Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an4595@anon.penet.fi
Subject: No subject
Reply-To: an4595@anon.penet.fi
Organization: Anonymous contact service
X-Anonymously-To: alt.sex.stories
Date: Tue, 20 Apr 1993 14:39:33 GMT


Michael's Sexual Awakening
      as told by `M'

Michael's Sexual Awakening (Volume VIII) - a true story

authors note:
Originally this volume (VIII) was intended to be a story
unto itself, with flashbacks to events which I eventually wrote
as volumes II-VIII. Then I started on volume II, intending to
finish this story as volume I. After much rewrite I couldn't
make the story flow correctly that way, having already "published"
volume II (and then II and IV). I have surrendered, and there
will be no volume I. I have retitled it as volume VIII and thus
the chronicles are, well chronological. Picky reader can renumber
them from I-VIII instead of II-VIII, but, to put it bluntly, who
gives a f---. The instigator in my writing my stories is that there
has been a dearth of stories dealing with young peoples sexual
awakenings. While there have been many stories, most just simply
didn't meet my expectations. I wanted to write a story that was more
"real", surely I wasn't the only kid who grew up a little in awe of
sex rather than the revved up sex machines I have been reading, or
the blatantly bad sense of youth (i.e. she was 11, no pubic hair
and tits the size of grapefruits. And they're fucking by the tenth
line in the story - it just isn't that way - is it?). Anyway, if
you agree with my perception of youth, and like the pacing of my stories
(which is intended to be much slower than most on the net), please
let me know, it is nice to hear, and much thanks to those who have
already written to express this. Those of you who have related
an empathy of your own youth, thanks it was great to hear. This
is the final chapter in the chronicles. Although I fornicated my
way through most of college and had some wild experiences I am
not inclined to bore the net with such tales. Many college experiences
have already been written and posted (some better than others), and
I think my college stories would be more pornographic then erotic,
which is what I hope these "Michael" stories have sustained.

It was the winter of my senior year. I was sixteen, almost
seventeen. I had grown a lot in the last year, both physically
and emotionally. Though still somewhat shy, and normally the
last to start a conversation I had put behind most of the
awkward traits that had been associated with my earlier years.
My self esteem and self image had improved to where I no longer
worried about my masculinity or looks. I was in the top ten
of my senior class (and it was a large class), a letterman,
and known throughout the school. As co-captain of a very
successful hockey team, my picture made the local papers
and girls noticed me. I was a clean lad - no drugs, didn't
drink, but still knew how to have a good time. Though drinking
occurred at many of the parties I attended, it was not hard to
pass, in fact most kids did. Maybe it was a different era then.
Some of the parties were wilder than others, especially when
Dieter attended (remember him from volume III?). I was making
out regularly in those days with a parade of willing females,
some would do more than others.

It was at one of these parties that I first felt an old stirring,
one mostly dormant since my encounters with John (volume IV).
The party was all older kids, seniors and juniors, save one.
This boy was a sophomore, small for his age, not much more than
five feet, slim build, dark black hair with that 'italian' look
about him. He was trying hard to be "cool" and it wasn't working.
I could sense all the insecurities I used to see in myself when
I used to try and act "older". A couple of the girls thought he
was "cute" but several of the senior boys were on his case from
the start. It was common for the seniors to raze the sophomore
class and it was rather bold for a sophomore to show at this party.

The party was well into the evening, I was relaxing with my buds'
downstairs when the commotion started on the main floor. After a 
while my friends and I gravitated upstairs to "check it out", as
one by one, kids were floating upstairs and not coming back. When
I got upstairs there was a lot of jeering going on, and laughing,
and carrying on. And I could see why. What a spectacle. The "hip"
sophomore was in the center of the room. He was tied to a kitchen
chair (dragged into the living room for this purpose I suppose),
one foot to each chair leg, his arms over the back of the chair
and tied to the spindles. He was blindfolded, gagged, and stripped 
to his white cotton underwear. Apparently the hazing had gone one
step further. And it was Dieters' work again. Dieter always seemed
to have it for anyone smaller than him, and his buddies were
always backing him up. This poor kid had probably done nothing to
merit this deed, but there he was.

