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Surprising Kid

Surprising Kid, Sexual Memoir

This boy was a great kid. Raised well. Quiet and polite. Good-looking too. You don’t have to be gay to admire the look of tall, skinny, blond boys of Nordic descent who wear their hair long.

I’ve known his mother for quite a while. In fact, we dated back before he was born.

Now, having just graduated from high school, he didn’t know what he wanted to do. She was secretly relieved he didn’t want to go to college, because after his father left, they were in poverty and she could never help pay for his education. She hatched a plan, which turned out quite well, and all she had to do was one thing. She suggested he ride with me for a week.

I wasn’t at all interested in having a kid tag along, but I did it because it seemed important to her.

Monday morning, I pulled up in front of their shabby little garden apartment and he met me promptly in front with an eager greeting. If he was reluctant to participate in his mother’s experiment, he didn’t show it to me.

It was a half-hour drive to the first appointment. Trying not to offend him, I let him know in no uncertain terms that he was to be as invisible as possible. I figured the last thing my clients would want is to deal with an 18-year-old kid. Other than that, it was mostly small talk on the ride.

We got there and he helped me drag the air conditioner out of the truck, and unboxed it while I set up the lift and removed the old air conditioner from the motorhome. I appreciated the help. Maybe dragging him along wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

I had asked him to be unnoticeable, but what was the first thing he did? He started a conversation with the motorhome owner. The client seemed to like the kid. It kept the client out of my hair while I finished the installation, and so that, too, turned out alright.

We went to the other appointments of the day – trailer brakes, a generator that wouldn’t start, and sealing a roof. Driving between jobs, the kid told me he admired my truck. It is something I’m proud of, and so it was nice to hear him speak about how much he thought it was cool. He went on to call it a ‘Swiss army knife’ of vehicles. It’s true. Although the truck is big, and sometimes annoying to take into narrow driveways or to park in tight places, it carries a lift, welding equipment, and every tool you could possibly need in the RV repair business.

The week wore on. Having the kid around turned out to be good. He was helpful. He would just do grunt work, such as spreading cat litter on an oil leak and sweeping it up, without even being asked. He was intelligent too. For instance, I’d be on a roof, and without me requesting it, he’d climb up the ladder with a 7/16″ wrench, handing it to me right when I needed it.

I have to admit too, I had been kind of lonely rolling around in that old truck by myself. I enjoyed the chatter between jobs.

Until one day, he stopped me dead in my tracks by asking whether I ever masturbate.

We were at a traffic light at the moment he asked. I think I turned red in the face, and was concerned that the people stopped next to us saw me, maybe even heard him ask the question. Geez! How does one answer that?

I must have formed three or four answers in my head before I finally said, “Well, sure, doesn’t everyone?”

Slowly, he wedged masturbation into several conversations during the next week or so. I gradually opened up becoming more used to these conversations, even enjoying them. Secretly, I had jerked off the past several evenings, remember our conversations. He had admitted having phimosis, and seemed to want to know how ‘ordinary’ people jerk off.

I acted like I knew what that was, but didn’t have a clue. I tried to look it up on the internet that evening, but couldn’t remember the word. I tried “flamotis” and all sorts of things, and so didn’t find an answer. I was very, very curious. What could possibly be wrong with the kid’s penis? Or was it something affecting his semen production? Something about his balls maybe?

The next day we had a case where the client wasn’t around. I was replacing the CV joints in a classic old GMC motorhome. I admitted to the kid that I didn’t know what phimosis was.

He said, “Here, look.” With that, he stood up, unbuckled his belt and lowered his pants and underwear. He grabbed his penis pulling it forward and showed me.

My heart leapt into my throat. I would not have expected that reaction. I was suddenly feeling very horny, and from a kid, an 18-year-old boy! Who knew that I had any homosexuality in me at all? Oh, sure, I goofed around with the kids in my neighborhood when growing up once or twice. I remember giving and getting a couple of blowjobs. They were alright. I kind of enjoyed the experiences, if also feeling guilty about them. Mostly, I played with the girls as I was growing up. I knew much more about pussy than dick and by the time I met the girl who became my wife, I was already experienced in the ways to please her. I still miss her. To this day, I’m afraid of small cars.

But I’m getting off topic. There he was showing me his penis. He acted as ordinary as if he was showing me a pocket knife. My heart was unaccountably racing. I didn’t understand what he was trying to show me. I saw a nicely formed uncircumcised penis, with the foreskin totally covering the tip, and coming to a point.

I had seen uncircumcised penises before. Who hasn’t seen some online porn involving an uncircumcised guy? He must have seen my confused look so he came right out and told me: “The foreskin doesn’t pull back.” He demonstrated by pulling his foreskin somewhat. I was starting to understand. So that’s phimosis. The foreskin covers the tip of the dick and can’t be retracted.

His pants were back up in an instant. I didn’t know how to react. I didn’t know what to say. I turned back to the brake rotor which I was putting back in place.

That evening had me jerking off big-time in response to that little scene earlier in the day.

Nothing more was said for the next couple of days about phimosis, although the kid did bring up masturbation a couple more times. So did I. It was mostly him asking silly questions, like “Do you think it’s OK to jerk off more than once per day?”

I would respond, telling him things like ‘In my day, we weren’t very open about sexual matters. I discovered masturbating on my own. I wish times then were like times now. We were all isolated and afraid.”

By now, the kid was on my payroll. He had become officially my apprentice. To my delight, he was loving the work, and never complained even when there was something repetitive or difficult to be done.

He started asking to see my penis. First it was very shrouded, like, “I wish I knew what a normal penis was like.” or “I’ve seen circumcised men online, of course, but have never seen a circumcised dick in person.”

Within a week, it became blatant. “Hey, when are you going to let me see your cock?”

I kept refusing. It just wasn’t right. Was it? I mean, here I was more than three times his age, and I was having strong sexual feelings about him. In a way, I was starting to feel that having invited him to ride with me was a mistake. This sexuality was making me very uncomfortable. At night, I was jerking off resulting in crashing orgasms, with memories of looking so briefly at the kid’s dick in my mind. I was fantasizing about sexual activities with him.

One morning, I asked why he didn’t just get circumcised. He said he had read about adult circumcision. It requires a painful recovery. I offered to give him time off so he could get that done. He winced, saying that he would never, ever let anyone cut on his dick.

I asked whether he’d rather go through life with phimosis. He replied that he’d rather die than get surgery. It’s true, in other conversations, I had discovered that he’s deathly afraid of the medical system. He hadn’t had a physical exam since before he could remember. His fear of doctors was like my fear of small cars.

He said that he didn’t have to go through life with phimosis. He had read about exercises that would eventually stretch his foreskin as long as he was patient.

I was like, “Ok, so do the exercises.”

He replied that he couldn’t.

Now I was confused. “Why not?”

“I’ve tried a few times, but I just won’t pull on the foreskin enough to do the job. I kind of hurts a little bit, so I stop. I need someone to do it for me.”

I’ll bet you know there this conversation is going. He asked me to do it. I refused, knowing secretly that I’d like nothing better than to get my hands on his penis. Over the next few days, he kept bringing it up. Finally, he was practically begging me to do it. I kept pretending that I didn’t want to, because I knew that… Well, what did I know? Was there something wrong with helping a kid in need? Was it gay? Af it it was gay, what was so wrong with that? Would my wife look down on me from heaven with shock, horror? No, I knew her. She’d be amused. Actually, if she were alive today, she’d probably talk me into it. She’d want to watch. Or participate. That’s the kind of girl she was. Very bold and forward and I loved her for it.

