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Changing Channels
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.
CHANGING CHANNELS
Chapter One
I had spent the first ten years of my childhood in a
post World War II cracker-box house in Atlanta, long before
block busting and any of the other reasons that those
neighborhoods broke apart. My father was a civil servant and
my mother was a secretary. But when I was ten, we moved to
the suburbs - 1960. The subdivision was surrounded by woods,
and there was a lake. All in all, it was paradise for me
with a lot of unexplored territory. Call me Pete.
School wasn't tough for me, so I had a lot of time on my
hands. Unfortunately, there weren't enough houses built up
in my new surroundings to have had any playmates my own age,
so I was a loner for a couple of years, but that was all
right by me. It wasn't all right by my parents, though, so
they decided that I should join the Boy Scouts. The Boy
Scouts had their meetings in a church basement across the
street from the only drug store in town, and after meetings,
we'd go have ice cream or sodas while we'd wait on our rides.
About a month after I joined the Scouts, the house down
the street was bought by an upcoming builder. He moved his
family in, including his two teenaged daughters and his son,
who was my age. His name was Art.
Art joined the scouts, and we spent a lot of time
together, mostly playing catch. We car-pooled to Scouts and
one Monday night after our regular meeting, we went to the
drug store. One of the older Scouts called us over to the
magazines, and we started flipping through the pages of
Playboy magazine, not particularly erotic, but certainly
arousing for a twelve year old.
Perusing Playboy became a weekly ritual until we were
caught by the pharmacist who asked us to leave. We went back
to the side yard of the church, still somewhat aroused, but
frustrated at having been forced to leave our favorite
pastime behind. The yard was very dark and we had about a
ten minute wait. Art started wrestling me in the dark, and I
wrestled back. He was heavier than I, but we were about the
same size, and I was holding my own. I remember still being
aroused from the previous activity, but I don't know that my
erection was noticeable. But in the midst of the wrestling,
Art grabbed my crotch! I knocked him off me: "Stop it!"
He tried to grab me again: "Let me or I'll tell your dad
about reading Playboy."
Is that all he had on me? Big deal. "Tell him," I
said. He quit trying and never told my father anything.
About four months later, the Scouts had a spaghetti
supper on a Saturday night. All the families were there and
Art and I had been charged with the task of washing dishes.
"Why don't you spend the night at my house?" he asked. I
wasn't thinking about the situation in the churchyard and had
never spent the night with anyone. I thought it would be
fun. I asked my parents and they said it would be OK and
that I would get my stuff together - pajamas, toothbrush,
etc.
I for to Art's house and took my stuff back to his room.
He closed and locked the door and immediately came over and
unzipped my pants. I resisted again. But before we could
struggle over it, Art's mother knocked on the door and told
him to come take a bath. "Take a bath with me," he whipped
instantly.
"I've already had mine," I said. "You go ahead." So he
did. I changed into my pajamas, leaving my underpants on. I
sat and waited. I wasn't quite sure why Art was grabbing at
me, but my life had been devoid of any sort of sexuality at
all. As isolated as I had been, I had no idea of what
homosexuality was, or much else for that matter. I only had
an interest in pictures of tits, like in Playboy. I shrugged
and thought: "We'll see what happens."
Art came back and I had put on a bathrobe and went out
to tell his parents good night. They commented as I went
back down the hall to one another on what I "nice boy" I was.
Art closed and locked the door to his room behind us.
I took off the robe and got into bed and tried to engage
him in a conversation about basketball or something - I don't
really remember. He said nothing, but his hand was exploring
my crotch again. I think he expected me to fight again;
maybe that was part of the fun of it for him. But I didn't.
I just relaxed and did nothing. He looked at me and seemed
surprised by the passive expression on my face. The silence
passed for a few seconds. Art broke it: "I want to feel of
your dick."
I hadn't heard the word "dick" before. See how
sheltered I was? But I had no doubt what he was talking
about. He put his hands on the elastic of both my pajama
pants and underpants and pulled them down to about my knees.