And there was something erotic to it. I couldn't help but be 
intrigued by the sight and couldn't pull my eyes from it. While
the others were in hysterics and hurling insults I watched quietly
fascinated, and innocent bystander. Though I didn't get hard,
there was still a little bit of that "strange" feeling in the pit
of my stomach. And of course it reminded me a lot of my own
"bondage" experience at Dieters hands (also volume III) almost
three years prior. Only he had it worst. This poor lad was left
to be teased in that chair for nearly the duration of the evening.
As soon as one guest should feel sorry for the lad and suggest
"enough" Dieter would intervene - no one was going to spoil his
fun. I think the girls in attendance were most sympathetic, save
one or two, and they were with Dieter and his friends. The guys ...
well there were several who "got off" on hazing the sophs, but most
were basically indifferent to his plight.

And me, I was quietly turned on by the scene, secretly even a little
envious maybe? No that was too warped. Still ...

As the evening wore on, people passed in and out of the room. From
time to time came a little flurry as the youngster tried to free
himself, but Dieter kept close tabs, tightening the bonds whenever
they appeared loose.

Still later, the party was breaking up, most had left. There were
just a few diehards remaining, I was one of them, and things were
starting to heat up. Full attention had been turned to "hogey",
as they were calling him, and he was in trouble. The game had
progressed to more specific forms of humiliation. The blindfold
and gag were gone and the boy was begging, almost crying. The few
remaining girls were taking turns "peeking" at the submarine,
pulling back the waistband, etc. Oh, they were fairly mild, and
not especially brave in front of the small remaining crowd, but
with Dieter urging them on it wasn't long before the boy was
sporting a major erection, what with girls kissing him, blowing in
his ear, rubbing their chests against his. I don't know if the
kid was in heaven or hell or both, but I knew I was getting hard
and just didn't know why.

One girl put her hand down his shorts. He flinched, I almost came.
In a while a little spot appeared on the front of his jockeys. Not
an ejaculation, but the pre-cum was "lubricating". This of course
invited still more ridicule, but also finally found empathy in
the girls. They let him alone after that much to Dieters dismay.

If it were me tied up there I might have been disappointed. But
I felt sorry for the kid, obviously in dismay and in a rare
act of boldness, stepped in and announced the game was over.
Dieter of course protested but the "mob" as it would seem just
needed one voice of reason at this point. Everyone sided with
me and Dieter backed down as I released the soph from his misery.
I couldn't tell if it was a look of relief or gratitude in his
eyes as they searched my own, and I felt a little ashamed. I was
certainly no hero, if anything I had gotten more out of this 
little sport that any, and I was troubled by my interest and
fascination. Once freed, that kid got out of there fast, without
a word.

That night I couldn't help myself. Under the sheets I fantasized,
that it had been me tied to that chair, and the girls of course
would go further. There was something about that feeling of
helplessness and loss of power ... how do I explain it, I didn't
understand it myself. It wasn't like I needed permission to get
sex. I was getting plenty on my own. It was ... unfathomable.

I saw that kid in the hallways at school from time to time after
that, and always took notice. I would say "hi" and get an
uninspiring "hi" back. Eventually I took no more notice of him.

That spring I was approached by the track coaches. Would "the
Flash" be interested in running sprints for the track team?
I was one of the fastest in the school. And it was my speed
on the hockey rink that won me the name Flash. I had played
baseball up until the tenth grade and had never seriously
considered track. My older brother (by three years) had been
quite the track star when he had passed through this school.
With some smooth talking by the coaches, I agreed and that
final spring of my high school years began with a new sport.

On that first day of practice I met him again - Hoagy. Actually
it turns out his name was Mike Hogan, Hoagy for short. He was
still the goofy soph he was the last time I saw him but after
a couple of days of practice I began to gain respect for him.
He was fast ... real fast. Not quite as fast as the fastest
seniors but easily the fastest tenth grader. He was very quiet,
not the way I remember him at the beginning of the strange party,
but more the way I remember him when he left it. He was a young
soph too, still only 14. There was so much about him that reminded
me of myself when I was 14 ... we even shared the same name - "Michael".
And seeing him out there on the track during practice, bare-chested
(for we always shucked these in practice, they just accumulated
sweat, otherwise), perspiring, ... just his shoes and shorts. Ah,
but how I noticed him in the same way I had noticed John when I
was 14 myself. And I kept picturing him over and over again, tied
to that chair and that girls hand going into his underwear ...

