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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2005. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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My Grownup and Me
by Tinman (tinmanjc9@hotmail.com)
***
As a nine year old, I was already a sex addict. When a
grownup played with me at the movie theatre, I not only
enjoyed it I wanted more. (MM, Mb, ped, 1st-gay-expr,
mast)
***
In the fourth grade at a Catholic school in Kansas
City. I was nine, ‘cause I got an early start in
school, my birthday being in early September. Nine year
old boys didn’t have much to do in those 1944 WWII
days; no TV, no radio, no playground or park close by,
only a few toys to play with and, of course, my little
pecker.
I’d been taught how to play with my pecker by three
girl cousins and a young boy who happened along one
afternoon back down in southern Missouri where I was
born and spent the first eight years of my life. I
liked playing with my pecker. I did it whenever I
could. Sometimes my friend, Bobby, a year older than
me, who lived on the street behind us, would join me.
We’d play with our own, and then we’d handle each
other’s. Neither of us had yet started to cum, although
the playing felt mighty good. Still, cumming was still
ahead of us by a couple of years or so.
I had my own room in our apartment and both mom and dad
worked all day until late, so Bobby and I could get
together almost every day. We played soldiers, cowboys
and other games, but we got more fun from our young
pricks than anything. It seems odd now that I look back
that we never thought of sucking each other, nor of
trying to put our little stiffies up each other’s
bottoms. Just never occurred to us.
Our apartment house was just a block away from a small
row of shops that included a market and a movie
theatre. Movies in those days only cost a dime. I could
usually manage to squeeze enough out of mom for a
Saturday morning movie, coke and popcorn; a total of a
quarter, or two bits, as we called it then. The theatre
showed movies featuring the Three Stooges, Ollie and
Stan, Gene Au trey and other kid stuff. For some
reason, Bobby never accompanied me to the movies.
But I was a Saturday morning regular. I always chose a
seat about four rows back from the front. The theatre
was never very crowded in the mornings, just a few kids
was about all, and an occasional grownup.
Hardly ever did anyone else sit in the same row with
me, but now and then if the theatre was a little
crowded there would be others in the same row. I liked
to sit about four seats in from the left aisle for some
reason, probably because it was easier and faster to
get up and run to pee.
Anyway, this one morning I had laid down my dime, got
my coke and popcorn, found my regular seat and munched
until the bag of popcorn was gone. As I watched the
movies, I noticed a grownup entering my row. It was
fall, a little chilly, and he had on a dark jacket that
came about arm’s length.
Although our row wasn’t crowded, there were a few
people in the row that morning. So I really didn’t
really think anything about it when this guy sat in the
seat right next to mine, ignoring the other two seats
by the aisle.
We watched the movie for a while. I don’t remember what
it was, but I remember that it was a comedy and
everyone laughed a lot. During one of the big laughs, I
felt my neighbor’s hand on the arm rest, and then felt
it slip over the rest and land on my leg. He slid it
slowly back and forth, moving it up and gave my thigh a
squeeze. I liked the feel of that. It kind of tickled,
although tickle really isn’t the right word to describe
that yummy sexual feeling I get when someone else
touches me.
For a while, he just stroked my thigh, making me feel
good as I watched the movie. I never even looked at
him, but I sure enjoyed the contact. I wasn’t being
molested; in fact I’d never even heard the word. For
me, it was just very, very nice.
Pretty soon, his hand was cupping my crotch and kind of
squeezing me there. His hand was making my boy-cock
stiffer and stiffer. It sure felt good. He carefully
unbuttoned my corduroys and opened them wide. He
reached inside looking for my prick. I knew what he was
doing, so I helped him; I jiggled and squirmed around
and pushed my little-boy jockeys down, freeing my
little hard on.
His hand immediately went around it, and skinned the
foreskin back and forth several times. I had not yet
been circumcised – that would come some 20 years later.
He made it feel wonderful for me, and that tickle just
kept getting stronger deep up in my little bottom.
Then his hand left me, disappointing me at the loss of
those good feelings. He took my hand and moved it to
his lap. I was surprised to find a large, very warm,
rigid pole sticking up from his lap. It took me a few
seconds to realize it was his cock. He had his cock out
and it was sticking straight up.
He placed my hand around the big, hot thing and showed
me how to move my hand up and down. When I got the idea
and started doing it myself, his hand returned to my
lap and my little hard on. I was really enjoying this
entire thing. This was the biggest dickie I had ever
handled. I wished I could see it, but whenever I would
look it was too dark to see anything. So I just kept
moving his skin up and down.
I did notice that some very slippery stuff was coming
out the tip of his thing and sliding down to my hand,
making it smoother for me to rub him up and down. I
also noticed that he was kind of raising and lowering
himself to match my hand movements. Now, of course, I
realize that he was fucking my hand. And all slippery
lubrication made his dick actually slide inside my hand
some as he moved.
He was also moving his hand faster and faster on my
little guy. Now and then he would let go the shaft and
cup and squeeze my ball sack, then return to slide my
shaft up and down again. I remember that I felt kind of
wet down there, so I suppose I was actually lubricating
as he was, only not as much of course. The feeling of
my slippery wetness must have been a real turn on for
him, just as his wetness was for me. I didn’t know why,
but it sure was. I was getting pretty excited, so much
so that I almost forgot the movie.
Then, without saying anything I felt him raise up,
lifting his prick in my hand, and something very warm
and wet was sliding down over my hand. Lots of it, and
a rich scent hit my nose. It was the scent of man sex,
although I wouldn’t recognize it as such for many years
yet; still, I remember it well.
I felt his hand leave my stiffie and grasp my hand on
his cock and squeeze really hard, and still more of
that hot wet stuff poured down over my hand, making him
slipperier still. Finally, he kind of grunted quietly
and relaxed. His cock immediately began to soften and
shrink. He wiped my hand off with his handkerchief,
fastened his trousers up and got up and left.
He never said a word the entire time, nor did I. I was
left with my little prick still standing up straight,
all stiff and kind of throbbing. But soon it was
shrinking, too, for lack of stimulation I suppose. So I
put him away and re-buttoned my courds. I went back to
focusing on the movies, laughing and enjoying the
antics of Stan and Ollie.
Later, much later, I thought to myself what an
opportunity that guy missed. If he had even hinted that
he’d like me to leave with him, I’d have done so in a
minute. He could have taken me to his place, or
anywhere for that matter, and he could have had his way
with me in just about any way he wanted. I was really a
willing kid, I loved anything sexual, and anyone who
knew more than I did was a real treat to me. I wanted
to do more, more, more!!
Every Saturday I went to the movies until we moved away
from Kansas City a year after WWII ended. I always sat
in the same seat area, and I always hoped my grownup
would come back and we’d do that again. My prick would
get stiff just thinking about it, and sometimes I’d
just take him out in the theatre and give him the two-
finger exercise for a while. But, my grownup never
showed up again. Too bad.
Some say I was abused. I say, bullshit! I didn’t feel
abused then, and I’ve never felt abused since. I didn’t
turn out gay, I turned out bisexual. My life wasn’t
ruined, it was affected in the same way that all life
experiences affect our futures. And my memory of that
day has always been good for an occasional masturbatory
session, invariably resulting in a very warm and
wonderful soul-wracking orgasm. Funny, eh?
END
[Tinman writes for fun mostly. I invite positive
feedback and will answer all reasonable comments;
unreasonable ones will be trash-canned.]
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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. Anyone acting
out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to
many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a
fellow convict in their local prison.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 36