A How-To Story
Copyright 2017, Jeremy J. Watson
We were on my sofa after eating a nice but simple pizza dinner.
I told her about how I was shot in the knee when I was nineteen years old. As I had hoped, she said, “Lemme see.”
I pulled up my pants leg, but I couldn’t get it up high enough. So, I undid my belt, top button and fly, and lowered my pants down to around my ankles, leaving my briefs in place, of course. She pretended to not be shocked. I showed her the scar on my knee. It’s not very big compared to what happened, but she was suitably impressed.
Pulling my pants back up, I said, “I was shot in another place, too,” hoping she would continue to take my bait.
Then I started talking about her Dodge Caravan, knowing it would frustrate her just enough to pursue the second shooting situation.
“You were shot another time? Where’d you get hit?”
“I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Hey, Jerry! You don’t drop a bomb like that and walk away.”
“Oh, it was nothing really, very minor.” I answered.
“You don’t want to tell me?”
I was used to playing this game, and I did it well. “Well, I probably shouldn’t.”
“Well, it’s kind of personal.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, the place I got shot. Where the wound is.”
Ah, I messed up a little. Trying to get it back out of the weeds I said, “The bullet, such as it is, is still in me.”
That got her back. “Really?”
“But, where is it? And what did you mean ‘such as it is?'”
“Can you keep it secret? I wouldn’t want anyone knowing.” I said that, even though a hundred people had seen it. Like I said, I’m good at this game!
“OK, so when I was twelve years old, my brother and I were playing with a BB gun. He shot at a bottle, but missed, the bullet, or BB, actually, bounced off a metal plate behind the bottle, and hit me right here.” I pointed to my crotch area.
She looked perplexed and concerned, as I knew she would.
“Here, I’ll show you,” I said, lowering my pants for the second time. But this time, pretending to be all clinical, I took down my underwear, too.
Of course she looked right at my hairless crotch. I like being hairless down there, plus I enjoy the treatments. I always get a huge erection when I get my waxings. It’s done by my aunt, who is well over fifty years old, but we both enjoy the effect it has on me. I don’t generally ejaculate during the waxings, although I have a couple of times. But, I’m getting off-track.
Realizing she was staring, she looked away, embarrassed at having studied that portion of me so closely.
“The BB penetrated my pants and my scrotum. When it happened, I ran home immediately. My brother didn’t even know what had happened. I don’t believe he knew anything had happened, and I was too embarrassed to tell him. Once in my bedroom, I reluctantly pulled down my underwear, expecting God knows what. Only two or three drops of blood came out. I never told my parents. In a few days it was forgotten. The hole healed, but the little metal ball remains in there to this day.
“Here’s where it hit me.” I pulled my scrotum forward indicating as best I could where the ball had penetrated. The fact is, the scar is so small it is hard to find. There may not even be a scar anymore. It’s just in my imagination. Still, I indicated a section of the wrinkly scrotum as the place where I was hit.
Milking it, I then said, lying, “You can feel the scar,” pulling my scrotum as far forward as I could, while angling my hips forward, indicating that I expected her to feel the skin.
She took the bait, and gingerly put her fingertips on the fold of my ballsack that I was essentially handing to her.
“Can you feel it?”
“Hmm, yes, I think so.”
“Yup, that’s it. You’ve got the place.”
Then it was time for the real part, now that I had her comfortable with holding my scrotum.
“The little ball is still in there. You could say I have three balls. Here, it’s right about here,” and with that, I felt my own balls, finding the hard little BB behind my right testicle. Then, again, I indicated that she could feel it with her own fingers.
Of course, by now, my penis was becoming erect. I pretended not to notice.
She started feeling around my right ball, as I had indicated, and my penis finished getting erect. It’s nothing special, being a typical six inches long. But it looks nice in its circumcised glory as it stands out from my smooth, hairless crotch.
Fortunately, the ball is hard to find. She had to feel around quite a bit, giving me the opportunity to say, “Mmm, that feels nice.”
At that point, people will do one of two things. They’ll let go immediately, pretending to be shocked. Or, they’ll want to ‘help me’ enjoy it more. For the ones who are shocked, I have an easy solution, which instantly converts them into the ones who want to do more.