I kept the same demeanor as before was I watched him. With
one hand, he grasped my penis, exploring my scrotum with this
other hand. Almost involuntarily, I opened my legs wider so
he could find my testicles. I really knew very little, and
he knew nothing more about the sexuality of what he was
doing, except that he said he'd done it before: frequently
with a friend of his where he used to live and once with four
boys all in the same bathtub, the closest he had come to an
orgy.
Let me say at this point that neither of us was at the
age of ejaculation. We were devoid of any pubic hair. Art
had red hair and freckles and extremely soft skin.
Everything about me at this age was very average.
Art kept stroking and stroking. Then, he said: "Let's
take all our clothes off." My job was already most of the
way done. I said I was average, and I suppose I was although
I had a slightly smaller than average scrotum. Art, on the
other hand, as I now saw, had a smaller penis than I, but his
scrotum was much larger. I followed his lead, and we lay
down side by side, and he began to fondle me again. "Come
on. Feel of my dick," he said. So I began to mimic his
performance. I reached down and felt of his big balls and
rubbed his hard, well, I knew the word now, "dick" using a
little more technique than Art did, taking an interested in
the feel and shape of its head.
As the night went on, we didn't get much sleep. We
either mutually played or took turns playing with one
another. Art like to get under the covers with a flashlight
and examine me closely. There was no thrusting motion or
penetration, but he placed his dick in my ass once, just
touching. My favorite part of the night was undressing Art,
pulling down his underpants to reveal his dick as if for the
first time; I did this again and again. I also would get him
to position on all fours and would "milk the cow," as I
called it. I guess we went to sleep around four in the
morning after about six hours of this kind of play.
As the summer came near, we continued our activity,
sometimes in his bedroom, once in mine, but most of the time
in the woods. The woods offered a kind of privacy and
excitement that seemed to harmonize with the experience.
Once we went for a hike and found what seemed to be a perfect
glade. We spent about half an hour naked fondling each other
in the warmth of the woods. It would have remained a perfect
place for our liaison except for the poison ivy. My butt was
in awful shape for weeks!
As I told you before, my dad was a civil servant, and we
were transferred to Florida. He and my mom and I lived in an
efficiency apartment so we could keep our house in Atlanta.
But there were no kids in the apartments, and I was being
home schooled. Every day, Mom and I went down to the
cemetery near the apartments to walk through and get come
exercise. Then, we'd stop in the drug store for ice cream or
something. She'd shop and I'd look at comic books.
One day, I was looking at the comics when two boys, one
about twelve, one about ten, went over to the magazines and
found one with various poses of women - all topless. They
looked at the magazine as I looked on from an aisle over.
They then looked both ways and not seeing me or anyone else
looking there way, the grabbed each others dicks, not
directly but through the jeans they wore. "Hmm," I thought,
"another pair like me and Art." I so wished that I had had
the wherewithal to get away somewhere with these guys and
have a threesome. I never gave a thought of my relationship
to Art having anything to do with love or faithfulness. I
knew that he felt of other boys, and I wanted to, as well,
but in Florida, there was no opportunity.
Fortunately, we moved back to Atlanta fairly quickly.
Art and I were in the same class, and he was sprouting pubic
hair. I wasn't, but I was quick to follow and to grow. Not
in height, but my dick grew by leaps and bounds. I was
amazed with it and would rub it at night in bed like I would
explore Art's dick. No one had to teach me masturbation. I
was self-taught. Art was masturbating, too, but he would
masturbate into a condom so as not to make a mess.
One day at school, we were making vague references to
what we were up to, as another of Art's "partners," Stanley,
was in the class, we felt we were not alone. We also
discovered that there was another pair like we in the class,
a small, red-haired book-wormish kid named Albert and a raven
haired German boy named Wilhelm.
The school we attended was also in a wooded area and
one day after recess, Wilhelm kept me behind. "I want to see
you," he said. He unzipped his pants and took out his dick,
larger than mine and very hairy. I wanted to do the same and
mutually masturbate there in the woods with him, but I was
scared that someone would see us, so I told him I couldn't.