He wore me down. One Thursday driving from the first to the second job of the day, we arranged that I’d take him home to my place and do his exercises for him. I was so nervous and jittery the rest of the day I could hardly work. I actually dropped a screw into the panel behind a refrigerator and had to spend time fishing it back out. The kid seemed kind of nervous too. What a long afternoon it was!

Finally, finally, we were in my place. I offered him a beer. He refused, saying he wasn’t going to follow in his deadbeat father’s footsteps. He didn’t even want one sip of anything alcoholic. Good for him! I handed him an orange juice, and got myself a beer. I couldn’t drink it. My throat was tight. My hands were shaking a bit. Weird, eh?

“Well, how are we going to do this?” I asked.

“Um, let’s go in your bedroom.”

We went in. He started pulling off his shirt.

“You don’t have to take off everything. You can just pull your pants down,” I offered. As soon as I said it, I figuratively kicked myself. Of course I’d like to see the kid all naked.

He said, “No, it’s probably better to do this one hundred percent,” and continued removing his shirt. Then his shoes and socks, then his belt his pants, and finally his underwear.

He was erect! The minute his pants were off, his penis bobbed right up at a 45-degree angle. There wasn’t any hair there. The kid was evidently into manscaping. The skin was quite white, especially his small, tight scrotum. His penis was smaller than I would have expected. Not much wider than my thumb.

My heart was racing! I was visibly shaking. I could hardly stand up.

“C’mon, you too!” I was surprised, and delighted. I was always body dysmorphic, thinking I’m not very good looking. But, he wanted me naked. I pretended to balk, but he insisted, and soon, my clothes were entirely off also. I was erect. I too, had been manscaping my genital region. Somehow, I was slightly embarrassed for him to know that.

The boy looked at me, and quietly said, “Beautiful.”

Who knew? Later, I came to realize that this boy was not only mostly homosexual, but totally into older guys. And not just any older guy. He loved me. Right from the first day!

As our relationship grew, I knew there was something I had to do. I was dreading the day. I had to let his mother know what was going on. It’s not like I was a pedophile or anything. The kid was old enough. But still, it was highly unconventional. And old guy and a young kid. And both male, for heaven’s sake!

I invited her to lunch. I sheepishly started trying to bring up the subject of me and her son. Just as I was taking my first crack at opening that conversation, she said, “I know about you and Tony.”

Hearing her say that scared the crap out of me. She said it calmly, but what was going to happen next?

“And I approve,” she quickly added, evidently seeing my agitation.

She went on to explain that this had been part of her master plan, that it went farther than she expected, yet she was delighted.

She knew her son needed a trade. She knew I was in a lucrative business. She figured her son was mechanically inclined. She went on to say that she also suspected, more.

She knew that I had been without what she called ‘company’ for several years. She knew that her son was gay. She knew he seemed attracted to older men. She thought, maybe, if everything worked out just right…

So now, Tony lives with me in my house. We continue to ride together to all our clients. He has continued to grow into the RV repair business, knowing almost as much about the repairs and installations as I do. Oddly, we seldom argue. I think it may be because of the vastly different perspectives, him being so young, and me so old. Then too, his mother raised him well.

As to his mother, she and I have recently been kind of half-dating. She’s almost as bold, outgoing and adventurous as my wife was. She and I haven’t had sex, but we have masturbated each other. What a joy!

Now, I’m not one to do things behind anyone’s back. Before I did anything with his mom, I asked Tony whether it would be OK. Not only was it alright, he was very supportive of the idea. To my shock, he suggested all three of us could have a masturbation session together some day.

When I told her about his idea, she smiled big, and said she’d love that. Fact is, so would I. I’m sure it will happen soon.

So what about the kid’s phimosis? From that first day, we worked on that. He laid down on my bed. I pulled up my rolling chair next to the bed while my heart continued to race. My knees were so weak I had to sit down. I gingerly put my thumbs and fingertips on his foreskin and pulled down slightly.


I wouldn’t have expected it would be that sensitive. Phimosis is a real, and bothersome condition. He encouraged me to pull down a little bit again, even though it was mildly painful for him.

He was still totally erect, so I guessed it wasn’t too painful. I, sitting in the chair, was totally erect also. I didn’t do anything about it. After all, this was about Tony, not me. But he was staring at my dick like it was the only thing in the world.

I worked the next several minutes, balancing pulling down on his foreskin to the point where it hurt him, but not too much. Suddenly, he ejaculated, writhing all over my bed.

I was so delighted that I ejaculated a moment later without even being touched. I must say, it was the first hands-free ejaculation of my life (but not the last.) It was a very strong orgasm.

Days turned into weeks. We faithfully did his exercises every morning and evening. For the longest time, the exercises ended with him ejaculating prematurely. He’d then turn his attention to me, jerking me off to a crashing orgasm. Sometimes, after doing me, I come back to him, jerking him off in an ordinary way so he could cum again. He was often good for twice in a row. Sometimes I could do that too, but generally, once was enough for me.

We experimented with other sexual techniques. We kind of liked giving each other blowjobs, but we mutually agreed they didn’t measure up to our lovely – and loving – handjobs.

Our experiments with anal intercourse turned out to be non-experiments. I really like the look of his puckered pink asshole, but it’s small. Maybe because he’s tall and skinny, but there’s no way a guy could get a cock in there. Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration. I’ll bet he could be buttfucked, but he’s not into it, and neither am I. We both very much enjoy me putting a finger in his anus. He’ll finger me too.

For the longest time, there was no way he could buttfuck me, not that I would have wanted that. I’m just a mutual masturbation guy, through and through. The phimosis would have prevented anal intercourse. I don’t know what would have happened if he tried putting it in someone’s vagina, but we never found out. In time, the phimosis did reduce. He can now pop his foreskin back behind his fully erect glans, but then it still takes a minute to get it to pop back into place. It no longer gives him any pain at all, but we’re still doing the exercises. Might as well do it one hundred percent. Doing things ‘one hundred percent’ is one of Tony’s favorite expressions.

As to his mother joining us, all three of us are excited by the idea. However, we haven’t quite made the move to make it happen yet. Maybe we’re afraid of the dynamics it could set off. Personally, I believe we all have great personalities, and our relationships will only improve. I’m sure it will happen soon.

Strange Family

I grew up in the craziest family I know, and the funny thing is, for a long time, I thought we were normal.

Well, I knew my moms were unusual from an early age. Most families have a mother and father. My moms are not only lesbian, but they are sisters. Twin sisters.

They decided to adopt children. Four children to be exact, all at the same time, and all the same age. Our moms went to Eastern Europe, toured around a bit, and found the four of us at an orphanage. We were three years old. They filled out the paperwork, and the next thing you know, we’re in America learning English.

We are two boys, and two girls.

Now, let’s get to the sex part. Our moms encouraged us to be sexually expressive from an early age. They said that many good psychological and physical things spring from healthy sexual appetites. They should know. Mom Kate is a dermatologist, and Mom Laurie is a psychiatrist.

Specifically, as soon as we got the birds and the bees speech, we were also encouraged to masturbate as much as we wanted. Maybe even more than we wanted. Beyond that, we were left on our own. Our parents didn’t participate. Evidently the two of them had plenty of sexual activity of their own.

So the four of us got together from time to time and we masturbated. At first it was like masturbation in any family, I assume. We’d talk about the day’s events, friends, school while all sitting or laying around naked in the living room and wanking.

I enjoyed seeing my brothers’ cocks getting hard, and then the stuff squirting out.

As time went on, we found ourselves in a rigid schedule. We’d get together in the living room after dinner on Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings. It just evolved. No one set out to have a schedule. Well, maybe our moms guided it or suggested a schedule. I don’t know.

