When I was a kid, I sometimes used to go halt with my aunt & Uncle who also had a boy about my age, just slightly sure-enough. My first cousin Michael had a bingle bed, so we used to ‘ top-and-tail ’, which we both thought great fun. virtually nights, after taps, one of us would set out tickling the other's toes, which would chair to reprisals and joint fits of the giggles. Some nights, it would end up in a foot-fight, with one of us landing on the base, along with the bedclothes, followed by a nonindulgent telling-off from my Aunt.

Even back then, I was fond of Michael but I never saw enough of him. But as I grew quondam, these sojourn kind of died out for some understanding and it wasn't until I was 18 that Michael came to stay with us for the first time. I too had a single bed and, remembering those meter when we were kids, I was rather looking forward to Michael's sojourn - although this time, I had another schedule entirely.

Having navigated with corking trouble my years of puberty farsighted before the arrival of the ‘ Internet'and the wealth of info and naked exposure of Young men that we have instantly at our disposal today, I was all too mindful of my fascination with other guys, especially their willies and dangly bits, which I had often spied in the exhibitor at college but at the clip, I never identified as being ‘ gay'; to me that was something quite different. Yes, I was sexually naïve, unbelievably innocent and painfully shy.

I masturbated of course ; quite a lot actually, often in the exhibitor, where I had discovered that just the action of the running play water hitting my pecker was More than enough to get me highly aroused and fully put up. I also learned that if I stood there long enough in the shower, concentrating, with the water playing on my Hammond organ, my whole body would eventually go into fit, as a wave of overmaster pleasure would soar up through me and, even without touching it, my cock would suddenly detonate its creamy white fluid in enceinte bursts all down the shower curtain. Only then would I touch my still swollen prick, to pressure the last drop curtain of cum into the running water system, as I would watch the strings of spunk slithering down the plughole out of sight. The evidence of these regular aquatic misdemeanours would always be washed away. I was ashamed but at the Saami prison term fascinated by thoughts of early young guys doing the Sami affair. Every time I saw another Edward Young guy in the street or at body of work, I would find myself looking at his bulge or his fanny and imagining what they got up to in the shower bath or in the privateness of their bedchamber. A Peeping Tom was in the making.

So I was really looking forward to Michael's sojourn and in finical, I was wondering how I could sneak a tone at Michael's ‘ willy ’. However, my Mum said that we were far too big to portion a single bed anymore and she said that Michael could sleep in the spare chamber, which had a treble bed. I felt cheated and frustrated. I didn't dare suggest that I sleep with Michael in the double bed, for care that my secret would be revealed. But fate would lend a helping-hand, so to speak.

He arrived in the afternoon and my Dad & I picked him up from the bus place. Michael was slightly former and a bit taller than me but standardized in face - not surprising really, being my cousin. He was reduce, like me, and he had ginger hair's-breadth, brown eyes and freckles. Now though, standing there in the bus post with his week-end bag in one manus, he seemed much more mature and developed than I had expected. For a start, he was wearing tightly-fitting, beige cotton fiber jean which bulged in a particularly disquiet way around his jetty, where his balls were rather obviously divided by the furrow in his jeans. There was also a judge ridgepole to one side, where his pecker clearly nestled snuggly across the top of his bulwark. Already, I was besotted.

I wasn't sure how to greet him. I hadn't seen him in a long while and my Dad was there too, which made me even more self-conscious. But as soon as he saw us, he stepped forward, extending his bridge player politely to my Dad and then, quite to my surprise, he dropped his bag and grabbed me with both limb in what I could only describe as a ‘ man-hug ’. I was a bit taken aback.

"Hey, Carrots !"he said, recalling his teasing name for me, which he knew I hated. judgment you, I used to call him ‘ Ginger Nuts ’, in revenge, although I never actually saw them, not pep anyway ; but all that now seemed rather too revelatory and with my Dad there too, no way was I going to ring him that now !

I just grinned, stupidly. He stood back and patted me on the head, comparing our heights.
"smell to me like you've not been eating your greens !"he quipped.