He soon discovered girls, one in particular, and when we
finally went fishing together and had an opportunity to have
the time and opportunity to have some real fun, Wilhelm had
lost interest. He was nice about it; he just said he wanted
to keep fishing.
His friend Albert was another matter. One day, Stanley,
Art, Albert, and I met at the drain of the lake and proceeded
down into the woods. No one but Art had ever seen the size
of my dick before, about eight inches long now and extremely
thick. We took off our shirts and dropped our pants down to
our ankles. Art and Stanley started feeling of each other,
so Albert was my partner. He was small but very hard with a
small scrotum and tiny balls within. His breasts were almost
feminine, like a girl's before puberty, and he stroked my
dick with overwhelming enthusiasm. Before I could ejaculate,
Art interrupted and got the four of us together for some fun.
We took turns feeling of each other. Stanley's dick was also
small and hairless but his was bigger than Albert. His
scrotum was small but long and his balls lay at the bottom of
them. He laughed constantly, telling me that my size would
kill a girl.
I hadn't thought much about actually having intercourse
with a girl, but I certainly wanted to fondle some breasts.
Albert kept returning his hand, stroking my pubic hair and my
balls and then grasping my dick in both his little soft hand
while I played with his hard little prick and occasional let
my hands wander to his soft breasts.
Later in the week, Albert asked to meet me again alone.
I didn't know then that Wilhelm had lost interest in Albert,
but I was glad for the excitement. We went deeper into the
woods, and I encouraged him to take a dump out in the open
glade. He did while I found him some leaves. Then, I tried
to teach him to masturbate, but he took little interest,
unable to ejaculate at that time, I suppose, and he took more
interest in handling me. For some reason, I didn't find him
very interesting that day. His single-minded fondling didn't
cause me to ejaculate, and I never met with him again. About
fifteen years after this, I discovered that Albert had
remained of the same persuasion. He had been hitch-hiking,
and a sailor had picked him up. Albert had suggested
something sexual, and the sailor took Albert's wallet and
pushed him out of the speeding car. Albert died of the head
injuries he received.
As the years drew us into high school, Art took less and
less interest in our sexual relationship. I swam a lot and
saw lots of neat little tits as girls bent over at the pool
in ill-fitting swimsuits. These girls didn't find me
particularly attractive, and the guys that became my best
friends weren't into my area of sexual experience, so I kept
to myself except for one experience that was interesting. A
family moved across the street from us, a Japanese doctor and
his five kids. He had identical twin sons, and one of them
took a liking to me. I guess he looked up to me because he
was a pianist and so was I. He played by note and I by ear,
and he would have liked to have been able to play by ear.
One day, Van and I were walking down a fairly worn path
to look at the horses on the ranch behind us. I turned to
him and said: "Do you want to do something really fun?"
"Yeah," he said, completely trusting me. He was about
eleven and I was about fifteen. We went into the thicker
woods and got behind an oak tree that was huge.
"Now, this is going to be fun," I said smiling, "but you
can't tell anybody about it, or we might get in trouble, OK?"
He smiled. I knew that he didn't have the slightest
idea what we were going to do, but he really thought so much
of me that he would have probably eaten dog manure if I had
done it, too. "OK, I won't tell anybody."
"You swear on a Bible?" I knew Van was from a very
religious family and that swearing on a Bible would be an
oath to the death for him.
He hesitated. Then, he grinned as if to think that this
was really going to be good if he had to swear an oath like
this. "I swear," he said.
"OK," I said, "pull down your pants." He looked at me
sort of funny, then he pulled down his shorts, leaving his
underpants on. I did the same to make him comfortable.
"OK?" I asked.
"OK," he said, somewhat unsure, smiling and trembling.
"Now," I said, "put your hands on the band of my
underpants." He did so, and I put my hands on the band of
his in the same fashion. In the excitement, I had not yet
become erect, but he must have had some idea of what was
about to happen because I could see his little prick growing
within his underpants. "Now, slowly push my underpants down.
