CHAPTER 5: POLAROID

 

David (1993)

 

When I think back, it is harder and harder to define what is sex and what is something else.  I think sex has such an influence into everything else today, the clothes we wear and how we wear them, out toothpaste, mouthwash, the way we design a bedroom, our recreational choices, well, pretty much everything has been touched by sex.   As a kid I played a lot of truth or dare, and other sexual games, that while games, still were erotically charged and oftentimes turned into sex.  Those kinds of games still hold a powerful charge for me, and probably erupted years later in college when i was involved in the Austin Jackass Club at UT in Austin.  I guess it is safe to say that those games got eroticized for me and now are something of a sexual fetish.

The games Billy and I played in my dad’s shed continued for a few months before things got complicated and it all came to a screeching halt.  But while it lasted it was a lot of fun, and it was the first real sexual activity I’d had with another guy who wasn’t related to me.  Still looking back it was less about sex and more about “games” than “intimacy”, though I know I felt intimately connected to him.

So the sex consisted of a lot of contests, adolescent sex games of a sort.  We pretty much got each other off every time we got together, one way or another.  Thinking back on it, I calculated a few years ago that I must have sucked off Billy at least 24-30 times, swallowed his load for most of those, after he got used to the idea.  He sucked me exactly twice.  He was fearful I would explode in his mouth again, and there was something about eating another man’s cum, that in his mind transformed a “sex game” into a “gay game”, and his fear of being thought of as gay would ultimately be the cortex of his life's direction.  Of course he had his family heavily influencing him in that regard. 

Billy fucked me several times.  Getting fucked by Billy was a difficult lesson in learning how to relax because the boy was hung.  Billy always hurt, but sometimes, most times even, it also felt powerful and good. I never did get to fuck him, though we tried it once.  Despite how much it hurt, after the first time, I wanted more than anything to give him pleasure.  I think I had imprinted on him sexually.

The obvious measure-off we’d done only established that Billy had a good four inches plus on me no matter how we measured.  I had discovered that bending my dick down so the tip was aiming at my toes (which really hurt, by the way since my natural angle is pointing straight up at 12 o’clock), but that angle (pointed down) gave me my best measurement.  Even so I never managed to get to a full 4 inches, though there was days I came real close before I got out of high school.  I thought of myself as "almost 4".  But the truth was I was a bit shorter.  When you measure too many times, you start to go wonky.

Measuring me at my natural angle (straight up) barely got me three inches. Bending me so I was at 90-degrees, which is the way most of the scientists who do measurement surveys say is the right way to do it, gets me right at 3 ¼, up to 3 ½ in my twenties.  No one told me that you start “shrinking” after age thirty-five, or that your natural angle tends to start to fall off (now I tend to point more toward 2 o’clock than 12 o’clock). 

Billy argued that bending it down toward the toes was cheating, even though he liked the extra ¾ inch it gave him, putting his closer to 8 inches than 7 inches.  He also noticed that bending my dick that normally pointed at high noon down to point at 6 o’clock was dreadfully uncomfortable for me.  I think he really loved my little dick, and Ray would later tell me that Billy had a fetish for small dicks, even is he was straight.  But I more more than attracted to Billy, I wanted him to be my boyfriend, my best friend forever, my husband, my life.  But the moments of intimacy I shared with him all revolved around sex.  

Billy often commented on my small size, and it was sort of clear his teasing was both amorous and teasing, never derisive.  When he would tease me I would get hard, and I think even he figured out what that might imply.  How or why that happened, or how it came to be, I may never figure out.  All the other boys who teased me just made me feel shame and humiliation, nothing good.

Billy was so much bigger, but I almost always won the cum shot distance contest.  I may be small but I have always shot like a geyser.  

The first time Billy had to run a lap naked as many laps around the shed as I outdistanced him in inches, which on this occasion cost him seventeen nude laps, one lap for each of the seventeen inches I overshot him.  Fuck that felt good.  When he saw my spooge land so many inches beyond his own puddle, his face showed his surprise and disbelief. It was my idea, and I could not help from laughing hysterically at his bobbing erection.  I have never seen a guy run with a fully erect dick and his plump serpent was bobbing and swinging madly throughout his run.  