We started masturbating each other. The first time I touched the cock of my brother Leo, I was in heaven. If I remember correctly, while I was making him cum that first time, I had an orgasm while touching his cock, not my own pussy. A spontaneous orgasm.

Then another thing evolved. I seem to recall it was our moms who suggested it: We should start practicing various sexual techniques. They told us about all kinds of crazy stuff – our moms have always been open that way. They told us about peegasms, edging, multiple orgasms, anal stimulation, and more.

We each picked something to work on.

In my case, it was inner labia pulling. I get plenty wet when aroused, so it is very difficult to pull my inner labia since they are so slippery. That’s part of what makes it fun. So over and over every time we’d get together, I’d have one of my brothers pull my inner labia as best he could while my sister and other brother would massage my feet and my nipples at the same time. My gosh, I had great orgasms!

Kyle especially liked the that a boy can have orgasms without ejaculating. He really wanted to learn how to have this thing happen where his urethra would contract as if ejaculating just once, but nothing would come out. He wanted to get these single contractions every minute or so. He organized us like the director of a movie. It was impressive how he had everything figured out.

He laid down on a sheet on the carpet in the middle of our living room. I was to jerk him off, but every time he said “wait,” I had to stop for a minute. My sister Jen was to be the monitor. She’d place a finger in his butt to feel for the orgasmic contractions. And Leo was to massage Kyle’s balls.

And that’s what we did that first time. It went off without a hitch. Sort of. When he was approaching orgasm, Kyle said “wait.” I did, but a moment later he started ejaculating all over the place. Jen was delighted to report that she did indeed feel the contractions squeezing his anus rhythmically around her finger.

We did the same thing for weeks, until Kyle became so good at it that he could have a single urethral contraction, and not cum, over and over again. Finally, he’d let go and splash cum all over the place.

My other sister and brother had their own sexual exercises with which we helped them. If there’s sufficient interest, I’ll tell you all about those exercises, and the many other things we did as a family.

To bring this to a close, I should mention that our moms put all four of us through medical school. We all chose our own specialty. All four of us are married in the normal sense, and have kids of our own now. We love our moms, and are thankful for such a spectacular, intelligent and loving upbringing, but we’ve all decided to be somewhat more conventional.

Josephine Baker

Josephine Baker was a sexy and highly sexual woman. She became the biggest African-American star in the world. Here is her strange mini-biography.

Josephine was born in 1906 on the wrong side of the tracks in Saint Louis, Missouri, USA. Her grandparents on her mother’s side had been slaves.

Josephine Baker as a baby

Her parents had a vaudeville background. Vaudeville was live variety entertainment presented in theaters. Acts ranged from singing and dancing to magic, juggling, trained animal acts, and comedy. Back in the day, vaudeville was an attractive pursuit that was profitable for some performers, but barely made ends meet for most.

Her deadbeat father was a drummer who left when Josephine was one year old. He may have been of Native American heritage. No one seems to know for sure. Her poor mother had to take in laundry to barely put food on the table.

To make matters worse, her mother found another man to marry. Another deadbeat. Oh, this one didn’t leave the family, but he didn’t work either. He spent his days sitting around reading the newspaper. The family was so poor that Josephine, her younger step-brother and two step-sisters, her mother and father all slept in the same bed.

After a while, that was too much for her, so she took to sleeping on the floor, under a blanket made from newspapers.

When she was eight years old, to bring in more money her mother sent her off to work for a white family as a maid. Things got worse, not better. Josephine slept in that family’s basement with their dog.

One time, she put too much soap in the laundry. The white woman burned her hands. Evidently, it was just mild enough not to leave permanent scars.

Despite all that, Josephine managed to stay in school until age twelve.

Things weren’t yet bad as they could be. By the age of thirteen, she was living on the streets, scavenging for food and using cardboard boxes for shelter from the weather. Needing money, she took up unskilled street performing. She emulated popular dances of the era, Trucking, The Tack-Annie, The Itch, and Messing Around.

Finally, things started to improve. She met and married Willie Wells. She was thirteen years old at the time. He was fifteen. One can only imagine what kind of sex life they had. How much did they even know about sex at that age?

Josephine’s rough street performing improved and she started performing with the Jones Family street performers in front of Booker T Washington theater.

One day, the opening act in the theater, the Dixie Steppers, failed to show. You guessed it. The Jones family, along with Josephine were invited into the theater to perform on stage.

By this time, Josephine could dance, cross her eyes, and play trombone at the same time. She had comedy talent.

By the time she was 15 years old, she had divorced Willie, and married a guy named William Howard Baker at age 15. Just like her father, William turned out to be a lazy non-worker. Isn’t it amazing how often people will marry someone who has the same traits as one of their parents?

Right around this time, the manager of the Dixie Stepper took the Jones family and Josephine to New York. During this time, Josephine’s career evolved. She was truly a professional, although not by any means well-paid.

Still only fifteen years old, Josephine won a role in the 1921 all-Black production “Shuffle Along.” She played comedy clown at the end of a chorus line who couldn’t keep up, stumbling around out of time, and making a hilarious mess, but she ended the routine with skillful dancing.

She performed in New York City for four years as her skill continued to grow. Then, at age nineteen, she moved to Paris, France.

She became a nearly instant sensation. Billed as having come from an African tribe, she could dance like no other, taking what she had learned on the streets of Saint Luis including things like popping and locking, which she was doing decades ahead of time, to the stages of Paris.

Some have said that she’s the founder of much modern dance including hip-hop. Reviewers at the time called her style ‘uninhibited.’ Beyonce, among other modern celebrities have attributed some of their skills to Josephine’s influence.

It didn’t hurt that she was an exceptionally beautiful Black woman, a rarity in France. Furthermore, it didn’t hurt that she danced nearly naked, something that was somewhat common in Paris at the time. Did I say ‘nearly naked?’ She was absolutely topless other than some necklaces, and had invented a skirt made of sixteen rubber bananas that were hung from a belt and swayed back and forth in such a way that the audience could see everything. She was obviously not afraid to be seen in her entirety. According to some reports, she sometimes performed 100% naked.

Josephine Baker in her banana skirt, also known as banana girdle

Two years later, Josephine Baker became the ‘Toast of Paris.’

Josephine Baker, the Toast of Paris

Great opportunities came her way. She was the the first black star in a major motion picture, Siren of the Tropics, a silent film released in 1927. Later she starred in “Zuzu” in 1934, and “Princes TamTam” in 1935.

One of her trademarks was a spit curl, a little lock of hair that was pasted to her forehead, Betty Boop style. In fact Betty Boop, who came along in 1930, may have been inspired by Josephine Baker. Josephine started selling the paste she used for that spit curl, calling it BakerFix, and made a literal fortune with her acting plus that product.

Another trademark, besides nudity in performing and the spit curl, was that she seldom if ever wore high heels, preferring flats. That was probably influenced by her dancing.

While many people have a housecat or a dog, Josephine fell in love with Chikita, a cheetah, giving her kitty a diamond collar that matched Josephine’s diamond bracelet. Josephine were sometimes spotted around Paris in her white convertible Rolls Royce, with Chikita by her side. She often performed with Chikita on stage. Sometimes the cat would wander down to the orchestra pit, scaring the musicians, which added to the show.

She fell in love with Giuseppe Pepito Abatino, a former stone mason from Sicily. Unlike her father and now estranged second husband, Pepito actually worked. He became her agent. She couldn’t marry him because she was still technically married to William.

Already on a spectacular projectory, with Pepito’s management, she became the most successful Black woman in Europe.

With all her success, she still missed America. She pestered Pepito to get her a booking on Broadway. He got her a starring role in the 1936 Zigfield Follies. However, this was America. She couldn’t drink from ‘white’ drinking fountains, couldn’t use ‘white’ bathrooms, or eat in ‘white’ restaurants. She had to use the service entrance of the very theater in which she was performing.

