorway. Once we tried to stick our erections into the pipes of a wind chime (mine didn't fit). I'm sure there was some streaking involved. We discussed dirty words and tried to come up with unique names for our penises. Once we actually got together into a triangle and attempted to rub our penises all together at the same time. However, this seemed to trigger a change in all of us. L seemed envious of me because, despite him being a month older than I was, I was much more sexually developed. His penis was only a bit larger than R's, and he had only a few wisps of pubic hair (he lied and said he had shaved it) while my penis was practically adult-sized. At the same time, R seemed much more interested in me than in him. R's own penis was just as tiny as the rest of him, about two inches long and as thin as a finger, with a very tight foreskin that retracted just enough so your could see the tip of his glans. He was the type of boy who gets erect at the drop of a hat and stays throbbingly hard until he gets redressed. I remember very clearly that his balls were exactly like jelly beans and in a tight, tight scrotum against his body.

 

So, R and I got together, just the two of us, many more times after that. The first thing we started doing was rubbing our bodies together, because I remembered that I had really liked doing that with the other boy from years before, and because he liked it, too. I had become wary of being caught, though, so we did it behind closed doors and when nobody was home, at least at first. Our standard method was to lower our pants and underwear to our knees, raise our shirts to our shoulders, and then I would lie down on the floor or a bed, and he would lie on me. We would cuddle tightly together and rub our erections together. He would rest his head on my chest, nuzzling up to my neck, and hold my sides, and I would wrap my arms around his back and waist and squeeze him tight, sometimes rubbing his butt if I felt brave. I can remember how it felt exactly; his buttocks were small like the size of my palm and smooth but not soft, instead very firm. His whole body was tight and toned and firm. We'd hold on, rubbing together, breathing heavily, panting, sometimes pretending to kiss (actual kissing would have been FAR too gay) because it made sense that real couples did that. Sometime we tried it in reverse, but I was so much bigger and heavier than him so it was awkward and not as enjoyable. Neither of us ever had a climax this way, but it was incredibly enjoyable. At the time, we called this "having sex". The interesting thing was that this was basically the only type of sexual activity we ever did, in sharp contrast to the experimentation and playfulness I'd done with the other boy. We rarely touched each other's penises and never did much in the way of oral. While I was more aggressive with initiating our sex play, I wanted nothing more than to give him pleasure, so I always did what he wanted to do.

 

We only did this sort of thing with L one more time, as I recall. We got together in the garage one afternoon, and we showed L how awesome it was to cuddle and frot, but he was not in the least bit interested in doing that. While R and I laid down together on the floor and enjoyed each other's bodies, he went off the the side and masturbated by himself while looking at the magazines. It seemed a bit sad, and L never asked to join us in our games after that had happened. R and I were far too interested in each other to care about the porn anymore.

 

As time went on, we found we were unable to "have sex" together as often as we liked, so we grew bolder (and stupider). We would do it in the garage when my father was home, or in my bedroom with the door closed and locked; we once did it in his bedroom when everyone else in his family was home, trusting through our fog of lust that we would be able to hear someone coming down the hall and be able to get redressed in time. When nobody came the first time, we pressed our luck and did it a couple more times, for only a minute or two before getting too scared, getting redressed and going back to watching TV or playing video games.

 

I remember one time in particular, we did it in the garage at night, and tried something a little different. Instead of simply rubbing our erections together while cuddling front-to-front, we took turns rubbing it between each other's thighs (and for me, all the way up between his buttocks). I liked doing that a lot, but it hurt him a little to bend his penis at that angle because it was so stiff and normally pointed straight up toward his chin. After we were done we went into the backyard and tried — and mostly failed — to pee on the plants in the darkness because we still had full erections.

 

Another time when he was over at my father's house we fooled around in my bedroom a little bit, and then it got late so he had to go home. He had to pee, and unable to contain myself I followed him into the bathroom. Of course, he wanted it just as much as me, so we ended up rubbing more in there, but because there was no room for me to really lay on he ground, I leaned against the wall and he pressed into me. After a little while, we quit and exited the bathroom into the hallway, only to feel the urge overcome us both once again. We embraced each other and started to hump at each other once again, fully clothed. I was completely aroused and I could feel his little erection, and we were just starting to really get into it when my father walked around the corner and saw us. We were very, very lucky that we'd kept our clothes on that time, and thinking quickly I transformed our frotting into something of a chaste hug, pushed R away, and mumbled something like that he had to go home now. If my father suspected anything naughty, he never mentioned it.

 

During these times we were together and frotting, I tried to get him over and over again to try other things, but he was always very resistant. I longed to give him an orgasm because I knew they existed (I could have them all the time, and for some reason just never decided to masturbate myself in front of him), but his penis was very sensitive and he didn't like it to be rubbed by hand, probably because of how tight his foreskin was. I wanted to try oral, but he didn't want to suck on my penis, and only once let me try sucking his. After less than ten seconds he told me to stop and then ran to the bathroom to pee. At the time, I figured I'd done something wrong, but in retrospect he was probably about to have a dry orgasm. When he came back he said he didn't like it because it felt "wet". I also tried to get him to try anal, but he was scared I might hurt him because I was so big, and he was probably correct. We had no idea that lubricant was a thing.

 

Well, one day we were together in my bedroom playing around as usual, fooling around with various toys and taking breaks to hump at each other, naturally. My father was away at the time, so we had no worry about being caught. At some point, I was showing R that I could put things into my own anus, which included a marker and a large, round-cornered dice that I pushed in and then pushed out of me several times. He was amazed that I could do that, and surprised that it came out clean. I showed him with my finger than the inside of my butt was not covered in poop, and so he finally agreed that we could try him penetrating me. So, we went to the bathroom, and I bent down in front of him and he grabbed at his erection and tried to push it into my anus. It didn't really work; we had no idea what the heck we were doing. He got maybe an inch inside of me before his smallness and our lack of any sort of lubricant (didn't even use spit) made it clear that it wasn't going further. On top of that, neither of us really were enjoying it at all; there was no sudden burst of incredible pleasure and awesomeness that we were expecting "real sex" to be like. Seeing no point in continuing this, he pulled out and we went back to frotting each other as usual. That was always enjoyable.