The next time he had a distance shot contest, and expecting him to do the same, I managed to keep myself from jerking off for about a week so I would have a bigger load.  Even in my teens I had learned that load size builds up, and that a bigger load meant a lot of distance.  I can’t tell you how many times I had to clean my teen spooge off the wall or even the ceiling (since I slept on the top bunk that isn’t as superhuman a feat as you might imagine). 

I think Billy had the same idea, and had forgone any masturbation for days, preparing for our day of fun and games from judging how much he shot, but my own load squirted out further than ever.  Later he told me that because he know it would be one of my dares, he started trying things to make himself shoot more. He was peeing like a racehorse from all the water he had been drinking, and also taking zong and folic acid because he read those increase ejaculate volume. I think it was a record for me even.  He lost the contest and had to run 35 laps (I told you I can shoot like a geyser) and I added the rule that his dick had to be fully hard while he ran, and that if it went soft he had to stop and get it hard again before he continued with the lap.  I really liked watching his donkey dick flopping around while he ran. 

 

Billy ran the 35 laps around the shed and had to stop like ten or twelve times to get fully hard again.  Once a tractor went by the side road by my dad’s property.  While the shed offered some protection from Billy being seen from my Dad’s store, since he was standing on the far side of the shed that faced the back of Dad’s lot, there was a side road, a caliche paved farm road that connected the highway with several farms.  Even though his back was to me after he passed us heading south on the road, I recognized Jason Woolf on the tractor.  He was a senior, several classes ahead of us, though his brother Lindsay was in our class.  I had gone hunting with Lindsay and his father a couple of times.  Brave Billy stood there and jerked himself back into a full erection.  I could see him watching Jason, so I know he was aware that he was at risk of getting caught in the act.  Jason even looked around over his shoulders a couple of times, though whether he was looking at Billy or some other distraction I would not find out until later. 

The passing tractor must have thrown him a bit because it was well down the road before he managed to get full hard again and return to his run.  I was safe inside the shed, so if Jason saw anything, all he would see is Billy apparently hiding behind the shed to jerk off.

When Billy finished and started back into the shed, I'd closed the door and demanded he say the "password" to get in (and I figured he wanted to get back inside away from the view of passing tractors and to his clothes).  I told him that he has to say, 'Billy Jacobs has a 7 inch dick!' out loud.  He did, but I still made him repeat it a couple of times louder each time before I let him in.  He smacked me in fun on the side of the head as he burst in the door when I slid the latch open.  He laughed about it but shook his finger at me, saying, "paybacks are a bitch," he added, "bitch".  We both laughed.

The first time I lost the “endurance” competition (Billy had the knack for making me cum in seconds), Billy had lasted a good 7 ½ minutes before he shot, which meant I had to run laps between the shed and an old dead tree that stood at the fence line at the back of the property for 7 ½ minutes.  If you have ever run naked for that long you would know that 7 ½ minutes seems a lot longer than it is.  In the past Billy had cum in just a couple of minutes or less of me jacking him off, so I have long suspected he had jerked off a few times before we got together to improve his endurance for our game.  And I was stroking him fast, cause I knew that ever minute he lasted was another minute I had to run.  I kept stroking and stroking and though I thought he was going to shoot several times he managed to hold it back despite the speed and ferocity with which I was going at him.  Seven and a half minutes was fucking forever! 

I was doomed!

He countered to include the porch, and I reluctantly agreed.  He insisted that the 7 1/2 minutes be run “uninterrupted” as a part of the deal or the time got doubled.  Billy noted that he’d pause the stop watch while I was “fluffing up”.

Billy had a stop watch and counted time, showing it to me every time I got back to “home base” which was the shed.  The laps seemed to go on forever.  I’ve never had a problem with keeping an erection, in fact I usually get them too often and at the wrong times.  So I was running hard.