As you can imagine, she went back to France as soon as the Zigfield gig was done.

In time, she could have married Pepito, but he died of stomach cancer when she was 30 years old.

She counted among her friends Jean Cocteau, who is described in Wikipedia as “French poet, playwright, novelist, designer, filmmaker, visual artist and critic.”

Ernest Hemingway called her the ‘most sensational woman anyone ever saw.’

Picasso featured her in art.

So what about her sex life? When asked, she would say she believed sex was a good workout, it was fun.

She had many affairs with men, sometimes picking up random guys in nightclubs. Women too. She had an affair with Ada “Bricktop” Smith, who was the other famous Black woman in Paris at the time. Ada was a singer, dancer, and owned a nightclub in Paris.

Josephine Baker's Friend, Ada Bricktop Smith
Ada “Bricktop” Smith

According to a Wikipedia article, Josephine also had lesbian affairs with French novelist Colette, and possibly Frida Kahlo.


Frida Kahlo

Time went on. She continued in her success. In 1937 she married Jewish French industrialist, Jean Lion. For a year, they had a wonderful time, riding horseback, flying in private planes, going fox hunting, and wining and dining with the biggest of celebrities. She left Jean after fourteen months, at least in part because of her many affairs with both men and women.

Along came World War II. She hated the Nazis. They were like prejudiced white people in America, but they tormented Jews instead of Black people. Josephine also loved France so much, the country where she was invited to dine with white people for the first time in her life, the country where everyone adored her for who she was rather than shun her just for her skin color, that she signed up as a spy with the French Resistance.

She also performed for the troops. She never charged any money for these performances. At the same time, being the celebrity that she was, she could wine and dine with many influential people, including Nazi dignitaries. She was able to get next to them – in bed one would assume, listen to their secrets, and pass them on to the French military intelligence and eventually President Charles deGaul.

At one point, she was asked to set up an army entertainment camp in Morocco. She did entertain the troops, but it was really a cover for her continuing spying activity. While in Morocco, she nearly died from the last in a series of miscarriages, probably brought on by improper abortions. This one was so bad that she developed peritonitis and a blood infection. Her uterus was removed.

Even as she was still recovering from that, she continued not only her spy work, but also, along with a entourage, she entertained the troops, charging no money, and allowing no civilians in the audience.

When the German men spilled the beans, ‘mansplained’ as one biographer called it, she wrote notes that she folded into her panties. She had no problem passing through customs as she went from country to country. No one was going to strip search the famous Josephine Baker. Instead, customs officials asked for her autograph.

Another bold trick she used to smuggle information was to write in invisible ink on her sheet music. Of course she’d always be carrying sheet music in her business.

When she was forced to leave France, she took out as many Jewish refugees as she could fit in her Rolls Royce.

The war ended. Time went on. The little girl who grew up abused and in abject poverty remained one of the biggest and wealthiest stars in Europe.

In 1947 at the age of 41, Josephine married orchestra leader, Jo Bouillon. Jo Baker and Jo Bouillon.

By the age 45, she could sing in English, French, Italian, Portuguese, Yiddish.

May 20, 1951 was declared Josephine Baker day by the NAACP.

Even though she could perform at the world-renowned Stork Club, she evidently couldn’t sit in the audience. When the management tried to expel her, Grace Kelly, later to become Princess Grace of Monaco, held her arm and walked out with her, including Grace’s entire entourage. They became close friends.

Also in 1951, while performing at the Stork Club, she complained about their policy of discouraging black audience members. Her friend Walter Winchell did not come to her defense, she she got mad at him. He retaliated by calling her a Communist in his newspaper column. That, among other complications, resulted in the government canceling her visa. Once again, she had to return to France.

She came back a few times to the United States, where she was also a celebrity, but not on the same scale as in France. In the US, she was still a ‘Negro’ and relegated to only designated restaurants, bathrooms and hotels. At one point, she was turned down by 36 hotels because she was black. People were still so fucked up about race in America that her magnificent performance in the follies earned her bad reviews.

Here’s a Time Magazine review:

“Josephine Baker is a Saint Louis washwoman’s daughter who stepped out of a negro burlesque show and into a life of adulation and luxury in Paris during the booming 1920s. In sex appeal to jaded Europeans of the jazz-loving type, a Negro wench always has a head start. The particular tawny tint of tall and stringy Josephine Baker’s bare skin stirred French pulses, but to Manhattan theater-goers last week, she was just a slightly buck-toothed young negro woman who’s figure might be matched in any nightclub show, who’s dancing and singing could be topped practically anywhere outside France.”

Shortly after the war, and possibly starting before, she began executing a brilliant idea, one many years ahead of its time. In 1936 she had purchased Château des Milandes, a chateau with a village that she hoped to turn into something like Dollywood, with peacocks, a J-shaped swimming pool, hotel, rides, and much more.

She also started adopting children, but not just any children. She wanted variety for a very special reason. She initially wanted a white child, a black child, a yellow child and a red child. She did manage to adopt White, Black and Asian children, but never managed to find a ‘red’ – American Indian child.

In total, she had twelve kids, ten boys and two girls, that she called her Rainbow Tribe. The kids she selected came from varied backgrounds, Catholic, Jewish and Muslim. She was intent on proving that people of different backgrounds can get along just fine. She said, “They will serve as an example of true democracy and be living proof that if people are left in peace, nature takes care of the rest.”

Most of her kids grew up to become successful, although one did commit suicide as an adult.

One of her children, Finnish-born Jarry, came out as gay at the age of 15. Uncharacteristically, Josephine, herself a practicing bisexual, threw him out, forcing him to live with his adoptive father, Jo Bouillion, by then in Argentina. This must have been due to what she figured would be negative publicity for her Rainbow Tribe. But still! Right?

How was Josephine as a person? People say she was sweet and kind, but also could act like a demanding brat, in the way that rapid wealth can spoil people.

When in America, she was a big civil rights advocate, being the only female speaker in the 1963 March on Washington.

When Dr. Martin Luther King was assassinated, his wife, Coretta Scott King, asked Josephine to lead the civil rights movement, but she turned it down out of consideration for the safety of her children.

The Château des Milandes experiment never quite worked out. If you’ve ever owned a village with a chateau, then you know they can absorb a lot of money. In fact, Château des Milandes ate up all of Josephine’s fortune. By 1968, she was flat broke, and was evicted from the villa. Leaving her home of 32 years was not easy for her. She had to be removed bodily.

Fortunately, her friend actress Grace Kelly, gave her an apartment in which she could stay and live in style for the rest of her life.

In 1975, at the age of 68, Josephine Baker was still a very well-regarded celebrity. A sold-out show celebrating Josephine’s fifty years in entertainment was arranged at Carnegie Hall. She performed brilliantly. The show was attended by Mick Jagger, Sophia Loren, Jackie Onasis, among others.

Four days later, she died peacefully in her bed, surrounded by newspapers all with glowing reviews of her performance.

20,000 people attended Josephine Baker’s funeral.

Small and Skinny

Being small and skinny turns out to be a huge advantage.

In my adolescent yers, I was very concerned. I pretty much knew I’d be small, since both of my parents are short and skinny. I wasn’t concerned about losing fights, or being teased by other boys. I was concerned about not having sexual relationships. You see I’m a horndog. As to people teasing or getting aggressive because they think they can pick on a small guy, my karate skills, which I’ve been studying since I was eight years old, take care of that very nicely. My sensei teaches that one never starts fights, but one can end them, sometimes rather spectacularly. Oh, I never hurt anyone, but humiliating big guys who thought they could humiliate me is fun.

