If it weren't for the mole on Aaron Denton's dick, I'd be a lot happier, I
guarantee you. That mole has been bothering me ever since third grade,
when I saw him piss in the woods.

"What?" he said blankly, looking around at our horrified stares, not
realizing he was doing something completely unnatural.

The rest of us were just hanging it out, taking a regular piss through our
zippers like sensible people, but not Aaron. Shit. Without even giving
it a second thought, Aaron unzipped his jeans, pulled his pants down,
right to the knees — (aaack!) — and started shooting a gusher all over
the trees.

The rest of us guys didn't know what to say. We all just stared at him,
like he was the craziest fucking lunatic on the planet.

"What?" he repeated. "Why's everybody looking?"

"Dude," I motioned to him calmly. "Your ass is showing."

He looked pretty unfazed that his golden globe nominations were hanging
out in the breeze.

"So what?" he mumbled. "It's how I piss."

I shrugged.

We zipped up and let him do his thing.

It's a free country.
/>
My name's Cory Darrington. I'm 12. Aaron's name is Aaron Denton. He's
12, too.

Some of you people like your names and ages right up here in the front of
the story. So, there they are.

Whatever.

Knock yourselves out.
/>
Now, I'd be lying if I told you that Aaron Denton's dick didn't fascinate
me.

It did.

I took one of those mental photographic snapshots — and no matter how
hard I tried to shake it — it wouldn't let me go.

I mean, I saw everything.

Tiny little dick. (No offense intended. Mine was, too).

Balls like a sack of pennies.

Snow-white ass, with a tan line showing above the waist.

And a god damn mole on his pecker!

Not a big one. Just a mini-mole. But located right toward the top of the
shaft — just below the tiny mushroom head. As he stood there peeing,
pinching the middle of his stalk between two dirty fingers, you couldn't
help but notice it.

In third grade, your friends' dicks are a dime a dozen.

But a mole under the head…?

Now that's something worth remembering.
/>
So, Aaron and I became best friends. Anybody's who's got the guts to pull
their pants down in front of three other guys, expose a dick mole and say
fuck the consequences, is all right in my book.

We wound up in the same class in fourth and fifth…and had a lot of
classes together in sixth. We're in seventh is this year, in case you're
wondering.

Some of you like the school grades up front, too.

What is it with you people?

We're kids. We're in school. Relax. Life goes on.
/>
The habit?

Well, what do you think?

It's jacking off.

God, I must do it 45 times a day.

Have you ever jacked off so many times your dick gets all puffy and
stretched-out under the head?

I mean…you try to take it easy. You use spit. You use lotion. You use
Vaseline. You walk into the kitchen and your mom's baking cookies and you
stare longingly at the Crisco.

But no matter how careful you try to go, you wind up the next morning with
that red, puffy, diseased looking penis — the one that looks like you
just ran it through a meat grinder.

I'm 12 now, and I've whacked more times than those guys in the lumberjack
contests.

My dick hurts all the time.

But, oh my God, I can't keep my hands off myself.

"Half-hour, half-hour," I whisper to myself, through clenched teeth. I
try to space my sessions out so I REALLY don't overdo it.

My shaft is usually a mess of scraped-off skin. Getting hard-ons is a
major medical condition.

Code blue in Cory's room. I need a crash cart! Stat!

I can't stop.

If they ever give awards for self-mutilation, I'd like to thank my
parents, my agent, and most of all, God.
/>
"That's it," I told Aaron, toward the end of the school year. "I'm done.
I'm quitting. I'm giving this shit up."

He was studying my swollen, puffy penis in my room. Limp. Exhausted.
Too pooped to pump.

He prodded it with a pencil to see what it might do. It just laid there,
like a dog on a rug.

He shook his head.

"Yep," he said firmly. "You're wrecking it, all right."

I put my hands up in the air. Guilty.

"How many times a day you do it?" he asked.

I exaggerated. "Six-hundred when Baywatch is on."

"Yeah," he said coolly. "Baywatch does that to me, too."

I zipped up my pants and we went downstairs to make sandwiches.

Might as well give up breathing.
/>
The worst part about jacking off is — I can't think of girls!

That Baywatch crap is just a lie!

All I can think of is Aaron's god damn mole on his dick!

I'll be in my room, pumping away, lost somewhere between the pain and the
pleasure, and I'll be desperately trying to think of anything female —
Jackie Golan's tits — Brenda Hanson's lip gloss — but NOTHING! Ugh.
Nothing does it for me.