We'll do it at the same time." He followed my lead, and we
pushed the pants down in tandem. His hard little dick danced
out as I dropped the elastic band past it. He pushed my
underpants down, and we both got each others underpants down
to the ankles. I looked at his face. His mouth was open and
his eyes were glued to my dick.
"Now," I said, "let's feel." I reached over and held
his rock hard little dick in my hand and reached for his
balls. He followed suit, and I quickly grew to full size,
now about nine inches. He was slow at first but then
started grasping me with eagerness. He reached under and
found my balls and fondled them gently while stroking my
dick. We stayed at this until I ejaculated. Then we dressed
and went back up the path to home.
It was fall and we had several fall afternoons of the
same kind of adventure until it got cold. In the spring, Van
had had a change of heart. I tried to get him to play with
me again, but he cited some religious reasons. He soon moved
away.
I dated a few girls in high school, but I didn't try
anything. Just kissing. There was nothing I wanted more
than to touch some girl's tits, but I stuck to the books and
for two years, I had no sexual activity, with boys or girls.
The summer before my senior year, two things happened of
great interest. My neighbors down the street had a guest, a
girl, for two weeks, and the house next door to mine got a
new family from Oregon, one of whom was an eleven year old
boy.
DeeDee was not particularly attractive. She had kinky
hair, a complexion too pink, discolored teeth, and a bit too
much baby fat. But she had cantaloupe sized breasts and the
first pussy that I ever found interesting. She and I went
swimming together at the community pool, and her swimsuit was
especially modest, but because it didn't fit her too well in
the crotch, her large clit was clearly visible in imprint,
and her pubic hair seemed when wet to cling half-way down her
inner thigh.
I didn't even kiss her that summer, but we wrote when
she went back to her home in Missouri. Her father let her
call me long distance, and she wrote me faithfully. My
letters were witty and brief. Her letters were long, fairly
dull, but more affectionate as time wore on.
Meanwhile, I got to where I was spending a good deal of
time with Mickie, the eleven year old. We shared an interest
in electronic gear and would sit for hours and design stereo
equipment. DeeDee was gone and couldn't be pursued
physically, and my senior year was mechanical and dull.
Anyhow, Mickie's parents trusted me, and when they went out
of town for a weekend, they hired me to watch the house and
their son.
At first, I didn't know whether or not I would try to
interest Mickie in my "hobby." I knew he wasn't particularly
religious or good at keeping his mouth shut, but he had an
interest in the old goofy horror movies, seances and the
like. I don't know what led me to the scenario I played out,
but it worked.
I was wearing loose fitting pajamas with short pants,
and Mickie was on the floor working on a jigsaw puzzle. My
dick when facile extended to the leg of the short pants and
as I sat and read a book, I observed Mickie looking up from
his puzzle, trying to be subtle but staring at my dick.
"Mickie," I said, "how'd you like to join a club?"
"What kind of club?"
"Just a club, and it'll be just you and me."
"I guess."
"Well," I said in mock hesitation, "it's very secret and
there's a ceremony involved. It's the club of the five
senses."
"What do I do?"
"Got a candle and some matches and a Bible?" Mickie ran
off and got a candle and a book of matches. The Bible was a
safety precaution. We went up into his room, and I lit the
candle and placed it in the middle of the floor. I had him
make sure that all the lights in the house were off. I sat
with him and we both stared into the candle. "Now," I said,
"swear that you will never tell anything about the ceremony
that we will perform."
"I swear," he said.
"Look into the candle, and say 'I see the flame.'"
"I see the flame."
"Now, listen very carefully and quietly to the candle
and when you hear it, say 'I hear the flame.'"
"I hear the flame," he said. I don't know whether he
heard anything or not, but he was into the "ceremony" of it
all.
I blew out the candle and made sure the smoke of the
smoldering wick was wafting his way. "If you smell the
smoke, say 'I smell the flame.'"
"I smell the flame." He wasn't smelling a flame but the
smoke, but it didn't matter.
I made sure the wick was cool and then placed it in his
hands. "Touch it to your tongue, and say 'I taste the
flame.'"
"I taste the flame."
