My 1st time fucked: The high school football player

(This is part 1 or a 2-part story. I took a little bit of time in the beginning to introduce the characters. If you want to move straight to the juicy part, it starts roughly halfway into the story)

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It was my 17th summer. I had just graduated from high school and would be heading to college in a few weeks. I’d be turning 18 in the fall, and I was still a virgin. The thought of going to college with my dick still in its original packaging was weighing me down big time and losing my virginity before getting to campus had turned into somewhat of an obsession. But as a closeted teenager in the 90’s, opportunities were few and far between. My gaydar wasn’t very well tuned and high school students weren’t sending a lot of vibes anyway. Everything was a lot more underground back then. I had come to terms with the fact that I’d probably be heading to college with zero practical training under my belt.

I grew up in an upper middle-class neighborhood and most of our neighbors had lived there my whole life. There weren’t that many kids on my block as a lot of homeowners were either empty nesters or retirees. But our neighbors across the street had three kids around my age.

Their oldest son was called Mike. Mike was three years older than me and was going to college out of state. We would rarely see him outside of Thanksgiving and Christmas. Between spring break, trips with his frat brothers, and summer internships, he had better things to do than getting back home during his free time. Given the 3-year age difference, Mike and I were never that close growing up, but I always looked up to him and probably had somewhat of an infatuation. Mike was everything I wanted to be. I viewed him as the older brother I never had. He was already a senior when I started high school. He was on the basketball team. And he was hot as fuck: wavy dark hair, dark brown eyes, super fit, and a steady flow of girlfriends who found him just as hot as I did.

What Mike didn’t even know is that he made me very happy, dozens of times, hundreds of times. I was a late bloomer. I only discovered masturbation when I was 14, almost by accident. I had no older brother to teach me those things. But I made up for lost time after that and masturbation became a daily activity, often twice or three times a day: taking care of my morning wood before going to school, releasing the day’s pressure after coming home from school, and sometimes a last one for the road before going to bed. Eight times in 24 hours was my personal best, on a day when I was curious to test how much boy juice my teenage balls were able to produce. I had milked them dry by the 8th time.

Sometimes, I jerked off in my bedroom, but more often than not I’d do it in the bathroom where it was easier to clean up my mess. My missiles were very long range and their precision left to be desired. I was mortified by the thought of my mom finding traces of my explosions on the bed sheets. And the concept of happy sox only came to my existence well into my 20’s, at which age they had outlived their usefulness to me.

It was pre-Internet days and porn was hard to come by. Like millions of teenage boys before me, gay or straight, the Sears catalog was my Bible, the male underwear section that is. But in addition to the Sears catalog, I also had a calendar of the high school basketball season, with a team picture in the middle. Because Mike was not very tall, only 6’1”, he was in the front row on the team picture. The really tall players were all in the back. He was there on the calendar, smiling, flexing his muscles in his sleeveless jersey. I could make out the dark hair in his armpits, even if the picture resolution wasn’t that great. Picturing Mike taking his clothes off in the locker room after the game, rinsing all the sweat off his dick and balls in the collective shower was enough to push me over the edge. At that age, I came quickly. Just a few strokes and my canon would shoot missiles all over the bathroom tiles. When in a crunch, I could be in and out of the bathroom in a couple of minutes, without my parents suspecting anything. Premature ejaculation is a source of embarrassment for sexually active adults, but as a teenager jerking off, it made life much easier, allowing me to take care of my urges whenever my dick wanted me to. School was the only place where I never dared whipping it out.

Mike’s younger sister was Angie. Angie was just a couple of months older than me and was in my graduating class. If I had been straight, I would probably have shown more interest in her. But she was somewhat of a goody two shoes and I found her kind of boring. I’m sure other guys noticed her forms, but that rack did not have the same effect on my pole as Mike’s basketball picture.

The youngest was called Ben. Ben had just turned 16 and would be a junior next year. We were 20 months apart. Ben had always been ‘the little brother’ and I never really paid attention to him. But after Mike left for college, I started noticing him more. He had grown a lot during his freshman and sophomore years and was now turning into a man.

Ben was on the high school football team where he played as a tight end. As a freshman, he spent the entire season on the bench. Not big enough and experienced enough to be on the field. But he got a little bit of play time as a sophomore. The coach always tried to rotate the roster in the 4th quarter of blow-out games when the team was so far ahead on the scoreboard that he wasn’t taking much of a risk by giving younger players their couple of minutes to shine. Ben was one of them. The starting tight end was a senior and would not be returning next year. The coach was grooming Ben as the future starter, although he would have to fight for the position with another player.

I was never quite sure what a tight end really did on the field. I was familiar with the main positions: quarterback, offensive and defensive line, running back, and wide receivers. And of course, the kicker, who seemed to be everybody’s ass hole. But the more obscure positions were somewhat of a mystery to me. I just liked the name tight end. I thought Ben had a tight rear end that I wouldn’t mind exploring.

I am now 6’2” as an adult, but I was probably still 6’1 ½ at the time as I grew a tiny bit in college. Ben was still growing, and he had just caught up to me. That summer, it was impossible to tell which one was the tallest. But since he was only 16, he would probably end up at 6’3” or 6’4” when it was all said and done.

Even though we were the same height, Ben was already a much bigger guy than me. I now refer to myself as having a swimmer’s built: 6’2”, 175 lbs. I’m not a big guy, but I have a toned lean body and I’ve managed to put on a few pounds of muscle over the years. But that summer, I was still a skinny kid, 155 lbs soaking wet, which was not much for a guy my height. I kind of looked like a giraffe. But Ben had really bulked up during his sophomore year. He was already 175 lbs and probably on his way to becoming 200 lbs of pure muscle when he’d be done growing. He had been hitting the gym hard since joining the football team and trying to make it as a starting player. And it showed. He was still in that in-between stage where he didn’t quite have the muscle mass of the jocks at the gym. But he had definitely put on some good weight, and you could tell he was on his way to becoming a jock himself. He was no longer the little boy I had known my whole life.

Even though I was almost two years older than him, he was already more of a man than I was, and than I would ever be. Ben couldn’t quite grow a full beard yet, but it was only a matter of time. And we’re talking months, not years. He already had a lot of thick hairs on his chin and his cheeks were progressively filling up too. Ben would always shave in the morning. It was the 90’s and the facial hair craze hadn’t started yet. He would shave the way his dad had taught him to. Teaching your son how to shave was kind of a father-and-son bonding experience back then and having to shave in the morning as a teenager was a rite of passage of some sort. Not that I knew, since I only had a few hairs growing on my chin. 10 seconds of waving my electric razor around my babyface was enough to deal with the situation.

Ben’s last name was Thanos. On our block, the Thanoses were referred to as ‘the Greeks’. Ben’s dad was a 2nd generation American. Both his parents had emigrated from Greece in the 50’s. During the week, the Thanos kids went to our high school, but on Saturday they had to go to Greek school. Their dad still had a strong attachment to Greece and thought it was important for Mike, Angie, and Ben to learn how to speak Greek, although they kind of spoke with an American accent from what I understood.

In addition to Greek school on Saturday, they would also spend most of the summer in Greece, and we hardly ever saw them during summer break until a few days before school restarted at the end of August. Mr. Thanos had bought an old farmhouse in the village where his family was from, and he still had several cousins who lived there year-round. I always suspected that bringing his trophy wife to the village and showing her around gave Mr. Thanos great pride.

Ben’s mom was stunningly beautiful indeed, even in her mid-40’s. But she was not Greek at all. She grew up in Western Michigan, a part of the state with a large chunk of the population of Dutch descent. She grew up not far from a town called Holland, named that way for obvious reasons. Greek men are known for being hairy. And Dutchmen are supposed to have big dicks. The combination of the two could only be a winning recipe for Ben.

Ben had light hazel hair, a mix between his dad’s dark Greek hair and his mom blond Dutch hair. But I guess the Dutch blood beat the Greek blood on that one. At the end of their Greek vacation, where Ben spent most of his time outdoor, he would come back with an amazing tan, thanks to his dad’s dark tone, and his hair would be dirty blond on top.

After Mike had left for college, Ben and I grew closer as Ben was looking for another boy to throw the football in their backyard. Even though I wasn’t an athletic kid, I was his best option on the block. When we were done throwing the ball, we would go down to their basement and play video games, wrestle, and crack jokes at each other, the way teenage boys do. Ben had become my best friend.

One thing leading to another, I started staying over for dinner on a more frequent basis. One time, while we were at the dinner table, Ben’s mom asked me if I would be interested in joining them in Greece for a couple of weeks. Even though their summer home was not huge, there were two beds in the room where Ben stayed, since he and Mike used to share that room when they were kids. I told her that of course I would love to, but I first had to ask my parents.

Even though we were spending a lot of time together, nothing sexual had ever happened between Ben and me. He was straight as an arrow, and I was completely closeted at the time. We were both virgins, or so I suspected since Ben had no known girlfriend. For Ben, being a virgin was kind of normal, since he was just a sophomore. But for me, about to turn 18, the thought of going to college as a virgin was a source of agony. I was hoping that being 5,000 miles away from home would give me the balls to hit on boys the way I didn’t closer to home. The only sexual experience I had had was blowing the German exchange student the year before. Or I guess it’s rather me who was the American exchange student, since I had blown him at his home in Germany. Regardless, in my mind, I associated travel and European boys with experimenting.

My parents were fine with me going to Greece as long as I found a summer job to pay for the plane ticket myself. I ended up getting hired at a local restaurant as a dishwasher, moving my way up to busboy after a couple of weeks. Woohoo! It only paid minimum wage, but there was a small portion of the waiters’ tips that was pooled together and divided among the busboys. And one of the waiters was hot as fuck, which kept me motivated during my shift. I made enough money to pay for the plane ticket and some incidentals in Greece, although there wouldn’t be many opportunities to spend money over there since their summer home was in a remote village with not much else to do than going to the beach and hiking in the countryside.

Although I wasn’t quite 18 yet, my parents had no issue with me flying alone. It was before 9/11 and friends and family were still allowed to the gate, even without a ticket. My parents escorted me all the way to the gate and hugged me one last time before I boarded the plane. When I landed in Athens, Ben and his mom came to pick me up at the airport. We took a taxicab from the airport to the ferry terminal and then a one-hour ferry ride to the main town next to the small village where their farmhouse was. Ben’s dad picked us up at the ferry terminal with an old beat-up car that they only really used to go grocery shopping and pick up visitors.

Their summer home was an old farmhouse that was in complete disrepair when they bought it, but that they had fixed up over the years. It wasn’t luxurious or anything, but it felt very authentic to me. It didn’t have central heating, which didn’t really matter since they only stayed there in the summer. It didn’t have air conditioning either, but nobody else in the village did. The breeze from the Mediterranean kept the temperature bearable if the shutters were closed during the day. The house only had three bedrooms, one for his parents, one for his sister, and the boys’ room that Ben and I ended up sharing.

Even though we were on vacation and free to do whatever we wanted, our daily routine was pretty set and almost regimented. We’d wake up around 9am, have coffee and bread to start the day. Then we had an hour of free time where we’d read books or go for a run. It was pre-smart phone days and Ben’s parents made it a point to not have a TV in the house. They didn’t want their kids to spend their entire summer in Greece watching American sitcoms on television. Every couple of days, we’d also have to go the village’s main square to go buy groceries. There was no US-type grocery store in the village, but a couple of small stores: a bakery, a butcher, and another store that sold fresh produce. It was the century-old farm-to-table model that modern societies are trying to recreate.

Around 11am was the time when we started preparing lunch. In a typical Greek family, Mrs. Thanos and Angie would have been tasked with cooking for everybody else, while the men were busy with hard labor or just doing nothing. But because the Thanoses were Americanized, Ben and I were put to work. Chopping vegetables was our primary task, which we would normally do at the large communal table on the outdoor patio, while Mrs. Thanos was in the kitchen doing the cooking.

Executing these culinary chores was my favorite time together with Ben and our preferred time to bust each other’s balls, the way teenage boys do. Between the carrots, cucumbers, and zucchinis, there was no shortage of opportunities for Ben and me to make lewd jokes. Carrots would usually prompt jokes about how little the other was packing upfront, while cucumbers would lead to jokes about how much the other could take in the back.

A source of fascination for me was a 10-gallon or so jar of olive oil in the kitchen. When I asked about it, they explained that most people in the village had olive trees in their backyard. Olives are not a fruit you can eat off the tree the way you eat apples or cherries. They need to be processed to be edible. After picking olives in the fall, people in the village brought their olives to a co-op and, once all the olives had been pressed, they received a volume of olive oil proportional to the quantity of olives they had harvested.  So, technically, a small portion of the oil came from their own olives, as well as olives from everybody else in the village.  And since olive oil didn’t spoil, they could keep it in the jar for years. The Thanoses had some cousins picking their olives on their behalf in the fall. And since they only consumed olive oil for a few weeks in the summer, their cousins end up keeping all the surplus oil for themselves, as retribution for picking the olives. I dreamed that I’d be able to put the olive oil to good use and grease up Ben’s pole with it. More to come on that point.

After lunch, we’d have some more quiet time at the house, the Greek equivalent of the Spanish siesta, laying low during the hottest part of the day. And around 3pm, we’d go to the beach, which was only a 10-minute walk from the house. And we would spend the rest of the afternoon there. Our time at the beach often consisted of lying on the beach, getting too hot, going in the water to cool down, lying on the beach to dry off, getting too hot again, going back into the water to cool off, and repeating the cycle until 6pm or so, when we’d go back home and start dinner.

It was funny to me that the Thanoses were an American family when in America but more of a Greek family when in Greece. Ben for example would always wear swim trunks in the US. But in Greece, he’d be wearing Speedos, something he would never dare doing back home. But there was this unwritten rule that Speedos were only an acceptable outfit while on the beach. The minute we left the beach to walk back home, Ben would put his shorts back on. But since we spent several hours at the beach every day, I had plenty of opportunities to drool over his athletic body and stare at the bulge in the front part of his Speedos, fantasizing about what stood underneath the fabric.

Angie had a great body too and was also wearing what would have been considered a skimpy bikini by American standards. But the one who still looked amazing was Ben’s mom. She was the epitome of a MILF, if that’s what I was into. Not an ounce of fat in her mid-40’s, after three pregnancies. Ben had good genes to draw from. Mrs. Thanos stopped working after having Angie. Not discounting the responsibilities of running a house and raising three children, she had enough free time during school hours to stay in shape and hit the gym. Ben’s dad, however, didn’t really do it for me. He was a little bit shorter than Ben and I, maybe 5’10” or 5’11. Although he wasn’t crazy hairy, he still had lots of dark black hair on his chest and stomach. Although I have become more attracted to hairy chests as I grew older, it kind of grossed me out at the time. I was a twink and attracted by the same, even though I didn’t even know that word back then. And Mr. Thanos’ chest hair looked unruly. If Ben could inherit only half of his dad’s chest hair and it remained the same hazel color as the hair on his head, he would look like a fucking Thor by the time he turned 25.

Given how much time he spent in the sun, Ben obviously had a tan line. But he would try to smooth out the transition from dark to white by wearing different Speedos every day, as every pair had a slightly different size and shape. My favorite ones were his black ones. The color contrast would make his tanned body radiate in them.

But the thing that really drove me wild was when Ben was trying to smooth out his tan line by lowering the waist band of his Speedos while sunbathing on his towel. When he was lying on his stomach, he would lower the fabric just to the top of his ass crack. And when lying on his back, he would lower it just above his pubes line, although the top of his pubes was somewhat arbitrary since Ben already had a treasure trail running from his navel and merging into his pubes. Where his treasure trail stopped and where his pubes started was somewhat of a judgement call. And Ben would sometimes go past below that arbitrary delineation, wherever that was, with his bush clearly sticking out of his Speedos.

Needless to say, I spent my entire time in Greece with a raging hardon. Thank God I didn’t own any Speedos and had only brought swim trunks, which made it easier to conceal my excitement. Not that it wasn’t a constant struggle still, even with swim trunks. I was forced to spend way more time lying on my stomach than on my back, a position in which my furious wood was easier to hide. But I still had to constantly adjust myself, making sure nobody noticed. I also had to deal with ample volumes of precum leaking out of my dick, which forced me to move my dickhead inside my shorts every so often, to ensure my precum didn’t pool in the same spot and create a visible stain through the fabric. Luckily, we would go into the water at regular intervals. My trips into the water served a triple purpose of cooling off my body, returning my horny dick to a somewhat flaccid state, and rinsing away all the precum in my shorts.

Ben would always be the one asking if I wanted to go for a swim. I would always have a hardon when he asked the question and responded: ‘Go ahead, I’ll join you in a minute’. Once Ben was gone, I would try to think about something revulsive that would make me lose my hardon. I seemed to always gravitate towards Miss Nelson, my math teacher in 10th grade. She was fat and ugly, and really mean. She never married. Gee! I wonder why! I would try to picture her in her robe with rollers on. Once my hardon started to subside a little, I would adjust my dick and force it to point downward and think of Miss Nelson some more, picking her nose, clipping her toenails, or some other disgusting activity. I could never get my dick fully soft, but once it was down to half-mast and pointing downward enough to not be too noticeable, I would run to the water. The cold water would eventually make my dick soften.

Ben would sometimes wrestle me in the waves, trying to force me underwater. I would usually lose pretty quickly, partially because Ben was stronger than me and partially because I had to stop fighting back or skin-on-skin contact would cause my raging hardon to spring back to life, even in the cold water. Me telling Ben ‘You won!’ was usually the signal it was time to move on.

We would eventually get out of the water and get back to our spot on the beach. Ben lying in the sun with droplets of water on his dark skin would make his body sparkle and cause my dick to grow back to full mast instantly. It didn’t help that small salt build-ups on his shinny brown skin tempted me to want to lick him clean.

I could never tell if Ben was completely oblivious to how fucking hot he was or whether he was fully aware of it and was showing off on purpose. Assuming he had to know, I was wondering if his peep show was directed at others in a ‘look at me I’m a man now’ kind of way or if it was directed at me specifically in a ‘look at me, I’m bigger than you’ kind of way. Regardless, it was triggering all kinds of dirty thoughts in my mind, which travelled right down to the rigid member between my legs.

Although I thought Ben looked best in his black Speedos and how the color contrasted best on his tanned skin, I also loved his red Speedos. There was something about the fabric, either thinner or looser, that made them much more revealing. When he was lying on his back, I could clearly outline his shaft. It looked thicker than mine. Since Ben was cut, I would also know exactly where his dickhead was as its shape was imprinted in the fabric. Thank God I had brought sunglasses, as they allowed me to watch Ben without making it so obvious that I was staring insistently.

One thing that was an immense source of envy was Ben’s armpits. I had only started to grow hair in my armpits a few months prior, way after I had started growing dick hair. But even then, I bet you could still count them individually, since they were so sparse. But Ben, who was almost two years younger than me, had a nice patch of thick hair in his underarm. I was fascinated by it and couldn’t wait for the opportunity to bury my nose in there, smell his manly scent, and lick the sweat out of his armpits. When we were throwing the football back home, Ben often took his shirt off, and I would always try to throw the ball above his head, forcing him to extend his arm to catch it, giving me a glimpse of his hairy armpits.

Another source of fascination was the little patch of chest hair that Ben had started to grow between his pecs. That must have been something very recent because I had never noticed his chest hair before. Ben and I had been throwing the football shirtless in his backyard a couple of months prior, and I don’t remember noticing anything then. And I would remember, trust me! Needless to say that I didn’t have a single hair on my chest, not even around my nipples. But even in gym class, I could only think of a handful of seniors who were starting to grow any. The fact that Ben, who had just finished his sophomore year, already had chest hair that was clearly visible caused me to pitch a tent in my swim trunks that Miss Nelson had to try to suppress.

But nothing drove me wilder than Ben’s treasure trail. A guy’s treasure trail is already exciting when he’s wearing pants or shorts. But when he’s wearing Speedos and you’re staring at his bulge, the treasure trail growing out of the Speedos is like your connection to his dick inside. They call it treasure trail for a reason! When Ben was lying on his back, I could see the hairs of his treasure trail spring out of his abs in a very inviting way. That would double the flow of my precum fountain.

After getting back home from the beach, we would take turns in the shower. I would usually let Ben go first and then go right after him. Any bathroom stays extending beyond a couple of minutes would trigger a joke from Ben: ‘What took you so long? Were you having fun in there?’ Little did he know that it was exactly what took me so long. Or maybe he knew. But what he didn’t know is that it was about him lying on the beach in his Speedos that I was beating off to. While the hot water hit my body, I couldn’t help thinking that Ben had been showering in the same spot just moments prior, soaping his salt-covered dick and balls, that the soap had been foaming in his pubes, treasure trail, and chest hair. I closed my eyes and dreamed that Ben was still here in the shower with me and that he allowed me to manhandle the magic wand that caused the bulge in his Speedos. Following hours of raging excitement building up in my teenage balls, a handful of strokes were enough to release all that pent-up frustration and cause ropes of white fluid to fly out of my rock-hard dick. My showers really weren’t even that long since my cock erupted so quickly. Cleaning up the mess actually took longer than creating it. I made sure to eliminate any visual or olfactory trace of my explosion before Angie or Mrs. Thanos took turns in the shower.

And after everybody was done changing, it was already time to prepare dinner, which we would normally have on the outdoor patio. Since the house wasn’t that huge and there were always five of us, plus countless cousins and neighbors stopping by for drinks or dinner, I didn’t have that many opportunities for alone time with Ben. That time would only arise after dinner. Ben and I would often go lie on the grass in the backyard and look at the stars. Sometimes, we would even go back to the village and lie on the beach. It’s funny how looking at the stars seemed to prompt more meaningful discussions. At our age, our hormones were raging, and sex was all we could think about. Very quickly the discussion would drift toward that topic.

We both admitted still being virgins, which came as no surprise. Since we had no conquest to brag about, masturbation was the only topic we were experts in. I certainly considered myself a world expert, lol. Ben described his first time jacking off. I described mine. Then he went down the list of all the girls at school he’d like to nail and the squirming he’d like to extract out of them. Ben asked me which girls I’d like to rail, and I just answered; ‘Yeah, the same ones as you’ without going into further details.

Then I told Ben: ‘Our little talk got me rock hard. I really need to bust a nut right now’.

‘What? Can’t you wait until we get back home?’ Ben asked.

‘No’ I replied ‘And I’d really like to jack off under the stars. I’ve never done it before’

Without waiting for Ben’s reply, I lowered my shorts and grabbed my raging hardon.

‘Dude, what are you doing?’ Ben objected.

‘I told you, I’m gonna bust a nut’ I replied.

I raised my T-shirt under my chin, exposing my smooth torso up to my nipples, and I started jerking my rock-hard cock. After his initial protest, Ben ended up following suit. We were both lying in the sand, our dicks out, being abused by our respective right hands. We were both looking up at the stars, giving each other privacy. Not that we’d be able to see much of each other anyway. The moon was covered by passing clouds and it was pitch dark.

My technique was quite basic. I just wrapped my fingers around my pole and moved in quick motions: up and down, and up and down, my fist bottoming at the base of my shaft on the way down and getting just passed my dickhead on the way up. I like to pretend that my dick is 6 inches, but it’s really 5 ¾. But it was probably closer to 5 ½ back then as my dick wasn’t done growing. That didn’t give my hand a lot of distance to travel, hence the quick back and forth motion.

Although I could only see from the corner of my eye, Ben’s technique seemed a lot more elaborate than mine. He was stroking his pole at a slower pace, but he’d be twisting his fist as it was passing his dickhead on the way up. I also noticed he was playing with his balls with his left hand. I’d have to try Ben’s technique someday. But for now, mine was working just fine and quickly got me over the edge.

‘Fuck yeah!’ I mumbled as my dick exploded, sending rope after rope of teenage juice all over my stomach. The combination of starting to jerk off earlier, the pressure that had already built up in my shaft during our sex talk, and the excitement of knowing Ben was lying dick out, right next to me, doing the exact same thing I was, got the best of me rather quickly.

After I was done climaxing, I discreetly turned my head to see what Ben was up to. Luckily, he was focused on his stroking and looking at the sky. So, he never noticed that I was now staring at his hard dick. I caught a huge break, because shortly after, the wind chased the clouds away, and the moon started shining brightly. I could now see Ben’s hard dick in all its glory. The moonlight wasn’t as bright as broad daylight, but definitely bright enough for me to admire the spectacle.

Ben’s dick was probably an inch longer than mine, a solid 6 ½ inches. I’m sure it would end up above 7 inches by the time he turned 20. But more than the length, it was the girth where Ben had me beaten. His dick was thicker than mine and just looked meatier. It filled up Ben’s fist and his index finger could barely reach the end of his thumb. My dick in comparison felt more like a toy, and I had to squeeze my fingers to wrap them around my shaft.

His balls didn’t look that much bigger than mine, but it was hard to tell from that angle, as they were partially hidden by his big muscular legs. But his balls were definitely hanging lower, while mine were much closer to my body. It kind of looked like my balls were not quite done dropping while his already had. If you added his length, his girth, and his low hanging balls, Ben’s package just looked manlier while mine just looked more boyish.

Part of me wished I could see Ben’s cock in broad daylight. But his body shining under the moonlight and his cock rising up from his muscular body was hot as fuck. It looked like Ben was getting close and, all of a sudden, his seeds started flowing out of his cock while he let out a discreet moan. He didn’t shoot all over his stomach the way I just had. It was just big blobs of white creamy semen dripping on his belly button area, right below the tip of his dick. But there was a lot of it.

‘Holly shit!’ I thought to myself, I just watched Ben jerk off, with him not even knowing I was watching. A cloud moved in and covered the moon again, plunging the beach back into full darkness. The timing could not have been more perfect.

Watching Ben cum right in front of me got me horny as fuck again. My dick, which never lost its hardon was throbbing again, begging for attention. I brought my right hand to my shaft. And I went back to jerking off.

I moved my feet closer to my body and raised my knees a bit. And I started moving my hips, like if I was humping. Instead of having my fist move up and down my cock, it was my cock that was moving up and down my fist, as if my cock was fucking my fist. I closed my eyes and thought of Ben. I pictured Ben straddling me. And instead of my dick fucking my fist, it was Ben’s tight end that my dick was fucking. Up and down and up and down. And Ben was enjoying my dick up his ass and moved his head back, staring at the moon.

I opened my eyes. The wind had blown the clouds away and the moon was shining bright again. The moon rays reflected on my shinny dickhead, and it was almost glowing in the moonlight. My balls, which were normally close to my body, were hanging at the lowest they’d ever hung. I could hear them slapping against my fingers and against my thighs. And I imagined the sound was coming from Ben’s low hanging balls slapping against my stomach while riding my hard cock.

I turned my head towards Ben, and Ben was watching me. Not just a quick glance to double-check what I was doing. Ben was WATCHING me, insistently. The cloud had completely moved out and the moon was as bright as it had been all evening. I was fucking my fist in front of Ben. I was on full display for my best friend, and he was watching me. And I was watching him watch me.

We locked eyes; and I lost it.

‘Aarrgghhh!’ And my dick exploded for the second time.

My first orgasm had been good. But the second one was epic! My cock started spraying milkshake all over the fucking place. I must have pumped a dozen ropes out of my dick. Since my balls were pretty hollow, only a couple of minutes after my first orgasm, it was just light droplets of precum-diluted teenage juice, which travelled really far. The first one flew right over my head and landed in the sand behind me. Another one landed in my hair. Several landed on my face. A couple on my shoulder. I wanted to scream from the top of my lungs: ‘Oh Ben, look what you’re doing to me!’. But I couldn’t. Instead, I kept grunting ‘Aargghh… Aarrgghh… Aarrgghh’ with every jet. I was trying to keep things quiet since we were on a public beach, but I just couldn’t. It was the most intense orgasm of my short teenage life.

‘Holy fuck!’ I exclaimed when it was all said and done.

‘Double orgasm! You little stud!’ Ben cheered.

‘You have no idea how much I needed this’ I responded.

‘What about you? How was it?’ I asked.

‘It was great’ he replied ‘It was my first time jerking off in public. It got me really turned on!’

‘Do you need a tissue?’ I asked.

‘Not as much as you do’ he laughed. ‘But that would be great’.

I always have tissues in my pocket, not necessarily for that reason, but just in case. I wiped my face and my chest. My precum-diluted boy juice had started dripping on the side of my stomach. Ben looked like his juice was creamier and he had an easier time wiping it out. I struggled with cleaning out as much of the cum in my hair as I could. Several ropes of my juice had also landed on my T-shirt, forming a couple of white round spots. It was nighttime, and it didn’t really matter. I’d just rush to my suitcase when getting home and grab a new T-shirt.

By jacking off with Ben, in public, a new boundary has been smashed. I was hoping to smash many more before getting back home. My return flight was in ten days, and I had to pick up the pace. Time was running out, but my determination wasn’t.

(To be continued)