But, I’m getting off-topic. I’ve jerked off imagining all sorts of sexual relationships since before I could remember. Before I could cum. I just enjoyed the feeling of stroking my hard little penis. In fact, I’ve enjoyed just walking around with an erection. I’ve always been an exhibitionist. We weren’t a nude household, but let’s just say I’ve been seen by my brother, sisters, mother and father in an erect state on several occasions.

Sorry, I’m getting off-topic again. So the point is, I figured being small like this, I’d be pretty much excluded from sexuality. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

I can’t tell you how many people have come up to me insinuating that they’d like to play. They want to see if my dick is small like I am. I’ll show them, because I know what comes next. It always does, and it’s both from guys and girls. I don’t care. I’m happy with either sex.

So, my dick and my balls are actually small. To enhance the effect I keep that area hairless. Being Asian, I’m pretty much hairless everywhere else except down by my ankles, anyway.

After they see it, they want to touch it. Oh, I’m so happy with that! Sometimes they want to suck it. Then, many of them want to get all sexual. I’m not into that. They’ll have to be satisfied with what I’m willing to do. If anyone gets crazy, although it’s never happened yet, I know karate!

I suppose all these shared handjobs are a phase. I’ll probably find me a nice wife and have a family someday. I hope my kids grow up to be as lucky as I am.

Shower Exhibitionist

I saw what you wrote about the guy who had a college roommate who jerked off in front of him all the time. Who is it?

[I’m not going to say.]

Come on, I probably know him. I might have seen him in your waiting room, right?

[You know I can’t reveal that!]

Well anyway, it made me remember a time that I felt the same way. Like, “Oh, if only I was as bold and free as that guy.”

You see, our YMCA is old-school. I mean the shower room isn’t individual stalls the way they are in most modern buildings. We have a large tiled square room with like six shower heads along each wall. You walk up to one, turn it on, and shower in front of all the guys. No big deal right?

But one day, just this one time, there was a guy in there I hadn’t seen before. He was young. My age, maybe 26. He was tall, thin and had longish black hair. Well the thing about him, and he started off normally enough – soaping up his hair, his shoulders, his underarms, working his way down to his feet. Then he rinsed all the soap off. I thought nothing about it, although I glanced over from time to time.

Oh, I’m not gay, or at least not very much, but I do check the guys out, especially the good-looking ones. And, sometimes the older gents. There’s something about a gray-haired man that makes you respect him and want to know him, and something more. He’s kind of attractive in a way. I mean, a little bit.

Well anyway, this young guy finishes rinsing off, and I figured he’d walk right past me to get his towel. I always take a shower head near the entrance, so people have to walk right past me. So maybe I’m a bit more gay than I care to admit. [He laughs.]

But he stayed under the water spray. Then he did the most unexpected thing. He started playing with his cock. Right there in front of everyone. There were about four other guys in the room, plus me, and we all had a clear view of this guy.

Pretty soon he was jerking off in earnest. His penis was fully erect, and after a couple of minutes, he was rocking up on his toes, convulsing – you could see his calf muscles working, and ejaculating into the drain at his feet.

Then, he turned off the shower, walked past me, got his towel and left.

We, me and the other guys in the shower room, we kind of know each other a little bit, and we often have brief conversations in the shower. Not this time. We were shocked. No one said a word.

The guy had made a bit of eye contact with each of us, but nothing more, except when he walked past me, like when he was just three feet (one meter) away, he winked at me and smiled.

I’ve never seen him since. However, for the next several months, I was a very dedicated gym member. I was exercising 4 or 5 times a week. My wife thought my new fitness craze was good for me, but missed my company. I kept hoping to see him again, but nothing.

I have no idea what would have happened had he come back. Would he have repeated the performance? Would I, or anyone else there, copy him? Would we possibly even get more involved? You hear about blowjobs in public showers and all that. But maybe most of all, I’d like to have known his story. Why did he do that? Was he an exhibitionist? Did he think it was normal? Was he making a statement?

I guess I’ll never know. But here’s the thing: I keep thinking someone has to carry on in his tradition. I mean, what if I jerked off in the shower at the Y? Wouldn’t that be a great and interesting thing to do? I’m sure no one would ‘bust’ me or anything. I could just do it, and see what happens. And yet I haven’t, and probably never will.

Shifting Gears

Shifting gears with a penis

I was fourteen. Davie, the boy across the street, was thirteen. We were both automobile fanatics. All we ever talked about was cars.

We told each other about things like brakes, fuel injection, exhaust manifolds and shifting gears, as if we actually knew what we were talking about.

I was completely taken with little classic British sports cars – Triumphs and MGs in particular. He was more into the modern muscle cars.

In my room one afternoon after school when no one else was home, we got back onto the topic of shifting the four-speed transmission. I was explaining like a real expert how first gear is up and to the left, second is straight down, and so on. He listened with complete attention. It was more rapt than I realized. It was making him horny.

Back in my room a few days later, he wanted me to explain the gear positions again. Then, “Will you demonstrate?”

I had already been shifting an imaginary gearshift in the air. “No, I mean, on something that’s more like a real shifter.”

“Like what?” I asked, looking around the room for something suitable.

“Like this,” he said in an oddly shaky voice.

I looked back at him, and didn’t fully understand what I was seeing for a moment. He had stood up, and let his shorts and underwear fall to his ankles. He was standing there with an erect 13-year-old penis.

I was shocked. This was totally out of character. He had never expressed anything sexual before. I had never seen him naked. The closest we came is when the neighborhood kids swam together in Ron’s pool, up the street. The boys wore ordinary swimming trunks. Funny thing is, those swimming days always made me horny, and as I became older, all of 13 and then 14, I started wanking to memories of seeing the boys at the swimming pool. I hadn’t really started thinking about girls that way yet. That was still a few years into my future. At the moment, girls were incomprehensible and annoying.

Seeing Davie standing there like that didn’t anger me. Didn’t frighten me. Didn’t upset me in any way. Instead, my heart started racing. I knew immediately he wanted me to touch his penis, to handle it like a gearshift, and at that moment, that’s exactly what I wanted to do. More than anything in the world.

I tried to speak, but only a squeak came out. I tried again, “Um, sure…”

I had him lay on the bed while I sat on the edge. I reached out, and put my hand around the hard naked knob of his penis. It was warmer than I expected. And, it felt so nice in my hand! I started making engine noises the way a car sounds when accelerating, and pushing his penis into first gear, second gear, and so on. After hitting fourth gear, with nowhere else to go but down, I decided we were going up a steep hill, so I had to downshift to third, making noise like trucks I had heard. After that, I didn’t know, I just silently started moving the gearshift back and fourth into the various gear positions.

“That feels so cool!” he said, being otherwise silent.

A moment later, “You’ve gotta try it.”

There wasn’t a doubt in my mind. Within record time, my clothing was in a pile on the floor, and I was on the bed instead of Davie. Of course my penis had been rock hard the whole time I was shifting Davie’s transmission.

When he reached out and touched my penis, I jumped with an almost electric shock. It just felt that good!

“Ummm” he said as he stared maneuvering my penis back and forth. Then, becoming a little more organized, he asked, “Like this?” as he started putting me in first gear, then second, and so on.

He did it for a minute, then kind of digressed in to just moving my shifter up and down and around. Meanwhile, I felt that inevitable feeling building, and a moment later, I was spurting a few little drops of sticky clear fluid out of my five-inch penis with a few curly hairs at the base.

“Woah, is that sperm?” Davie asked with big eyes.

“Yup, you’ll be getting it soon too.”

Over the next couple of years, talk of cars died down to be replaced with talk of girls. We shifted each other’s gears many more times, although soon it wasn’t shifting gears, but all sorts of handjob variations.

