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From: stardog105@hotmail.com (Bob)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 7 Jul 2003 16:29:06 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Cousin Malcolm, Part 2 of 3 (boy/boy sex exploration, true)
Date: Mon,  7 Jul 2003 19:10:04 -0400
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Cousin Malcolm -- Part 2 of 3

Malcolm and I were growing all the time, not just getting bigger
bodies but getting bigger dicks and nuts too. We probably came
into a full flood of hormones just at the best time: we got to
sleep in the same bed, one made up on the floor -- no squeaks! It
was heaven. It was like being newlyweds every night.

The days were a different story.

Never a scholar, Malcolm was getting further and further behind
in school. He'd eventually drop out. I wasn't getting exceptional
grades myself but relished study, homework, new subjects. It was
fairly obvious that I'd wind up in college, which I did. Malcolm
was deep into shop, mechanics and engineering, which is where he
found a successful life niche. That was way in the future though.
Now his home life was showing strains. His growing truancy, his
older and equally delinquent friends, put him on a collision path
with his father who had a talent for imparting devastating
discipline with a belt. Malcolm took up biting his fingernails. 
He kept them stripped down to the quick, his only obvious way to
bleed off tension. I started the habit to emulate him. It was 
something I carried around to remind me of him. Still does. My
family was cracking up some too but nothing so dramatic, just 
continuing health problems from my mom, which relegated me and my
interests way below my parents' visual horizon.

Both our families were constantly tied up over problems with our
grandmother. That kept my parents bringing me to weekend visits
with Malcolm's family more than ever.  Our child play games fell
away quickly as we grew. When we did hang together, it was with a
deck of cards and box of plastic chips, but most often we'd
settle in around our visiting parents, watch what they did on TV.
As it got dark, as everyone nodded off during the hours of dull
programming, Malcolm and I understood we were getting closer to
our sensational performance with each other.



	xxx



In a matter of seconds after the TV got shut off, a pad, a set of
sheets, a blanket and two pillows appeared magically assembled on
the floor of the living room. Then the two of us, sans shirt and
pants, materialized laying on our sides facing each other under
the covers.  We talked quietly about nothing. Different family
members wandered by to the kitchen, to the bathroom, but little
by little, lights turned off, bedroom doors closed for the night,
and the house became dark and silent.

We had not waited though. Our white briefs got slipped to our
knees as soon as we lay down. And our hands immediately crossed
that narrow gap between our two blanked forms to tease and
comfort our bare organs dangling in such abject neglect.

In the darkness, in the silence, we shifted positions. The briefs
got pulled off entirely. The pillows got moved closer. We lay on
our backs, shoulders and heads almost touching. We separated our
legs, raised our knees to tent up the covers avoiding any sound
of movement against the crisp sheets. Our hands kept at each
others genitals.

They were noticeably bigger, heavier, especially the scrotum
which hung pendulantly between the separated thighs. And for both
of us the penises had elongated now into columns topped with
fleshy knobs, four plus inches tip to base.

Handling them was like a conversation. Apart from the regular
masturbation rhythm we experimented with touching, rubbing,
grazing our partner's complete genital area. We'd copy the
other's technique, returning the favor. We'd do unique sensual
tricks and have them played back on us. Then we'd return to
straight jacking to build up our partner's erection only to
abandon it to give attention elsewhere.

One night Malcolm continually returned to dandle and roll my nuts
in their loose pouch. It had a dramatic effect with the scrotum
tightening up so the hard balls seated flush up to my groin on
either side of my bursting erection. Malcolm rolled them against
his hand, pressing them firmly to keep them excited. It was
sensational to me. I began fingering around his dangling sack to
give him an indication when suddenly he whispers in my ear,
"Where'd your ball go?"

"You pushed it inside," I whispered back, surprised he'd not
known of this feature in his body.

I demonstrated by gently pressing one of his testicles up through
the channel so it could seat hidden under the layer of fat along
side the base of the penis. After he could feel it would stay by
itself, I lightly pressed on his stomach and the ball dropped
back into his bag.