These were private thoughts of course, but I wanted to get to know
this kid better. He ran sprints, just as I did, so we practiced
together. Fate seemed to throw us together that spring. When practice
was over I found myself hanging around the showers, as I had with 
John. And it turned out he lived only three blocks from my house.
We began walking home together after practice, and became good
friends, despite our age difference. I think he was flattered, that
the "Flash" would want to be his friend. I wondered if he remembered
me from that party a few months back but didn't want to bring up
the subject. I got to know him well. He was from a big catholic
family (they were all big in those days, us catholics sure knew
how to proliferate), the only boy, with six younger sisters. He was
shy around girls (as I had been), and somehow just seemed to
radiate sexuality to me, stirring those same confusing feelings I
had about John. And maybe it was my imagination but it seemed he
was looking at me the way I was looking at him. Wishful thinking?
I didn't think so. He seemed to time his trips to the shower to
match mine and I would look up and see him look the other way,
quickly. When we had track meets (and we both ran varsity that
summer) he would be there at the starting blocks, to hold my
warmup sweats (worn between races for those who are unfamiliar
with track and field), when I took them off right before a race.
Actually, it was customary and tradition that the younger classmen
did this for the seniors, but he always found me, and never any
one else. Once, when I looked back I thought I saw him "smelling"
my sweatpants. I got hard in an instant at this thought but
eventually dismissed it as my imagination. In a strange way I felt 
flattered by his attention as well,  and bathed in it. Okay, so 
I was attracted to him, maybe he was attracted to me. What next? 
Ah, how to move this relationship along ... and did I want to move 
it along? ... it wrong to have these thoughts - wasn't it?

As would be the story of my life, the opportunity finally arose
to break the ice, without my creating it ...
Now off and on, during the track season I kept misplacing, or losing
"things" here and there. Like articles of clothing. One day after
practice I couldn't find my underpants, another time it was a pair
of running shorts. This day, when I returned from the shower, (timed
with Mike's of course), Mike made a pit stop in the john. I 
continued to my locker, which was near Mike Hogan's. I was out of
deodorant, and having borrowed from Mike in the past, and him
being momentarily detained I decided to help myself from his locker,
as I knew he wouldn't mind. But when I reached into his duffel
bag I was startled - my jockstrap was in his duffel bag. The one
I had just taken off before heading for the showers. How'd he
get that? No, I must be mistaken, it just looks like mine, a jock's
a jock, right? ... RIGHT? But I looked further and saw a second
one, which I recognized as his. I looked it my own locker (where I
now remember hanging it) and mine was gone. What the f---? I took
my jockstrap back and said nothing, while I pondered this new
development, and started making the connection with certain other
"personal" items that had been disappearing the last couple of
weeks. I knew there was a connection. I decided to test him. I
re-hung my jockstrap where it had been, and poked around, waiting
for him to get back (must have been some shit!).

Eventually he got back. He didn't notice my jockstrap right away,
so I really poked around waiting for him to see it. I watched him
carefully, searching his eyes when he began packing the his towel
and last few articles in his duffel bag. I think he saw that his
"treasure" had disappeared, he was kind of rummaging around in there.

Time to step up the pressure.

"Oh, Mike" I began, " I borrowed your deodorant, "here, take it
back". And I tossed him the stick as he looked up. I don't think
he made the connection right away, as he put it back in his bag.
Then when I was sure he was watching, I took my jock off the hook
in my locker and stuffed it in my own bag. I looked up as he turned
his eyes. He was flushed, face red, strange look. Ah-hah!! Caught with
his hand in the cookie jar!

I said nothing more while we were in that room. We got the rest of
our things, exited the locker room, the school, and were on our
walk home. The silence was awkward for him, I could sense his guilt
and confusion. Obviously I knew he had had it, and he was waiting
for me to say something. And I was searching for the way to say it.
I couldn't fathom his interest in my jock exactly, (I learned about
fetishes later as an adult), but I felt sexual, him wanting it, and
it must be something sexual with him. Did he want me as much as I
wanted him? It would seem so.