Every time I cum, I'm imagining Aaron Denton's dick mole. What does it
feel like? What does it taste like? I suck my own finger and imagine.
What does it…

STOP!

He'd kill me if he ever found out.

Best friends or not. Some things…?

You just don't go there.
/>
Summer camp. Twelve-years-old. Right before eighth grade was about to
begin.

Aaron and I were shipped off together.

That's the problem with being best friends. Let your parents see you
hanging out together too much, and you get identical prison terms when
Camp Hoochacooch rolls around.

So, there we were, hot July, out in the woods, enjoying our 45-minutes of
free-time before we had to go back to the activity hall and turn pine
cones into Christmas shit. Why the hell those people think Christmas in
the middle of summer, I'll never know.

Aaron whipped his out first and started peeing immediately.

I heard him moan, as the stream started hitting the leaves
behind our cabin.

In the years since third grade, he'd learned to piss normally.

I tried not to look at the mole. But there it was…winking at
me…screaming at me! I hadn't jacked-off in two-weeks — a world record
— and now I was paying the price, because that God damn mole of his
wouldn't let me out of its sight!

"Don't let me get wood, don't let me get wood, don't let me get wood," I
repeated over and over in my mind. "One plus one is two, two plus two is
four, four plus four is eight, eight plus eight is />
I pulled mine out, hoping for the best — it was limp, thank God. I
started peeing, still keeping one eye cocked on that wonderful mole. I'd
gone 14 days without a single cum. I was ready to jump out of my skin.

I echoed, letting my stream go.

"Nice power play," Aaron nodded, impressed by my gusher.

It felt good. Too much milk. Go to camp, and they force-feed you milk,
every meal. Powdered, I'm pretty sure. Cows have GOT to be more
talented.

I pissed for decades. I looked at the ground. Trees wouldn't grow here
for centuries.

After we were done, he tugged on his penis and stretched it out, all the
way, through his zipper, giving it a breather. His balls plunked out…a
little bigger than I'd remembered them, but basically, your same set of
12-year-old balls. Nothing amazing to report. Settle down.

Noticing I was looking a little too long and a little too hard, he glanced
up at me.

"What?" he said dumbly.

"I'm looking at your dick," I admitted.

/>
It didn't seem to bother him. He seemed more interested in watching his
pee puddle dribble down one leaf and onto another than the fact that I was
scoping out his nads.

After a second he said, "You wanna suck it?"

"No, I don't wanna suck it!" I shouted out in horror. "I just wanna look
at it!"

"Oh," he said again.

Sheesh. Look at a guy's dick and all of a sudden he figures you want it
in your mouth. What's wrong with people these days?

Besides, Aaron and I didn't do that stuff.

"So, how long do you wanna look at it?" he asked impatiently. "We've only
got 45 minutes."

"Just for a second," I answered. "I'm checking out that mole."

He pulled on his penis for me — pinched it between his fingers and pulled
it taut, so I could get a better view of my target.

"See?" he said. "Just a mole."

I couldn't believe he was so casual about it.

"Yeah," I answered squeamishly. "But it's on your dick. Doesn't it
hurt?"

"Dude," he said simply. "It's a mole. Moles don't hurt."

I walked over to him and got a closer look. We were safe. The rest of
our happy camping party was nowhere in sight. We were all alone behind,
since we had kitchen duty that day, after lunch. We did the dishes and
hung out at the cabin. Not a kid, not a counselor in sight. Freedom.

"Can I touch it?" I asked.

This was new territory for me. I hadn't even talked to Aaron about his
weenie mole, much less offered to put my finger on it. We were breaking
new ground here.

He shrugged. Didn't seem too shocked.

"Whatever makes you happy," he said.

I kneeled down closer to give it a closer look. I made sure I wasn't
sitting in his lake of pee.

I reached out slowly and gave it a poke.

"Woo," he shuddered. />
I took the tip of my index finger and ran it along the mole. His dick
jerked a little at the sensation.

Beneath my jeans, I could feel myself getting a stiffy.

I looked at it some more. Touched it. Leaned in and smelled it. Normal
smell. Just a dick. Nothing too major.

I was about to say, "Okay, I'm done," when suddenly Aaron grabbed the back
of my head and mushed his dick into my face…obviously aiming for my
mouth, but since I slammed my lips shut, all he did was smash it into my
nose.

"Hey!" I yelled. "Knock that shit off!"

He tried one more time. I resisted.