This was so intriguing Malcolm positioned and retrieved both my
balls several times to get the knack of it. I'm sure he was
giggling inside the whole time that he could reform my sex parts.

After this learning interlude, we resumed the serious business of
masturbating each other to a hopelessly sex-crazed state.

Either because he was doing more to retract his foreskin for
washing, or just from all the handling he was getting, or maybe
from his fucking me until his skin was forcibly stretched, by now
I could routinely peel him back to the shaft with comfort and he
could do the same to me.

Comfort yes, but the sensitivity, especially if unexpected and a
bit rapid, broke the rhythm leading to ejaculation. This was very
useful, especially on me since I was on a hare trigger a lot of
the time.

So apart from all the added attention Malcolm lavished on my
scrotum getting it to tighten up until my nuts were on either
side of my erection, he kept my dick in perturbed confusion from
a skillful interplay of gentle jacking to next, and without
warning, being completely peeled bare, the skin gathered at the
base leaving the flush head taunt from the pressure, and keeping
it that way until it had learned its lesson not to spit too soon,
after which the skin was gathered up along the shaft to cover the
head in preparation for another session of jacking beguilement.

I doubt Malcolm designed this care of me, but that was how it
turned out.

Well so far all this has just been conversation between us. We
had yet to "do" anything. At some point when either of us had
stopped the other from tipping us over into spontaneous
ejaculation enough times, one of us would ask in a whisper, "What
do you want to do?"

The choice was fuck or suck.

Often early on the first answer was "suck." We'd trade sucking on
each other a while, then Malcolm would ask to fuck.

Whatever he asked for or wanted I would do automatically, which
I'm sure he knew, so his asking was a courtesy. Malcolm was
unfailing adroit in sex with me. Regardless of enthusiastic
handling, he never hurt me. And surely those mechanic's hands had
something to do with the absolutely most erotic touch I have ever
experienced. He could do the slightest movement across me and I'd
be on the verge of orgasm. Now you might think that I was so
wound up that if he had waved to me from across the street I'd
come in my pants. True enough. Nevertheless he had an unerring
touch with me every time.  I can't imagine that I was able to
provide him with anything equally thrilling. But I enjoyed
trying.



	xxx



Masturbation began every session and usually ended it. We never
tried to time oral sex so the other would withdraw at the point
of ejaculation. Even when we'd been fucking we would often save
the ejaculation to be in our partners hands. By then we had built
up and pulled back many times -- at least me -- until our -- or
just my? -- genitals were temporarily numb. In some unspoken way
we knew now was the time to put me out of my misery.

We traded masturbation back and forth, one of us lying docile
under the other's insistent handling. At the end of my turn as
the active partner I rolled on my side facing Malcolm, who lay
flat on his back, knees up, legs separated. My left hand went
beneath his behind to cradle and manipulate his ball bag, getting
it to crinkle up tight to his lower stomach. I let a finger stray
all over the area underneath the bag. It was taught from the
spread of the legs, a great target for my fingertips to brush at
odd moments. The hole in his behind was not included in this
finger molestation. It was reserved in our activity as the place
my stiff dick could squirt into, and the reverse was true of how
he enjoyed me.

My right hand had an easy grasp on hi	s lengthy erection,
keeping it under a constant pulling and peeling along the rigid
shaft. The steady rhythm on his penis with lots of fingering over
and at the margins of his tight scrotum, then on the stretched
inner parts of his thighs at the groin, pushed him toward orgasm.

He raised a hand to touch mine. Time out.

I immediately released him and pulled my hands away. I got flat
on my back, legs opened like Malcolm.