Now I was embarrassed and I felt my cheeks thrill bright red. He clearly noticed and in the backbone of the car on the way home, he toned-down the banter a piffling and I loosened-up a bit, warming to his disarming manner - as well as to his bulging groin.
After a meal with my parents, we went up to my room to mind to my high-fidelity. We were not well-heeled as a family but out of the wages from my first job I had put together a hi-fi set-up that I was quite proud of. However, my room was quite small and full of my stuff, so we both had to slouch against the wall on my exclusive bed, making dead chit-chat and listening to the music. Meanwhile, with those bulging jeans and the heat radiating from Michael's body so close, I couldn't help thinking about the ‘ old mean solar day'and sharing a bed with him.

It was summer and quite warm in my small chamber, even with the window open, and after a while, Michael said,

"Why don't we go to my room ? It'll be cooler on the rachis of the house and we can play menu on the bed. I've got a camp in my bag."

wellspring I didn't need a second invitation but as I eagerly jumped off the bed, he added,"I need to use the bathroom."

An paradigm came into my head of Michael, peeling those tight beige blue jean unfastened, revealing his underwear and releasing whatever was making that bulge in his mole, then peeing in the toilet.

Then, looking at his sentry, he continued,"It's gone half-nine ; I'm gon na put my jim-jams on. Why don't you do the Lapp ?
"
"Ok,"I said, rather too keenly,"See you in, what, 10 minutes ?"

That range in my capitulum now became blurred and upset, as Michael went off to the spare sleeping accommodation and I took off my own denim, jersey and underpants. Michael's suggestion that we change into our pyjamas could be taken quite innocently ; on the early hand, now that fate had taken a turn in my favor, my mind was racing. I hastily put on my pyjama ass and listened for him to finish in the bathroom.

I met him on the landing, where he was wiping his sass with his towel, having just brushed his teeth. He was barefoot and also wearing only his pajama hindquarters. With his bare chest and arms now in replete sentiment before me, once again I was embarrassed and self-aware. His brawniness were more set than mine and whereas I was hairless and freckle-free, his upper berth breast and blazon still had the lentigo I remembered from when we were nipper. But he was more tanned than me ; he had clearly been spending a lot of time outdoors, unlike me. He also now had a few blanch hairs across his chest ; and down his smooth tummy, towards the loosely-knotted waistband of his pyjamas.

I tried not to look too intently as we passed on the landing place but I was sure I noticed the tell-tale sign of his youth humanness moving about provocatively in his jammies bottoms, as he walked towards me. A hot flush ran up and down my back and I felt a bit like a swot with a crush on his paladin - which was, of course of study, exactly what I was !

Later, as we sat on the bed facing each other, bare chested and cross-legged, playing ‘ wino ’, my aid began wandering from the cards in my hand to what lay inside that tantalising scuttle in Michael's pajama. Just like mine, they were the demode kind with an open fly and a soft cord to tie the waist.

As he sat there cross-legged in forepart of me, I couldn't see much except the casual hint of duskiness but as he leaned forward to fling a card and take one from the deck, I noticed the gap widen and there was a momentary sight of pink flesh. My heart leapt into my throat and I nearly dropped my cards. I adjusted my office on the bed, pretending that I was uncomfortable but in fact, I was just getting a good view. I also moved the pack of cards of cards slightly, pretending I was just tidying them up.

Just as I hoped, the side by side few fourth dimension Michael leaned forward, his flies opened a bit more and I could see inside, his uncut ‘ willy ’, subdued and floppy, with a generous foreskin, set against a fantastic nest of dark ginger fuzz and wrinkly testicles. I desperately wanted to touch them. After the third time this happened, my gaze must have lingered a bit too long because he noticed me looking and although he didn't say anything, he self-consciously adjusted his flies. Shortly after that, my Mum came upstairs.

"We're turning-in,"she said,"I've locked-up and turned out the light source downstairs. Isn't it prison term you two went to bed ?"

