Frot? NOT!

Shelly offered the obvious reason for why she didn't come to the tent the previous night. Reeking of a sexual desire the whole evening that she didn't recognize but her mom knew very well, her mom took precautions. We were outsmarted.

Opposite ways happened each of the remaining back yard camp outs that summer but talking turns was still the norm. In the colder months it was back to the tit-for-tat stand up performances in the trusty shed. Even at this early overly horny stage, jacking each other the same way had no trouble getting us off but was starting to get routine and kind of stale to me. I craved some variety and soon found it.

One Saturday when dad was at work, I was rooting around in his basement work shop and found a cache of thin paperback books in a cabinet that he kept miscellaneous stuff like gloves. None of the books were Hemmingway or Steinbeck but all were erotic and pornographic. I also found a black and white device that vibrated when I plugged it in and turned it on. A bottom piece seemed to be missing because that part of it looked unfinished so I assumed it was some kind of sander. I put the sander away, grabbed one of the books and headed to my bedroom. My brother was home so the bedroom was out of the question but the trusty gully at the end of the street was always a great back up plan.

I found a secluded area guarded with overgrown weeds, sat down with by back angled to a tree, then parked the bottom of my ball sack on the elastic of both my gym shorts and briefs and started to read. My cock was not disappointed as it didn't take long for the descriptions of the sexual machinations of an orgy to fill my head with a life time of fantasy and my dick with a body full of pulsing blood.

One scene described two of the orgy guys face to face rubbing their cocks together to get them hard. TO GET THEM HARD? Shit, I still got hard when Ross asked if I wanted to do anything! It got better. The author had one of them get on his back and the other straddle over him, then, thrust his cock against the dick that was pinned underneath it. I put the book down and saw a huge puddle of precum wetting the emerging hair under my navel and under a very blood engorged, throbbing dick.

I checked six to make sure I had a few minutes of privacy. Running the palm side of my middle finger in the pre puddle, I oriented my finger toward my nut sack and slowly rubbed it along the slippery bottom of my cock so it felt like a penis rubbing it. I closed my eyes.
Mentally assuming the role of the bottom guy, Ross was straddled over me humping his long, thick cock against mine. In my mind our dicks maintained their position. I imagined his flat, hairy stomach flexing and crunching with each thrust. Back and forth his cock (my finger) went reapplying precum with every visit the bottom of my finger made to my swollen, leaking dick head. I shot and shook. Ejaculation twitch after ejaculation twitch, cum painted the inside of my shirt, my belly, and part of my arm. Holy cow, I couldn't wait to try this with Ross. I cleaned up enough, took the book and headed home.

I got home without any body noticing my cum-moisture darkened clothes and quickly deposited them in the clothes hamper after changing.

Later that day I saw him and was trying to build up the courage to talk about rubbing our dicks later. I decided to use the another guy said approach in case he didn't see the same erotic benefits of such contact like I did. Relaying the fictional situation I was immediately shut down with him saying cock rubbing was queer. Queer? Like rubbing another guys dick isn't queer? I hid my disappointment and anger.

To this day not having the chance to get off cock to cock is my biggest regret. But I still use that middle finger every now and then when I want to spice things up!