The following story is fiction, describing the experience of a minor. If this type of material offends you, if you are not 18 years of age, or if it is illegal for any reason for you to read this, you are to leave now.
Copyright 2007 Charles Hughes, all rights reserved. If you would like to copy, please, just ask.
I will try to answer all emails: the.empty.room@hotmail.com
For boys who never knew their fathers and boys who wanted their father's love.
My First Wet Dream (masturbation)
My first wet dream scared the shit out of me. I had absolutely no idea what was happening. There was no discussion of anything remotely connected to sex around our house. Maybe it would have been different if my dad were still alive, but it's just me and my mom, and she acts like she's embarrassed by jokes on TV.
I knew that sex was something that adults did. I would soon find out a lot more about it when I entered high school in the fall, but this was at the beginning of the summer. Some of the jokes on TV that seemed to embarrass my mom were beyond me. Obviously, sex was something that concerned only adults. Not kids. I simply cannot believe how naive I was at that age.
They say kids pick up stuff about sex at an early age, assimilating it in all sorts of ways, mixing truth with fiction and imagination. It wasn't that way with me. For me, sex was a subject that simply did not exist. It just was not a part of my world.
Well, that changed pretty quick.
It was just over a month after my 13th birthday. I woke up during the night with a sudden pain to discover I had wet the bed. Only, of course, it was cum. I could still feel it oozing out after I woke up. It was sticky when I touched it.
I was scared, confused. But I lay back trying to recover that wonderful sense of...comfort. I had felt it during the dream. I wanted to know, to remember what it was all about. I could remember being carried... Yes. I was being carried in someone's arms. I was naked but not embarrassed about it.
With each step, my dick bounced against my naked thigh. With each bounce, it became more sensitive, more hard. More pleasant. I watched it bounce and grow until, with one big step my dick just seemed to explode... And it was still exploding when I woke up.
I got up and went to the bathroom to clean myself. My dick still felt funny, but I finally got to sleep.
The next night my dick got a little hard when I put my pajamas on. That had happened before, and I had just ignored it. Somehow, this time, I recognized the sensation. I remembered it from my dream. I realized it was not a nuisance; it felt good. I lay down in bed and started to handle my dick, move it around. As I moved my hand it became harder until finally it was poking straight up. I pulled up my pajama top and unfastened the bottoms to give my hand more room.
It felt good, and the more I handled it the better it felt. I thought of that dream. I tried to recover it, to make it work like it had the night before.
I was being carried... My head was lying against someone's chest; I could feel his soft hair against my cheek and his muscles move with every step he took. Yes... When I looked down I could see houses and cars and people far below me. It was like being carried by a huge giant. I watched my dick bounce against my naked thigh...
I was stroking my dick at a regular pace then, and I felt good all over. I wondered if I continued if that other feeling would happen again. And I was remembering it not as a pain but as an enormous pleasure. I stroked until my poor dick was sore, but nothing happened. It was still a little sore the next morning.
That night I was determined to try again. Somehow, maybe instinctively, I knew something was supposed to happen, but it hadn't happened yet. I didn't even bother to put on my pajamas. I just made sure my door was closed and locked, lay on the bed, and begen to play with my dick. It was hard before I got in bed.
It felt so good. But how could something that felt so good be so damn frustrating? So good... but somehow not good enough. I closed my eyes and worked on that dream again. If I could remember it better, maybe that would help.
I was being carried... Yes. I was being carried, naked, the world far below, my dick bouncing... My poor dick was fully hard, but the soreness was returning. Being carried... I pressed my face against the giant's chest...felt the soft hair...the strong arms. I looked up. It was cloudy, foggy...I couldn't see his face. It was a blur.
I gave up in frustration again. I couldn't even lie on my stomach because my dick was so sore.
So I forgot about it. The dream. I didn't forget about that wonderful feeling in my dick when it got hard, when I played with it. And just remembering how good that felt got me hard, sometimes, during the day. I'd be mowing the lawn and suddenly become aware that my dick was hard in my briefs. I'd pull it out to piss and it would get so hard I couldn't piss for a while. I'd be sitting watching TV, and I'd get hard for no reason at all!
One day I was putting the lawn mower away. It was still running, and I had a trash bag of grass in one hand. It began to slip, and I had to grab it with the hand that was pushing the mower, so I pressed against the mower with my body to push it that way and grabbed the bag before it fell.
