My Bad Influence on Older Friend, Scott

Posted by: Author: Age: 45 now, a boy then Posted on: 0 comments
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I've mentioned several times in my stories that as a small youngster I preferred friendships with older boys to playing with boys my own age. I am sure this preference wasn't primarily sexual, but looking back I must conclude that there was certainly a sexual element to it. Let me tell you a little more about this, and about one such relationship in particular.



I've referenced one other story below if you'd like a link through to the many other stories I've submitted.

 

From the time I was very small, just a boy in kindergarten, I recall being drawn to the older brothers of my little friends. We'd play games like Cowboys and Indians in the yard, running around on our skinny legs, or squirting each other with the lawn sprinkler as we dashed around nearly naked save for our tiny swimsuits in the back yard. It was the early 1960's and all us little boys had buzz-cut hair. I still remember looking at myself naked in the mirror while dressing, examining my small, undeveloped skinny body, especially my tiny penis, and wishing I could be big and strong like my friend Steven's older brother David, ruggedly teenaged Skip two doors down, or basketball playing tall-and-handsome teenaged Paul next door, and various other of these 'half-boys-half men' from my neighborhood whom I observed with great curiosity.



Calling it sexual attraction would be too much, because I didn't know a single thing about sex. I had no older brothers or sisters, and the idea of having a big brother was emotionally very appealing to me. I'd pepper my small friend Steven with questions about David, which I recall caused him confusion then. While Steven was slight and blond with pale blue eyes, David was probably about 14, stocky and broad shouldered, with dark brown hair and eyes. Did Steven ever see David naked? What did he look like naked? Was his penis small like ours or had it grown big like my father's was? I knew even in kindergarten that something magic happened to boys at David's age that made them cease being boys and start to turn into men; I was fascinated by this process that seemed so mysterious and magical. I knew somehow it had something to do with the parts hidden in their shorts, and even at six years of age I realized I was more than a little obsessed with what they had between their legs as compared to mine.



Steven regarded my questions about his brother's physique and sexual development with confusion and quickly dismissed them. He obviously had not noticed or cared that teenaged boys went through this wondrous transformation, and it wasn't important to him in the slightest. 'I dunno,' he replied with bored annoyance. 'I guess I've seen him naked. I don't remember,' he answered. Didn't remember? How could he not remember whether or not he had seen this beautiful tall, teenaged Adonis naked? Why, if I were he, I would have taken every opportunity to see him such, drinking in every moment. I imagined I'd maybe if I was David's brother I'd try to climb into the shower with him, my small body next to his bigger one, washing my hair and bumping against his naked body because we'd be so close to each other.



'Let's talk about something else,' Steven said. 'I don't care about David's stupid wiener, or why you do either.'



I often watched neighbor teenagers Skip and Kurt from across the street as they worked on Kurt's Yellow 1963 Chevy Impala, thrilling a little when they'd strip off their T shirts in the heat or playfully soak each other with the hose wearing just their boxer shorts. I could tell from the way their wet shorts clung to their bodies when soaked that they had apparatus that was very large that they kept hidden in there. I was curious about seeing their equipment, and wondered when my embarrassingly tiny peashooter would grow long and fat like all of theirs obviously had become.



Before I give the impression that I was so totally obsessed and this is all I ever thought about, let me tell you that I appeared a very normal and balanced little boy to the rest of the world. I never caused my mother a moment of worry, I was cute and friendly and cheerful and played nicely with all the boys and girls my age, took care of my smaller sister and was very normally adjusted in school. I had no trouble making friends and my teachers and the other parents would always comment to my mom what a nice boy I was and how much they enjoyed having me around. I just had this 'thing' for other boys, which must have been very confusing and significant to me at the time, judging from how vividly I remember the minute details of my affectations now, nearly forty years later!



My fascination extended no further than a desire to see and to touch. I didn't have any concept of sex further than that. Mine was a childlike innocent curiosity of the human body. I didn't have any concepts of what sex was or what it was for. I didn't yet know where babies came from and I didn't care. I just knew that boys' bodies were different from girls', that boys' bodies were far more interesting to me than girls (who when naked were simply plain-looking and boring), and that something magic happened to boys as they became teenagers that made them even more appealing to me.



These intense feelings stayed with me my whole growing up experience. My best friend when I was eight was a tall boy two and a half years older than me named Scott. Scott was sort of awkward and shy when around boys his own age, and his size and maturity were appealing to me. I guess being shy and often as the target of teasing when around older boys he must have felt more comfortable playing with me. We spent most days together, doing the sorts of things that little boys do, playing Army, using hockey sticks as guns, drawing pictures in spiral-bound notebooks of hot rod cars, making colorful Creepy Crawler bugs in his kitchen, and swimming in his backyard pool.



Scott was tall, skinny and long legged, and I loved to snuggle next to him as we watched cartoons on our basement TV. He always wore camping shorts and hush puppy shoes, and I'd cuddle next to him as we watched Superman reruns, Bugs Bunny and Speed Racer cartoons. He'd let me prop my head on his lap and touch his long legs without complaining. I don't remember any sexual excitement from this activity, and I doubt he attached any to it either.



My mother likely did, however. She'd often tell me how happy she would be if I found some friends my own age. She said that she thought Scott was too mature for me, this comment coming after she had overheard a conversation between us as we discussed his new experiences he had in sixth grade where the boys all had to strip to take showers together in gym class. I was full of excited questions, and he honestly answered all of them. My mother obviously thought that my access to such advanced carnal knowledge was damaging to my virgin mind, because her requests that I play with boys my own age intensified after that incident.