Once safely away from the school grounds I confronted him.

"Mike" I queried.

"Yeah?", he was nervous. He knew it was coming and he could tell from
my tone of voice the day of reckoning had arrived.

"What were you doing with my jockstrap in your bag?"

"Huh?", playing dumb, but it wasn't going to work with me.

"My jock. I found it in your bag when I was looking for the
deodorant." I said it unambiguously. Okay, get out of that
one Hoagy!

His face was flushed and he was avoiding eye contact with me. God,
this kid reminds me of myself! He was speechless, ignoring my last
statement, but I wasn't going to let it go. And I could feel a
certain "nervous energy" in my body building up. And I was going
to see this to the end. And I remembered this little patch of woods
a few blocks ahead (yes, for those who read Volume II, it was THOSE
woods).

"I said you STOLE my jockstrap. I found it in your things."

He just would not look up, eyes on the ground, his pace quickened,
we were walking fast, it was work to keep up with him.

"I don't know what you mean," he stammered, and after a pause,
"if it was in my bag I must have got it by mistake."

"Bullshit! It was hanging on a hook in my locker".

This lad was in misery, and if we were walking any faster, we would
break the school record for the mile -)

"Slow down Mike", I ordered, exasperated with his denials.

He slowed, as commanded, but was still not going to talk about
it. We were almost to those woods.

"Mike, why did you take my jock? And another thing. I've been
missing a lot of stuff lately. Did you take a pair of my underpants?"

Dead silence, lots of squirming. Finally I took his shoulder and
stopped him in his tracks. His body was tense and he looked like
he was going to collapse, or start crying or something. He were
standing right next to where the trees started into those woods.

"Fuck Mike! I had to go home without any underwear that day. What
kind of prank are you playing?". I knew it was no prank, but I
would cut him a little space here, get him to admit it.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know".

I don't know. How many times had I said that. I remember that
night under the sheets at Johns (still Volume IV), pretending
to be asleep while John fondled me and when confronted by him,
"I don't know". Mike didn't know. I didn't know. There was just
something there that neither of us comprehended, that we were
different somehow, that this troubled us, confused us as we
would struggle through adolescence searching for our identities.

"Mike, Are you gay?" I asked.

"NO!" he shot back without hesitation. A pause ... "Its just
that... its ... I don't know. Sometimes I feel weird. Thats
all ... "I'm not GAY!".

We both paused to reflect.

"Come here," I finally said, turing up towards the woods, "lets
talk about this somewhere private."

He was slow to follow but he did. He seemed somewhat relieved,
and glad to disappear from public, as if the world were watching
him try to explain what he didn't understand about his sexuality.

In the trees I began in again, somewhat more earnestly, "so what
do you do with my things?", as if I had to guess.

His reluctance to talk was getting to him again, and once again
we had lost eye contact as he watched his feet play with a stick
on the ground.

"Nothing."

"Uh, huh. You know what I think?" I was getting bolder, "I think
you jerk off with them or something. I think you like to smell 'em
or something and play with yourself".

He must have felt my eyes burning through his skull. His features
were even redder, it thats possible, and I ... I ... I was getting
hard, just picturing him doing what I had just accused him of,
yes, there was no mistake, this situation, the intimacy - I was
getting turned on. ADMIT IT DAMNIT!

He didn't deny it, nor did he admit it. His head hung and he was on
the verge of tears.

"Mike", I said softly. "Thats okay. I'm not going to tell anyone
about this. I do it too. I mean, I've never taken anyone's jock
or anything, but I jerk off sometimes, you know, like when I'm
between girlfriends", and every other day as well. -)

Was that relief I saw on his face?

"You do?" he asked a little disbelievingly, testing me perhaps.

"Sure. One in a while".

"What do you think about?" he asked, interested, and more at ease.
Glad to be off the subject of the jock and onto something ... better?
"You know, when you're doing it."

"I don't know. All kinds of things. I like to dream I'm fucking some
girl ... sometimes I imagine I'm getting a blow job." All true.

"Yeah, me too You think a girl would ever give you a blow job?"
Hoagy asked.

I smiled. "Already has. I came in her mouth and everything." I
was boasting.