I tell them, “That’s perfectly OK. I don’t mind. In fact, I rather like it.” So far, not a single woman, or man, for that matter, hasn’t taken the next step with me.
“Gosh, that really does feel nice.” That’s all I have to say. It always results in a blowjob or handjob. Being who I am, I’ll see if I can turn it into a full-blown fucking session with women, but with men, I prefer to keep it to a handjob. Then, of course, whether it is a man or a woman, I’ll offer to reciprocate, and I have a new friend for life. So, getting shot was one of the best things that could have happened to me.
She’s on my recreational softball team, but I barely know her. She’s a great looking woman, with curly brunette hair, and sparkly blue eyes. She could lose twenty pounds, but that’s not important at all. She’s not very good at softball, but neither am I.
One evening after the game, I asked her if she likes the beach. She said she does. I told her I thought so, because I believed I had seen her on the beach recently, from a distance.
“Really? Which beach?” There are several in our area, one is a nude beach, which affords the opportunity I was leveraging.
“The nude beach.”
“Oh, no, that wouldn’t be me,” she replied bluffing.
She then asked, sheepishly, “You go to the nude beach?”
“Yes, of course. There’s nothing immoral or illegal about it, right?”
Unless she was remarkably prudish, which I doubted, I knew how she’d answer.
“No, I’m sure it’s fine.”
Now, this next step seems too sudden, like it couldn’t work, but it works every time:
“Hey, I’m going tomorrow. Why don’t you join me?”
“Um…” and she hesitated for a long while. I wasn’t worried.
“I guess so.”
“Cool, I’ll pick you up at noon. Text me your address.”
I did pick her up at noon the next day. I chose to take the classic Land Rover without a top. It’s like a convertible, but there’s no top at all. It’s a funny old car. Very mechanical, not padded like a normal car, but very metallic. Girls seem to get a kick out of it. I thought about the Bentley, but I thought she might think I was showing off. Plus, when I get a car like that in the parking lot, everyone comes around and starts asking questions.
As we were driving to the beach, I told her that there are two sections. One is the tame section, where ‘nothing is allowed.’ and then there’s the wild section, where everything is allowed. Which did she want?
Her answer was consistent with the others, “Can we start with the tame area, then walk to the other?”
Yes, it’s a bit of a hike, but nothing unmanageable.
We parked the Land Rover, grabbed our packs, and hiked down the trail that leads to the bottom of the bluffs. She was going to go barefoot. I’m glad I warned her, because the sand is so hot it can burn your feet.
Once at the bottom, everyone within sight, about twenty people, were all wearing swimsuits or bikinis. That set her somewhat at ease, because I could tell she was nervous.
We started walking south, and coming around a rock outcropping, we entered the optional clothing section. I stopped, took off my pack, grabbed a sip of water, then took of everything, stuffing my shorts and T-shirt in my pack. I didn’t say anything, and the expectation, as far as she was concerned, is that one just takes one’s clothing off there.
She did have the option of staying clothed. There were a few people up ahead who were wearing trunks or perhaps topless with bikini bottoms. But she had the right spirit. She wasn’t a party pooper. Although looking a bit hesitant, she disrobed, revealing very nice but also very white boobs, and a neatly trimmed crotch area. I could have had an erection if I wanted, but I willed it to stay soft. With practice, that’s pretty easy to maintain on a nude beach.
We walked to the far end of the ‘tame section,’ then started back north.
You might think I’d then invite her to the wild side. I did something different. Well, not so different, because I had played this game a number of times before, and had it down to a science.
“We’ll have to get you out of the sun. Even with the strongest sunscreen, you’re not used to the sun, and you’d burn.
She was in agreement. Now, I knew that just seeing all those naked people, and being naked among them had made her very horny.
Would you like to stop off at my place? I’ll make us some lunch. I love to cook, so I was hoping she’d say yes. Actually, I knew she would say yes. They always do.
She said, “Yes.”
We ate lunch. I was sort of horny, but she was so horned up, she was talking in short, clipped sentences, and was a bit jumpy. Perhaps you’ve been there, where you’re so horny you can hardly think right.