History: Another First

 I am typing this while I keep an ear open for the call from the auto repair place.  My car should be done today…

 

I was devasted.  As my older brother hit adolescence, he wanted his own room.  Didn’t he love the bunk beds as much as I did?  I really didn’t want to sleep in the big room all alone.  But he was adamant.  He was now a teenager; he wanted privacy.  I was going from playmate to just the kid brother he had outgrown—and I was not happy about it.

The only room possible for him to have was a tiny space at the top of the stairs.  It had been my great grandmother’s sewing room and storage for my parents.  There was just room for a single bed and a chest of drawers.  As time went on, he fit a desk in the corner and made room for his first stereo.  He could sit on the bed or at the desk, but that was about all.  But it was his.  Best of all, there was a door he could shut.  And maybe lock, I don’t honestly remember.

I got along just fine without his constant presence.  I had to.  He had a paper route now.  He had new friends from junior high.  I was happy alone in my make-believe world. Or walking to my elementary school.  It was across the field and then around a subdivision that was being built right up to our back property line.  As families moved into the cheap looking houses, my brother soon created a baseball team.  He made them work hard to build a diamond our back field.  I sat in the tree, quite content to watch…

*

I continued my exploring, to see if my dad had hidden anything else around the house.  Our farmhouse had a Michigan cellar.  It was finished stone for most of it, but there was also an area of bare soil so you could bury your vegetables for the winter, in those days before refrigeration.  I loved to go down there.  It was slightly spooky with a single bulb lighting it.  The finished space was filled with chests and crates from my parent’s college years and early married life.

I sifted through the contents:  school books, maternity clothes, photographs of my mother’s college friends.  Another box:  my father’s scrapbook on young princess Elizabeth, his Eisenhower jacket, an army duffle bag and a tiny box of medals. 

I moved on to the shelf unit, built into one wall:  paint, old tools and a box of odds and ends of hardware.  And in the bottom of the hardware box was another paperback novel.  The cover wasn’t as lurid.  It showed a very fit guy in a cowboy hat chatting up a waitress who could barely keep her breasts in her tight blouse.

I put it back, just as I found it.  Was Dad reading it now—of was it as forgotten as the two in the barn?  I waited.  I checked on it constantly.  I had placed an old kitchen faucet so it just touched the top corner of the book.  Every time I checked back, it was always in the same place.  He wasn’t reading it.

So, I did.  Sometimes I felt aroused.  But even at my young age, I hated the verbiage of “his thick column of pleasure parted her swollen gates of heaven…” I finished it, but it did little for me.

*

In no time, I was 11 and my brother was in high school.  Both busier.

I found more books at the bottom of a garment bag in the basement.   There were three or four.  And each time I checked on them, they were in a different order—so I knew he was currently reading them.  One night when mom was at choir practice, I went to bed early.  I waited.  I heard the door to the cellar open.  I waited a little more, my mind racing.  I came down the stairs in my bathrobe.  Dad was just walking into the living room, in his robe and pajamas.  He looked surprised.  I went for my drink of water, feeling victorious.  I had seen the top edge of one of the paperbacks in his bathrobe pocket.

I was suddenly 14.  My brother was off to college.   My Mother had gone back to teaching once I was in middle school.  I had long afternoons while both parents were still at work.  This is when I discovered Everything You’ve Always Wanted to Know About Sex*…in Dad’s closet.  I read it cover to cover.  I didn’t know what to think…

More books turned up.  But with the 1970’s they were filthier now.  And I liked them more.  I found another three under the front seat of his car when he sent me out to bring in a box he’d left there.  Two were the usual.  And one had a picture of just men on the cover…

I tucked them quickly back in the bag and under the seat. The next time I could, I re-read the chapter on homosexuals according to Dr Reuben.  I was appalled—and fascinated.  I had looked at the men and boys in the Montgomery Ward’s Catalog; pouring over the underwear section.  But I did the same over the brassieres and girdles.  I knew I wanted to read that book—but being in his car made it much, much harder.

But good things come to those who wait, right?  For some reason Mom and Dad had to switch cars.  There was no way he would leave those in there.  I searched the barn.  Our travel trailer was tucked in the corner—and there they were, under a tarp.  And they stayed there, as if he’d forgotten about them.

Soon, there was a church dinner followed by a building committee meeting.  My parents would be gone for hours. They had no issues leaving 14-year-old-responsible-me alone.  I waited five minutes after they were gone.  Out I went.  They were there.  I grabbed the gay novel and took it inside.  I sat in the living room to read.  None of that bad porn writing was here.  It was straightforward—a young man having his first sex—with another, slightly older man.  I read.  The young man was talked into getting his cock sucked.  My own penis erected, hugged tight by my Fruit of the Looms and corduroy pants.  The older man now told the younger man to roll over.  I changed position, too, lying with my chest to the cushions, still with my nose in the book.  The older man began licking the younger guy’s butt.  What the hell?  I couldn’t imagine.  But the author had the young man moaning and telling him not to stop.

The older man did stop.  I flipped the page.  There was a very intense description of him working his large, hard cock into the young man’s asshole.  The guy taking it was begging him to stop.  My hips were grinding into the couch cushion without my even realizing it.  I turned another page and now the young man was begging to get fucked harder.

“I love what you’re doing to me…” the young guy groaned.

My hips had a mind of their own as I read.  They ground into the cushion.

“I’m going to cum,” panted the older man.  The author gave a vivid description of the thrusting.  Of the cock swelling.  Of a huge, overflowing load being shot into the young man’s ass…

My hips bucked—and I thought I’d pass out.  Oh, my God, I was having a heart attack!  I dropped the book and tried to sit up.  I could.  But only just.

As my breathing returned to normal, I realized my cock was no longer hard.  I found the good Doctor Reuben and re-read the section on male ejaculation.  I knew what had happened.  I opened my pants.  My cock was still slightly hard.  There was no ejaculate.  My first dry load.

I couldn’t wait to do it again.

The summer I was 11.