Trying To Be Cool Yields First Orgasm

When I was fourteen and a half, I had an athletic, well-built physique. I was also a good student, and very all-American looking. My conservative Catholic upper middle class family was from suburban America, near a fairly large North-eastern US city. Usually, my casual attire consisted of jeans and a cotton polo type shirt. I had two older brothers, and one older sister. They were all more into organized athletics than me, but as the youngest, I was more intellectual. For some reason, I always had an attraction to leather, and especially liked leather objects, especially Cowhide, as they developed their patina with age. I remember thinking it would be so cool to carry a wallet in the back pocket of my jeans--often sneakily trying the wallet of one of my older brothers into my back pocket when they were showering, carefully placing it back where it was (e.g. in their pants pocket or desk, etc.) to appear undisturbed. Often, although I was not sure of what made me do that, I became aroused just feeling it get warm against my butt. I managed to get hold of my Dad's wallet very rarely, as he always had it in his pants, and he went to bed earliest, and got up and dressed earliest--seldom ever being more than a few feet from it, and always carrying it on him--but boy did I try to arrange checking-it-out! His was the best feeling, as it produced more of a bulge, always containing a lot of cash and credit cards, and usually had a better broken-in patina, being a much more expensive wallet. Of course, I felt much too conscious of carrying a wallet in my back pocket in front of my family--afraid they would comment on it, and when my brothers noticed, they would say, "what are you doing with your wallet--why would you play baseball/football/ride a bike, etc. with it?" However, when I went out in my neighbourhood, I often hid my wallet inside my jeans near the belt buckle, until I reached some distance away from the house, and then placed it into my back right jeans pocket. I always acted nonchalant checking and using it among my peers, but they really did not even seem to notice it. Around that time, during the summer, I used to bike for many miles with friends on a "bike hike," just so I could stop at the closest Holiday Inn--going through the Lobby, past the Bar and Lounge, to buy a soda from a vending area towards the guest rooms, just to look good and impress my friends. For some reason, too, I began to have a crush on my closest neighbourhood friend's sister, knowing very little about sexual intercourse. Inside my room, I worked daily on breaking-in the black Rolfs brand bi fold wallet I had purchased two or so years before--carefully cultivating its shape into what I thought looked so cool, and trying to accumulate important looking items to place in it, to give it the "right" bulge. My close friends just did not seem to notice my infatuation with men's wallets. While watching TV regularly in our basement game room, often my friend and his sister were there. She noticed my wallet a few times, and I always tried to get her to want to pickpocket me (again, I found that thought really arousing). She would never do it, even when I would sit near her on the floor and pretend I did not know the wallet was sliding up, slightly protruding from my back pocket (after I secretly nudged it)--she never attempted to swipe the bait! I used to say, as she made fun of me carrying a wallet, "you could never get it from me. No one could." She also knew I had a big allowance. One day, after I had been out all day biking, loafing and running around in the neighbourhood, of course in my jeans, with my by then "perfected" black leather bi fold wallet in my back pocket, it was feeling great--good and sweaty against my jeans--sure to feel nice and warmed-up to the touch. In addition, my friend's sister looked great--just blossoming into being a shapely female beauty--lightened blonde hair, tan and really noticeably shapely. I happened to be very low on cigarettes, and she had began to suspect our purchase was during our now frequent "bike hikes." While telling my buddy we needed to go for a "bike hike," which was our code to each other, but he wanted to finish watching a concluding golf tournament, I went into our back basement furnace room to retrieve Sodas for us from a refrigerator there. My friend's sister followed me. He could not see us.

In the room, there were some free-weights, a weight bench, an extra washer and dryer (compared to our upstairs laundry room), a Schwinn Air-Dyne bike and boxes and books, and near the furnace there was an old Sears "belt massager," with junk stacked on it. This was the type you stand-up on a platform, place a wide canvas belt around your waist, and where the belt attachs on both sides to the motor mounted on a pole in front of you, and the attachment points rotate like small pedals on a bicycle.

It had been my grandmother's, and I had not given any thought to it in years. My friend's sister asked about what it was? She said to show her how it worked. I naturally went into my intellectual mode, blabbing about the machine being similar to those use in old health spas. I moved several boxes on it, plugged it in, and placed the belt around my waist. I was holding two drinks, with mine opened, and a closed one for her brother, and she approached and handed me her open Soda, also. She then naively asked, "Is this how you turn it on?" clicking the toggle switch to "On," and moved behind me--laughing about it, and I was trying to explain why people used them, and that my grandmother especially used it after breaking her hip. She asked, "What does this lever do?," slowly nudging the speed faster. The vibration on "Low" had immediately aroused me, but I was not even thinking about such things, with my technical explanation of the machine. However, as she suddenly went to full speed, I stopped talking, unable to reach down while holding three cans, two of them being open beverages, (and I could not lay them down as the top of the motor was gyrating too much) feeling as though I was trembling but noticing I was also feeling extraordinarily good.

Up until then, nocturnal emissions had been my only form of release--which I did not even understand! My erection was throbbing by then! As I looked across the room to see what she was doing, I realized she was looking at me like the cat that swallowed the canary, holding out the damp looking (warm) side of my butt-curved-broke-in black leather wallet and just then opening it to remove the cash! I was shocked that I had never felt a thing when she removed the wallet!!! Me, "Mr. 'You could never pickpocket me!'" Then I notice my reflection from a mirror my brothers had put up for weightlifting in that room showed a "deflated" back right jeans pocket, and thoughts raced through my mind that she was removing my cigarette-purchase money! I was extremely helpless as all of this unfolded, as I felt soooo good blowing my wad even though she was ruining my plans to smoke that evening and she was teasing me visually with my sacred wallet! After the breathlessness, quivering and wonderful feeling, I could see a wet ring of cum in front of the watch pocket of my very light blue, highly faded jeans, and she was staring and pointing at it, as she came over to slow down the belt massager's motor and then turned it off, taking her beverage and plopping my now emptied wallet on top of the machine. She walked away into the other room, while I pondered it all in awe, telling her brother she would see us guys later, that his friend "should learn to control himself better--he just had an accident and soiled his pants." I was dumbfounded--and couldn't believe that I never felt her hand slip my bulging wallet from my tight-ass jeans pocket--and even though I was broke, I was really craving a smoke. Needless to say, I went upstairs and changed not only my pants but my underpants, beginning at last to understand a little about sex. Needless to say, for the next four years or so, I was a regular visitor to our basement furnace room! To this day, I have a fetish for men's wallets, with mine always nearby on the nightstand (or somewhere else within my touch or view) when having sex, but I've never revealed it to my wife!