Summer Youths

I grew up on a small island in the Caribbean, and though I was accustomed to outdoor activities I was pretty much a city boy at heart. Only on rare occasions would I visit relatives in the country, all the while yearning for my normal metropolitan life. Except for one summer.

My mom told me I was to stay at my grandmother's house for summer break. Although she was kind and sweet, her home was just too boring for an energetic young teen with raging hormones. I went under protest.

My parents stayed with me the first night and left the next morning. I was immediately bored as the TV didn't get many channels (pre-cable days) and I had already read through 4 new comic books. How was I going to survive?

As I was sitting on the porch swing, I saw in the distance a person walking up to the house. I couldn't tell who it was at first, but as they approached I broke out in a big grin. It was my cousin Roger who I hadn't seen since we were smaller kids. He came up to the porch and I sprang up to greet him. Roger had matured. He was about 2 inches taller than me, his black skin glistening beautifully. When he smiled he revealed perfect white teeth.

He had visited to drop off 2 bags of mangoes for my grandmother. She greeted him and made us lunch. As we ate he told me he had heard I was staying the summer so he said he'd be visiting often. My summer was saved.

The next few days were magical. We rode bikes, fished at the local river, climbed trees, smoked cigarettes and played soccer. We were inseparable; it wasn't uncommon for one to throw his arm around the other as we walked around getting into petty mischief. I felt deep affection for him, but was confused by my feelings then since I was so young.

One morning after breakfast my grandmother told me my chore for the day. I was to go with Roger into the papaw field and pick the ripe papaws so she could sell them at market. I groaned at the prospect of manual labor, but at least I'd be with Roger.

We headed out with 2 big burlap sacks about three miles to the back of her house. As we picked papaws Roger and I would hurl the unripened ones at each other as we laughed and mucked about.

With the 2 bags full we sat on a tree trunk, panting, enjoying the warm summer breeze. As our chit-chat stopped, I looked over at Roger next to me, face full of sun, eyes closed and smiling.

"I feelin' really good, man. You?" I said yes. He reached in his pocket for his cigarettes, sparked one and we puffed it, listening to the odd sounds of nature all around.

"Do you ever get hard?" he asked. I froze for a bit, then blushed. "Sometimes," I said.

"I like to make myself hard. Want to see?" he asked.

I nodded. He stood up, unbuckled his shorts and dropped them, then pulled his jockey shorts down. His long, black dick sprung forth. He moved his waist from side to side so it made a fleshy clapping sound against his upper thighs. We both giggled.

"Now you do it," he said. I fumbled with my belt buckle, then dropped my khaki shorts around my ankles. I pulled my white jockeys down. He looked down at my brown cock as it slowly stiffened. At full mast it pointed straight up and out. He giggled.

"Let us pull," he said. Roger began stroking his cock in a corkscrew motion. He closed his eyes and bit his lower lip as he was enjoying himself. Nervously, I took hold of myself and stroked up and down. It felt good pleasuring ourselves as we basked in the sun.

Then I heard Roger grunting. I looked in astonishment as his body trembled and then white fluid spurted out his cock. I was unsure how I felt. Was it fear? Excitement? Looking back, I realize it was a healthy mix of both at what I had just witnessed.

I immediately stopped and put my pants back on. Roger did the same. We got the bags of papaws and walked back to my grandmother's house, making plans to play soccer with friends from the village over the next day.

After the game, the group of us went to the river. We got naked as usual and jumped in, horsing around as boys do. Roger was a natural swimmer and I did my best to impress him.

Later that evening, my grandmother invited him to spend the night. After dinner and TV we got into our PJ's and got into my bed. We joked around and giggled, talking about everything from the best soccer teams to girls we liked in school.

After a moment of silence Roger asked if I wanted to tug again. I said okay. He slid his pajama pants down and I could feel his naked leg beside me. I pulled my pants down as well, my cock springing to attention. Under the covers he tugged himself, alternating between a slow, controlled stroke and a more furious, sped up pump. I did the same, trying to match his speed. Out body heat mixed under the sheets, further increasing our excitement.

Roger then stopped. "Hold on, okay?" he said. I stopped. He turned on his side, slide his hand onto my shaft and began stroking me. My heart beat rapidly in my chest. I wasn't sure what was happening. But then it started to feel good. I moaned loudly as his hand pumped my cock under the covers. After a minute I felt a surge moving up my penis. My cock spurted ropes of cum, staining the sheets. I gritted my teeth and groaned, head pounding as I orgasmed.

Roger stopped and chuckled as I tried to catch my breath. I pulled my pants back up. "My turn, okay?" he asked.

I turned over, my hand searching for his penis. Once I felt it I gripped it and began stroking him. It felt a bit awkward but exciting at the same time. Roger groaned quietly. Suddenly, he grabbed my hand as I gripped his cock and began thrusting his hips upward. A few seconds later he was spurting cum, staining the sheets again. He then pulled his pants up and we both fell asleep shortly after.                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

The next couple of weeks consisted of days of running around and playing and then intimate summer nights of experimenting with our bodies. At that age, I had next felt closer to anyone.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    Then the day came when it was time to return home. Roger helped me and my parents as we packed the station wagon full of personal items and stuff my grandmother gave us to share with extended family. Roger and I were quiet the whole time. I felt sad not knowing when we would see each other again. 

As we drove away I looked back. Roger stood next to my grandmother, waving, unsmiling. I waved back, then turned around and stuck my nose in a comic book, desperately holding back tears. Eventually, Roger slowly faded from my memory as discovering girls and Nintendo took up my attention. Once or twice we exchanged letters saying hi to each other, but that was it. Many years later, one of my uncles told me Roger had become a successful papaw farmer, and had a beautiful family.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       I found him on Facebook and we chatted a bit, reminiscing about our warm days at the river and our times running around the woods, nothing more. Then he moved on, and I moved on, and Roger now lives in my memories. Such are the mysteries and wonders of youth.