"Aw, come on," he moaned. "We've got 45 minutes."

I looked at my watch and confirmed it. We did.

"Give it a little suck," he said hopefully. "Come on. Just a little
one."

I looked around to make sure no one was watching. Stupid, really, since
there wasn't a soul within a mile. They were all out walking. Looking at
caterpillars and stupid shit like that.

"Okay," I said fearfully. "But if you tell anybody about this, I swear,
I'll kick your ass."

"Just suck it," he repeated, breathing harder.

I opened my mouth and took him inside.

I didn't want to let him know that I wanted to do this for a long time.

I purposely tried to make myself look bad, so he didn't think I was queer.

Even though I'd practiced this scene many, many times on my own wet
finger, I sucked him sloppily…even letting my teeth scrape across his
shaft once or twice, just for effect.

"Ow!" he yelled. "I said suck it, not bite it off!"

I mumbled, with a mouth full of cock. "I'm not really sure how it
works."

(Yeah, right).

He pulled back and stuffed it back in his pants.

he mumbled.

And for a second there, I thought we were done.

It was a little upsetting, since my own dick was rock hard in my pants by
now.

"Let's go inside the cabin," he suggested quickly.

And when he led, I followed.
/>
On the bottom bunk of cabin number four — named for the Indian
tribe, Aaron and I enjoyed a slow sixty-nine.

We fell into it little worried that we'd taken
our pants off and anybody might come back and walk in on us…but frankly,
we were too excited to care.

I felt his hot cock, mole and all, sliding in and out of my mouth
frantically.

And I was doing the same thing to him.

The senses — the smell – the taste —

They were overwhelming.

And the faking part was over. Now we were doing it as skillfully as we
could.
/>
"Let me butt-fuck you," I whispered, halfway down his shaft…the words
coming out slurred and spitty.

"No way," he answered quickly.

"Come />
There was a moment of silence as my hard-on waited for the answer.

"Okay," he said nervously, "but if it hurts, you have to take it out."

I coaxed him to his knees and positioned him doggie-style on the bottom
bunk.

"If you hurt me," he repeated, "I'll kill you."

I shrugged. Sounded fair to me.

I spit on my dick and guided it to his asshole.

Not knowing anything about style or technique, or least of all, anal
muscles, I leaned forward and jabbed it in like a poker.

he screamed. "You fucker!!! That hurts!!! Take it out!!"

But it was way too hot and good in there to pull it back even an inch. No
way. I was in for the long run.

"Just relax," I said casually. "It's supposed to hurt. Just give it a
second. It gets better."

"Yeah, right," he mumbled. "Easy for you to say. You don't have a pole
up your butt."

We stayed like that for a second…Aaron wincing…me on a nervous,
unsteady standby, ready to pump like a jumping kangaroo the second he gave
me any indication the pain was gone.

"Okay," he grunted resentfully. "It's okay now. Just go slow."

I tried.

I honestly tried to go slow…but it was too much to handle.

Fourteen days since I let myself come, and now there I was, buried to the
hilt into the sweet, tight asshole of my best friend. The one I
fantasized about. The one I dreamed about while I jacked myself and shot
cum all over my stomach.

I moaned, pushing myself in and out…much faster than he wanted
me to, I think.

"Hurry up," he grunted. "This doesn't feel good."

"Just a few more strokes," I moaned…my voice coming out in choppy
syllables.

And then it was over.

My whole body lit up with fire, and I jammed my dick as hard as I could,
spearing his ass cheeks with the force of my weight…cramming it so far
into him I thought I'd scream out loud.

And fourteen days worth of pent-up sperm shot from my tingling dick and
buried themselves deep within his hot, young bowels. A release…an
accomplishment I'll never forget.

"You jerk," he said, getting off the bed and putting his underwear back
on. "That hurt."

"You can do me tomorrow," I grinned.

Peace offering.

He grinned back.

"You are SO in for it," he said. And by the look on his face, by God, I
was.

Strangely, the thought didn't seem to bother me.

We got dressed, straightened the bunk covers, and walked off down the path
toward the activity hall. Pine cone time. Life goes on.

But I will say this.

The habit's been broken.

With all the other stuff we do, we don't have time for whacking.

Say what you want about the things we do to each other…

But, Dude…

Aaron Denton and I definitely do NOT jack-off anymore.
/>
END

story by: David Lemmaire

Tags: fiction masturbation anal boy / boy sex story

Author: David Lemmaire

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