Michaels Sexual Awakenings (chapter 7 of 7) b/b, light bondage
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Subject: Michaels Sexual Awakenings (chapter 7 of 7) b/b, light bondage
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Michaels Sexual Awakenings (chapter 7 of 7) b/b, light bondage
Author: 'M' (Michael W )
chapter 7
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 chapter
two?). 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 (chapter 3). 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 buddies
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 Dieter's 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 Dieter's hands (also chapter 2)
almost three years prior. Only he had it worse. 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 "Hoagy", 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 Dieter's 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 chapter 1, 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 John's (still chapter 3), 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 ... "It's just that... it's
... I don't know. Sometimes I feel weird. That's all ... "I'm not GAY!".
We both paused to reflect.
"Come here," I finally said, turning up towards the woods, "let's 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. "That's 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 guy's 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.
"Let's 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 John's 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 boy's
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.
"It's 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 bring 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
...
`M'
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