That was twenty years ago. Davie and I still get together to ‘shift gears’ today. Our wives know. They don’t care. They’ve even watched Davie and I play, and I’m pretty sure they go off to shift gears themselves, in some sort of female way.

I’m not sure about our kids. I know that Davie’s kids and mine play together all the time, like as if they are one family. I installed a pool in our backyard, and the kids are there all summer. I secretly hope they get together and shift gears like Davie and I did way back then. I don’t know what the girls can do. They don’t have gearshifts, but I’m sure they will figure something out.

Sliding Around on the Bisexual Scale

In late middle school I knew I had a problem. I knew I was quite attracted to boys my age, and not so much to the girls. Frankly, I wasn’t attracted to girls at all. They scared me because I didn’t know what to make of them.

I remember wearing sunglasses so that I could look at the boys swimming in the public pool without them knowing that I was looking at them. On the rare occasion when I saw some pornographic pictures, I’d like seeing the erections, but when I saw a woman’s vagina, it looked like a wound to me.

Once I learned to masturbate, which I figured out on my own, it was images of boys that turned me on. The first time I orgasmed, only one clear drip came out. I wasn’t very informed about sex, but I sort of knew what it was. I was also freaked. Like most kids in those times, I was under the impression that masturbating was a very bad thing. I didn’t quite know why, but I knew it was bad. Everyone said so. “Thanks parents, thanks society!” – I say cynically, now.

As “bad” as it was, it didn’t stop me from jerking off pretty much every day. That first time I came, I had done it by pressing the thumb and first finger against each hand against the sides of the shaft of my penis and moving up and down. For several months, I thought that this exact same grip was required, and did it that way every time.

Nothing happened with anyone but myself until high school. Then, I started jerking off with this very heavyset friend of mine. We took it to the point where we’d give each other handjobs. That’s all. I believe it was he who approached me about the idea of jerking off together. I wasn’t attracted to him, but he was a good friend. We did lots together, like talking endless about when we’d have cars someday and what kind they’d be. We both talked very authoritatively about girls, trying to insinuate we had experience, without actually saying anything.

Sometimes, while jerking the other guy off, we’d pretend his penis was a gearshift, and we were driving a car.

Diane came along. She was always talking about sex, and I know in retrospect she wanted to get into my pants. I was so oblivious that it never happened. But her brother, he was a late developer, he and I masturbated each other all the time. Soon he could get to the point where a drop of cum came out of him. By then, I had hairs around the base of my dick, and could cum in greater quantity. He and I would take the hollow pieces of a plastic chess set, and see how much semen we could pump into them. The last time I saw Benny, he was able to fill a pawn. I could almost fill a queen.

In my last year of high school, by now driving a beat-up old foreign car with a worn out transmission that required double-clutching, I met June. She was five years older. She was a small Asian chick who had the unlikely job of driving an 18-wheeler. I fantasized day and night about driving a big truck, and here she was actually doing it. I dreamed of trucking almost as much as of sex – still mostly with guys, however. That bit, about guys, was my big secret.

June looked a lot like Lucy Liu

One day, June said the company needed co-drivers, and the only thing required was a truck driving learners permit and being 18-years old, since there’d be a fully licensed driver in the truck. I was all over it, and got my permit the next day.

The first time out, we had a ten-wheeler with a ten-speed transmission. I was disappointed that it wasn’t an 18-wheeler, but so totally happy to be driving any sort of truck. June drove the first hundred miles. I was wondering if she’d let me drive at all. Then she pulled over and we switched seats. Because the old car I had, and because I had studied up on it, it didn’t take me long to figure out how to shift gears in that truck. June was very careful to instruct me in how to take corners so as not to run the back wheels over curbs, or worse. Still, I almost clobbered a stop sign while making a right turn. After that first 100 miles, she never drove again. She was delighted to have me do all the work.

They were two-day runs. We had to stay in a hotel overnight. All the first afternoon, I was trying to figure out how that was going to work, and assuming we’d rent two rooms. It turns out the company would only pay for one room. Interesting, eh?

By the way, I have to tell you, I was finding Junie rather attractive. She was more like a boy than a girl in many respects. She had short hair for a girl, and fairly small tits. I especially enjoyed her mouth. She could swear up a storm, which I found rather impressive at the time.

So that night, we were in our separate beds, and talking. She kept bringing the conversation around to sex, which I was fully on board with. I was too shy to do anything more, but not Junie. Suddenly she threw off her covers, and climbed into my bed. Awkwardly removing our clothing, we started rolling around and kissing. She totally wanted to fuck. So did I. However, I couldn’t get it up. I know now it’s called ‘performance anxiety.’ Plus, all my life up until then, thinking I had to keep my gay side secret, I was very careful not to spring boners at inappropriate times, like in the boys’ shower at school. So, I had accidentally taught myself not to get hard around other people, even when it’s OK. June was disappointed, even though I was able to bring her to orgasm with my fingertips. To say I was disappointed would be a huge understatement.

On the next drive, two weeks later, we had an 18-wheeler with a Spicer 13-speed transmission. I was delighted. It was larger and harder to manage than I imagined, but I loved learning to drive that thing. We stayed in a hotel again, and that night everything worked perfectly! To my surprise, I found Junie very attractive, and had a great time. That first time, I kind of thought of her hairy vagina as unattractive. Not this time! I was happy to lick it, and loved the taste. I fondled her breasts for a long time as well, which not only did she like, but I loved. I ejaculated inside a vagina for the first time in my life.

During the next few years, I still thought I was hopelessly gay. In those years, that would have been a bad thing, or so I believed. Homosexuality was not as accepted, at least in my circles, as it is today. To satisfy my desires, I had occasional experiences in bathhouses, and with the occasional guy. I met a gay plumber. Unlike me, he wasn’t keeping it a secret. I was surprised he could be so open about it and remain functional in society. Carl was very attractive to me. Slight of build, and blond-haired. He was rather feminine in build, but didn’t act that way. In all other respects, he was a ‘guy,’ drinking beer, following sports, swearing, working hard at manual labor, and so on. When we got into his bed, I was suddenly very uninterested in kissing or oral sex. All I wanted to do was handjobs. Fortunately, he was understanding. We got together a few more times, and then drifted apart.

Carl bore a resemblance to David Spade

In my late twenties, I had sold a business, bought a motorhome and traveled around the country. I met various guys, and the occasional girl. One was Amy, a very small, curly-blond haired woman, not unlike a young Meg Ryan.

Amy was a handjob expert. She liked sticking her skinny little finger into my peehole, which kind of hurt, but felt very exotic at the same time. One time, I ejaculated while her finger was in there. It scared me, because I thought the cum had to come out, or I’d burst something, but no, it was just fine. In fact, the orgasmic contractions lasted twice as long. She wanted me to put a finger in her ass, which I did reluctantly. When I pulled it out, I noticed a sweet odor, not at all what I would have expected. I put it back in, and felt her contractions when she orgasmed from the attention my other hand was giving her clit. From then on, I was a big fan of anal fingering.

I met a rather overweight Inuit (Eskimo) woman. She was great fun, but I thought I deserved better, so I cheated on her. She threw me out instantly, which I’ve always regretted, because she was great company. The best conversationist I had ever met. Also, a sexual monster. She loved having cucumbers shoved into her ass, and taught me to enjoy that as well.

I hadn’t been doing much of anything with guys, except for Larry. He was 18 years old, mostly heterosexual, although still a virgin. He and I started giving each other handjobs on a fairly regular basis.

