This work of fiction involves sexual experimentation between two five-year-old boys and a 2nd or 3rd grade girl. The story is set in the early- to mid-1960s, so even if the children were real (which they weren’t), they would be in their late fifties now.
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It was early in the summer between Kindergarten and first grade, and I was five years old. I lived in a “row house” in a very Irish Catholic neighborhood, with my mother and father, as well as two younger sisters and an exceptionally annoying younger brother.
In case you don’t know what a row house is, it is one of 10 or 15 very narrow houses, arranged in a row, with shared walls between them. They have tiny front yards, and back onto an alley. Typically, entire city neighborhoods consist of identical houses, arranged in that manner.
My best friend, ‘Billy’ and I had been together since birth. We were practically inseparable. My mom had pictures of us asleep together in my crib. He lived six doors down in a row house that was a mirror image of ours. He even had the same bedroom I did, though he was an only child and didn’t have to share his with a little brother.
We had been in the same Kindergarten class and expected to be together in first grade. We slept at one another’s houses often and even went on family trips and vacations with one another’s families. Both families joked that we even went to the bathroom together. That was true.
Our moms weren’t inseparable, but they were ‘best friends.’ They’d graduated from high school together and had been in many of the same classes and activities. They were also each destined to divorce their cheating husbands, but that was what seemed a lifetime later.
There was only one bed in Billy’s room, but nobody thought anything of two little boys sleeping together. It seemed perfectly natural that we woke snuggled up with one another. What the grownups didn’t know is that we were almost always locked together well before we fell asleep. Billy and I were very curious and did quite a bit of exploration of one another’s bodies.
It was with Billy that I first experimented with ‘French kissing,’ something Billy and I heard some teens talking about at the playground. We rushed home – I don’t recall which home – to try it out. I loved it but Billy thought it was gross so we didn’t do it anymore.
We didn’t just play with each other but we always played together. We ‘played doctor’ with a neighbor girl. She was an ‘older woman,’ in second or third grade. She was quite reluctant to be the patient, but she agreed when we said we’d just go home and play without her.
We didn’t find her all that interesting. Back then, third graders who’d reached puberty were regarded as medical anomalies; not like today. Her chest looked exactly like mine and Billy’s, and she didn’t have a penis or testicles to play with. We did like how she moaned if we rubbed her in just the right place between her legs. She liked that. She enjoyed making our little dicks get hard, and we liked that, too. So it was a good arrangement, which we kept up about once a week for about a year.
We were both big fans of western TV shows like Gunsmoke and Rawhide. Back then, there were only three TV networks; four if you counted PBS. We always watched The Rifleman together. Even then I thought Johnny Crawford was cute.
We often played Cowboys and Indians. Of course, we knew from our extensive TV research that Indians never wore shirts or pants, so whichever of us was the native had to strip down and wear a ‘loincloth,’ which was really just a bath towel held in place by some sash cord. It invariably got ripped off, but usually not while we were chasing one another through the house. The capture was always reserved for one of our bedrooms. Our parents preferred us to be up there, anyway, because we were pretty loud and obnoxious with our play.
We especially liked playing that particular game at my house, because my brother and I had bunk beds. Sometimes the cowboy would tie the Indian to the corner post of the bed; sometimes it was the other way around. But somebody always ended up bound. I’m pretty sure Billy didn’t like being tied up as much as I did, but he never complained. The captive would be burned at the stake, or subjected to torture by tickling, ‘tittie twisters,’ or some other diabolical method. There was nothing to do that with in Billy’s bedroom so we’d have to pretend, which was never as much fun as actually being tied.
We played like that for what seemed forever, but it all came to an end one Saturday morning. We’d had a sleep-over in Billy’s ‘rec room.’
I guess I should explain what a ‘rec room’ was, too. When I was a kid, I thought it was ‘wreck room,’ but it turns out it was short for ‘recreation room.’ Each of our homes had one, which our dads had worked together to build, with Billy and my ‘help.’ They were paneled rooms that took up about two-thirds of the basement, the rest being reserved for the laundry, a ‘powder room,’ and storage. The floors were covered in the shag carpet so popular in the 60s, and each room was furnished with a 19″ black-and-white TV (the brand-new color TVs were upstairs), a ‘hi-fi,’ and beat up couches and arm chairs covered with mismatched slip-covers. Billy’s had a pool table and a dart-board while mine had a ping-pong table.
Anyway, we were having a sleep-over, and had made a cave out of the pool table and some slipcovers. We’d started the evening playing cowboys and Indians, so I was already naked when Billy’s mom called down the stairs and told us to go to sleep. Being good boys, we brushed our teeth before going to bed. As usual, we peed together, having a sword fight with our streams, then Billy stripped, and lay down on our single sleeping bag, on top of some cushions
A few weeks before, we’d seen a TV show or movie – I can’t remember which – in which two teenagers were making out in the back seat of a car. That was pretty risqué for the time, by the way. We’d been intrigued, and had been playing ‘make out’ quite a bit. We’d tried it with our ‘older woman’ friend, too, and she liked it at least as much as we did. We started doing that and rubbing up against one another. We’d learned long before how good it felt when we rubbed each other’s penises and were doing that while kissing.
One of us – probably me – said that what we were doing with our mouths felt good, and wondered what it would feel like if we used our mouths on our penises. Billy was grossed out by the idea so I went first, tentatively licking his penis. He didn’t react much until I got the courage to lick the tip. I’m sure I was a bit grossed out, myself, by the idea of licking his pee-hole, but I couldn’t believe how he reacted. When I saw how excited he got I started licking in earnest, then got the idea to treat his penis like a popsicle.
I opened my mouth and went down on a penis for the first time in my life. His moans and writhing around scared me and I stopped to make sure he was okay. He begged me to keep going. I licked and sucked until he had his first ‘dry cum.’ Since he was still grossed out by the idea of doing that to me, we cuddled for a while, then fell asleep.
When I woke up the next morning, Billy was already awake. He asked how gross it had been when I sucked his penis. I said it was a little yucky, but I liked how it made him feel. I guess that’s still how I feel today.
He said he wanted to try but wanted me to go to the bathroom first and then wash my penis. I did and came back and lay down. Billy had just put his mouth on my penis when his mother came down the stairs and lifted the flap on our little hideaway. As you might imagine, quite a bit of excitement ensued.
She watched as we got dressed and marched us up to the kitchen without another word. While we ate our cereal, she called my mother, who came over immediately. Our mothers never really talked to us about what we’d been doing but they made us promise to never do it again. Being ‘good boys,’ we both promised.
We were both scared, mostly of our fathers being told. Oddly, though, I don’t think either man was ever told about the incident. It was as if it had never happened. