CHAPTER 2: ENCINO MAN

I met Billy Jacobs when I was a freshman in high school.  He would be my first love, or perhaps, more accurately, the first guy I fell in love with.  Of course, first love is inevitably associated with the first time your heart gets broken. That was how it would all eventually go down.  But there would be a whole roller coaster ride before the the coaster crashed into a wall.  

Billy's step-father had been a janitor at our school, but I think he’d been fired.  Anyway I know he had a job out of town now.  I ended up sharing a desk with Billy in chemistry, and looked over into Billy's grey-blue eyes I knew from the uncomfortable tent forming in my shorts that what I wanted right then and there was Billy.

Dave, Billy & Marcus (1992)
Strong Man Billy is on the bottom holding us up.

I had already figured out that I was gay, but I don't think I had ever said those words out loud, still I knew that I had always been attracted to other boys.

Santa Rosa, Texas was a small farm town.  Citrus groves, lots of sugar cane fields.  If you have never seen them harvest sugar cane, they set fire to the outer edge of the field and let it burn into the middle where it snuffs itself out. They would send a truck around the field in advance warning anyone in the field to get our before they lit it and you were trapped in a ring of fire.  There should be a truck that circles you and warned you about the ring of fire you will experience when you first fall in love.  I guess maybe Johnny Cash did.  While gay rights may have been making strides in other parts of the country, it was still just downright dangerous to be a "ho-mo-sex-u-al" in a small redneck town like Santa Rosa, Texas.

I hadn't previously paid much attention to Billy, even though we had a few classes together.  He was a bit older, friendly, but mostly kept to himself, and he was certainly not the smartest kid in school.  Mark Robinson, a friend I had done some other pre-pubescent experimenting with, had told me that Billy had a bigger dick that Victor, who had the reputation for having the biggest dick in my class.  I heard that he had repeated a grade pretty far down in elementary school before his family moved to Santa Rosa. Even so he was still a year ahead of me, and I guess a couple of years older.

Billy was good looking in a blonde trailer-trash boy-next-door kind of way. Anyways his bad-boy way of pouting when he couldn't work through a problem in class and his brooding eyes caught my attention.  He had dark dirty blond hair that he always kept buzzed on the top and shaved short around the back and sides, freckled cheeks, and the most amazing grey-blue eyes that changed colors every time I looked at him.  He had a penchant for wearing sleeveless shirts to show off his guns.  He always seemed to manage a light tan to accent the color of his hair.

Despite our age difference I was an inch or so taller than Billy.  He was more muscular, while I had more of a swimmer's build. I would guess that he was almost twenty pounds heavier and it was all muscle.  At the time, I was about 5'11" tall and maybe 125-130 pounds.

I tried hard at school to be friendly but he wasn't the most talkative guy. I spent the whole term cultivating his friendship, and pretty much every day in chemistry class sporting the little boner that wouldn't die.  Billy noticed my pup tent once, and blushing with embarrassment I leaned forward trying to cover it up, but Billy just smiled and leaned back, totally unashamed, to show me that he had pitched a tent of his own, though Billy's brazen bulge was quite a bit bigger.  His hard tent pole seemed to be bent way across his crotch and was pointing at his left hip under his jeans and the sight of it almost drove me insane.

We didn't have many sports in common, Billy played basketball, wrestled, and ran track while I was on the swim team. Because of Billy I would try out for the track team later that year.  He would join the swim team, but that was later.  Despite all that, over the next few weeks, Billy and I became pretty good friends.

Billy had a Suzuki motorcycle that was his main transportation to school and to work.  He also had an old Camaro that his father and older brother had gone in on as a present for his birthday.  It was up on cinderblocks beside the driveway at his house, which he shared with his father and brother, but that car spent more time in the yard getting repaired than it did on the road.  Billy was always working on that car, or saving up for the next part he had to replace.

It was hard not to be jealous of a guy with two forms of motorized transportation. I had just spent almost all of my life-savings on a maroon five-speed, lightweight aluminum frame racing bike.  I had already experienced a few nasty encounters with some guys on the bus and riding to school was less stressful, but not always possible.

Billy's older brother Jimmy, a skateboard punk anarchist, also worked in maintenance at the high school, and sported a fine bulge of his own, readily apparent even wearing his janitor's uniform.  You could tell at a glance that they were brothers. He had the same grey-blue eyes as his brother and had dirty blonde hair that was shaved at the sides and pulled back in a trailer trash ponytail.  He also had too many tattoos. None of them matched. 

Jimmy was also Chuck's best friend in high school.

Ever since the day Billy showed me his bulge in class, I had been working at trying to see Billy's big shank unleashed.  Billy seemed to be completely oblivious to the fact that I was in love with him and lusting after his body every moment I spent with him. 

He could be such a tease.   

He wore a lot of sleeveless shirts, showing off his arms and armpits, and I'm convinced it's that fact alone that created in me the blonde armpit fetish that I have even to this day.  What made it worse was that I am convinced that he was completely ignorant of the effect he was having on me.  Billy would change in front of me, standing there in his boxers while searching for some shirt amid the pile of discarded shirts on the floor around his bed.  He was never bashful about being seen in his boxers, or his cycling shorts, but I could never manage to see any more than that of his obvious bulge and the distinct dark blond treasure trail that led down toward it!


ENCINO MAN

A couple of weeks before the end of my Freshman year Billy and I went to see Encino Man one Saturday afternoon.  It was one of those rare occasions that his Camaro was road worthy, though the air conditioning was still on the fritz and it was a hot September afternoon so we were all sweated up by the time we actually made it into the theatre. 

As we walked in it was already dark.  The theater was huge, from before the days of multiplexes.  There were some previews showing by the time we got in.  I started down the aisle straight ahead toward the front where I usually sit, but Billy caught my arm and redirected me to turn around. I preferred to sit closer to the screen, but I wasn't going to argue with Billy.  It was the first time we had ever done something together other than chemistry projects or riding our bikes. 

The cool air felt good.  We let our eyes adjust to the dark and sat down in the center of the back row of an almost empty theatre to split a large soda pop and a tub of insufficiently buttered popcorn. So I sat down and put my drink in the cup holder on my left.  Billy was on my right. 

As my eyes adjusted, I could see further into the theater. I thought that we were going to be the only ones at that afternoon showing, but then two guys came walking in just about the time the movie started.  They sat down about six or eight rows closer to the screen, in the middle of the center section of seats directly in front of us. 

It was an awesomely terrible flick, but Billy thought Megan Ward was hot.  I thought Brendan Frazier was sexy enough is a nerdy sort of way, especially the scenes where he had his shirt off, but figured it was better not to mention that. 

During one scene, he commented, "Wish I could see nipples." 

I said, "You can, he's got his shirt off." 

He gave me this look and said, "Hers you moron."  And I realized he'd been referring to Megan while I had been ogling Brandon.  It was another life lesson is you see what you look for.  Life is all about perspective.

The movie had been playing for about a half an hour when I saw one of the guys sitting ahead of us look around the room.  Then the head of the guy sitting next to him disappeared.  I grabbed Billy's arm and pointed, but he had already noticed. 

After a few minutes of watching the one guys shoulders bobbing from our vantage point, Billy whispered eagerly, "Let's go," and without waiting for me he got up, and moved closer, I followed until we were just a couple of rows behind and to the left of them.  Now I could see the head of the guy who was doing the sucking bobbing up and down in the dim light reflected off the big screen.  He looked like he was in his own world; eyes closed and sliding his mouth up and down the other guy's shank.  They both looked like they were in their early twenties, maybe the guy doing the sucking was still in his teens, and I'm pretty sure he was Hispanic.  The one getting blown had his head back and also had his eyes closed, oblivious to the movie and enjoying the attention his friend was giving to his rigid shaft. 

I sat and watched, fascinated by the raw sexuality of it.  I had never seen a blowjob happening in real life, only in pictures.  I looked over at Billy, but he was so caught up in what was happening he didn't seem to notice me. 

After only a few minutes, the guy getting his cock sucked grabbed the head of the Hispanic guy, and started bucking his hips up off the seat, ready to cum.  The Hispanic guy started bobbing his head faster and faster, and I could hear the wet sucking sounds he was making even over the soundtrack, until the other guy grabbed his head and shoved it down hard as he started to cum.  The guy getting his cock sucked gasped, and the Hispanic guy made a sound that was somewhere between the sound of getting someone getting choked and several swallowed moans.  He coughed and pulled away fast like he was gasping for air when his friend released his head, he pulled off the cock just in time to receive one forceful spatter of spooge across his mouth and chin. A second blast missed and hit a seat in front of them.  

Without thinking, Billy let out an excited gasp and started laughing, and the two guys all of a sudden turned around to see us watching them with a "just got caught" look of surprise on their faces.  I guess they hadn't noticed us as they walked past.  They must have thought they were alone in the theater. They got up abruptly and quickly scurried away.  The Hispanic guy was still wiping cum off his chin as they left the theater.   I could see some on his shirt too.