 

I had never streaked or done anything where I was naked for so long a time outside, except during our camping trip. When the tractor came down the caliche side road there was no place for me to go except to sit down fact in the not-so-tall grass and hide the fact I wasn’t wearing anything below the belt even if they could plainly still see I was shirtless.  It was Jason Woolf again on the tractor, and I had that queasy realization that if I could see well enough to recognize him, then he could also recognize me.   I kept my ass down in the not-so-tall grass until he passed, not too quickly, then made my dash back to the shed. 

“Shit, man,” he said when I got back into the shadow of the shed’s awning, “You were so close—4 minutes and 35 seconds!  You are this close to being finished,” he held up his hand with hie thumb close to his forefinger to show me in a gesture how small the time I had left to run had been, “Too bad.” Then Billy shook his finger at me and quietly reminded me that we had specifically agreed that the run had to continue “uninterrupted” or I had to start over.  

As he put it, “You have to start over.”  In my head I calculated how the seven and one half minutes, suddenly turned into 15 minutes.  “I have to make you do it, stick to the rules or you’ll cheat.” He paused, “I know you Davy.”

Reluctantly I accepted, which meant I still had a full 15 minutes of running laps between the shed and the tree I had already run, and I still had those four additional dares.  I ran the laps stopping only “fluff up” back into full erection which usually seemed to happen about the time I got back to the shed where Billy was waiting with his stop watch. 

Another farm truck was coming down the road by, I recognized it as the one Jason’s younger brother, Lindsay, usually drove.  Lindsay was also on the swim team.  I was getting close to the fourteen minute mark, or maybe a bit past it, and I tried to time my run so I’d circle around the tree about the time he might get a look at me.  It didn’t quite work, he was going slower than I thought.  I had to make a choice, start all over again, or hide again.   He slowed down.  It was Lindsay.  I couldn’t help but duck down and stare at him as he looked over and stared right back, and I just had to hope the grass was tall enough to cover up that I was buck assed naked (but had that sinking dreadful feeling because I knew it wasn’t), some of the Johnson grass came to waist height, but the thick part of the grass came only to a few inches above my knees.  Lindsay drove past, but I don’t know how he kept the truck on the road, his neck was craned over watching me the whole trip past.  He stopped at one point and shouted something, but I couldn’t hear him.  He pointed at me and waved and then finally drove on down the road, leaving a trail of dust behind him. 

By the time I got back to the shed, Billy was practically doubled over in laughter.  When he finally choked out, “Dude, I’m sorry, but you are so busted!”  He continued laughing.

"Unfortunately, you also ducked down and stopped your run." He said, "I hate to tell you but two times 15 minutes is, well, thirty minutes."  So I started my thirty minute run and heard the door close at the back of my Dad's shop, and saw Chuck heading back.  I barely got dressed before he got to the shed.  He looked at me, and I was covered in sweat.  We told him we were cleaning up the shed for dad, and that seemed to satisfy him.  He told me that he was leaving and I would have to ride my bike home, but Billy said he would give me a ride, and then Chuck left.  

Billy turned to say, "Now you owe me an hour or running."  He looked at me straight in the face.  "I think maybe we should go somewhere outside of town for you to run that, instead of here.  Ask your mom to let you go camping."

 

While we were talking I saw Lindsay drive back down the side road again. He put his arm out his window and made that distinctive masturbation gesture. I watched the trail of dust settling down as Lindsay's truck continued on down the farm road, and the sinking feeling in my stomach told me that Billy was right.  Lindsay had seen me, had even fucking stopped to point at me and shout something out though neither of us had understood what he'd said. 

 

I'd gotten caught. For sure!

 

Billy used those four dares in exchange for four nights in the treehouse.  I agreed.  I still owed him from the previous game the past weekend, so I started out with a deficit walking in the door of the next game.  He used another dare that I owed him to say I wasn't allowed to use a distance shooting contest in our next four game sessions.  In his challenge he outlasted me by 7 minutes.  So now I owed him seven more.

He told me that the first dare was that I had to strip down naked and stay naked for the whole game.  I stripped down, set my clothes in a bundle on a crate next to me. It was hot and I stood there naked, my skin beaded with sweat. 

