NEVER
IT STARTS
Sleep With A Porcupine
Warm and wet the darkness pressed down on the town. The summer storm had passed leaving a clean earthy smell swirling in the last rays of the sun. Then the sun glided down and away and the darkness came. No stars, no moon, it was a total darkness. The wind still moved across the rolling prairie continuing to pick up the smell of fresh, moist dirt. It mixed with the clean ozone scent left by the storm. It tickled his nose as he walked down the broken sidewalk.
Few street lights punched cones of light in the darkness on the north side. Down by the tracks and to the river beyond every street corner was a bright spot that pushed the dark back around the buildings. Sidewalks were dim lit or bright, depending upon how far one was from a corner. But not up north where he moved in the shadows.
In so many towns of mid-America -- the great plains states -- the well-traveled- through Mid-West -- north was 'good'. North meant the country club, high priced suburban developments with curved drives from curved streets with cute names. North was where everyone with ambition wanted to move when they 'made it'. Unless they were driven and then they wanted to move to the big city. Any place bigger was better and any place near an ocean was the best. "He has a job back East" or "She's living in LA now" were taken to prove that big success came only from departure. What was actual in the lives of these exiles had little to do with the impression left on those who remained behind. Not here. Here, north was the wrong side of the tracks. North was the place you left to move away -- to another part of town, to the big city, to the coast.
Enough deep thinking. He smiled as the breeze fingered through his hair and twirled the fresh earthy scent by his nose. It was a fine midsummer's night. An almost silent night. Every now and then a porch light or the brightness spilling from a window facing the street hit the wet budding trees. When it happened he squinted. Then the trees sparkled like glittering musical stage set trees. He stripped the tee shirt over his head and tucked it in the back waistband of his cut of jeans.
He was alone, but not lonely. He felt alive in the dark with its warm moist caress. He had never been lonely, just a loner. He enjoyed what he enjoyed and found it hard to share that enjoyment or even explain it. Being honest, he had never had to -- because no one had been close enough to want to share his world or ask exactly what it was that made him happy. What was his life? Running, cars, his bike . . .
Damn, deep thoughts again. Why? Stupid. He paused, listening to the creak of two tree limbs softly violining somewhere in the distance. A faint melody muffled by the walls drifted from a nearby house. He smiled again. To his right, just down the street, was the dark bulk of the empty stadium. On east the new high school sprawled across an open expanse they said would become a campus to rival any other in the state. Around it the lights were bright. It was the source of a faint overhead glow here on the north side. When the stadium was in use its lights made that glow equal pale moonlight across the whole top half of town. Just goes to show how small a town it is, he mused.
He moved on. When he reached the first gate into the stadium he entered. No big-town barriers, chain-link fences, just open acceptance for anyone who walked in. Pausing beside the cinder track that circled the field, his eyes searched for any strange shape or shadow. He bent and tightened the laces in his sneakers. Although he was limber from the walk, he turned and stretched one leg and then the other on the steps behind him. Continuing to warm up, he went through the same routine the coach put all the runners through. Sweat began to glisten. His arms and left side gave small protesting aches. Ending with a set of full body stretches, he toweled off with his tee shirt and dropped it beside the track as he took off. The first time around was deliberate and paced. He searched every part of the stadium as he cruised by. There were no watchers hidden anywhere. He knew he was alone, the way he preferred it.
The pace increased each time he passed the tee shirt marker. By the fourth pass he was pushing himself nearer his maximum. Air eased in and out of his lungs in a rhythm that matched the cadence of his feet crunching the cinders. He felt like he was skimming over the track. He felt the start of a protest, a trembling in his legs and a need for open-mouth sucking to get the air he needed. He pushed on, running even harder, faster, through the pain, over the top, beyond the maximum he knew he had reached.
Now his chest seemed ready to burst, his left side screamed in agony. His right foot and leg were burning. His left leg was numb, tingly, but flying. Once more. Once more. Then he felt himself lift off and soar over the stadium, over the school, over the town. Below he could see himself moving in slow motion around the track. He was with the wind. He was the wind. Calm and deliberate with no effort his body now let his mind control the speed and the stadium became a blur.
Sweat stung his eyes, he descended back to the track and let the wind's resistance pushing against him break his forward motion. Carefully he eased down. Each slower stride gave strength to a rising tide of pain that flowed with his blood through every part of his being. It was a warm pain. A satisfying pain. He finally came to a stop running in place. Then he sprinted to the middle of the field and moved into the coach's set pattern of cool down exercises.
