Right after Mike's and my initial session we became constant jack off buddies and stayed that way for over a year. I had started hanging around with him early in junior high, well before the incident in my parents' bedroom. Becoming my best friend, he served as a big brother for me, more experienced and a bit dangerous. I knew my parents didn't like him. More accurately, they didn't trust him. They were right to be worried. As I've said, the first guy's boner I jacked was Mike's. My first drink was with Mike when I was thirteen. The only day I ditched school was because of Mike. I felt my first pussy while with Mike. If my folks had known what we were doing when they weren't around, they would have sent me to Australia with five dollars, a canteen and their best regards.
Quickly we developed a routine for our encounters. To us it seemed too straight forward to just strip down and jerk off. We required a reason. Almost from the beginning, if there was time we'd play a game to start a session. Usually it was a stripping game, with strip HORSE our favorite. I had a basketball hoop in my backyard. Missing a shot meant earning a letter and losing a piece of clothing. The five letters in HORSE were perfect: shoes, socks, shirt, pants and underwear. As the court was exposed to the neighbors, only occasionally did we strip off even shoes and shirts while playing, although once late at night we played down to skin. Other times we'd play simple variations of strip poker. We didn't have the patience to lose just one piece of clothing with each hand. Usually the first hand lost meant you removed all of your clothes above the waist, with the next losing hand taking all clothes below the waist except for your underwear. This way after three bad hands, either Mike or I would be naked. Sometimes we'd continue to play cards for dares and to get the other person naked. Our dares were simple ones like letting the other guy do whatever he wants to you for ten minutes, having to run around while nude, or getting a boner. As an alternative to cards or basketball, we'd play a round of Rock/Paper/Scissors to determine the loser. In any case, a game was necessary to decide at least who'd be naked first. From there, it depended on the circumstances and the time of day as to what happened next.
Sometimes we didn't go through all this hoopla and simply jacked with our clothes on, especially if we were in a hurry or thought we might get interrupted. We'd drop our pants and blast on the ground or into a tissue. I will admit to being the one who pushed us to get naked to beat off whenever possible, although with Mike, pushing him to get naked for sex was like pushing a cat to drink cream. When we did have the time and opportunity to strip, sometimes we'd have to acknowledge our naked desires, which by then would be sticking straight out, and just jack off with no preamble, using any of the four hands available in the room. Outside of the fact we were both strong righties, we really weren't picky which hand it was and we tried every combination we could conjure up. While jacking away, we'd often play our favorite game, Time Out. At any point, for any reason, either of us could call a time out and all masturbation had to cease for thirty seconds. It was a maddening game! A lot of swearing came from Time Out, but then, being fourteen year old boys, we swore all the fucking time.
If we had the afternoon together, we'd spend it under a large avocado tree in my backyard which was well away from everything. Its branches and large leaves hung to the ground, totally blocking the view in, and yet there was an open space inside near the trunk. We could even stand up as long as we ducked our heads, and there was plenty of room to lie down. Nobody could see us when we messed around under that tree. It became our playhouse, fort and sanctuary. From a game of HORSE, we'd move to the avocado tree and the loser would have to strip down. Sometimes before the basketball game we would have agreed on a penalty for the loser beyond getting naked. The most common one was to jerk off the other guy, then jack yourself. We did that again and again. We didn't always let the opening game decide the penalty. Often we'd play more games under the tree to decide tasks for two nude boys. Maybe a quick card game resulted in the winner having to get the loser hard and keep him hard, not allowing him to cum. I know Mike did that to me under the avocado tree, keeping me hard for awhile before I finally was allowed to spurt. Or maybe the loser had to jerk off two times in a row. We both liked to make the other guy do that. All good pranks were repeated. Whenever you read about me doing something to Mike, or Mike doing something to me, you can be certain that the favor was returned. This happened one hundred percent of the time, even with the dirtiest penalties. Especially those.
