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Andy (mm)
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Andy
A story of my youth
by Steve Rider
This file may be posted on Electronic Bulletin Boards for
download, but may not be modified, printed for distribution,
or used for any commercial purpose without the author's written
permission.
Copyright © 1992 Stephen A. Rider, all rights reserved.
I grew up in this tiny village in Pennsylvania. It's still
there too. There might have been five hundred people in town. If a
person somehow did not know you they certainly knew someone in your
family. Everyone was connected two or three ways.
Andy's family lived about two blocks away. He was one of my
best friends from as early as I can remember. He was also my first.
My very first. He had the biggest cock I have ever seen in my life.
The kind of a cock that you see in some GIF file named EENORMUS.GIF
or something. When we were thirteen I couldn't get my thumb to meet
any of my fingers around that monster if it was erect, and it almost
always was when we were together.
I used to love to "play" with Andy. I remember one time my
mother made a remark about my never playing with anyone else all
summer, and didn't I get tired of playing with the same kid all the
time, and why was it always just the two of us and no-one else. If
I had been more sophisticated at the time I might have told her I was
monogamous, but I was only thirteen after all. I told her we were
just best friends.
The best part was always when he would start to drip precum.
Andy's precum was remarkably sticky and viscous. I would dip my
finger in a puddle of it on the head of his giant cock, and pull it
away to see how long it would get before it snapped. We certainly
played together a lot that first summer. I must have had his dick
in my hands at least a thousand times.
Of course we had both heard about queers. We knew we
weren't queer. Those people were perverts! My family had an unused
garage, it had a loft. There were these old mattresses stored up
there. I remember pulling his pants down, both of us sweating like
stuck pigs. Ninety five degrees outside, in the middle of July,
maybe 105 degrees up there in that loft, sweat rolling off us so the
salt would get in your eyes, the smell of his crotch, mixed with our
sweat, his precum a perfume for my use only. He smelled more male
than anyone I have ever met since.
He lived on a farm. His cock would stick up out of
his underwear. It always went straight up when he got a hard on.
His mother was a great cook. Sometimes we had sex in his bedroom
instead of my garage loft. I used to love to eat over at their
house, then go upstairs with him to "play". When my father died
his dad was very kind, giving us vegetables from his farm, or
rabbits he had shot that morning.
Of course Andy liked to play with me too. And I liked to
let him. His hands rubbing my cock through my underwear. How warm
it felt. He would lean over on to me, his head on my chest, staring
at my cock as he stroked me for the longest time. We always tried
to hold off each other's orgasms as long as we could. His hair
smelled wonderful, straight, brown, smooth, long, highlights of
gold from the sun.
We would go for walks in the woods on the North side of town.
A mile or two to one of our secret places. We would pull each others
jeans down and take turns playing with each others cocks. Sometimes
I would make him lie down on his back, and I would pull his cock up
straight and let it go, and it would bounce against his belly button
and leave sticky spots on his chest. He would start to ooze precum
about the instant I put my hand on him. The smell of his sex was
overwhelming to me. It filled my nostrils with joy. It made all of
my body relax.
In the winter we would sit in my cellar. I had my whole
house bugged and we would listen to my family upstairs so no-one
could surprise us by coming downstairs to throw coal in the furnace.
Meanwhile we sat side by side in the lawn chairs that spent the
summer on the porch, my left hand holding his cock, his right hand
on mine, listening to every word anyone said upstairs. I could add
or subtract rooms from my switch bank as people moved around
above us.
One time I setup this old saucer sled in the garage,
suspended upside down, with a speaker used as a microphone at the
focal point. I had a low impedance cable into the cellar with a
matching transformer stolen from an old tube type radio, into the
high gain amplifier I had salvaged from a reel to reel tape recorder.
I could hear a neighbor family talk in their house across the
firehouse parking lot, while Andy's dick was in my hand.
I think we were naughty little boys.
I know it must sound impossible, in all that time, over
two and a half years, all we ever did was play with each other and
masturbate each other. But it was hot. It was so hot that even
today, too many years later to want to count them, I think of him
when I jerk off. Andy of the giant dick, Andy who smelled so good,
in my fantasies still.
I guess I had turned fifteen and he was still fourteen that
time we got caught. We had sort of gotten bored with just grabbing
at each other right away, so we started to play "strip" games. We
would play chess together, and if I got his knight, for instance, I
would get three feels. Or we would play Monopoly, and trade feels
for cash or property if one of us landed on the others hotels. So
if our parents asked what we had been doing all day, we could say
"Oh, just playing chess", or, "Five games of Monopoly" or something
like that.
Andy's family was Methodist, and my family was the token
Catholics for the firehouse side of town. Neither one of us was
allowed to tell lies, so the games helped out. They also helped
us dissemble the truth of our relationship. After all, we were
just playing games.
Sometimes we would sleep out together, usually under the
stars on his parent's farm, or on a cooler night in my garage loft.
We would get cum stains all over each other's sleeping bags. I
liked to climb into his sleeping bag, late at night, and hold my
naked body against his. Sometimes he would turn on his side, with
his back towards me, and I would hold my little boy cock against his
ass. We would sleep together in one of our bags sometimes too.
Imagine it, waking up in the morning with your fourteen year
old best friend naked beside you, in the same sleeping bag, hard as
a rock. Andy, Andy, Andy - why did we both have to pretend we were
straight later on ?
One time we were in his room. It was the middle of a summer
afternoon. His mother could not understand how we could stand being
cooped up in that hot room upstairs. She was doing laundry and we
were playing strip chess on his bed. If one of us got too excited
and shook the bed, and all the pieces fell over, we would just
resort to uninterrupted sex.
I had his jeans down around his knees, as well as his
underwear. I was fully dressed. He had been playing dumb to get my
hand on his cock. I never minded that. We heard his mother start
coming up the stairs. He takes his bedspread and folds it over his
naked torso. I tried to whisper to him to pull his pants up instead,
but he did not hear me. She walks into the room with a basket of
clean clothes, I saw his white underwear on the top. I knew that
whatever pair it was, I had pulled them down. She starts scolding
him for messing up his bed. She walks over. She flips his
bedspread down as if to fix it and sees this giant cock her son had,
all juicy and wet on the end, sticking up right in front of me. She
freaked out.
Methodists do not have gay children. I was obviously some
sort of a rapist. I had better get my tail home really quick and
tell my mother what had happened or else she would. My father was
already dead at the time. I must be the queer, her son the poor
victim. She thought she was doing the right thing.
I made up all these lies for my mother. I told her we were
just curious. She wanted to believe it, so she did. Andy and I
only played it cool for about a week. After that we always had sex
in my cellar, or in my garage, once in my bedroom when no-one was
home.
We got a pool, and Andy and I would sleep out in my loft,
and sneak down to the pool late at night, and jerk each other off
under the water, and leave gobs of cum for the filter.
In a way I loved him. In that sweet, innocent way of
children. Then finally we lost interest in each other, about the
time I fell in love with Ricky. I'll tell you about Ricky some
other time.
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