The (Sex) Shed

Our second sleep over went much like the first, only the awkward mutual side-by-side was nowhere to be seen and this time Dolly wasn't invited. It ended in the same glorious, gooey mess and cemented the sequence of he does me first, I do him second, he falls asleep, and I do me last. It was after dark on a cold Winter day and we were sitting on his front porch, mostly avoiding our homework. Starting with griping about teachers and assignments, it drifted to assholes at school, then girls at school, then girl's bodies and parts, then sex. The tightness and discomfort that was me getting hard in my shorts and jeans was slowly increasing. As it began to get stiff, I could tame it a bit by shifting the way I sat, then tugging at it. But finally, it got stuck and was starting to hurt so I had to stand up and adjust it with my hand. He was on the way there too so he stood up, adjusted and asked if I wanted to "do it". Well, of course - but where? He said he thought he knew a place and we headed toward his back yard. On the back side of his house, from the center to the left side was a protrusion with a slanted roof that went up just below the second story floor. It had two doors. The right side one led to a flight of concrete steps, then door with a half window, then into the basement. The left door led into a small storage shed. It was kind of dark when he opened the door but in the dimness I could see an area of clear wooden floor then the shadows and silhouettes of garden tools and other yard maintenance aids. There was an open wall defined only by wooden beams between the stairs and the shed. He closed the door and told me to stand against one of the open wall beams. I couldn't see a thing. He told me to unzip and open my coat and I knew what to do after that. I unzipped my pants and undid the button, then slid my erect, precum-moistened cock out over the elastic band of my precum-moistened briefs. The cold air on the pre made my cock thicken and even though I couldn't see it, I knew it was shiny-hard and jumping. A full body jolt hit me as his cool fingers found my wiggling dick in the dark. He wiped off the pre, then started to pump his hand back and forth on my shaft: at least the part that wasn't covered up by my ball sack propped up by the briefs and crotch "V" of the open jeans fly. Now, I had jerked myself vertically many, many times (ask the trees and plants in the gully at the end of my street) but, with no visual or my own tactile feedback in the dark shed I was discovering new heights of being turned on. Another advantage was, because we were both standing, his normally clumsy rhythm was even more messed up because of the orientation of his hand to do the stroking. I would start to feel the pressure and tingle of the build up to cumming but then it would get disrupted and subside. It was the longest that I'd ever ridden a handjob ever, and the third time was clearly a charm with him. It was so wild. I had one hand on the open wall beam to stabilize myself while I was thrusting my hips into his hand, or twitching, or bending my legs and opening them when it felt over-the-top good. I was really getting into it. I kept my eyes closed even though I could have seen a little of what was going on now that my eyes were dark adapted. Sadly, my cock head burned with the urge to blast and I mumbled something like, "cuh . . . cumm . . .". My legs started to quiver so I tightly gripped the beam I was using to steady myself and tilted my head back. I felt the swell and gush of the first pulse, then heard a "thwip" sound. Then, as was my norm, the second and third pulses were heavy, long-jumpers. There was a wet plop . . . plop when these hit the floor followed by similar thuds at increasing intervals. I wasn't cold any more even with my coat open - I was breathing heavy and sweating! I was too wound up to care but thinking about it later I probably missed seeing my best cum shot. I put myself away and back together then we switched positions. I kneeled to the front and side of him away from where I thought my "oil spill" on the floor would be, I found his legs and moved my hand up to where his magnificent cock was waiting for me. My experienced hand ( I was still strictly right-handed at this point) started rubbing then pumped away at his long, fat, sculpted dick. Again, his staying power was amazing but my determination, frequency shifts, and jackoff tricks eventually made him grunt and shoot too. When we exited the shed we decided we'd better get to our homework. I went back home and when I walked in the back door of my house it was only 8:30pm. As you can guess, the frequency of visiting the shed slowly increased throughout the Winter.