"Man" was all he could say. "I can't believe anyone could do that
do you? I mean suck on a guys dick ... I wonder what it felt like
.... for her, you know, I mean ..." his voice trailed off. His voice
expressed genuine curiosity, maybe more. Yes, I had thought about
this before too, what was it like to blow somebody. Once in a while
in my dreams I had imagined John and I did that too each other (though
we never did), but I tried to keep such perverted thoughts from my
mind. I looked up, and saw that Mike was staring at the erection
in my jeans. He looked away when I looked up at him. Then I looked
at his own crotch. Seeing me do this out of the corner of his eye
he deftly moved his arm with the duffel bag to conceal - but he was
too late, as I saw the same betraying bulge in his trousers that
was raging in mine. There we were, two lads, horny, confused, waiting
for the next move.

In uncharacteristic fashion I made the next move. I started fondling
myself, casually. (Yeah, right!)

"I'm kind of horny right now, just talking about sex" I admitted
with some trepidation. There was nervousness in my voice now, I could
feel it shaking as I uttered those words hoarsely. And my tone left
no mistake of my intent. It was up to Mike Hogan now. Was he ready
like I was. Was he prepared to let that slumbering image from the
back of his mind awaken? There were butterflies in my stomach, and
the ever familiar weakening in my knees as the anticipation built.

"Yeah, me too" he admitted.

Silence. Okay. I'll make the next move.

"Mike, we could jerk off right now. You know, get some relief."
My heart was pounding. And I could picture him sitting there in
that chair, tied up, MY hand down his underpants. IT was getting
to me.

"Yeah, we could." he said simply.

"Lets do it" I whispered. His hand was on his fly. He was thinking
about it. He wanted to but was afraid to let go. I took a chance -
I unzipped my pants and sat on a fallen log.

"Come on. Sit here" I urged.

He touched himself. He was on the edge.

"Come on. You know you want it. I'll let you have my jock if
you do it with me."

Oops. Wrong thing to say. He was over the jock issue, shouldn't
have brought it up.

"I don't want your jock" he replied, but he did come over and
started tugging at his pants. Encouraged, I pulled mine done,
pants and underwear to my ankles. And then I started pulling
slowly on something else. At last he surrendered to his lustful
heart, and joined me on the log, pants down to his ankles, pulling
on his own member, only with a little reluctance.

He was fascinated watching me and me of him. I wanted more though.
I wanted what I had with John.

"Maybe we could do each other" I suggested.

He paused for only a moment. He did not fight it this time. He
gave in, just as I used to do.

"Okay".

I moved closer, seizing the moment lest he have a change of heart.
I spit into my palm, and reached down, grasping his pole firmly.
I rubbed my palm over the top, and my thumb along the rim. He let
out an appreciating gasp, and a little juice oozed out. I collected
this as well, working it into the lube. He began to move his hips
with the rhythm of my hand.

I took his near hand and placed it on my own throbbing staff. That
was the deal. There was no hesitation from him over this. Instinctively
his strokes on my shaft matched my own strokes on his phallus.

Had anyone happened upon us this afternoon we would never have heard
them. We were lost in the moment. My eyes were riveted on his penis,
my mind imagining it was back at the party, him straining against
the bonds as I tantalizingly teased his aching cock. I could sense
he was getting close and so was I. I was transfixed. I had held
Johns penis in my hand before but it was different this time. Before
everything was in the dark. This was in the open, Mike's thing
hanging out there. I fell in love with this boys wonderful penis.

Call it a compulsion. An urge. A basic instinct. Call it perverted.
But something came over me at that point. I stopped my movements
and gave it one last thought. Then, as Mike Hogan sat spellbound,
I leaned over, and took the head of his penis in my mouth.

He seemed frightened for a moment but offered no resistance to
the "Flash". It was so exciting. The taste, the smell. There was
a sort of pungent odor, despite the fact that we had showered less
than thirty minutes before. His throbbing boyhood, actually was
tasteless, but as more pre-cum oozed out there was a salty,
pleasant taste.

His breathing was in gasps, he was in heaven. His own hand slipped
off my dick as the suddenly blurted "Mike! Take your mouth off!"