Scott must have started puberty about that time, as I remember that he smelled a new way after we played outside together, his sweat taking on a new pungent aroma that was not at all unattractive to me, but again was something that my Mother commented on. 'You can tell that Scott was here,' she said, sniffing the air distastefully in the playroom one afternoon soon after he had gone home.



As time went on, I grew more interested in sex, and often tried to steer my conversation with Scott in that direction. Scott had no interest in sex whatsoever, it seemed, as he would quickly steer it back towards more vanilla subjects or even abruptly change the subject entirely. I wonder what my Mother would have said if she knew that I was the instigator of the discussion of 'mature topics', not Scott!



Scott's family members were avid campers, and we would spend many nights with pup tents in his back yard sleeping outside together in the summer. I would try to get Scott to show me 'his' or tell me about things involving other older junior high boys that were titillating to me. He wanted no part of this, and was visibly irritated by my preoccupation.



One sleepover at my house, I had a newly obsessive idea. I begged him to let me 'suck his dick', though I was only 11 or so, and I have no idea where I had heard of such a thing! I didn't know a thing about masturbation or orgasms at 11, but somehow the idea of taking his limp penis in my mouth and sucking on it like candy was a very, very exciting one to me indeed! I recall that before bedtime he was quietly reading a magazine while wearing his pajamas and lying on the bed, and unbeknownst to him his penis had become exposed, limply poking out of the gap in the fly in his shorts. It was a fascinating sight to me... while my penis was still white and tiny, his was larger and darker and wrinkly. I gazed at it for a few minutes in rapture, feeling wonderful tingly feelings inside I could not explain, my own penis growing curiously stiff and erect in my pajamas. Then, unable to resist escalating the situation, I spoke:



'Scott, You know I like to see your dick like that! It looks really cool!' I said reverently. 'Could I touch it?'



Scott jumped up like he had been poked by a cattle prod. He quickly gripped at his crotch and covered up his escaped peeking monkey. 'No!' he said with obvious extreme embarrassment. 'You didn't see that!' he insisted in an overly panicked way, as if he could change the fact that I had spent the past several minutes examining his wrinkled, naked wiener, hanging limply on its side, looking with special amazement at the wirey tufts of brown hair that peeked out around its base. I don't think I had ever really seen (or at least noticed) anyone's pubic hair before that moment.



'But I did see it, Scott,' I pleaded sadly. 'Please, let me see it again. You can see mine too. Maybe you could just let me suck it, just a little?'



Scott was obviously mortified by this suggestion. 'That's disgusting!' he said. 'Why would you ever want to do THAT? It sounds gross and besides it would be totally UNSANITARY.'



Honestly, I couldn't begin to explain why I wanted to do THAT myself. I just did, with all my heart. It seemed like the most naughty, most erotic and wonderful thing I could imagine to do with another boy. The rest of the night passed (disappointingly for me) without incident, and as I recall the topic didn't come up again.



Soon, I started puberty too, and my interest in Scott grew even more acute. I recall often trying to see him naked while he was changing for swimming. He knew this was my intention and he glared at me with annoyance. I especially recall the day he practiced diving off the pool platform while I camped out in the water below it, looking straight up each time as he prepared to jump, looking directly into the open leg hole of his loose swimsuit and was treated to a full view of his plump, hairy balls and cock before every jump.



He and I slept over in the tent again that summer, and I asked him right out if he masturbated. 'Maybe once,' he answered, emotionlessly. 'And I hated it.'



I was dumbstruck. Either Scott was wired like a freak, or he was flat out lying. Either way I needed to know more to confirm my suspicions.



'What are you TALKING about?' I questioned unbelievingly. 'Are you crazy? It feels awesome! What don't you like about it?'



'It was messy and didn't feel that good,' said Scott beside me in the tent. 'I don't know why anyone would like it, and I don't do it.'



I was sure he was crazy. 'You're nuts!' I replied. 'I do it every night. In fact, I'm going to do it right now and you can do it with me, that is if you're not too chicken.' Undaunted, even insulted by his ridiculous attitude, I lay beside him in the tent, tossed my sleeping bag open and brazenly began to rub my stiff dick in his full view. He didn't join me, and I orgasmed boldly and defiantly inches from where he lay, and as I cleaned up I could tell by his breathing that he was already asleep.



Scott moved away that summer after I turned 13. I had begun to spend much more time with Mario, another boy on my block (See My Best Friend Mario). I was upset Scott was leaving, but in the end didn't miss him so much when he left, yet we had one more sleepover inside his house before he departed the neighborhood for good.



We slept in separate beds, and I didn't even try to get him to mess around with me, as by then I regarded him as hopeless. I knew he wouldn't and I wasn't 'into' begging. So, I lay on my bed, and as quietly as I could, under the covers, I stroked my cocky at bedtime like I always did as a prerequisite to sleep. I was careful not to make even the smallest sound.



'Rub a dub-dub,' said Scott softly across the darkened room. He obviously knew what I was up to, even though I had tried my best to keep it private.



'What?' I said incredulously. 'What do you mean 'rub a dub-dub?' even though we both knew full well what he meant.



'Oh, forget it; never mind,' said Scott. I finished my activity quietly and in peace, and he never said another word.



After Scott moved and Mario and I became inseparable friends, my mother said one day to me 'I'm so glad that you met Mario. I think that Scott was too old and was a bad influence on you.'



Scott was a bad influence on ME? If she only knew the truth!

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