Billy grabbed my arm again and we ended up snaking our way around the end of the row as he led me to the seats where the two guys had been sitting. We bent down to examine the seat where the guy had unloaded his spooge.  It was too dark to see it, but the area smelled of male sweat, musk, and cum. On our way back to our original seats at the back of the theatre I could see Billy sporting that same bulge revealing that his pants had to be uncomfortably cramping the wood he was sporting. 

When we sat back down, I turned to sneak another peak at Billy's crotch to see if he still had a remarkably stout pup tent going, and he shifted his legs apart.  I looked up to see him looking at me, smiling broadly.  He abruptly caught my left hand with his and hastily brought it down between his legs grinding the palm of my left hand firmly against his stiff rod that was again proudly straining against his jeans and pointing at his left hip. It must have been as rigid as steel and at least a foot long.  Well, that's what it felt like to me anyways.  The only thing between my hand and his big dick were a couple of layers of cloth. 

His dick pulsed in my hand and without warning my body suddenly convulsed and I locked up as I popped shot after shot of teen spirit into my pants.  You could see the material darkening as my spooge soaked into the cloth.  I was wearing these black casual cotton short pants with skulls down one leg and song lyrics on the other leg.  I had come lots of times from jerking myself off, but had never experienced an unexpected eruption like that one.  It was over fast but it was intense--like a shotgun blast-that I had to look down to see if I had blown a hole out of the crotch of my shorts. 

Billy laughed loudly, pointing at me, "Buddy you should see your face!" as another seizure took me, forcing another grimace, as a final few surges found their way into my shorts. I tried to pull my hand off his crotch bulge, but he had both hands on my wrist and arm holding my hand in place.  I could smell the odor of my own semen soaking through my shorts and through my thin cotton jockey shorts, and my dick felt like a little wet weasel, nestled between a sodden tangle of pubes and shorts gone uncomfortably sticky and damp.  

Billy continued to chortle in amusement using a phrase from the movie, saying, "you're weezin' the juice all over yourself" at what had just happened and at the situation he had me in.  I leaned forward and tried to ignore him, my hand still pressed so hard against his shaft I could feel his penis pulse. 

Billy sat back in his seat too, and turned his attention back to the movie, whispered, “Ok sport,” and leaned back.  Before he released my hand I could feel him contracting his dick so hard that I could feel it move under my fingers through his jeans.  He used his grip on my wrist to move my hand up and down his shaft.  He made a face like he was about to cum, and I felt his dick contract hard again and that was all it took.  Even though I'd just show a wad all over myself  I came again.  Fuck!  It hit me powerful, and unexpected, without realizing it I actually made a sound like something someone being tortured might make, or someone coming pretty powerfully and uncontrollably.

My wet weasel went from uncomfortably sticky and damp to soaking in a pool of my own teen squish.   I may be hung like a mosquito, but I have always cum like Old Faithful, sometimes to my embarrassment.  Like today!  

He let go of my hand and started to laugh out loud.  

Even though part of me wanted to keep my hand there, unzip him and release the kraken, another part of me, aware I was in a theatre--and doubly embarrassed over having just prematurely ejaculated not once, but twice, in front of my best friend--thought the better of it and I pulled my hand away. 

Every though every now after that he would suddenly snort, exploding into laughter at the most inappropriate times.  He kept repeating a line from the flick, “wheezin' the juice.” I guess he thought that was pretty funny expression. Later it would become a private joke between us.  I tried concentrating on the movie, knowing that if I looked over at Billy my eyes would move instinctively down again to stare at Billy crotch, and that Billy would most likely notice.  At one point Billy leaned back into his seat and stretched.  With his arms folded behind his head his armpits were exposed and I could see the tufts of silky hair in Billy's arm pits, it was blonde and wispy against his pale skin.  Within seconds I was sporting wood again. 

As the movie continued I continued to notice Billy's hand return again and again to adjust the bulge between his legs that never did seem to subside. I tried to estimate just how big his dick must be.  Comparing bulges, I knew that his was substantially larger than my own, a fact he must have also noticed, but then my own dick tended to point straight up, positioned tight against my body, not sticking out at some lewd angle like pictures I had seen on porn sites. 

If you asked me that afternoon about what happened in the movie I wouldn't have been able to tell you, though I have watched it a thousand times since on video or DVD.  Billy did some imitations of Link, the main character, though I thought Pauley Shore had most of the good lines.  