 

All through the year or so we did this together, we had a wonderful relationship. It wasn't just a sexual thing; we loved spending time together in our precocious romantic way, liked touching each other and hugging, liked to watch TV and play games together. Despite his young age, he was very aware of his sexuality and its effect on me; he was a real tease and a constant flirt. When clothed, he would rub his hands on his body and lift his shirt to show off his chest; he'd pull up the waistband on his shorts so they would pull tight against his penis and show off his little bulge to me. When we were outside doing various activities with the other kids in the neighborhood, we'd whisper naughty things to each other. I recall one in particular: we were playing baseball out in the street; I was the first baseman, and R was on the other team and had gotten a single. We were watching the next batter up, and he said to me, with that old joke, "Pitcher's got a big butt..." I responded, cheekily, "First-baseman's got a big dick." to which he immediately said, "Man on first base has a little dick!" He knew that I liked how his penis was smaller than mine, and he knew that just mentioning it excited me. At the time, Austin Powers had just come out, and the music video for Beautiful Stranger was on MTV several times per day. We'd try to dance sexy like Madonna when alone together, and we'd rub our butts on each other's faces like she does once to Austin in the video, mostly because it was funny and not so much because it was arousing.

 

One time when he was over, we wanted to watch a movie. I had gotten into James Bond movies obsessively, and was starting to watch the older movies, having exhausted the modern ones. My father had rented Moonraker, and even though I'd already watched it the previous night, I wanted to watch it again, with R. So we sat on the couch, side by side, and watched Moonraker. It was incredible, just being close to him, just having him next to me and sort of touching me, hot and electric and amazing. No nudity, no erections, no nothing but him and me and nothing between us. It makes me tear up just remembering how wonderful it felt to me. I was only 12, but I was in love with him, head over fucking heels and no turning back. I have no reason to think he did not feel the same way for me, in his own way.

 

Sadly, this story does not have a happy ending. The economy started to turn sour, and his parents could no longer afford to live there anymore. They were going to move across town (and when you were 12 back then, before IMs and cellphones, across town or across the world is the same thing: you never see them again), repeating the exact same circumstances that had come between me and the other boy. I was crushed, heartbroken, and very, very angry at the world.

 

On the last night before they had to move, there was a party at my father's house with everyone from the neighborhood in attendance, as sort of a grand send-off for them. I don't remember the party, or the food, or much of anything because all I wanted in the entire world was to be with R and to feel good with him one last time. But something was very wrong with him; he said that we shouldn't do it anymore, that it was wrong, that we had to stop, that he didn't want it, and he refused to let me touch him. It took me a very, very long time to realize what had happened... and the last part I just realized right now while writing this all down. He probably felt just as upset as me, knowing we were going to be separated, because he liked me so much, too — possibly even loved me. He had talked to somebody about his feelings; maybe it was his brother, maybe it was his parents. I don't know who it was, but somebody told him that boys don't do those sorts of things or have those sorts of feelings for other boys. They told him that being gay is wrong, and he believed them.

 

But I was desperate and hormonal and angry. I was never going to see him again, and I wanted to have sex with him one more time. I kept getting him alone in the shadows of the house and outside and trying. R refused my advances time and time again, even pushing my hands away which confused and frustrated me because he was always submissive to me; I didn't understand what had happened to him. Finally, fed up, I all but dragged him out to the treehouse in the backyard and demanded we expose our naked bodies and rub against each other, like we always did. I was going to force him to do it whether he liked it or not, despite his protests, because I knew damn well that he did like it. I was going to pull of his clothes and hold him down and rub myself against him, but he had one more card to pull, and it was the last card. He said me that if I didn't stop, he would tell our parents that I touched him and get me in big trouble. That stopped me; that terrified me. We parted ways, didn't go near each other for the rest of the party, and never spoke or interacted again.

 

To this day, I am haunted by my actions. I know that I was only a boy; I know that it wasn't my fault that the world is cruel and homophobic; I know that he honestly did enjoy our sex and had simply been brainwashed, but... that doesn't change what I did. I loved R with all of my heart and being, with an intensity I didn't think I could feel, and my last memory of him was my almost raping him. It hurts; it hurts so much.

 

 

By coincidence, I ran into his mother at the library a couple of years ago. We shared Facebook info, and I was later able to see pictures of R as an adult. He's all grown up now, still thin as a rail but very tall, and not at all attractive to me anymore. He's not even really objectively attractive, while as a boy he had been gorgeous. He has facial hair, is in college, and embraces a "gangster" clothing aesthetic. He has a girlfriend. I don't know if he remembers what we did (though I can't imagine how he could forget), and I don't know what I'll say to him should we meet again. My parents, on rare occasions, mention that we should get the families together someday, but it hasn't happened and I hope it never does. I don't ever want to think of him, to see him, in a way other than the beautiful boy I remember from back then. He's changed, while I haven't...

 

See, that's the problem. I haven't changed. I'm still 12, really. The years that have passed are just some kind of weird joke or trick. The world moves on, flashing around me like a surging crowd walking in the opposite direction from me, while I have stood still. The boys I have touched and who touched me have grown up and become heterosexuals, and resent me for our shared past; but I would give my soul and even my greatest talents to regain it, to feel that again. To feel love, pure and unspoiled and frighteningly intense, again.

 

This, my friends, is my pain.