Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 ONE ON ONE (BB SOLO)

   WARNING: This story contains sexually explicit material.  It is not
intended to be read by anyone under the age of 18.
This is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to any person, living or

dead, is purely coincidental.  Copyright by M.  P.  Knight 2001





   Toward the end of my 13th summer, my friend, Paul, and I, having nothing
better to do, entered the junior high school by an unlocked service
entrance we had discovered earlier in the year.  We were both basketball
nuts, so we liked to sneak into the gym and play "one on one".  The smell
of the varnished hardwood floor and the reverberating "boom", "boom",
"boom" of the ball hitting the floor as we dribbled toward the hoop, made
playing inside the gym more "authentic" than playing outside on the asphalt
court.

   On this particular occasion, we were well into a hard fought "Celtics"
vs "Lakers" playoff game when we suddenly heard what we thought were the
footsteps of the janitor pounding down the corridor leading to the front
door of the gym.  We quickly ran out the side exit, down the hall and
entered the back of the auditorium.  We found a small room that held
costumes and props where we promptly hid, huddled in the far corner.

   After a few minutes of silence, we felt safe enough to begin to whisper
back and forth to each other.  We were sitting on the floor, behind a rack
of costumes, with our backs against the wall.  The room was dimly lit from
light filtering in through a transom over the door.

   "Remember when Roland won all the money at camp when he bet the guys he
could jerk off and shoot his load into the Coke bottle?" whispered Paul.

   "Yeah.  That was somethin' I'll never forget.", I replied.

   "I wish I had thought of it.  I would've been able to buy a new tape
with the money." Paul boasted, proudly.

   "Yeah," I said, "I could've used the money, too." I was lying to Paul,
because at the time of Roland's performance, I had never masturbated to a
climax.  It was only after I watched how Roland had held and stroked his
penis, that I attempted to duplicate his feat successfully.

   "How much money do you have on you?" asked Paul.

   "I dunno.", I replied.  "Why?"

   "I'll bet you I can make myself come before you do." Paul hissed.

   "I'll bet you can't." I countered.

   We discovered that we had enough to make the wager worth $3.50.  The
contest would begin only after we had both freed out penises from our
shorts and jeans and had indicated we were ready.

   I unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned the top button of my jeans, and
unzipped my fly.  I then dug my penis out of its resting place in the
crotch of my jockey shorts.  As I was performing these preliminary
preparations, the anticipation and wickedness of what was to happen caused
my pecker to begin to harden.  When Paul brought his out into the
semidarkness of the storeroom, I could see he was experiencing the same
phenomenon.  I noted with quiet satisfaction that, while Paul was taller
and heavier than I, I matched up very well in the penis department.

   "Okay.  Are you ready?" he whispered.

   "All set!", I responded.

   "One, two three.  Jerk!", he gasped and began a furious up and down
motion of the closed fist surrounding his meat.

   I started a fraction of a second behind Paul.  Within a half minute, or
so, we had fisted our pricks to their maximum adolescent size.  I couldn't
help myself.  I stared at Paul's pecker as he stroked it.  He had been
circumcised and I hadn't, so it seemed that the head of his dick was mostly
what was showing as Paul's fist glided up and down his shaft.  The head of
my dick was partially covered by the foreskin on the "upstroke" and burst
forth in all its ruby glory only on the "down stroke."

   I hadn't masturbated yet that day, so it was only a minute or so after I
began jerking off that the pre-ejaculate fluid began oozing out of the
opening in the head.  I was terribly excited by now.  Watching Paul
masturbate was definitely adding to my normal, exquisite pleasure.  I
wanted to grab his prick and have him grab mine, but I didn't dare say
anything.  Finally, I could feel the juices leaving my balls and starting
up the final passageway to freedom.  I sucked in my breath and held it as
the first spurt jetted out of my throbbing dick's opening, arched out a
foot, or so, and splattered on the floor between my legs.  I had erupted
twice more, adding to the widening pool of sperm glistening in the room's
semidarkness, before Paul let out a muffled groan and began to ejaculate.
After a few more moans and groans and globs of spunk hitting the floor, we
both sort of exhaled slowly and deeply and relaxed.

   As I looked at the results of our contest, I felt that Paul had been
shutout.  I had climaxed first; I had produced more jism; and it was of a
thicker consistency than Paul's issue.  That is, his come was not as
copious as mine and it was more watery as near as I could tell in the dim
light.  But, not wanting to antagonize him, I didn't point out the
overwhelming magnitude of my victory.

   After awhile, we began to exchange thoughts on what had just taken
place. We agreed that what we had just done was the most exciting sexual
activity in which we had ever engaged in our young lives.  I finally
confessed to Paul my desire to grab his cock and have him grab mine as we
were masturbating.  He looked at me with a startled expression on his face
initially, then softly muttered that he had had the same compulsion.

   "Let's do it to each other, then.  At least, let's start and if it
doesn't feel good, or right, we'll quit.  Either one of us can call it off.
OK?" I asked.

   "OK" he agreed.

   I took his flaccid penis in my left hand (he was sitting to my right)
and he tentatively wrapped his right hand around my limp dick.  We sort of
turned toward each other to permit easier access.  His pecker felt strange
in my hand.  It was wet from his ejaculation, so I began rubbing my fingers
over the shaft and head using the moisture as a lubricant.  He followed my
lead with my penis in his right hand.  It didn't take too long before I
began to feel my dick begin to grow and stiffen in Paul's grasp.  His
started to stir a little, but it was taking longer for him to get hard than
it was for me.  I found out later that Paul had already masturbated twice
that day before we had entered the school gym.

   We began to mimic the other's actions.  If I moved up to the underside
of Paul's glans, he did the same to me.  When he touched me in a
particularly pleasing place, or manner, I tried to emulate his action with
my hand.  After five or ten minutes, we were both hard as rocks again. 
However, I had mixed emotions.  I was physically very stimulated, but
mentally, or emotionally, I was feeling guilty about what we were doing. 
My guilt could not match my horniness, however, as I felt the tightening of
the muscles and the contraction of my balls begin once again.

   This time my emissions were not as numerous, or as copious.  After the
first spurt hit the floor, the rest seemed to just spill out.  Paul had
been holding my prick almost vertical to the floor, so the come sort of
gushed out and then fell back down on the head of my dick, finally flowing
down my shaft.  Paul continued to milk me long after my fluids stopped
squirting out.  My balls were drained, but my penis was still rock-hard and
spasms kept running through its rigid length.  I was climaxing but no
liquid was erupting from my organ.  It was the most intense orgasm I had
had up until that time.  My climax started Paul's orgasm and his sperm shot
over my fist in two quick spurts before it died to a quivering dribble down
his dick.  "OK, OK.", he gasped.  "Stop.  No more."

   We used one of the hanging shirts from the costume rack to clean
ourselves of the drying sperm and to mop up what we had deposited on the
floor.  Zipping , buttoning and buckling up, we tip-toed out of the
storeroom and quietly slipped out of the school through the same, still
unlocked, service entrance we had used to get into the building.