Billy walked over and laughed, then grabbed up my bundle of clothes  and ran out the door.  I made it to the porch of the old shed, not fast enough to stop him as he ran all the way back to the old tree at the fence line.  In exaggerated motions he pointed at my clothes and set them down on the far side of the tree, then ran back to the shed where I was waiting, both anxious and a bit irritated.

“We agreed that the dares would stay inside the shed, you promised that I would not have to go outside naked.”

“You’re not outside,” Billy laughed, “you clothes are.”  He pointed over where he had left them and said, “If you want them, you can run and get them after the game.  I’m not daring you to do anything. . . “ his voice trailed off, “I’m just saying—they are there for later if you want them.”

His smile was wide, reminded me that he had outsmarted me, that this trick was not something I had anticipated. 

I stood there naked, looking at Billy as he exulted in his victory.  At last he said, “Okay, your second dare is a truth question, so you have to be honest?”  He stopped and looked me directly in the eye, waiting.

“Okay,” I said after a pause.

“Have you ever eaten your own cum, or tried to, and if so, you have to tell exactly what you did?”

Of course I had eaten my own spooge.  Chuck had more or less told me that if I ever planned on developing as a man I needed to recycle my sperm.  Of course Chuck had also told me it would be smart of me to eat his sperm to so I had more mature sperm inside me with an older teen’s testosterone to help me develop faster.  And Chuck shot like a geyser so I had swallowed tons of it already.

I was so dumb.

“Yes,” I answered.  “I have.”

 “Well?”  he shrugged and made a motion with his hands like he was rolling something telling me to go on.

“I got on my bed and put my back against the wall, swung my legs over my head.  I was trying to suck my own dick. . .” I started out, but he started to laugh so hard he bent over.

“You would never reach it, Davy” he chortled.

“I know,” I admitted, “I didn’t, but I was able to shoot it down into my mouth. . .”

He interrupted again, “Can you imagine your brother walking in on you doing that, “ he laughed out loud again, loud enough I worried someone might hear us out there.  “Or your mom,” then nearly busted again laughing some more.

I could feel myself blushing. 

 “So show me,” he said.

“What?”

“How you tried to suck yourself, how you shot your load in your mouth,” He was still laughing.

“I started to argue but he held up three fingers to remind me that this was, after all, my third dare.  It could have been worse too.  So I got up on the crate and lay down on my back and swung my legs over my head and started jerking off.  I looked over at him and he wasn’t laughing any more though he was smiling, but his face looked more like someone watching something that intrigued them.  He walked around the crate while I was going at it looking on from different angles.

I could feel the pressure start to build, and then I was able to push my crotch down closer toward my face though it was still a few inches too far away for me to such or even tongue my dick, but close enough to get some accurate aim, and after a few more strokes, I started to unload.  Several shots went wide, hit my hair, my cheek, but most made it into my mouth.  As I was unloading there was a sudden burst of light and the sound of an old fashioned Polaroid light bulb going off. 

Without warning he’d snapped a picture of me shooting a load into my own face.  I stopped stroking in shock and we watched the picture automatically slid out and start, very slowly, to develop.  I don’t even think they make Polaroid film today, it was an old school way of taking pictures even back then.  The one thing about a Polaroid picture—they couldn’t be faked.  Nothing digital to alter, no special photographic effects could be applied to them.

I thought about how my parents used to wave developing pictures in the air like a fan, and wondered if that really did help it to develop faster. In a few seconds my body formed, as fuzzy and as grainy as any Polaroid picture I ever saw, but nevertheless clear enough to detail my chin, streaks of cum on my face, a streak of cum shooting out of my small dick that was almost hidden by my two fingers I’d been using to stroke. I had a look on my face like I had just walked out of a special education classroom. I guess that was my “cum face”.  Billy laughed, and announced that it was a keeper for sure.  I tried to unfurl myself to snag the picture away from him.

David Polaroid

"No way!" I said, and I know my mouth actually dropped open, and Billy told me I looked just like that kid in that "Home Alone" movie.

“Yes, way.”

“Please,” I implored.  I was imagining the reactions people would have when he showed them the most embarrassing “caught in the act” photo ever taken.