I knew what he meant, considered only for a moment to ignore his
warning, and released his captive prick from my lips just in the
nick of time. His semen jettisoned twelve to eighteen inches. From
up close where I was it looked like a flood. After the initial
pulsation, more oozed out, as his hips bucked underneath him.

His initial squirt caught me on the cheek, and it was dripping
down my face. I quickly grabbed my wet towel from my athletic
bag and removed it in one swipe.

He sat silently, me still hard, him slowly softening into a wet
slippery sausage. I rubbed myself slightly, as he watched intently.

I could see the wheels turning in his mind. Should he or shouldn't
he. But he was seduced beyond the point of return. He started to
bend over, hesitated, straightened up, bent over again, and grasped
my erection with both hands while he contemplated.

Gently, I placed my hands on his head, and guided it down to where
he was looking. Taking a deep breath, he relaxed, and swallowed me
whole.

He was as inexperienced at this as I was, gently milking me with
his mouth, careful not to catch me with his teeth.

"Tell me when you're gonna come", it was a pleading kind of voice.

I thought how nice it would be to spill me seed into his warm
mouth but gave in when he repeated his request.

"Okay" I promised.

I kept my promise, and it took only moments.

"Its coming" I whispered.

He yanked his mouth off my dick like lightning struck him
and moved his face out of the way. But his hands continued to
caress my throbbing erection, and I ejaculated into the palms
of his eager young hands, with an intensity known only by new
experiences. He watched spellbound as I gushed my soul into
his youthful hands.

At last it was over. I felt no shame at that moment, just a
quenched lust and the feeling that a long aching need had
been met.

Mike Hogan ... I don't know what we felt. I recognized the same
guilty look in his face I felt that time I fooled around with
John, and the expression of sexual awareness and awe was written
from ear to ear.

"Don't tell anyone about this" Mike cautioned.

"No, you neither".

We sealed the agreement with nodding heads.

Once cleaned up, we resumed our walk home. We talked about
many things those remaining few minutes, but not about what
we just did. It was as if we needed to re-assure ourselves
that it was no big deal, that we were okay, it was just one
of those things.

But it wasn't just one of those things. Mike and I repeated
that encounter a few more times, always in those same woods
on the way home from track, over the rest of the spring until
track and school both let out about the same time. I became 
comfortable with myself, Mike was always a little more nervous.
I never pressed him again about why he took my things, and
my things stopped disappearing. It became a mute point given
our relationship. Our friendship tailed off over the summer
months, as each of us acquired girlfriends. I went back to
the drive-in makeouts, Mike and his girl did it where ever.
We would often compare notes that summer, when we did see
each other, getting each other worked up as we told of our
sexual exploits with the girls (some real, some exaggerated
I think), convincing ourselves that we were "okay". I felt a
little guilt coming out of that relationship, telling myself
that I had seduced him, but then arguing still with myself
that he was more the culprit, given his propensity for stealing
my underpants and stuff. It doesn't matter. And it was my last
bi relationship. I don't know that it is something I outgrew.
My college years would be one fornication after another, and
a string of girls and "dorm encounters", but I never really
met any "guy" in college that caused me to think of him in the
sexual way I had with Hoagy or John. I think deep down there
will always be a bi-side to me, one that lays dormant some how,
for though many years have passed since those times with no
further bi-encounters or string bi-urges I still look back at
those youthful experiences, not with shame anymore, but with
a genuine fondness.

I met Mike again recently, and that was the instigation for
writing these stories. Actually, I ran into one of his little
sisters at a work-related party. She filled me in on all the
things he had been doing over the years. Like me, he was married,
and a father. I was intrigued to meet this "old" friend, and having
purloined his address and phone number from his sister, met him
for a drink recently. We talked of old times, and though it took
me to being it up he talked freely and unabashedly about our
"friendship" and all its capacities.

For a fleeting moment I considered ... No it just wouldn't be
right. After all, I was married now  I wondered if he thought 
that same thought, though ...

-------------------------------------------------------------------------
To find out more about the anon service, send mail to help@anon.penet.fi.
Due to the double-blind, any mail replies to this message will be anonymized,
and an anonymous id will be allocated automatically. You have been warned.
Please report any problems, inappropriate use etc. to admin@anon.penet.fi.
*IMPORTANT server security update*, mail to update@anon.penet.fi for details.