Undoubtedly our kinkiest penalty, and one we used constantly, was to shoot our spunk on each other. At first it was by accident - it had to go somewhere - but once we accepted that having another guy's semen on us was really no big deal, it opened the faucet. Through our time together, Mike must have worn a cup of my sperm and I a cup of his. We came up with penalties for our games where we sprayed the other guy on purpose. A jack off race often ended with the guy who shot first getting to blast on the other boy, with the loser cumming on himself, receiving two loads for the price of one. It was OK to aim most anywhere although we never gave each other a facial. Deliberately, that is. I didn't shoot at every part of Mike because, really, who wants to sperm a kneecap? But any place that mattered got blasted, with his crotch my obvious favorite target. I must have shot there at least a dozen times and probably a lot more. In return, I remember Mike spraying his spunk over my dick and pubes while I was under the avocado tree, on my bathroom floor, sitting on a chair in my bedroom, in both my family's den and living room, and on the floor of his bedroom. Is that enough?
The best thing about our trading off dares and penalties was it forced equality in our partnership. Certainly Mike was the leader, older, stronger and more driven. But once we started play, we were equals. I would submit to Mike's domination for a while and then, because of a lost card game, we'd switch off and I'd tell him what to do. Every mixed-up young teenager should have a sex slave for an hour. This tit-for-tat nature of our dares and penalties kept us in balance. Otherwise, Mike would have dominated our relationship completely. His being the lead dog is one thing I've carried forward in my life. In every successful sexual relationship I've enjoyed, I've always played second fiddle. With Mike I learned to let my partner lead.
If my mom was gone or my parents were out of town, we could mess around inside my house and the fun, risks and penalties were often greater. We had luxuries like chairs and a couch, plus definitely more props and toys. Sometimes the loser would get spanked, lying across the other guy's lap for ten or fifteen minutes. As no paddles or other implements were allowed, you could only use your hand. Spanking was mostly Mike's thing. If the punishment was my choice, I liked to tie Mike up. Usually my bindings for him were loose and easy to break but sometimes I got carried away. A couple of times I tied him to a square post that was in the center of my house. With Mike's back up against the post, I'd pull his hands behind him, around the post and bind them there. After adding a couple dozen other wraps of rope around him and the post, I had him where he couldn't move a hair.
Once I even hogtied and gagged Mike. You haven't lived until you have had a naked fourteen year old boy hogtied in your house, unable to do anything but rock on the floor and look extremely concerned, but only if you are the naked thirteen year old boy doing it. Besides his rocking helplessly, I have a mental image of the scared look in his eyes, rising to terrified when I didn't untie him when I said I would. Hehehe. That next hour was the best. It started with inserting a rectal thermometer, telling him about all the other things I was going to shove up that hole, which of course was a fib...mostly.
But don't you worry about Mike. There is something else as good as being a thirteen year old who hogties a fourteen year old and that's being a fourteen year old who hogties and gags the naked thirteen year old a few days later in revenge. After messing around with me, making me spin on my dick and rock on the ground, Mike jacked off, blasting all over my ass. He then got dressed, cleaned up the room and told me he was going home. 'Good luck explaining this one to your mom,' were his last words. As the back door latched, I thought, funny game, Mike. He'd left me so I could see my mom's desk clock and she'll be home in a little over an hour. He'll be back long before that. And then nothing. Quiet. I know he's coming back. There's no sound. That fucker wouldn't leave me here like this, would he? The longer it went on the less certain I was that he'd be back in time. There's a half an hour left until Mom returns. Maybe he's not coming back. We're down to fifteen minutes. My God, he really left! Ten minutes. Damn it, that fucking asshole actually went home! Five minutes. He's really not coming back! Three minutes. What am I going to tell my mom? She'll be home any second. Fuck! It's time! Double fuck! My life is over. Five minutes later, I hear the back door open. I wait for death and my mother to walk into the den but instead it's Mike! I'm shaking against the ropes, screaming through the gag for him to untie me. He's as casual as hell. I shout that Mom is coming home. He says 'No, not yet.' But it's time! 'Is it?' he says. He doesn't think so. The clock! 'This clock,' he asks, 'you mean this clock, the clock I set ahead while you were in the bathroom? This clock that's half an hour fast?' He untied me and all I wanted to do was take the rope and strangle him.