He rolled in close, facing me, put one hand on my penis, rubbing
and pinching the glans between his thumb and fingers. My erection
bristled under the fresh attention after minutes of drooping
unattended. He began jacking the stiff column, every now and then
peeling the skin back to the base in a slow methodical movement
before recapping it to continue the steady jacking.   His other
hand snaked up between my legs, the fingers lightly rubbing my
balls in a circular motion. They almost instantly pulled up
tight. He continued the rubbing, getting them to seat so snug to
the base of the penis root they couldn't bulge. This did not get
Malcolm to stop. He let his finger tips drift over the wrinkled
scrotal pouch, lightly brushing the surface in one direction, up,
again and again. It was like electricity was poured into me, a
maddening tingle radiating through my squeezed nuts into the rest
of my body.

My penis was getting more than it could handle too. He had
positioned his hand so the top ring of thumb and finger rubbed
the swollen flange of the head against the foreskin cover at
every stroke. The same super-sensitive area was getting all his
action.

My mind flashed that Malcolm will keep petting my tender nuts and
jacking my battered dick for as long as it takes to get me
jizzing for him. It was an irresistible thought. I felt the
coiling up of muscles inside and the spasm to violently eject the
first streamer.

Malcolm, monitoring my hardness, felt the imminent orgasm, peeled
the foreskin back from the head to increase the strength of the
shots of sticky sperm as they spewed over my stomach, drenching
the sheets, dribbling between his fingers. He kept jacking the
penis at the base as it wilted in utter exhaustion from it hours
of excitation. Once I was soft, he released me, rolled away onto
his back.

Now it was his turn.

Despite my orgasm, I was still keyed up enough to carry me
forward to engineer Malcolm's sexual cataclysm.

I did everything to him he'd done to me, not letting his erection
have any respite from the persistent jacking. His ball bag
shriveled good and solid making his sore nuts ooze out sperm with
every brush of a fingertip. He built up tension in no time. I had
his erection skinned back when he put out his first shot. His
dick throbbed in great racking spasms along its full length.
Spurt spurt spurt. I kept my other hand pressing his scrotum,
getting it to empty to the last drop. Slowly, much slower than
me, Malcolm's erection deflated. It kept withdrawing until it was
tiny again, could be covered in three fingers. All sticky, as was
his belly. I carefully released it, let it curl into place, steep
in a pool of semen.

I rolled away, my back to him. Settled into a comfortable
position to find sleep.

Malcolm did not move. He might have fallen asleep in the same
position he'd come in. Maybe if I did not drop off soon I'd hear
him roll over, his back to me. But more often than not I'd be
asleep before he changed position.

Sometime in the middle of the night I awoke, remembering I was
with Malcolm. I scooted over next to him, lay beside him touching
practically head to foot. Put an arm around him letting my hand
pick up his penis, totally soft and small. I rubbed it gently,
especially at the foreskinned tip getting it to react. Malcolm
would slowly awake to the touch. I kept busy until he was fully
erect.

Acceding to the growing sexual pressure, he rolled onto his back,
toward me. He reached over and took hold of my erection, jacking
it in smooth strokes now that I had lost my skittishness of a
rapid ejaculation. I settled onto my back, leaving off handling
him. He warmed to his work on me, slipped a beguiling hand
between my thighs to give my scrotum his special touch. I built
slowly but irresistibly to ejaculation. After a brief recovery, I
tackled his sexual parts, making sure his ball bag tightened up
to invisibility before he too spurted all over.

We had another session before light, wrenching out the final of
three sticky ejaculations for both of us.



	xxx



Malcolm enjoyed being sucked as a warm up for the rest of the
night's activities.

He said, "Let's suck," in my ear.

I slipped under the covers next to him at the middle of his body,
the bedclothes tented above me so I had free reign of his already
masturbation-hardened erection. I steadied him in my right hand,
took it deep in my mouth sucking it right down to the root. It
would get sucked in slow motion from base to tip. Over time I put
pressure on the shaft with my lips so the foreskin would peel
back more with each stroke. Finally his penis head would be bare
in my mouth. I reversed the process, covering it up. I'd peel it
back again. I did not use my tongue. I did not handle his
scrotum, possibly figuring that he could not help but come then,
or possibly because the position at his side did not lend itself
to my reaching him with a second hand.