“No, this one is mine,” he assure me. “but you can take one of me naked, if you want.” 

In a moment of weakness I grabbed for the picture. I caught a hold of one corner of the picture, but he managed to pull it out of my fingers and back away from me.

"You have to learn to trust me, Peter." He laughed, then tried to fashion a serious expression, but his smile kept leeching through. "No one but me will ever see this picture?  But it’s mine to keep,  Our secret."

I hesitated.

Billy handed me the camera and took off his shirt.  He stepped into the old restroom at the back of the shed and I took his shirtless picture against the window.  The pose was so cute that I didn't even think to ask him to get naked until after I took the picture, but it was such a sexy pose it really didn’t bother me.  I had a sexy pose of Billy that was mine to keep.

Billy (Polaroid)

"Remember what I told you?" Billy asked, "We promise each other that these picture never see the light of day. Now stop being a jerk!" He smirked. "Can I see how that one came out?" he asked.  I showed him his Polaroid after it finished developing.

Next thing he suggested we take close up dick pics.  He had me hold up a ruler next to my dick and got in close to show the numbers. We kind of got in an argument because the way he had me holding the ruler, with me at my natural angle instead of bent down toward my toes, which made me longer.  This one made me look like I was just shy of three inches instead of closer to four the way I usually measured it. But he insisted that was the right way to measure.

“I hate to break it to ya,” he said, “but that’s what you got.”

I watched it develop and sure enough, from the angle he took the picture it looked like I was right at three inches. I could feel my face burn with embarrassment, and wondered why he did that.

"It really bugs you doesn't it?" Billy asked.

                                                                  

"Yeah," I admitted.

"I guess if I had a little dick like you I would be embarrassed too." Billy said, trying to encourage me. "But my friend you got what you got.  You have to deal with it.  I like your dick by the way. I like the way it sticks straight up like that. And its cool the way your skin moves when you jerk off too." He laughed and patted me on the back. "It ain't the length of your pencil, Davy, it's how you sign your name!"

Then his expression changed and he went back over to the cabinet and came back with a cup full of old pens.

"Here," he said, laying one of the photos down on the crate in front of me, sign your name and put today's date. That way there's no doubt about the picture.

"C'mon, Billy." I said, "Anyone old enough to hold a mouse can doctor a photograph these days."

"Yeah, an electronic picture, maybe, but not a Polaroid on Polaroid film. No negative. Nothing to doctor!"

So he had me autograph that Polaroid, I guess because it was a dick pic and so could have been of anyone.  With a signature on the photograph it made it easier to verify it was me.

Then, quite casually, he held a ruler up against his erection while I took a picture of his penis.  It was seven and one-quarter inches and he wasn’t bone pressing it or nay of the things I would do to eke out the maximum length when measuring.  As the photo cranked out of the camera, he grabbed it, waited for it to develop, then signed it and handed it to me.

"The ruler doesn't lie," he said. 

"Here," he said, laying one of the photos down on the crate in front of me, sign your name and put today's date. That way there's no doubt about the picture. 

What he said was true.  To my knowledge Billy never showed the photos he took of me to anyone except his brother (but that's another story).  I had such a crush on Billy.  I kept the photos of him for years, and jerked off to them so many times I lost count, especially him making a muscle, or the shower picture even years later.

From left to right: Ann, Curtis, Andy, Victor, David, Elise (behind David), Billy (center) , Albert, Jim, Connor, and Linda
in yearbook photo.

There were other dares, too.  Licking his feet, giving him a foot massage, shaving my pubes and armpits, pounding my chest and acting like a gorilla (while naked), painting my toenails, crack an egg on my head, exchange shirts with him and wear it all day the next day, make a hat out of toilet paper and wear it, rub peanut butter on my dick and let the dog lick it off, and more, well those are the ones I remember.  He wasn't as into getting sucked as he was into fucking me.  Billy got to do some dares too, but I think the worse one I gave him was he had to go commando for a full week.  An believe me it was noticeable.  He got ogled.  I made damn sure he stayed fully hard in class when I sat next to him.  And that week we spent more night together in our treehouse, and I  truly began to get used to being righteously fucked.

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