I don't think she realised quite what she was saying. We both looked at one another, just like we always used to as kids, and burst out laughing. Perhaps emboldened by the temper of that moment, on pulsing I blurted out,
"I may as well kip in here with Michael,"adding,"You don't creative thinker, do you,"as I looked at Michael. He just shrugged and shook his head.

"Besides,"I said, looking at my Mum,"we always used to share when I stayed with them."

"fountainhead, yes, but that was when you were little."She paused and then, to my surprisal, she added,"But I suppose, if Michael doesn't mind…."

I was already shocked at the boldness of what I had just said but I was also surprised and pleased at the termination. I also realised that I had better not make it too obvious that it was such a ‘ big deal ’, so I tried not to seem too pleased.
We carried on playacting cards for a while but my center wasn't in it. I was too pre-occupied. Eventually, we both got under the covering fire and settled down for the night, telling each former jokes, as we lay in the dark. All the while, that thought of Michael's ‘ willy'was in my intellect and I didn't get much sleep that first Night. I was too busy hatching my plan.

The side by side night, I made sure we played wit in Michael's room again and I tried to engineer a repeat performance of ‘ the opening of the flies ’. But it didn't body of work. I began to wonder if Michael was on to me. Somehow, though, it seemed to be taken for granted that I was sharing with Michael and as part of my unfolding architectural plan, when he went off to the lav, I ran back to my room to get my pen-torch, which I then proceeded to hide under my pillow in Michael's room.

Later, as we lay side by incline talking, Michael suddenly changed the subject and asked,

"Have you got any erotica ?"

I wasn't yet prepare to give away myself by letting him see anything with too many men in it but after a moment's quick thinking, I replied,

"Er, well, I've got a few Penthouses and Forum magazine publisher. Why ?"

"Just rum,"he said,"What's forum anyway ?"Evidently, I was ahead of him on that one.

"It's mostly sex stories and stuff like that,"I said,"You know, letters and sex-advice ; no pictures. Some horny level though."

He was obviously interest, so I went off to my room to bust my secret porn cache. Back in bed, he flicked cursorily through the magazine pictures, pausing every so often to admire something or other. I didn't tell him that it was the men in the ikon that I found most exciting. But he did look quite enthralled by the assembly and he began reading one story quite intently. So I took another edition and did the same.

It was quite strange, the two of us sitting English by side in bed, each indication meeting place clip porn floor. Nothing was said between us but I knew what it was doing to me, so I kept thinking about what it might be doing to him and that just made matters worse. Every time he moved, I imagined that penis growing in his jammies and I wondered how big it got. I imagined fondling those fascinating wrinkled bollock. At one full point, he put his manus under the bedding and it seemed like he might be playing with himself and my spunk raced, as I seriously considered suggesting that I ‘ avail him with that'; I desperately wanted to but even though, as kids, we had often bathed together and seen each early naked, now it was different. He was too reserved and I was too shy. Eventually, he finished reading and said he was going to sleep, so I turned out the light.

I must cause fallen asleep waiting for him to go off and meanwhile wondering if he was still playing with himself but the following thing I remember was opening my centre around 2am, hearing Michael moaning and muttering in his sleep. He was laying on his back, dreaming but I couldn't make out what he was saying. Then, in the darkness, he rolled onto his side facing me and sighed deeply.

He was still muttering quietly but evidently still asleep, so I took my pen-torch from under my pillow, slipped down under the bedclothes and switched it on, taking care to cause sure the covers were pulled tightly over me. Underneath, I discovered a new and grip macrocosm, like a secret underground cavern formed by the bedclothes on top and Michael's pyjama-clad groin in straw man of me. And in the depths of this cavern, there was a little dark opening, as if to another, smaller cave beyond ; a cave of hide out secrets.
Laying down under the masking at this slant, I only had one paw free but with the torch between my legs to illuminate the scene, I could see the cord of his pyjamas hanging loosely in straw man of me, tied in a neat bow around his waist. With my digit, I tried to twit his flies apart but without success. I gazed at the cord. I looked at the gnarl. It was a simple mi and it didn't look all that tight. Could I ? Dare I ? What would I do if he woke up and caught me ? By this head, I was so charged with excitement and my nub was beating so fast that the peril didn't come into it. I just had to do it.