Having given him good service for say five minutes, I lay back to
get mine.

Malcolm did well, better than our early sucking sessions. I
suspect he had come to terms with the self image of someone who
sucks cock. If so, this was because after he had got my dick up
his ass regularly, there was not much room for scruples receiving
it at the other end. Then again, he might not have thought out
anything at all.

My full penis head was always well half out of the foreskin when
I erected. Malcolm did not avoid it as his mouth sank down the
shaft. His cheeks were sucked in and the strokes up and down a
deep pleasure. He did not peel me back or show other enthusiasm
for the work but it was wonderful regardless.

In less time than I gave him, he took his mouth from me, laying
back down. We crossed our arms in mutual masturbation to get
inspiration for the next pursuit.



	xxx



More often than not Malcolm at that point would say, "Let's
fuck."

I'd agree, of course.

Malcolm rolled away from me onto his side, drawing his knees up
and moving his head closer to the edge of our sleeping mat to
help line things up for entry.

I rolled on my side snugging up to his hips, my erection
ever-vigilant for his tight bottom hole.

He reached back to guide my errant pilgrim to the mark.

I pressed in.

Nothing.

"Spit on it," he whispered over his shoulder.

Trying to work up some spit, I put a glob in my hand, transferred
it to my bare head -- bare because we learned through practice
that only the uncovered head will go in.

He held my shaft, getting the head to match up with his
indentation.

I pressed.

Malcolm worked the shaft, correcting as it bent or wanted to slip
off target, until the head sank in the first delicious inch. He
took his hand away, settled into a totally passive state as I
began my labor. And it was labor, due to recent added girth to
our erections.

I kept maneuvering my hips as well as the angle of approach to
make headway through the ring. With a constant pressure that
needed my steadying hand so as not to veer off, the head made it
through into the delicious interior.

I rested.

The sudden sense of being engulfed in a hot grip rippled through
me. It was heaven.

I dared not withdraw this close to the opening so hard won. With
small increments I leaned into Malcolm, felt my erection
traveling in deeper, slipping inside. There was a sense of
oiliness against my bald dick head.

I rested.

Having made such great progress, for the first time I allowed a
slow rocking withdrawal and return plunge to the same place, sort
of easing any discomfort as Malcolm adjusted to being stretched
and filled. Any resistance now faded. I ventured in deeper,
sinking myself in a single stroke to the depths. It was
wonderful. I pressed up against his behind, flattening it against
me. I'd come home.

Malcolm laid inert.

I did not put an arm over him. We stayed apart despite being
connected. Not now nor ever was their anything that could be
taken as an embrace. We of course could not imagine anything
smacking of affection, even a nipple rub. To have brushed lips to
a cheek would have been deadly poison between us. Our focus was
on getting as much sensation as possible to our genitals from
each others hands and openings. Period.

I pulled my hips away from him to give me stroking space. For the
next few minutes he felt me pumping him with first even then
erratic strokes, keeping him guessing what would happen next to
his well-traveled chute. The sensations it gave me feeling my
full erection rubbing against different areas at different angles
was electric, though I would not come.

This was only the first half of the encounter.

When it seemed I had plugged his bottom hole sufficiently, that I
had nothing left in my little bag of tricks, I withdrew, feeling
the last smooth slide out of him, a pleasure all to itself.

I rolled over, back to Malcolm as he moved in next to me. Again
the fumbling of an entry, the use of saliva to ease in a bulbous
head. I reached around, touched his hip, to signal he needed to
slow down, allow me to accommodate him. He stopped pressing in. I
began to feel better. I took the hand away. He leaned in more.
The way was open so he took the full plunge, until he was snug up
against me, his erection completely buried.

