Their early teen years were not unlike the experience of so many other boys in that awakening, percolating time of life. Jokes about farts, girls, body parts, or girls’ farts and body parts were standard fare. Inside the P.E. locker room, there was always plenty of covert comparing — who had hair where, how much, who was bigger — and trying out all the dirty words they’d heard as part of pubescent male posturing. Along with tons of boasting and bragging, all made up of course.
Frequently, they would wake up wondering, “What the hell? Where’d that wet stain in the front of my shorts come from?!” Actually, only Scooter asked that question. Bubba knew because he and big brother Buck shared a bedroom and there was plenty to see and hear. He couldn’t wait to have the same problem as Scooter and to grow up like Buck.
The male bonding that’s a natural part of adolescence grew stronger. They were already best buddies and became closer in every way possible between two guys their age. They rode their dirt bikes, wrestled a lot, and had contests, like to see who could spit the farthest, piss the longest, and make the loudest, grossest belches.
With their parents’ grudging permission, sleepovers were now in an old Boy Scout tent way out on the edge of the woods, where they would rehash the day’s locker room talk and page through beaten up, stained copies of old Penthouse mags Bubba stole from Buck that Buck stole from their dad.
While trying to separate “facts” they’d heard about sex in school from what Bubba got in Buck’s trash talk after lights out, they learned new concepts and a whole new vocabulary. And adopted what they assumed was their own unique code for looking at porn: art class. They thought it was funny as shit, no matter how gay it sounded.
Naturally, their virgin cocks would get hard while in the process of appreciating art and they couldn’t resist doing what came naturally. Scooter was more precocious and shot his first wad a few days after his 13th birthday, nearly a year before Bubba could do the same.
“Why the hell won’t my dick make snot like yours?” Bubba demanded.
Sounding totally sure of himself, Scooter said it was because his balls were bigger and he had more hair. “You gotta squeeze your ass and nuts at the same time while you're beatin' it ’til your peter spits out the juice.”
It took a while, but with Scooter demonstrating and providing occasional hands-on coaching, Bubba’s goo was finally spoogin' all over the tent.
Their moms were a little unsure of what was happening with the boys when they overheard them talking enthusiastically about the new elective course, but art class became one of their favorite activities.
TO BE CONTINUED
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