He was drenched. Grass clippings stuck in the wetness and fell from where the breeze cooled and dried him. His cut offs were dark with his body's dampness. He finished with a full set of ten side lefts, ten side rights. As he left the stadium he picked up the tee shirt. Flipping it across his back he toweled off the remaining blades of grass. He wiped down his arms and legs -- scrubbed it back and forth on his hair, under his arms, across his chest and stuffed it back behind his waistband. Like a gray tail it hung, damp and limp. His body burned with a warm glow. The wind chilled his damp skin. Goose bumps tingled. The wet warmth of his shorts quickly turned into a cool clamminess that chilled his buttocks and shriveled his manhood.
The inner fire continued its warmth as he strode homeward across the dark streets and down the walks. The fire settled and banked itself, growing sensual in the pit of his gut. He felt power. He felt a sexual growling, a rumbling that fought the cold encasing his loins. He flicked his hand through his hair. Still damp. His cutoffs were also still damp -- and cold.
He turned in the familiar walk, mounted half-way up the porch steps. The house was dark. Mom was asleep. The whole block was sleeping in the darkness. He undid the top button, unzipped and let the wetness fall off his hips. He lifted a foot. Dampness circled the other. He kicked the shorts and shirt free -- up on the porch. The warm wind swirled around his body. He turned, faced south, spread his legs and let the breeze dry the moisture that lingered between his legs.
Lightly he stroked his cock. As the tingling mounted the sensual warmth and pleasure from the run that sat in his belly moved down and settled. His balls ached with the fire and the pressure.
His legs tensed and he spread his arms to embrace the night. His cock, now rigid, throbbed. A droplet of his own lubricating juice eased out and fell on the steps. Grasping his balls in his right and his cock in this left he began a slow deliberate masturbation. Stretching his balls down, he pulled the outer skin of his cock down, down 'til the connecting tissue around his bulging glans felt it would tear. Then he let his left hand move up the shaft 'til the glistening tip was covered -- while still tugging down hard on his sack, pulling it down toward the ground. Down slowly, up, up, down, maintaining a constant tug on his throbbing ballsack. Up the shaft, down, pulling the skin tight, feeling the hot searing, joyful pain.
He kept the motion slow, steady and full both ways. His body began to tremble, like at the peak of his run. His eyes opened wide. His nostrils flared. A groan of pleasure seeped from between his lips. A tide of emotion swelled from his tortured privates and filled his gut, rolling into his chest. His neck tensed. His head began to jerk back and forth, his hair tossing with each up and down stroke.
He was pushing and pulling air into his lungs in time to the beat. He now squeezed his balls at the bottom of each down stroke. At first he grasped them lightly, then gradually his grip became tighter, harder as his breath came louder and louder. Now pulsing moans rose from his gut and forced their way out through his open mouth. The trembling became spasms that coursed from his head to his toes.
With a violent shudder the cum shot out and down the steps. Each spasm that followed squirted more. His body shook as his hands fell to his sides. He clenched and unclenched his fists as the hot juices splattered. The shudders faded. He relaxed.
Using the damp tee shirt he mopped the steps. Then he stroked and milked the last drops into the shirt. Crushing it into a moist ball he rolled it in his cutoffs.
Opening the screen door he went down the hall into the bathroom, dropped his clothes in the hamper, untied his sneakers and tossed them in too. He stepped into the tub and turned on the shower full blast, cold. As his body adjusted to the shock he eased the temperature up until he was starting to be boiled red. He soaped, scrubbed and rinsed quickly.
One more shot of full blast cold. Smothering himself in the giant white terry towel from the back of the door, he crossed the hall and fell exhausted on his bed.
Flinging the towel back across the hall at the bathroom door, he pulled the sheet from the foot of the bed up over his head. Smacking the pillow a time or two, he exhaled a long low sigh. His eyes blinked, fluttered and fell shut. His breathing was slowing, going deep. Sleep jumped and rode him on into the dark and silent night.
- o o o -
As always, the sun rose in the East. It glared full across the side yard and into his bedroom window. The harsh brightness made him grab the pillow and bang it down over his head.
Oh, shit! What time is it? Rolling over he grabbed his Timex and stared at the face. It was early; very early considering the hours he kept last night.
