WEARING MY WRANGLER JEANS RATHER LOW
My jeans were a pretext and feature of the second sexual experience I ever had, just as my scout shorts had been for my first.
I would have been 15 years old, three years after that very first time. Quite a long gap but after being 'corrupted' in the Scout movement my mind and fantasies had been working overtime during that period, despite my Catholic upbringing shouting at me that even thinking of sex was a mortal sin for which I'd be condemned to hell-fire for eternity - at least if I didn't confess to a priest
I got the idea that I'd go to a cinema and, for the first time since I'd been forced to smoke a cigarette in
that incident where older scouts had taken my virginity at my top end (making me drink beer for the first time as well, before turning their attention to my 'lower parts'), I'd steal a ciggie from my Dad's drawer where he always left an open packet, and smoke it in the cinema. It's the one and only time I ever stole anything from my Dad, and I've been thoroughly ashamed of that act ever since. It's difficult to explain why I found just the thought of doing this thing (which had come into my mind quite spontaneously), as sexually-charged - but it was the association of smoking to that scout-camp sexual experience that turned me on.
Anyway, having stolen the fag, as I was going to see the film (this was at a time where smoking was not only permitted in cinemas, but practically the whole audience puffed away) I realised before I got there that I had nothing to light it with. I'm sure that I was already semi-hard and finding it difficult to walk, but when I went into a newsagent just to buy a box of matches, the recollection of my first time (which had also involved using matches) my cock was fully stiff and I was, very awkwardly, practically bent double with one hand thrust deep into a pocket. I bought what I wanted and hurriedly exited, hoping that others seeing me would think that I was just in pain with that stoop and conspicuous limp. How I didn't cream my jeans before I got to the cinema I don't know.
When I entered the auditorium, with the lights still on, as it was a very warm afternoon, there were very few people in - just a few singles dotted here and there - and a couple of middle-aged men sitting together in the back row. I felt their eyes on me as I went into one of the empty rows a few in front of them, and sat right at the end against a wall, waiting for the lights to go down.
Eventually it darkened and, taking a deep breath, felt that my moment had arrived. I took out the cigarette, put it in my mouth (the very first time I'd felt a ciggie on my lips since that incident, three years before), struck a match and sucked in the smoke. The taste and sensation brought back vividly my abuse. My cock had risen right up, under my lightish blue jeans. Just as I was closing my eyes to drink in the memory (I wasn't paying the least bit of attention to what was happening on the screen) I felt a movement along the row and saw a chap, one of the two men from the back row, coming towards me. I froze as he approached, sitting on the seat beside me.
"Got a light, mate?" He'd seen the flare from my match.
Wanting him away quick, I took out the matches and gave him the box. He lit his own cigarette, then gave the box back to me. But he didn't get up.
"Nice jeans, mate."
He put a hand on my knee, rubbing it. He still didn't get up but sat there, now with his hand motionless on my be-jeaned knee. I had, by now, turned to stone. I couldn't say anything, move or even hardly breathe. I can't even remember if my own cigarette was still in my mouth. I was too nervous/excited wondering what would happen next. He too was silent.
Then his hand slowly moved up my thigh. I waited. My cock was, of course, still as stiff as a poker.
Eventually, his fingers touched the bulge in my jeans. He could feel it was hard. I heard a gasp of satisfaction - from him? from me? from both? I don't know.
Then he started fumbling with the buttons of my fly, all the while I sitting there immobile, fascinated, excited, but feeling mortal-sin dirty. Eventually he undid a couple of buttons - and my cock sprang up like a jack-in-the-box. (I was wearing no underpants so it was inevitable - just as the scout rule that had forbidden the wearing of anything under shorts had also contributed to my 'downfall').
Now this is the part that seems a blur, but after touching and gripping the shaft of my hard hoosie (the first time anyone else had touched it in all that three year gap), he took my own hand - and put it on his own stiff cock which was also standing out free although I don't remember him undoing his own fly. Of course I had
never touched anyone else's cock before - and what I remember most of all is not only its hardness but its
heat! I felt I was holding onto a red-hot iron bar or something. And I could feel it pulsing in my grip. I couldn't loosen my fist. It was still as though my entire body was paralysed. I couldn't move it up or down, my hand just remained fastened to that throbbing, hot shaft.
But he was now not just holding my own cock but moving his own hand up and down. I knew what he wanted was the inevitable result, and I had no power to resist. Up and down his hand went. But I'd been in such an excited state for so long now that it didn't take much before the expected occured and, stifling a loud moan, I shot my load - the first spurt landing back on my knee, subsequent spurts over his wrist, still working actively up and down, but also gently, as though with consideration. "Aaaaaah!" he said as my warm jizz flowed down over his hand, like lava from a volcano. Then I was spent. He took his hand away. Somehow my own hand had become detached from his cock. I didn't see him putting his cock away - surely it must still have been stiff? Without a word he got up, walked along the row (did I really see him licking his hand?) and returned to his seat behind me, whispering something to his companion. Was there a chuckle between them? I think so.
So I was left, sitting there spent of energy and spunk - and feeling dirtily guilty again. My cock had now returned to a soft state and I tucked it back into my jeans. I didn't know what to do next. One thing was certain, though. I couldn't face the embarrassment of seeing him and his companion again in the full light of day. I had to get out. So, despite my having paid admission, I got up and, hoping that they thought I was only going to the toilet to clean myself up, I went out and left the cinema.
It was a sunny day and. looking down at my jeans, I could see a fairly conspicuous wet patch on my knee, as well as few flecks of wet around the crotch. I couldn't do anything about them so I walked to a deserted area and walked up and down till the hot sun dried away the wet patches, leaving them a bit white and a bit crusty.
So that was my second-ever sexual experience - and both times had not been at my instigation.
My first time I'd been frightened, had resisted (albeit against the overwhelming force of the perpetrators) and afterwards had deeply resented it.
This second time, although a bit nervous, I looked on with interest at what was being done to me, and afterwards felt that I'd grown a bit.
I was yet to take my first cock in the mouth, my first cock up the bum and yet to put my own cock in those openings of others. (The beautiful hole-licking experience was yet to be some time away.)
But at this stage it really wasn't to be that long before I expanded my experiences to those areas, taking the initiative myself. However, one thing was clear - there was to be no going back now.
My active sex life had really begun.