Another time I remember being bound by Mike, I was on my knees and unable to move. He pulled a much cruder, more physical prank as he proceeded to rub his soft dick and balls all over my face for many minutes. 'You like my big balls? Here they are, man.' When I now hear about teabagging, it shocks me to realize I was teabagged when I was thirteen. Mike put his hand on the back of my head and pushed it into his crotch, rubbing it around. Getting a boner, he jacked it with the end of his dick resting on my nose. He rubbed both the shaft and the tip of his hard-on over my face for quite a while, repeatedly dragging his shaft back and forth across my lips, saying, 'Just open up and let's get this over with.' I didn't. Now with both of his hands on my head and moving his pelvis up and down, he ran his hard dick over my face. I'd often rubbed the bottom of Mike's hard-on but never before with my cheek. Mike kept slapping and stabbing me with his erect cock, threatening to force it into my mouth or blast his cum all over my face. Instead he did neither and shot onto my chest. I was relieved, being unsure we were still playing a game. I remember this session with Mike well as it was the first time this line was crossed. Previously in our conversations, setting up ground rules and limits for our messing around, we'd talked about how we might accidentally get hit by a dick in the face crawling around each other and decided we were OK with that. If it happened, it happened. That definitely was not the case here. There was nothing accidental in what Mike did to me.
When payback time came, and with Mike bound and on his knees, I grabbed his head with both of my hands and ground his face into my crotch until my dick got hard and then I did it some more and then some more after that. Mike had wiped his dick and balls on my face. I pressed his face into mine and did it for a long time. Offering a momentary escape, I'd tell him if he'd just take his tongue out and start licking, we could be done with this a lot sooner. Otherwise, I warned him I was going to keep this up until I blasted. I didn't but I thought about it. Keeping his tongue locked away, I'm sure he was thinking about that possibility, too. I was nasty. When I finally let Mike go, I wiped precum on the bridge of his nose just so he'd have to look down on it, after which I shot on his chest.
Immediately afterward, Mike and I got into our one big fight, which lasted days, broke up three of our sessions and threatened to end our fun. He thought I'd taken it way too far. I said, 'Me? You took an accidental dick to the face remark and escalated that to repeatedly rubbing your boner on my lips. Plus, I didn't do anything you didn't do to me.' Two days later I admitted I'd gone on too long and pushed too hard, and apologized. This didn't appease Mike. He also demanded a chance to grind his crotch into my face for payback. When after a week it was clear this was non-negotiable, I finally submitted. Plow my face with your dick if that's what we need to get back to business, Mike. I found my punishment to be a mechanical, empty exercise for both of us. Mike aggressively pushed his hard cock up and down my face. I had to hang onto his legs to keep from falling backwards. But it was all force and no passion. Last time Mike was playful, sexy and rude, but this was just muscle, and definitely tougher than I'd been. Bad as it was, I'd been expecting worse, getting a last minute pledge that he wouldn't cum on my face. I'd also thought Mike might try to jam his dick into my mouth. He didn't, meaning everything he did this time I'd already experienced when he teabagged me. I was becoming a hardened thirteen year old, going, 'This ain't so bad.' In fact, I felt more fascination than disgust. This was so out of the ordinary, I had to keep at least one eye open to watch. It's a disturbing movie stuck in my head which, before writing this, I hadn't run in years. I remember the whole damn thing, starting with stripping and kneeling down on my cold bathroom floor, awaiting the executioner's sword. After talking dirty a bit, saying fuck his promise, he's going to shoot wherever he wants, Mike smashes my face into his crotch, twisting both until he gets a boner. This part is pretty dark and I don't see much but I feel it all, including his hands on the side of my head, shoving it around. He's being rough. Mike's flabby dick and the flesh of his nutsack are pressed hard against my lips, cheeks, nose and eyes. I itch from his pubes. For a few minutes, this is my whole world. Light returns as I see the bottom of Mike's now stiff cock, from its tip to his balls, in extreme close-up, forcefully going up and down the side of my nose, riding my skin, travelling across my mouth and one of my eyes. Pick either eye as his dick hits both. His balls, hanging low today, bounce over my chin. By twisting my head sideways, Mike changes the direction of the thrusts, from along my lips to over my ears, but no matter which angle he picks, this movie always has a supersized prick being driven vigorously across my face. Thankfully the abuse doesn't go on that long, maybe fifteen minutes including getting him hard, because sooner than I would have thought, Mike stopped and finished by jacking himself off, blasting onto my chest. Maybe I wasn't the only one tired of fighting. As a last goodbye, Mike wiped off the tip of his still wet dick on my pursed mouth, the only provocative thing he did all afternoon. To salvage this day, perhaps I should have let him cum on my face.
