Prelude:
It makes me smile to sit here and write out these memories… there are so many more that span the years of our friendship. I’ll share them bit by bit, but further ones will be posted as “friends only”. If you want to be added to my friends list and read more as I write them, please comment to this post and tell me a little about yourself. I’d like to know whom I’m talking to and if you are even interested in hearing more. One word of warning though… there will be many other posts that are friends only, not just the continuation of my memoirs. I also post here when I’m horny and want to talk about adventures in masturbation or show pictures or show my X rated sketches which contain everything from X rated Harry Potter fan art to naughty fairies to twisted fairytales and anything in between. I feel that in sharing my memoirs a bit though, we can both understand where my fixations took root. Why masturbation is still my favorite form of sex and why I just love to fantasize about guys jacking off. Writing things out is just a step in my own understanding of myself and coming to grips with a side of me that never sees the light of day...
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Well I guess I need to start someplace… the whole purpose of this journal is for me to be able to talk about some of the things that seem to make up this dysfunctional “me” that I’ve become. I wonder at times if I am the way I am today because of my early years of sexual exploration… or if my sexual explorations were a product of who I already was.
I was sexually abused as a child. I won’t go into that simply because I still can’t talk comfortably about it, even to myself. I do think though that it gave me an awareness of sexuality at an early age that perhaps wouldn’t have happened otherwise. Maybe that was the knife that broke the fine thread between normalcy and deviancy. There was also however, situations of circumstance. Matters of fate that have nothing to do with my early abuse aside from perhaps a heightened awareness.
My best childhood friend growing up was a dear and sensitive boy… I’ll call him Joe, though that’s not his real name. Just a name that rolls easily off my tongue because of a later encounter. I think we became friends when we were around four or five. Our parents were good friends so Joe and I spent many hours together from the time we were little. We explored everything together from what was under the rocks in the creek to what was in each other’s pants. We played doctor, we played mommy and daddy, and we played babysitter and toddler. We played aunt and uncle and sexually molested toddler. While we were total innocents and never even questioned what we did together as right or wrong, there must be some inherent sense that kept us from showing or telling others as we grew older. While we were too young at first to have any sense of sexuality, we still had fun and enjoyed our intimacy.
Fast forward through a few more years and of course we grew out of playing doctor and our bodies weren’t stirring or important to us. We were just “us” and not shy with one another, but our bodies weren’t anything to bother exploring any further. That is until the day he said he had something to show me. LOL! He pulled down his pants and did a little dance. He had the cutest hard on. We both knew what it was and that it was “grown up” but aside from it being a novelty and both of us playing with it and examining it, we didn’t give it much more thought, at least for awhile. The next time he called me to come over and see it, he said it felt funny and he saw his mom kissing his daddy’s and maybe that makes it feel better. We both just said “ewww” and I rubbed it for him a little and then left him to rub it for himself if he thought that was such a big deal.
Now we need to fast forward a bit more. We were still close and we spent all our time together, but by then it was clear that Joe wasn’t the same as other boys our age, he was definitely “gay”. Both of our parents knew it and didn’t seem distressed by it, though I’m sure they were disappointed in many ways. I think that there was even a period of time when his parents blamed our close friendship for the way Joe was. They thought he spent far too much time with me and my girly things and tried to get him more involved with friendships with neighborhood boys. He took to that just fine, got involved with sports and was as masculine as you could expect any twelve year old boy to be. We lived in a small, rural community and the last thing you would dare to be in this redneck community is openly gay. He knew, I knew, our parents knew, but no one else had a clue.
It’s all rather ironic. Since our parents knew Joe was gay and only liked boys, they figured it was perfectly safe and even good for us both to be best friends. What trouble could a gay boy possibly get in with a girl? Besides, it gave everyone a sense of “normalcy” if it appeared that Joe had a childhood sweetheart… me. Our parents still let us camp out together, sleep over at each other’s house and go on trips together even as we approached our teen years. LOL!!! If they only knew… Strictly speaking though, it probably was a good thing. I was in no danger of getting pregnant. Joe had no interest in fucking me and we never did that, in the strict sense of the word. But we were best friends. We helped each other and made sure we had what we needed. As we entered puberty the age of discovery had started all over again.
Joe was jealous of my rapidly swelling breasts. He wanted a pair of his own in the worst way. We’d go hiking down through the woods, across the railroad tracks and down to the river bank. We had a secret spot all our own, in the shelter of the railroad embankment, where the grass was thick and sweet. We’d make a day of it and pack a lunch and steal a beer to share from my dad’s stash and maybe a cigarette or two if we could sneak them. We’d settle in by the river and take off our clothes, rub each other with bug repellent and lay to toast in the sun and talk. He’d talk about the cute boys in his gym class and I’d talk about them too. We’d share the beer and then he’d want to “borrow” my breasts. He’d lie back against the hill and I’d sit, straddled by his legs and lay back against his chest. We’d lay there with our eyes closed and he’d rub and squeeze my tits, imagining them as his own. Of course I wasn’t immune to the stimulation either so I would rub my clit and we’d just transport ourselves to another place in our minds. It wouldn’t take long though before I’d feel his hard-on burning like a hot poker into my back. When he couldn’t stand it any longer, we’d turn and sit facing close to each other and entwine our legs. He’d start to jack off with his eyes closed, imagining which ever boy was the subject of our earlier conversation and I’d finger myself feverishly while never taking my eyes off that amazing cock of his and we’d come together in a laughing tangle.
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