Then I met Cindy. She was a true nymphomaniac. Every guy’s dream, right? Not so! She wore me out. She’d want to fuck at 11pm when I was sleepy, but I’d comply. At first it was fun. But then she’d wake me at 3am begging me for more sex. And then at 7am, she’d gently wake me again, and – you guessed it – wanting more. I tried to dump her several times, but the tears would come, and I would relent. I introduced her to Larry, figuring he’d get his first experience with a woman, and I’d get some relief.

The first time was a three-way. I probably should have held back so Larry could have a normal first experience, but I didn’t. I put my finger in her vagina while he was fucking her, which she loved. He probably wanted it simpler, but didn’t complain. I mean, after all, he was having a great time. Then, when he was about to cum, I stick my finger in his ass. He orgasmed so hugely that he was shaking all over, and practically fell off the bed, almost taking Cindy with him.

They hit it off big-time. I lost Larry as a wank buddy, but also got rid of Cindy who was becoming a big problem. As the two of them rode off into the sunset, I cooled down for a year or so, being happy just to jerk off once or twice a day.

Then I met Carol, who drove me fucking crazy. She was a perfectionist, and it overflowed into trying to control me. Like while having sex, she’d keep saying, ‘unh, uhh,’ or ‘yes,’ guiding me in exactly what she wanted. The prudent thing would have been to dump her early, because she was rather bothersome. But instead, I found myself more and more drawn to her. She was very intelligent as well as intuitive, and although she could get intense at times, she was a great and helpful companion. That was 26 years ago. Carol and I are still happily married with two beautiful grown children, who, due to Carol’s way of guidance, are already very successful adults.

A few years ago Carol went through menopause and lost interest in sex. She knows about my bisexual background, and has encouraged me to play with guys whenever I like. She absolutely doesn’t want me to get sexual with any women, however. I’m not sure why the double-standard line exists in her mind, but it does. So, every month or so, I hang out with Tom, who is a few years younger than me, built like a Greek god, and loves exchanging handjobs.

Roommate in College

Roommate in College Wanking

I was immediately attracted to my first college roommate. Oh, I don’t mean in a sexual way, but this guy was somehow kind of special. He was perhaps 2 inches taller than me, thin, had long wavy hair, but the main thing was his wry smile and a kind of twinkle in his eye. When he’d talk with you, in his usual way of using few words, and mostly asking questions, sometimes quite personal questions, you could swear that he winked at you once or twice.

I knew that even though I’d miss my family, this would be a great year with Kevin as a roommate.

I was honored that he wanted to join me in the cafeteria during our first week. I didn’t know anyone there, and was rather too shy to make friends. We talked about his family and my family. Mostly my family. Every now and then people would come up to him and say ‘Hi Kevin,’ as if they’d known him for ages. How did he do that? They also treated him kind of like a movie star. I mean, he wasn’t famous or anything, he grew up on a farm in a fairly isolated small town, but people acted as if he was someone special.

About the second week, I barged into our dorm room and was immediately, totally embarrassed – for Kevin. There he was, without a stitch of clothing on, sitting sideways in his chair next to his computer, jerking off. I was like, “Oh… um… I’ll come back later…”

As casual as if we were in the cafeteria eating, he said, “Naw Jason, it’s cool. I don’t mind if you’re here.”

I really wanted to leave, but under the circumstances, bolting out of the room seemed even less appropriate than staying. In fact, I was frozen in the doorway, with one hand on the knob, not quite knowing what to do.

He kept jerking off. I saw on his computer a still image of a woman with her ass up in the air. She was wearing a bikini, but it had slipped to one side, partially showing her asshole – definitely pornography.

I don’t know how long it took me to come away from the door. I believe, looking back on that moment, that I had been holding the door open. It was a busy hallway outside. Anyone could have come by and seen Kevin all naked and erect and masturbating like that. Yet, he didn’t seem to care.

Finally, I came in the room, took off my jacket, and sat down at my own desk. I tried to engage in some studying, but couldn’t focus. Every now and then, without trying to seem obvious, I’d turn around a little bit to see Kevin. He was still wanking away. Nothing was said between us.

After a couple of minutes, I quietly heard him say “Mmmm.” I had to glance over, and he was arching his back, kind of pushing his long, hard penis forward, and obviously about to ejaculate.

“Mmm, Oh!” and then, “Jason!”

I looked again. He was cumming into a few sheets of toilet paper. Why he called my name, I didn’t understand for a long time afterward. Today, I realize it wasn’t a sexual thing. He just wanted me to see, the way a kid riding a bike without hands wants you to watch.

In fact, it didn’t seem to be a sexual thing at all with him. Over the next few months, it happened many times. We’d be studying, and he’d go over, lay on his bed, and jerk off. Or he’d do it in his chair. He asked me if I wanted to join in like 20 times.

I always politely declined. It was out of pure shyness. I so, really, totally wanted to jerk off with him! But there was no way I could admit it. Oddly, he seemed fine with that.

Instead, I’d ever so quietly jerk off under my blankets in bed at night, after I figured he had gone to sleep. I always felt so sneaky, like, ‘he’d better be asleep, because I don’t want to be caught.’

The year ended without me ever once being so much as seen naked by Kevin. He was happy as a clam, no matter what. He had lots of friends. I have no idea what his sex life was like. Was he banging some of the girls he hung out with? So far as I know, they never had private time in our little dorm room. Was he gay? Again, I have no idea. He had lots of friends of both sexes.

Even with the crazy jerking off business, I really liked Kevin. I secretly hoped I could get bold enough to wank with him. The more I thought about it, the more I really wanted it, and yet, I could never, ever, bring myself to do it!

To this day, even though I’m well established in a research laboratory, and have done some ground breaking work in pollution eating bacteria, I’m still totally shy. Oh, I can get up in front of 200 colleagues and give a speech. In fact that’s easy. But to talk with a woman, that’s a totally different matter. I finally managed to trap Maggie. She’s the most wonderful woman in the world! Oh, maybe not much to look at, but she is my wife, my companion, and my true, true friend. Of course we’ve had sex. Lots of it! But I’ve never let her see me masturbate. I’ve got to work on that.

I’m a Nudist Nonbinary Man

I'm a nudist nonbinary man and I masturbate

I’ve never felt like I was fully a man. There was no doubt about it
physically and I was always interested in my body and in masturbation. But
while I loved women, I never had that desperate need that so many men have;
in fact, I was seldom able to perform adequately with a woman, no matter how
much I loved her. And while I’ve always had a strong feminine side, and
have dressed essentially androgynously (jeans, shorts, t-shirts/tank tops,
sandals, and I love wearing short men’s skirts), that was the extent of it.

Complicating this was serious PTSD from being sexually abused at a very
young age by my grandfather. I’ve slowly recovered vague memories of him
having me be his “naked slave”, a pattern of behavior that resurfaced after
the divorce from my first wife, and which I adopted completely – the idea
that because I could not perform with women I had to become a slave to the
Goddess and serve her through naked service to women. There’s nothing wrong
with that if it’s sincere. The article “Slave Michael” here on is about my life when I was seeing myself as a slave.

Then I caught Covid, which was mild, followed by long Covid, which laid me
low. I was bedridden for weeks, with a slow recovery to follow. It
affected my brain and my thinking, and as I came back to life I realized
that the PTSD and slavery had vanished. While I still love to be and be
seen naked, the urge to submit myself to a subservient relationship was

While I was sick I got acquainted with current thinking about gender
identity, and soon realized that, in modern terms, I am nonbinary. I
strongly identify physically as male, but sexually I’m female. This is why
my sexual relations were not successful – I was supposed to be the one
getting fucked. I realized I had lost all interest in having sex with
women. Like most men, I’ve experimented with anal sex and liked it OK.
Alright, more than OK when it came to wearing a butt plug and the few
occasions when a woman used a dildo on me. But the thought of being fucked
by a man was anathema to me. I obtained a dildo which is almost exactly like
my own penis but two inches longer, and using it on myself turned out to be a
delight, so much so that I began collecting photos of attractive penises from
the Internet, having prints made of the best ones, and fantasizing about them
being used on me.