Later our sex was equally emotionless solo hand jobs from each other. It might have been routine sex but it was more than we'd done in a week. I have images of that, too, of me sitting in a chair, with Mike on the floor, between my legs, jacking my dick. I also remember the opposite, of my sitting cross legged on the floor, looking up at Mike while I'm jerking him. It took writing this and reliving the events of that day with greater clarity to realize that Mike and I were sitting in two chairs I now own. Recovered and refinished twice over the years, I usually have my first cup of coffee in one of them. Good morning, Mike.
Surprisingly we agreed that what I had originally done to Mike was OK in the future as long as we weren't so brutal. Mike's revenge made sure that wouldn't happen again. From then on we didn't freak out if the other boy's dick and balls were shoved in our face. That was just for the fun of it. Blame this on being fourteen. We'd discovered the rudest thing we could do to each other, which is gold to a young teenager. We weren't willing to give it up.
These events, from hogtying to teabagging, happened relatively early in Mike's and my messing around. Within three months I'd gone from having never touched another boy's boner to begrudgingly allowing my best friend to hump my head with his hard-on. Welcome to adolescence.
A dick in the face was as close as we ever got to oral sex. We never tried it. For one, we were totally confused about blow jobs. We thought they required you to blow air into a man's dick, which didn't make any sense but if that weren't the case, then why were they called blow jobs? Once in his room when I had lost the opening game and was naked, Mike pulled out a bicycle pump. I said, no way, he wasn't using that on me. If he wanted to do it with his own mouth, we could talk, but no bicycle pumps! Even if we had known it should be called a strokesuckandlick job, I bet we still wouldn't have done it for the same reason we never kissed each other, either on the lips or anywhere on our bodies. That would have been gay and even though we were constantly jerking each other off, we definitely considered ourselves straight. Our games provided us a contrived deniability for our queer actions. Mike didn't stroke my dick because I liked it. He did it because he'd lost a game. To our heterosexual credit, we were always talking about girls. We both definitely liked tits. In fact, we often jerked off to a small collection of dirty magazines we'd accumulated, which included issues of Playboy, Penthouse and a couple of nudist life publications. Using the language of the time, we weren't homos but were into girls, and we certainly weren't cocksuckers. Amazingly for young kids, we talked directly about this subject. One of Mike's and my great strengths as partners was whenever we had an issue, we'd discuss it. Regarding hand jobs, we weren't blind. We knew what we were doing and it caused us to question our sexuality. After a few months together, one evening during a backyard campout we asked each other, 'You feel like a homo?' No, we answered, we still liked pussy. Plus homos buttfucked and blew each other, and we definitely didn't do either one of those. Toward the end of our time together, after we'd been jerking each other off for over a year and had shared some very intimate physical experiences, I remember walking with Mike from the street into the pool area of his house when the question had become, 'We aren't homos, are we?' Stopping to talk, the answer we gave was still no, but the original question was no longer asked. Although we never would have said it out loud, by that point there were times we sure felt like homos.