Coming of Age
By:
Brock Archer
(© 2020 by the author)
The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's
consent. Comments are appreciated at...
barcher@tickiestories.us
I am a cum pig. There, I’ve said it. I love cum. I love the sight of it as it gushes from a penis like water from a fire hose. I love the myriad smells of it that linger long after the goo is gone. I love the taste of it, my own or someone else’s. I love the feel of it on my hands as I jerk off and on my tongue as I slurp it up from another man’s dick, balls, ass, chest, face, lips, or tongue. I love the shock of it as it blasts into my mouth and assaults the back of my throat. I love the reassurance of it as it oozes down my penis across my balls and onto my perineum. I love the magic of it as the cum of other men mingles with my own when we swap the elixir back and forth before consuming it all in deep French kisses. What more can I say? I. Fucking. Love. Cum!
My name is Patrick Murphy, but everybody calls me Rick. I was an early bloomer, entering puberty before my tenth birthday, but it was another year before I discovered the glories of pleasuring myself to a climax. Yeah, I heard older boys talking about it at school, but I thought it was all just talk, like their boasts about the girls they had supposedly fondled or fucked. In their dreams. Nobody really believed that anybody actually did that shit, did they? Might as well believe in the Easter Bunny.
Growing up on a small farm in Hilldale, Texas, between Waco and Austin, of course I knew all about sex…or so I thought. I mean, I witnessed chickens, goats, pigs, and sheep rutting until they collapsed, but who ever saw a goat jerk off? I mean, really?
My brother Mike is about seven years older than me, so even though I looked up to him, I never really learned stuff from him the way that guys do with brothers who are just one or two years older than they are. Mike and I were complete opposites back then. He was tall, strong, handsome, athletic, smart, outgoing, and, consequently, very popular—with the guys as well as the girls. I was a shy, awkward kid who didn’t make friends easily. When Mike graduated from high school, he went off to the University of Texas on an athletic scholarship, so we only saw him when he would come home for holidays or school breaks.
One day when I got home from school, I set about to do my chores as usual. After I fed the chickens, pigs, and goats, I headed on out to the pasture to check up on the sheep. As I broached a hill, I heard strange noises coming from the other side. At first, I thought maybe someone was hurt. As I crept closer, I saw someone leaning back against a tree with his two legs spread eagle. I knew it had to be Mike on the other side, and I almost called his name and ran to welcome him home, but at just that moment, he let out a grunt that was so loud even the sheep took notice. I saw a stream of white liquid spurt out to one side. I leaned over and saw Mike with his hand on his stiff cock, jizz dripping from his right hand. Oh my god! It hit me like a ton of bricks. Guys really do jerk off! It was like that M&Ms Christmas commercial when one of the candies discovers Santa Claus and gasps, “They do exist!”
Mike was facing the other way, of course, and didn’t see me, so, as he wiped the white gold from his hand with his bandana, I slipped back behind the hill and waited a few minutes for both of us to regain our composure. After a respectful pause, I crossed over the hill again, called out Mike’s name, and ran to embrace him as if nothing had happened, detecting a salty sweet aroma that I have never forgotten.
The next day, Mike and I went out to the sheep pasture together and sat behind that same oak tree. Though I never mentioned the incident, my dick began to tingle as I recalled the scene. I tried to distract myself by focusing on the sheep when Mike pointed out that one of the rams had mounted a ewe and was humping hot and heavy. My dick began to inflate, and I thought I was going to die of embarrassment. I tried every maneuver I could think of to conceal my shame, but, of course, Mike noticed the bulge in my crotch and chuckled, “Bro, you better do something about that before it blows a hole in your jeans.” With my face as red as a tomato, I stammered until Mike finally reached out, put his hand on my shoulder, and said, “Champ (I loved it when he called me ‘champ’), it’s OK. We all do it. It’s no big deal. And anyway, it feels soooo good. Go for it!” With that, he squeezed my shoulder reassuringly one more time, turned, and walked back to the house.