I became obsessed with Billy's bulge.  

My gaze was covertly on his crotch more than on the screen.  I counted the seconds between each time he reached down to adjust himself.  I had never wanted anything so bad in my life.  So I continued sneaking peeks at him out of the corner of my eye, watching him, wanting him.  But I wanted his friendship too much to risk ruining everything, and I kept my eyes, and my hands, to myself.  But the intensity of sitting so close to him, knowing he was hard, and from the way he kept touching himself, probably horny as well, was driving me insane. 

Suddenly I felt his hand on my stomach, I looked down and then over at him and he had his shirt pulled up and his dick aligned so it was pressed up hard against the line of his zipper, the tip was peeking out from beneath the waistband of his pants.  A bit more than a peak, actually.  His shaft was long enough to expose his whole head and a bit of shaft.  Fat shaft too.  Fuck!

Today my dream had come true.  I'd actually seen his dick.  More than that.  I had felt it, felt it's heat in my hand, felt his hard throbbing shaft.  He grabbed my hand again and I thought he was going to guide it over to make me grab his shank again, but instead he guided my hand until my fingers were touching the tip of his dick, and I discovered this is head was wet with precum.  I was able to wrap my finger around his shaft, sliding them between his shaft and pubic hair as his slid his pants down a bit, and then it happened again.  As his Kraken was released, without warning, my body convulsed again as I unloaded third series of blasts into my already soaked shorts. Fuck!  Fuck! Fuck!

This was more than embarrassing!

Billy laughed raucously, pointing at me, "Buddy, you keep that up and your going to make a hell of a mess in your pants."  But it was too late.  I already had.  The puddle in my crotch looked like I'd pissed myself for sure.  My face, throat and chest burned with embarrassment.  

He nudged me, “You are one unique weasel.”  It was pointless to tell him that what was going on inside my pants was already one hell of a soggy mess.  I could feel the front of them where my boy juice had already soaked through and left them slimy.  Then got up, telling me that it was time to leave, and I looked up to see the movie was over and the credits were rolling. 

"You like my dick, don't you, Two Strokes?" he grinned.

If it was possible my blush deepened.  

"You know you’re gonna get some serious teasing about popping your cork so quick!" Billy smirked and made his way toward the aisle.  I sat there looking down at my pants.  My crotch was visibly soaked to one side of my zipper almost like I had wet my pants a little, and I still had to make my way out of the theater.  Of course, that's about the time the lights came on. He pointed at my puddle and laughed. 

I found an empty popcorn bucket on the floor and held it in front of my crotch to try and hide my spooge puddle that now clearly showed up like a slimy wet patch on my shorts.

Back in the Camaro, windows rolled down, Billy boasted that he had found a collection of Penthouse magazines his brother had stashed in some secret place.  He also made a few jokes about needing to stop and pick me up a pack of Depends diapers cause I was filling up my shorts and needed a change.  I redirected the conversation back to the magazines he'd just told me about and implored him to let me take a look at them, and with a devilish grin he finally consented. 

We drove over to Billy's house, but his father was there, and a few of his Dad's friends were over visiting and watching a ball game.  We hung out in the back yard until they finally left, and then Billy and I were in his bedroom in a flash. Billy asked me to wait a minute while he took a piss and got his brother's stash of porn.  He pulled off his t-shirt as he walked toward the restroom and dropped it unceremoniously on the floor. The bathroom in Billy's room connected to his older brother's bedroom.  He didn't bother to shut the door.  A lot of guys are like that.  I couldn't help but listen to the sound of Billy pissing into the toilet.  Then everything went quiet.  I waited for a flush that never came, and in a few minutes Billy re-emerged from the bathroom holding a stack of Jimmy's magazines.  Within seconds we were pouring through his brother's collection of about six dog-eared old Penthouse magazines. 

Billy knew every picture, he had read every article and had even just about memorized every letter every letter in the Forum.  It was fantastic watching him bounce around with excitement while showing me the "best" pictures and almost ordering me to read certain juicy letters or stories. After about five minutes I had four of the magazines open on my lap and Billy was still looking for another "awesome" picture to show me. 

I confess that I wasn't nearly so interested in the pictures as I was interested in Billy showing them to me!  But my eyes kept wandering off the pictures and onto his shirtless torso, following his treasure trail down to the point his shorts pulled away slightly, and then down to that massive tent pole he had straining against his shorts, pitched just to the left of his zipper.  At this close range i could smell his musky scent.  I loved it.

