Saturday, February 17, 2018

The Upsetting Onset of Puberty

How did you guys feel about going into puberty?

 I was 11 and I saw some older boys 13 and up, changing, peeing and all of their penises looked fat, hairy and ugly. I vowed that I would never have an ugly looking dick like the older boys, like my cousin who was 3 years older than me. A year after making that vow pubic hair started coming in and my dick started growing, to top that off I was having erections and feeling the overwhelming need to touch it. I squirted in the bathroom it hit the wood floor, little white droplets like milk. I cleaned it up and tried not to do it again but after a few days it was a nocturnal emission that woke me up. I knew what was happening but I didn't like it. I wanted to be a kid and growing hair, getting bigger, having ejaculations was like my childhood was coming to an end. I shaved a few times but the hair always grew back and eventually there was so much hair that shaving became a lot of trouble.

I knew I crossed that line from childhood to adolescence the day my 9 year old cousin told me that I had a "big, ugly wiener" if that didn't sound so familiar. We weren't messing around just pissing behind some bushes I looked down at him and yes, there was a tremendous size difference. It was difficult for me because I didn't want the changes to happen and yet each day it seemed, I was bigger, hairier (legs too), sweatier.

In my eyes I looked like a grown man but I'm sure to most people I was just an awkward looking adolescent. My question is how did you feel going into puberty? It's exciting for some for me it was distressing for the first few years because I couldn't pass for a young kid anymore.

Anonymous

Tuesday, February 13, 2018

Where's Coach When you need Him?


 This is about school Locker Rooms, and a question to you guys?


 I was reading in the paper, this morning an article about sexual hazing of team-mates in School locker rooms. Statement is made - schools don't have coaches keeping watch in the locker rooms. An Athletic School official says this (exact words) "You don't want to say you have to have an adult in there with minors who are changing because then you could set off a whole other set of problems."

 We've done a lot of talking on here about locker rooms. What do you think about this?

Anonymous



Link to Example Newspaper article 

I am also interested what our readers would say. So I Googled-up the example article above since the author did not refer to the one he was reading, however it seems very similar.

I am inviting our readers to comment, but I also have created a poll for our readers. Please participate.  

E-

Sunday, February 11, 2018

Fans of the Piss Game



 My first experience of Physical Education in School did not happen until I hit 6th grade. There were about 100 boys spread between 6th through 8th grade, so all the ages were mixed among about 3 separate P.E. classes. 

In the locker room is was just a mixed bag of every sort and type of boy in the stages of puberty. We had City boys and Farm boys, big tall lanky kids, and shorter stout guys. We all dressed or undressed together, and of course there were the showers. I don’t remember any boy being bashful about his privates. We shucked our gym shorts and jocks, and paraded into the showers. This is where nothing could be hidden. Some big tall kids had smooth little ones and tight balls, and then some shorter guys had fat ones with a big bush and some swinging balls down low.

 
 In the showers, sometimes guys talked, laughed, a few whistled, or made jokes about the dicks on display. But it was all in fun, nobody ever seemed shy or acted offended. I guess we all knew that eventually we'd all look about the same when we grew up.

Some took turns trying to piss furthest from a chosen spot to the wall across from the shower heads. Guys lined up to compete or watch. The goal was to piss higher up than the 4th row of tiles counting from the floor. We learned the first spurt of our piss stream had the best chance to win. I think one kid made it to row 7 but he never backed it up with a second successful piss as high. The piss game became quite the attraction during showers.  Most boys developed at-least a semi hard, and some guys were full-on hard through their entire shower. There were about 35 boys in and out of the showers in my class, and hardly a single one didn’t have an erection.   

 I always looked forward to Phys Ed, because I knew what was going to be on display, all those naked guys.

Saturday, February 10, 2018

Why I can't say Goodbye

The summer I was 16 I spent only the third and fourth weeks of June with my Apache grandfather in the boonies of the White Mountains. That meant my intimate friend Sonny and I had just two weeks of intense time together (for more background, see "Sonny and I" posted on this blog). As described in "Sonny and I," the previous summer had led us to discover a mutual interest in procedures for releasing a certain pressurized fluid from the male body. We were downright horny to see each other again. Sonny told me he got an instant boner when he answered my knock and found me standing at his door.

As soon as I greeted Grandpa and got the battery into my junky pickup, Sonny and I immediately went to work sharpening our ejaculatory skills. The briefness of my visit constantly loomed over us and the time would be up far too soon. I would gladly have stayed there the entire summer, but my mother had talked me into something else (that's another story).

We had hardly driven a mile from Grandpa's until we could stand our erections no longer. Sonny was squeezing his crotch with both hands and telling me "Anywhere, anywhere!"

The rattling old truck nosed from a narrow logging road onto the twin ruts of a dirt lane that headed up a sharp incline. After a couple of bends we were completely out of anybody's sight. I shifted into Granny and we bumped off the lane and up a grassy peak where we could see the afternoon sun and a huge panorama of mountains.

As beautiful as the scenery was, we had no time for it. We'd been apart for ten or eleven months. Sonny slid across the seat and massaged my bulge. I reached for his. We said stupid things about missing each other. We were so horny that we could have both climaxed within ten or fifteen seconds, but we'd learned a year ago that slow and easy is the way to go.

"In the truck?" Sonny asked.

"Naw, let's get out."

We laid on our sides facing each other in the soft mountain grass, loving the warm sunshine. Our pants were soon buttoned down and our shirts went up so we could tickle and fondle every inch of sensitive flesh. I looked at Sonny's erect happy stick, did a double-take and looked again. "You've grown, man," I told him. "Bigger and better!"

Sonny propped himself on one elbow and wrapped his hand around my pole. "Ready?" he asked.

"Let me tickle those beautiful balls for a second. Ooh! Look at 'em shrink! Pulling up tight!"

By then Sonny was slowly pumping my erection which felt like it was as inflexible as a lead pipe. He had his left arm under my back, pulling me close to himself as we worked toward our goal.

For a few minutes we gently and slowly aroused each other. We were tenderly stroking one another's boners when Sonny stiffened and said "Cumming!" He rolled over on top of me, both of us ready to fire. "Cumming!" he said again, this time with urgency.

"Me too, me too," I gasped out, feeling my sensory system heading for an unprecedented blast, a blast that I'd looked forward to for months.

We huddled against one another as twin fountains spurted, mingling our combined sperm all over our chests and crotches while we held onto a pair of softening dicks.

Gradually we got our breath. "Great bones of the elders!" Sonny said. "It hasn't felt like that in a year."

Two weeks was frankly not enough time for Sonny and me to satisfy the needs of our aroused bodies. We hiked or drove all over the mountains and meadows, totally bonding with each other after the year  of separation. Secluded in shady dells by day and sharing sleeping bags at night, we experimented with novel ways to enhance our erections and heighten our ejaculations.

On my last afternoon Sonny made a request. He wanted to go back to the hilltop where we'd reignited our bond. "Can the truck make it up there one more time?" he wanted to know.

We made it. Sonny sat looking at me. Finally he spoke. "I want to do something crazy," he said.

I waited for more.

"Let's get out."
Within a few seconds we were standing at the place where we'd cum all over each other a few days earlier, where we'd emptied our balls together for the first time in a year.

Sonny got a stick and dug a shallow hole in the dirt. "Will you shoot with me into the dirt? Into this hole?"

"Sure. But what...."

"Just do it, huh?"

We did it, assisting each other and depositing explosive ivory streams of semen into the black earth.

"Now tell me," I said.

"Very simple. When you leave, I'll come here to do my thing. Right on this little mound of dirt. Almost like doing it with you. Shoot in the same place, and it will be like..."

Sonny didn't finish. He was suddenly having trouble getting the words out, trouble putting a sentence together. He quit trying and just stared off into the mountainous distance. Then he tried again, every word an effort: "Like... you... were... here."

Sonny ran and got in the truck and wouldn't look at me. We both knew it wouldn't be like I was really there.

Next morning came. The two weeks were over. It was time for me to board a bus for Lordsburg NM, the first leg of my journey back to civilization. Grandpa brought me to the little cafe that doubled as a bus stop. I looked for Sonny. Looked all around. He was nowhere to be seen. No Sonny! He's not even here and we're pulling out!

I was mad, sad, and disappointed. I couldn't believe it. Sonny should have been at the bus stop to say... to say...

I tried to formulate the word in my mind while sitting in the back of the green BIA bus. I couldn't do it, just like Sonny couldn't say his words yesterday. Every time I came close to thinking "Goodbye," my eyes got all itchy and blurry. Not good for a teen dude. In the bus I was surrounded by overweight women, screaming kids and beer-breath men. My people. What if a tear ran down my cheek? Unthinkable.

After several hours on the  bus, I halfway understood why Sonny hadn't been there. No matter how brave and macho the two of us would have attempted to be, "Goodbye" would have broken our hearts. "Goodbye" could even have gone beyond itchy eyes and could have messed up our masculine reserve, which any boy knows has to be avoided at all costs.  So Sonny had just skipped the farewell. Still, I was mad that he hadn't even been in the crowd of people waving at the bus as it bumped away. 

I worked up a good case of hurt feelings while the government bus ground its way up and down the mountains, stopping at village after village. 

Maybe I would write Sonny a sad letter to make him feel bad for not giving me a final wave. But I didn't know his address, and anyway, I'd never written a letter.

Maybe I should refuse to go back to the White Mountains next year as a way of punishing him. But then I'd be punishing myself also.

Maybe (and I entertained multiple versions of this pitiful scenario) I should just die. The bus might have a wreck, slide down one of the cliffs near the copper mines. Lightning might hit us. Some drunk guy might highjack the driver and shoot me. I might get some crazy disease. That would fix Sonny.

Although those thoughts fed my dark mood, they were just too dramatic. Strangely, with the passing of hours and miles, the more grateful I became that Sonny had skipped the goodbye scene. We would have made fools of ourselves trying at all costs not to show affection on the outside, yet sobbing on the inside.

But that didn't relieve the emptiness in my heart nor the horniness of my primary organs.

I didn't want to hurt Sonny. I didn't want to make him feel bad. I didn't want to quit living. What I wanted was simple: I wanted Sonny. I wanted horny, erect, thoughtful Sonny, wanted him  with me always. I wanted the two of us clinging to each other in a sleeping bag on a mountain night. 

Thanks to my Mom's planning, it would be a full year before I would sit on this groaning old Tribal Transit bus again, making my annual pilgrimage to Grandpa, the White Mountains, and Sonny. A year! My entire body, soul and spirit ached with the pain of separation. I felt empty, drained, devoid of all motivation.

A year. An entire year. It was an unbearable concept. Why does life have to hurt so bad?

I was sixteen, feeling like hell, emotionally alone on a crowded bus full of noisy, yammering people. It was the first time that I really understood the loneliness of parting.

I've never been able to say "Goodbye" since then.

Tuesday, February 6, 2018

Donovan's Displays

 Imagine you are a grown man with a small to perhaps just under average size flaccid dick or maybe you ARE a grown man with that situation going on. Now, imagine that it's summer-time and you are changing at the pool and some punk, baby faced looking 12-13 year old kid changes right in front of you.  He is dangling and swinging more than you ever could, even if you were a naked trapeze artist for some type of weird circus. I don't know but that was one of my good friends growing up.

  Donovan and I started messing around when we were only 12 that first time was to see how far into puberty we were compared to each other. The first time we were both smooth but even then Donovan seemed bigger than average. He was bigger than me at least so to me he looked huge. It was shortly after that first time that hair began to grow in and our messing around went from look but don't touch to feel free to enjoy yourself.

 Donovan was a bit of an exhibitionist, if you were a grown man with not much going on down there Donovan liked to change clothes in front of you just to see your reaction. He loved urinals that were not shielded and if they were shielded,  he'd stand back but he was not one that would flash unsuspecting people. I think most of the people he let see him were probably voyeurs because he could point them out.

We did sexual things with each other from age 12 all the way to age 20. To tell you the truth, the most intense part of that relationship was from 16 to 20 where we tried EVERYTHING. The only thing we didn't do was anything having to do with shit, but nearly everything else we tried at some point. I say nearly, because maybe there is new stuff we hadn't heard of back then.

 Donovan in addition to being very sexual, being an exhibitionist became an avid pot smoker around the age of 15. He didn't just smoke pot he researched it, he read books about it, he became a pharmacist of sorts because he could recommend different types of pot. Medicinal marijuana was not legal at this time and there were no legal pot shops yet Donovan was a Bud Tender before that was even a thing.

 Donovan graduated a continuation High School at age 20 and a few days after that we were in his house, locked in his bedroom. I had my dick out, he had his out which by the way was still much bigger than mine. Puberty had not equaled things out. He suddenly stopped and told me to pull my pants up, he said he couldn't do this anymore and that he was trying to change his life around.

