In a virtual state of delirium we rushed into the backyard where I had my cache stashed. In a blur we fastened our pants and ran back into the house. “What was that?” I queried. “It feels too great for me to stop just because my mom keeps telling me to stop.” I answered, looking at his face for a reaction. His testicles were smoothly hugging up against the base of his shaft and seemed to be all prickly. I don’t know what it was, perhaps the taboo nature of two guys touching each other “inappropriately,” but he had obviously become more emboldened than I was. “I don’t touch it much because my mom always tells me it’s bad.”
“I know what you mean,” I retorted. Comprehending what I was intended to do now, he leaned back and simultaneously scooted his butt forward allowing easier access to his delightful organ. My mind was now racing along with my heart.