I was not specifically driven wild by anal/rectal maneuvers, but
must admit that the sensations from a fire-plug of a dick moving
in and out back there are intense. And I know I felt an emotional
communication with Malcolm from receiving his coupling that was
absent in the other configurations we practiced. Taking a page
from Malcolm's playbook I lay dead, a receptacle for however he
wanted to wield his truncheon. He was considerate. Whether the
effort was aimed at my pleasure or his own, he used all his skill
in fucking me with shallow to deep strokes, different tempos,
different angles. Like when I fucked him, no attempt was made to
hold or touch the partner. He kept his hands to himself.

After Malcolm had gotten his fill, he withdrew and in a
continuous movement rolled over and pulled his knees up, waiting
for me to connect up with him again. No saliva necessary this
time.

We traded roles for three or four times before masturbating each
other. Dropped to sleep in exhaustion.

In looking back now I regret we had not tried other positions,
especially laying prone one covering the other, a favorite of my
adult life. No doubt such a change would have brought out more
energetic activity. But we opted for subtle encounters that could
be interrupted by one of our parents wandering by and not
noticing any funny business.



	xxx



There was funny business a plenty too. It was just kept out of
their potential view.

I'd developed another vice, auto-asphyxiation.

The son of a close family friend, years my senior --all of 16? --
had demonstrated and taught me the technique in his back yard. It
was a way of inducing a temporary black out, loss of
consciousness, that gave a few seconds of euphoria and hours of
later headaches if repeated too often.  You didn't fall on your
face if you propped yourself up against something. I took to the
practice as with all my habits, making it an instant addiction. I
taught the trick to Malcolm too, part of our secret life with
each other. And we did it together, he with much less drive than
I, when we were alone, often at the same time as we handled each
other briefly for a little appetizer before our night's sexual
banquet.

Malcolm and I had been excused from the family table. We slipped
away to the back bedroom, knowing that no one would get up from
dinner to go look for us. We had maybe 5 minutes in private. That
was enough. We shut the door partially, did not want the sound of
a bolt action giving us away.

Standing at an angle to him, I put my hand down his pants,
getting a feel of his genitals, soft, warm, moist, as delicious
to me as cookies fresh baked. I handled him briefly, getting his
penis to stiffen so it could peer up at me with a questioning eye
as I positioned it flat to his belly.

"Take it out," I asked, one of my constant private requests, and
irritating enough by now that Malcolm could ignore me without
explanation.

I removed my hand, leaned my back up against the wall and induced
a black out, wanting to get in at least that bit of pleasure
before our private time was over.

Malcolm took this in stride, knowing by now my total lack of
self-restraint or even self-respect.

As I returned to consciousness, got my vision back, I saw Malcolm
in front of me.

I had expected at best that Malcolm may have grudgingly unzipped
and hauled out his erection through the fly of his pants to poke
out in a lewd display that so delighted me. Probably I had
assumed that Malcolm would have done nothing at all while I was
"away" just marking time until we rejoined our parents who would
call us in minutes to help clear the table. But no.

Malcolm had undone his belt and jeans, pulling them and his white
briefs down to the top his thighs, revealing not just his
belligerent penis, flushed and pulsing, now ringed with black
pubic hair, but his full behind, so tan and smooth as to be
irresistible.

My oxygen-starved brain boggled at the sight. I had not seen
Malcolm this nude since our first show-and-tell adventure years
back. He had grown a lot since then. He was handsome. Closest
approximation would be to say he was Tom Cruise handsome, an
early Tom Cruise, say in Legend.

And here he was in front of me, his dick and butt there for my
touching.

I touched.

My hand went to a luscious bare cheek, still boyishly flat,
resting there while I ogled the erection and pop-eyed balls
trapped snug between his stomach and the bunched up clothes. I
gave that dick a friendly jacking as Malcolm held his position
for me to drink it all in.

I was in a spell, a vision.

Chairs in the dining room started to scrape on the floor.

"Let's get out of here," we whispered to each other.

Malcolm put everything away, zipped up. We tucked in our shirts,
tried to look normal, went out to help in the kitchen before we
were yelled for.

--to be continued--

Comments? Questions? What to share your experience? Write me at
stardog105@hotmail.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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