With that license to proceed, I started rubbing my dick through my jeans until I just couldn’t take it any longer. I practically tore my jeans apart trying to extract my throbbing cock. I pumped it like I had seen him do the day before, and, in no time at all, I shot off a huge load. I would love to say how good it felt, just as Mike said it would, but in all honestly, I was just shocked. I couldn’t believe what I had just done. It was like a whole new world had suddenly flung open and sucked me into it.
Later, sitting across from me at the supper table, Mike threw me a slight wink, and I couldn’t hold back a sparkling smile. “What are you so animated about?” asked my dad. After stammering for a couple of seconds, I found my new confidence and replied, “Oh, nothing. I’m just glad to have Mike home again.” My mother said something about what a nice sentiment that was, and Mike and I just connected with our eyes. Gawd, I never loved my brother more than I did in that moment.
After supper, Mike announced that he had a date and would be home late. I went to bed prepared to jerk off again, and when I reached for a rag I had tossed onto the floor, I spotted it: Mike’s bandana. He had obviously left it for me. I held it up to my nose to sniff the aroma of his manhood. When it brushed against my lips, I realized that it was still damp from his jizz. He must have jerked off just before he left. I quickly wiped the juice from my face with the back of my hand, but traces lingered, so I licked my lips to get the remainder, and that produced a raging hard-on. I jerked off again, but this time, there was less shock and more sensation. Man, it felt soooo good…just like Mike said it would. After I savored the moment, I wiped my hands with the rag, but then I grabbed Mike’s bandana and wiped the residue off my dick. Suddenly, I realized that that bandana created a bond between my brother and me. I never washed that bandana, and I treasure it to this day.
The next morning, I woke up with the taste of cum still in my mouth and another boner that just begged for relief. After I jerked off and cleaned up, I ran downstairs to see Mike. Dad was sitting in his usual spot at the kitchen table, and Mom was putting a platter of bacon and eggs in the center. “Did Mike oversleep? I’ll go get him,” I volunteered.
“He’s gone.” My dad was a man of few words.
“What?” I asked.
“He left early. Said he had to get back to the university. Something about football duties.”
Dejected, I shuffled over to my seat at the table, but before I could sit down, Mom added, “He left a note for you on the coffee table.”
I started to make a mad dash for the den when Dad snapped, “Sit down! Eat your breakfast. It ain’t goin’ nowhere.” I did as I was told, but I scarfed down my breakfast in record time.
“May I be excused?” I asked.
“Go ahead.”
The note was just a single sheet of paper folded over and Scotch taped to seal it. I tore it open like a kid opening presents on Christmas morning. Mike had written just one sentence, a line from an old song, punctuated with little hand-drawn musical symbols in place of quotation marks: “Tie a yellow ribbon ‘round the old oak tree.” He signed it, “Your Bandana Bro.” He knew.
That night, after I jerked off again, I fell asleep with Mike’s note tucked under my pillow. After all these years, I still have that note, encased in a protective plastic sleeve, in a box where I keep all my condoms, lube, and sex toys. And, of course, that bandana.
From that day forward, I jerked off at least three times a day: every morning when I woke with a raging hard-on, every night when I went to bed, and every afternoon in the sheep pasture. Sometimes I even jerked off between classes in the boys’ bathroom at school.
When I masturbated in the pasture, I started leaning against the oak tree with my legs spread eagle like I had seen Mike do. Each day I would try to see if I could shoot as far as he had, and afterwards I would wipe my hand clean with my bandana—mine, not the blue one he had given me—just as he had with his. One day, though, as I reached for the bandana in my back pocket, I discovered that it wasn’t there. I guess I had dropped it when I was doing my other chores. I flung my hand to the side to get rid of the last few drops of goo that had dribbled off my dick, but it was so thick that I couldn’t sling all of it off my hand. I didn’t want to wipe it on my jeans or shirt for fear that my folks would see the stain and realize what I had done, so after looking around fruitlessly for something to use, I finally just decided to lick it off. At first, I approached it hesitantly, but the smell reminded me of the aroma I had detected on Mike that day I hugged him after seeing him jerk off for the first time, so I eagerly lapped up the remaining pudding and relished in that memory.
To be continued...
Posted: 11/06/2020