Back on his back, he stretched, yawned. The sun's heat moved and covered the bed like a blanket. He threw back the sheet. A waiting morning semi-erection stood between his legs. He scratched the fuzz running from his navel down, around and under. Propping himself up on one elbow he studied himself. A tight and trim muscular frame. Long and lean but not skinny. A trained body. A willing body. As he watched, his penis pulsed. With each twitch, thump of his heart, it grew larger and longer. Slowly it lifted into its blood-full glory.
Standing beside the bed he posed in the dresser mirror. Nice to have a friend so early in the morning. From the top drawer he tossed the cream onto the bed. He backed up and kneeled in the middle of the mattress facing the mirror. Softly he grasped the shaft with just his thumb and forefinger. They moved teasing along his hard, tingling cock.
This wasn't what he was in the mood for. He stopped, slapped a gob of cream in his palm and grabbed hold with a squish. It was quick pleasure time.
His strokes were fast and firm. The tension quickly filled his body and knotted the muscles in his legs. Hot flashes bolted forward from his rectum through his balls. The flamed in his belly and built larger the fire in his cock. Quicker, quicker his hand beat a blur below his navel. With the surge of release he fell back thrusting his cramped legs straight out and thrashed as the ejaculation spurted. The wetness splattered on his body, his hand. He quivered as the climax rolled. His body grew still. His breath calmed to near normal -- after a good workout. His cock went limp in his hand. His palm was now slick with creams that were both man made.He grabbed the sheet and blotted the cum from his chest and abdomen, rubbing his hand clean. Like with the shirt last night, he massaged the last drops into the sheet and wiped his flaccid organ clean.
Throwing on a black tank top and shorts he carried the soiled sheet across the hall. With the clothes from the hamper, bundled in a towel, the sheet joined the waiting laundry in the basement. A quick sort and load one was busy having the grime and cum beat the hell out of it. Between taking mom her wakeup coffee, fixing breakfast and watching the morning news on TV, the laundry was done. All clothes were put back in their drawers, or on their hangers, in their closets -- linen in the hall linen closet. Mom needs his help now. And anyway, when he's a bachelor with his own place he should know how to do a few domestic things. For now it was quicker and safer to do a lot of things himself.
After he checked that Mom was OK for the day, he changed into his work clothes, climbed on his cycle, strapped on his helmet and left.
His days at work went quickly. He was a quiet and efficient employee. The boss had hired him for full time summers and part time during school when he first applied. After all, he was the quickest study to ever be enrolled in the school's automotive program, and the boss was friends with the lead instructor.
- o o o -
Nights were usually the same. Home, dinner, a little cleaning, a little television. Later he spent time on workouts, running and masturbating with equal vigor.
He'd discovered the pleasures of his sex organ at twelve, climbing telephone poles. Why he had climbed them he could not recall. It was not hard to find his own way to get that same feeling. It wasn't real easy to find times or places where this could be done. The big surprise and increase in enjoyment came when during his thirteenth year his voice dropped a full octave, his body moved from skinny to lean and hair started appearing all over the place -- especially that place.With these changes came additional senses and sensations. It appeared to him that every month his penis adjusted to his manipulations and grew larger and longer. His balls definitely started generating sperm and their lubrication with increasing frequency and abundance. During the next year he became well aware that his secret vice was becoming an obsession. That's when he let his old grade school interest in running start burning up some of the excess energy.
He still had no sexual interest in others. Girls bored him unless they were smart. Most were silly and loud. He knew about some sex things pairing males but didn't grasp how that could be either interesting, fun or satisfactory. And everything he heard or read pointed to the fact that this was not normal. Sure the same thing was said by some about masturbation. But, others disagreed. He had to side with the dissenters.
Things had stayed that way right up to now, the summer before his senior year. He was unclear on the future. For now he was content. He knew he could keep running.
There was no challenge from his involvement in the school's academics or even in the automotive program. It all came so easy. If he heard it or read it he knew it. To fix anything in an engine, just explain it and let him work it out one time. He never forgot a lesson learned.
There was a possibility of a scholarship at the area Community College, even some interest from one of the state institutions of higher learning. Academic eligibility was no problem, just the money. That's why he knew he would have to keep running -- and make a decision soon based on the offers.
Right now, though, there was the summer to enjoy. It would be gone soon enough. Walter really was looking forward to his senior year.
[ Home ] - [ Bio ] - [ Links ] - [ Writings ]
[ Dedication ] - [ Content ] - [ Chapter 1 ] - [ Chapter 2 ]