But I was as hard as a rock. The vibration of the mower handle gave me a boner. And I loved it. I looked and didn't see anyone around, so I continued to push, standing up a little straighter so the handle was right against my groin. I was right at the garage, but it felt so spectacularly good I didn't want to put the mower away; I just stood there and let my dick enjoy itself.
And then I came. A violent sensation shot through me, and I jerked away from the mower. I felt the wetness in my briefs as I came a second time, and it felt so good I almost groaned out loud. Then it was over.
I got rid of the trash bag and got the mower into the garage. Back in a corner where no one could see, I opened my jeans and pulled my briefs down. My dick was wet with the sticky stuff again, and it had soaked into my underpants. I stared at my dick because I realized in that wonderful split second of my cum I had been back in that dream!
No one was home, so I went in to wash myself off and get a clean pair of briefs. I lay on my bed, fully dressed, and tried to remember my dream again. I had just been there! I knew I had! I remembered being carried... soft hair on my cheek... dick bouncing... comfortable... happy... face a blur...
My dick had gotten hard the moment my mind went to that dream, and I hurriedly unzipped my jeans and pulled it out. I stroked. God, it felt so good, so damn good... And that was all.
I could almost have cried because of the frustration. But my dick just could not take any more handling, and I stopped.
It was all I could think about anymore. Getting hard, getting that feeling, making the stuff come out... Watching TV, reading a book, cleaning my room, and my thoughts would wander to that elusive feeling, that wondrous sensation that had warmed me twice now and that I just could not make happen again.
Several days later I was straightening the living room before I went to bed -- one of my chores was to straighten it up every night -- and I glanced at a picture that had always been on a shelf. I'd seen it a million times. I saw it without seeing it. But this time, I froze. The face. The face in that picture belonged in my dream! It was a picture of my mom and dad. It was his face that belonged on that giant.
I said a quick "good night" to my mom, took a quick piss, brushed my teeth, and went to my room. I closed and locked my door. I was out of my clothes in a flash, and I lay down on the bed completely naked. I took my hard dick in my hand. I spread my legs as wide as I could, bending them at the knees. I put my other hand on my balls and moved them around as I stroked.
I closed my eyes to recover the dream. It was cloudy at first, soft clouds. I was in no hurry. My hand moved almost lazily up and down my dick. My fingers strummed over my smooth balls and, now and then, without even knowing why, my fingers would wander down lower into my crack, even grazing my hole. I'd never felt so comfortable in my life. I rolled gently from side to side as I stroked and fondled myself...
I was being carried... Yes. A strong but gentle man, a giant. I was naked, and somehow I knew he was completely naked, too. His bare chest was against my cheek, and I could feel his pecs move with his steps. His strong arms were around my back and under my legs.
I looked down at things far, far below me, but I wasn't frightened. I'd never felt as safe, secure, comfortable, happy, loved in my life. He moved, and I could feel every step with my whole body, a gentle jarring that was so pleasant. I glanced down to see my tiny little dick bouncing with each step.
He was saying something. I could feel the sound in his chest. Then I could hear it as he spoke it. I couldn't understand, but that didn't matter. He was walking, he was carrying me, it was the most wonderful, the happiest, the most thrilling feeling.
I looked up, and this time I could see his face. He was smiling. His mouth moved as he spoke, but it always returned to that smile. His eyes sparkled and were locked on mine. I didn't know how, but I knew I smiled back at him...
My eyes shot open when a hot, searing sensation hit my gut. I knew it. From before. I looked down at my hard dick, so red now. I pumped it faster and faster. It was like I had no control anymore -- not over my hand, not over my dick, not over whatever was happening inside me.
My other hand was clenched over my balls as my hand became a blur. Suddenly my body jerked upward, and a huge balloon of pleasure burst in my gut and exploded down through my dick and outward through my cockhead. I was holding my breath, and my lungs were demanding oxegen. My jaw dropped as a long moan escaped. I watched as my dick spewed my cum. It was only a few drops, but it felt like the ocean had poured out of me.
Then I shook and became completely limp against the matress. I closed my eyes. I could feel it, still feel it. I looked up, and he smiled.
It was my daddy. He had come back to help me.
He had come back to carry me through the single most important moment of a young boy's life.
He had come back to love me.