 Donovan got philosophical on me several times before so I reluctantly pulled my pants up expecting that the next time he got horny he'd call me up. He never did, at least not for anything sexual. I went to his house to watch a movie and was shocked when he did not initiate anything and shot down my advances very quickly.

 Donovan progressively became more and more religious until he stopped talking to me altogether and spent all his time at church. I'm not saying that it's a bad thing the church probably saved him. He left behind a lot of things that could have destroyed his life and he repaired his relationship with his family.

 The next time I would see Donovan we were in our mid 30's. He invited me out on Facebook to show off his new house (this was very recently) and he was/is married, he has 2 young daughters and his wife is pregnant with what they hope will be a son. Well, I had this idea in my head that Donovan and I would have one last encounter. I'm just as attracted to 35 year old Donovan as I was when I first met him but after spending time with him and his family I feel silly to think that was ever a possibility.

 I do wonder though how often he thinks about those 8 years, we spent discovering our bodies and our sexuality. I wonder if he has a son how open will he be to his son's own discovery with other people his own age. Donovan is such a different person now that I can only imagine that all that seems far back in the past to him but to me the memories are fresh and always will be.

The Friend

A Tip for GMail users

I don't consider myself an expert at Gmail, but I have a number of accounts for various blog needs and such. A longtime reader mentioned the instance described below.

The tip today is related to travel and access to your Gmail account. It is fairly common for Gmail to require additional information under the guise of security when you log-in at a new city and perhaps on a new device. The primary thing they ask for is a phone number. Some people do not want their personal cell number anywhere in the social media world, or anywhere they feel the company might be operating something unscrupulous.

Resolution, other an awaiting until you get back home on your primary device, is to create a backup or additional account. Then in the security settings bind the accounts so you will have a safe secure method to be used for Account verifications such as this or for password changes should you ever forget your password.

Eric

Sunday, February 4, 2018

Announcing Upcoming Noel Film Titled "Rejected"

The following is an introduction and announcement of the upcoming film by Ivan Noel titled "Rejected". You may become a contributor to the film with special and exclusive perks for contributing. The level of commitment is very attainable for anyone who enjoys the works by Noel Films
Eric -

Hello!

We are now in the final days of the fundraising campaign for ‘Rejected’ - our new bewitched feature film!

So far, we have reached 25% of our goal via Indiegogo + another 40% from those who contribute directly via Paypal (for ease, and to avoid fees).

This is good, but just 5 days from the end of the campaign we are still 35% short.

So please, if you haven’t already, do try and help with what you can!

To give faces and a little life to the project, I have added video interviews of a couple of the young actors, one of whom you will recognize!

Help us finish the film and get your advance copy of the future HD download/DVD/Bluray now!

You can also help by sharing the links to friends, blogs, social media etc.

Many thanks in advance for your help!

Ivan and team.

Youtube Teaser for the Film Rejected

Screencap from "Rejected" treaser


Featured Actor Thiago who is cast in "Rejected"
 

Saturday, February 3, 2018

Total Tip Tap

 The first after-school job I ever had was as a stock boy and floor sweeper at the neighborhood variety store. Today we would probably call it a dollar store, but back then things were cheaper and it was sometimes known as "the dime store."

 After I had worked there several months the manager trained me to operate the cash register. Purchases were not scanned in those days. The cashier looked at the price tag and entered the cost of each item on the keys of a big cash register. When everything had been entered you hit a large key and three things happened. The total was displayed at the top of the register, a bell chimed, and the cash drawer flew open.
One day the confounded cash drawer popped out and hit me right in the crotch. It didn't hurt, but it gave me an idea and became sort of a game. The customers had no idea what I was doing, but I calculated the distance from the register to my dick. I would often get hard in anticipation while ringing up somebody's purchases. Then I'd stand at exactly the right position, hit the Total key, and let the drawer zip forward and bump my boner.

 Between customers I would stand around in the checkout , frequently aware of an erection and planning how hard to let the drawer hit it. If things were really dull and nobody was looking, I would rub my bulging fly against the edge of the counter-top.

 I never climaxed. But occasionally, on a busy day and after several encounters with the cash drawer, I could feel a drop of juice slowly oozing through my dick and making a damp spot in my briefs.
One day a man gave me sort of a funny look and I decided it was time to abandon my cash drawer game. Perhaps things were getting obvious?

Regi