Oddly enough, though, I still have absolutely no actual
sexual interest in other men – I just want to be fucked by a beautiful penis.
It was a revelation to find that there was very little actually sexual about
being fucked, but I love not only how it feels but also the idea of having
to allow my body to be penetrated and used for someone else’s pleasure, for
as long as he wants to. But the pandemic, and then monkeypox, make it all
too obvious that it’s way too risky to be meeting people I don’t know well
and allowing them to use my body these days.

Michael, nonbinary nudist

I’ve lived for years as a smooth (shaved) nudist full time at home, and
sometimes when visiting friends. My useless-for-sexual-relations genitals
are not just visible all the time, the lack of pubic hair puts them on
display. It’s impossible for me to ignore them. The realization that they
can only be used for masturbation now has freed me to see them in a
different light: that’s what they’re for, and there’s no shame or guilt in
it, any more than using my legs to walk around, because it’s no longer about
sex in the traditional sense. I don’t do it because I feel deprived or
sneaky, I do it because it brings me pure, unadulterated joy. And honestly,
is there anything more beautiful than a big erection?

Things I think about when I masturbate:

* Having my anus exposed and available all the time

* Going out in a skirt and getting fucked

* Having friends who come to my house and fuck me sometimes

* The first time I get fucked being videoed and posted online

* Living as a roommate with a man, on the condition that I live naked all the time and he can fuck me

* There are lots of photos on the Internet, most on Wikimedia, of me naked that get lots of views and that I can’t take down, and I think about people looking at those and seeing me the way I actually live.

* People seeing my naked pictures on the Internet and thinking about me getting fucked

* Also people looking at pictures of my bare feet on the Internet

* Always being naked and shaved with my genitals on display

* Everyone knowing my genitals will never again be used for sex with another

person, and that they are only for viewing and masturbation

* People reading this article

I don’t masturbate with the goal of ejaculating, quite the opposite. I’m a
tantric edger, getting high on sexual energy, and prolonging the high for as
long as possible. In that respect, masturbation is sacred, since tanra is
one of the seven yogas, on a par with the hatha yoga practiced by many.
There is a spiritual element to the high that elevates the spirit and lasts
afterwards. In the interest of keeping the plumbing healthy, I do
occasionally cum, and it’s a rare treat when I do.

Nonbinary Michael masturbating

Sometimes I will take yohimbe, an herb which acts a lot like Viagra, and
spend hours enjoying the extended state of arousal. It also makes my body
look sexier to me, especially being shaved. I wish I could feel like that
all the time, but the herb has side effects that make it impractical for me
to use it too often. The new freedom I feel about masturbating means
promoting and dedicating time to it no longer carries any stigma. After
all, how is it any worse a thing to do than to self-indulge watching
football and drinking beer all day? And I wind up feeling fulfilled, not

I should add that I never masturbate around others unless it’s part of the
context of a situation. Similarly, if a visitor is not comfortable with
nudity, I wear clothes in their presence. I get no pleasure from someone
else’s discomfort. I do often regret that necessity, since it’s all about
pleasure and joy, but members of this society are conditioned from early in
life to be ashamed of their bodies, and to fear being in the presence of
nudity. I would love for masturbation to be widely viewed as I view it, a
personal activity that’s good for physical and mental health, and not one
more thing to feel inhibited and guilty about. Maybe someday we’ll get

Sister’s Pulsation

I was jilling off near my brother. He was situated somewhat oddly on the floor with his legs spread wide and his knees bent so I had a clear view of his asshole. As he came, this was the first time I noticed a sort of pulsation in the area below his balls just above his asshole.

I mentioned to him that I feel a similar pulsation when I orgasm, but I don’t think there is any visible sign that it’s happening.

This led to a discussion of what exactly may be visible, so of course we had to look into the matter. He rubbed my clit until I came and reported that he didn’t see any pulsation.

A couple days later, we tried it again. This time, I was on my hands and knees, so he could more clearly see the area between my pussy and asshole. He rubbed my clit, and sure enough I orgasmed fairly soon. Once again, he said he saw nothing.

We figured the experiment had ended, so a few days later when we were both horny again, we decided to try something else. He had me on my hands and knees again with my ass fully exposed. I always enjoy the fresh little breeze one can feel there in that position. He spit on his finger and stuck it partially into my asshole. My, that felt good! I wanted more, so we took a break as he went into the kitchen and came back with some coconut oil.

He put some on his finger, and stuck it into my ass – too quickly. My eyes opened wide, but it didn’t really hurt. The next thing you know, I was in a big-time orgasm. Jeremy said he felt the contractions around his finger.

After I calmed down, I did him, releasing a big eruption of semen onto his belly. I evidently wasn’t done yet so I asked him whether he would do me a bit more.

As I understand it, guys are usually done after they cum. I kind of get that, because I’m usually sort of that way also, although I have a strong desire to cuddle after cumming, even if it is just my brother. Sometimes I cry a little bit, too. It’s not a sad cry or a joyous one. It’s just something that happens, and Jeremy seems to understand.

But on this occasion, I wanted, and received more. We resumed the hands and knees position with my ass up in the air. He started to stick his finger back into my anus, but it didn’t feel the same. It kind of stung a little bit. I guess the area back there can become sensitive. So I asked him to take it out. Then, with the fingers of his other hand, while I was still in the ass-in-the-air position, he started idly playing with my inner labia, slipping them between his coconut oil-covered fingers over and over again. Bang! Another orgasm happened.

Jeremy said he actually saw contractions happening this time. He said it was primarily my asshole, but also the area between that and my pussy, and the lower area of the pussy itself. That was interesting, because to me it felt like it was entirely pussy, nothing about the asshole contracting.

The next time we got together, I expressed disbelief that my anus was contracting. He decided that we had to make a video, so I could see. He set up his phone with his squiggly phone holding contraption, then went to work. Once again, I was ass-up, and he worked his magic. After I settled down, I looked at the video, and sure enough, my asshole was rhythmically contracting.

I told my best friend Shanna about the experiments Jeremy and I have been doing, and she expressed three things. First, she was excited and delighted that I can play with my brother like that. The second thing is that she wished she could play with my brother. The third is that she, too, believed the contractions are limited to the vagina, and not visible.

I know it was a bold thing to do, but I showed her my phone, since my brother had sent me the video. After seeing that, both of us became so horny that we could hardly speak.

It wasn’t until about a week later that we arranged a time when my parents were out, and Shanna, Jeremy, and I got together. It was the first time Shanna had touched an actual, live, and rock-hard penis. Jeremy couldn’t hold it together and squirted cum almost right away. I can’t tell you how delighted I was to watch that.

Then it was my turn. Jeremy stepped out of the room, probably to compose himself, because guys seem to need time to themselves after they cum. So as if she had been doing it all her life, Shanna kissed me, and we hugged together all naked. After a long while, she went to work on me, giving me a crashing orgasm. I had no idea that things could be so good with another girl. I’m sure it helped that Jeremy came back into the room and intently watched us. I think I may be a bit of an exhibitionist.

When I recovered, I got Shanna in the hands and knees position. I knew that she simply had to experience the finger in the ass situation. Knowing how I felt when my dear brother put his finger in too fast, I went slowly. However, I wasn’t even half-way in when she moaned loudly, and had a crashing orgasm literally around my finger. There was no visible contracting going on, but I totally felt her squeezing my finger, and I had another orgasm, the first ever hands-free orgasm of my life as I felt her contractions.

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