I pulled very carefully and softly on one of the cords and felt it Don Budge, the simple gnarl slowly coming undone. I carried on pulling, very gently, and as the international nautical mile fell apart, I paused and held my breath, because that was the point where I figured he would be most potential to wake up. But he didn't. I could still find out him quietly murmuring in his sleep.

I let his fly fall clear and what I saw was simply amazing to my naïve heart. His peter was stiff sticking out from his jetty. Not only that but that generous foreskin I had spied earlier was now slightly pulled back and I could just see the knock tip of his penis, from which a minor blob of crystallise ‘ goo'was oozing. Fascinated and without thought process, I touched it with my finger's breadth and his cock twitched, as the blob of fluid grew larger but still clung to the tip. I was transfixed, as the blob clung to my finger's breadth in a foresighted take in drawing string as I pulled it away. I put my finger to my lips and tasted it ; it was slippery and salty and seductive. I wanted more.

I lightly closed my thumb and fingerbreadth around the tip of his penis and it seemed to total to life story ; it jumped and twitched, as I felt it gallant and grow stiffer between my fingers. As the pink cock-head expanded, its clinging foreskin now seemed to slide decently back and I was fascinated by the swollen head this revealed. It was all quite different from my own appendage, although the fact that it was only inches from my face was giving me a perspective I had never seen before.

As I watched, suspend in the torchlight under the covers, more fluid oozed from the bantam eye at the end of his cock and it was about to filter down onto the bed. At this point, all I wanted to do was to stop the slaver getting on the bed, so with my fingers, I smeared it around the egotistical head of his young penis, which now glistened in the torchlight. But I hadn't realised the effect this would consume, as his turncock now seemed to come alive ; quite suddenly, it made a lilliputian jump and a flow of pasty whiteness began oozing out in a more-or-less uninterrupted flow, through my fingers and down onto the bed.

Michael shuffled slightly in the bed, muttering in his rest and I was alarmed that he might be waking-up. I had read about nocturnal emissions but while I had sometimes woken-up feeling a bit wet in my pyjamas, I hadn't witnessed it before and I was both exhilarate and excited.

My affectionateness was beating fast in my throat. Meanwhile, my own electric organ, which had been tightly squashed between my legs as I lay scrunched-up beneath the bedclothes, was already stiff and emitting a dribble of its own because, as I moved my legs under the bedclothes, my jammies now felt quite break.

But I was still under the bedclothes and I was still holding the tip of Michael's raise penis between my thumb and two finger. I could hear him quietly moaning but he was still dreaming - or at least, I hoped he was. As I gently teased his tool, it throbbed between my fingers, as more creamy fluid oozed and dribbled down onto the bedclothes. But then, everything seemed to go on so quickly. Without warning, I heard Michael let out a kind of groan, as his cock just leapt in my fingers and began spurting White person cum onto the bedclothes. It startled me and at the like time, he jerked in the bed and I let go of his young spurting manhood, grabbed the blowtorch to turn it off and slid quickly back up the bed.

I was shaking with a mixture of fear and turmoil, my heart hammering in my dresser. It had all happened in a stock split second but the images were seared into my memory at that moment.

Silently, uncomfortably, I lay there, do-or-die to gasp for air but having to hold my breath, until Michael rolled onto his stomach. His face was now buried in his pillow and I could hear him moaning softly. My fingerbreadth still had his cum all over them but all I could do was wipe them on my own pyjama. And the interior of my thigh was damp and sticky, where I had oozed so a great deal pre-cum inside my own pyjama. The stuff was everywhere and Michael, meanwhile, had just rolled onto his stomach, on top of a load of his own spurting cum that had fallen on the sheets.

To be continued ... ... .