I relit the candle. Here came the leap in faith. I
said carefully: "OK. Mickie, you're ready to move on to the
next phase." There we were in the light of the candle. I
handed him the Bible. "Once again swear that you will never
tell anything about the ceremony that we will perform. This
time, hold the Bible in your hands."
"I swear I won't tell."
"OK, it would be stupid to feel a flame because that
would burn you, right?"
"Right?"
"And you trust me, right?"
"Right."
"OK. You've sworn, and you're participated in the rest
of the ceremony of the candle. Do you swear you'll go on
from here no matter what?"
"I swear."
"Now, you're ready for the last phase. Move over here
on your knees in front of me." He did. "So instead of
feeling the flame, we are going to trust each other by
feeling each other. Put your hands to the side of my pants."
He did. "And I'll put my hands to the side of your pants." I
did. "Now, I'm going to count to three, and when I say
three, very slowly, we'll pull each other's pants down. OK?"
"OK," he said, with only the slightest noticeable
hesitation.
"One." He swallowed. "Two." He seemed to stand
taller, even thought we were still both on our knees.
"Three." And we did it, pulling down our pajama pants. His
dick quickly grew into its erection. It reminded me of my
own at his age. "Now, I want you to do the same thing that I
do," I said. "Take your right hand and reach out and hold my
dick."
He did so. "I used to do this with a friend in Oregon,"
he said.
All this fiction for nothing! I thought. Still, it was
fun and added to the arousal of the moment. I grasped his
rigid little dick and reached down to fondle his balls. He
did the same to me, as I discovered that only one of his
balls had descended. But he was good at feeling of me. We
completely undressed and rolled around like wrestlers,
getting in different positions to better handle one another.
I knew after about an hour of this off and on that I was
about to come, so we went into the bathroom, and he jacked me
off into the toilet. I shot for longer than I remembered,
and Mickie had never seen this before so he asked a lot of
questions.
We flushed the toilet, and I led Mickie to his bed. I
told him to lie down on his back, and he did. I took my hand
and exercised my best masturbation strokes on his dick. He
got and remained very hard, but nothing happened. During the
year of our close relationship, I tried many times to get him
to ejaculate, even after his surgery to get the other ball
down, but to no success.
We went to the woods often. Mickie seemed to really
enjoy masturbating me, and I enjoyed it, too. I was looking
forward to the day that he would sprout pubic hair and shoot
off into my hand, but I suppose someone saw us in the woods
and told his parents. I don't really know what happened, but
he was restricted from seeing me again one summer day.
Oddly enough, it was this same summer day that I got a
call. It was DeeDee. She was passing through town and
wanted to see me. I dressed very nicely and went over to see
her. He was staying with a group of eccentrics who were
arguing over whether or not Jose Feliciano was really blind.
We stayed as long as it seemed proper and then left.
I drove to a quiet and secluded spot in my own
neighborhood, surrounded by trees and talked for a while.
She was wearing an inviting looking white dress with a deeply
cut front that I believed was an invitation. I began kissing
her lips. She kissed back, sort of. She put her lips there
and was responding, but I don't know that I'd call it a kiss.
Anyway, it was enough of a kiss that I thought it was an
invitation. She was sitting low in the seat, and I thought
to myself that I was finally going to handle some tits. My
plan for the evening was to play with and suck her tits while
she jacked me off. My arm was around her in a perfect
position, so I kissed her again and gently began to reach
down into her dress.
She bounced away. "No," she said.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
"Don't do that?" she said.
"Why not?" I asked.
"It's not right," she answered.
At this, I started the car, in order to drive her back.
I think that she expected me to fight with her, but I didn't.
My art of seduction had no experience as to women. I was
pleasant was we drove away.
After some wheels turned in her head, she said: "Do you
think just because I won't let you that I don't love you?"
If I had said "yes," we might have turned around and I might
have gotten what I wanted, but I said "no" instead. We drove
back to the house where she was staying very quietly. She
wrote three letters that I did not answer and never called me
again.
I didn't give up on women, just on DeeDee. And it
wasn't long before I found a girl that didn't say no.
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