I was sure I knew what was going to happen next.  I had heard that jerking off with your buddies was common, especially in junior high.  I had already had some experience giving blow jobs to my brother, Chuck, and was pretty sure that I could make Billy feel as good as I’d done for Chuck.  I knew the urban legend that once you got to high school you were supposed to stop doing it with your buddies and start doing it with girls.  I also figured by the time you were in high school you were not supposed to be giving blow jobs to your brother, and so that was a secret I wanted to keep. 

I was fairly convinced that Billy was straight from the way he practically drooled over his favorite pictures—all voluptuous girls.  After a half hour of us squirming around trying to find a comfortable position, all the while enduring erections straining painfully against the inside of our shorts, Billy came right out and asked if I was into "polishing my knob". 

I knew exactly what he was talking about but I had never heard that expression used before.  There must be a thousand different ways to describe "jerking off".  My voice cracked when I tried, oh so casually, to say, "Sure, why not?" 

Suddenly Billy's face grew serious.  "Wait," he said, and I was sure he had changed his mind.  "Did you just shoot another load?" he asked, making fun of the way my voice had cracked.  He fell over on the bed laughing at my expense.  I punched his arm a couple of times and he shoved me down hard onto the bed and crawled up on top of me. 

He started to pull up my shirt and said, "Show it to me," and before I could stop him my shirt was halfway up my ribs past my stomach.  But by then I'd grabbed his forearms.  "You can show me," he said "I showed you mine."  Which sounded like a line from a joke.  But I wasn't laughing really, I was surprised at how aggressive he was being with me.  Then added, "I already know you got a small one," he went on, "the guys already told me."  And then I started wrestling harder, now not just a game.  

The idea that someone had outed me to him bothered me.  

But on the other hand, wrestling with Billy was as close to fucking as I figured I would ever get.  He pinned my arms above my shoulders, and as he bore down his musky masculine scent almost overwhelmed me.  I struggled against him and he brought his knee up between my legs, not intending to wrack my balls, but just to keep me pinned, as be brought his weight down on me.  His knee slid down my shaft and pushed hard against my nutsack.  Pinning me.

And then it happened again.  Fuckin' again!  No!  Please no! With his knee still pushed up hard against my balls, and his weight on top of me pinning me to his bed, and a look of complete bewilderment on his face as it dawned on him that I was pumping out a fourth unexpected load of teen spirit.  Fuck!  

Now I officially looked like an escapee from the Home For Bed Wetters.  The stain was spreading obviously, but unlike piss, my wet corth was more than a bit slimy. 

I know Billy felt my body shudder and tense, then I suddenly convulsed and churned out another wet super load into my shorts. As he sat up in surprise, my whole body shook violently as another orgasm took me, forcing another grimace.   He was staring down at my crotch watching my small rod pulsing and the spurts of cum, from where the tip was pressed up hard against the material was leeching its way through the weave and leaving my crotch looking like I had fully peed myself.  I'm not sure but that he was trying to decide if I pissed myself or actually, amazingly, cum yet again.

But this time I started to cry.  It was just too embarrassing.  It seemed like every time he touched me I shot a load.  Uncontrollably.  Without warning! 

He laughed and looked down and asked, “Buddy, you always weezin’ the juice in your shorts like that, or are you just queer for me?”

That was, of course, the moment we heard the front door open and Billy's brother Jimmy come home. 

JIMMY

Billy snatched the magazines up off the bed and dashed into his brother's room while I heard Jimmy opening a beer in the kitchen.  I chose that moment to make my escape, and headed out the front door and down the street, not even thinking about the long walk home I would have or the huge cum stains on my crotch. 

I looked back once to see Billy standing out in his front yard looking at me as I walked toward the end of his street, and then started to run. 

I knew in my heart that I had exposed myself to Billy.  My body had betrayed me.  My erection had betrayed me.  Jesus!  All he had to do was touch me and I came.  I had always been quick to shoot, but nothing like this had ever happened to me before!  I hadn't ever come like that, not even touching myself, and so unexpectedly, in someone's presence! 

I wanted Billy more than anything, but I knew that if Billy thought I was gay (and how could he not know that now) that Billy would do something, something . . . maybe even beat me up, or tell the other guys at school that I am queer, or maybe just stop hanging out with me. 

I walked home trying to find something to think about, whatever, anything at all that would take my mind off just how deeply I had fallen for Billy. 

It was a long way home.

Billy (1992 Poloroid) 

Author's Note: As you read these chapters, please leave comments.  I would truly appreciate your feedback.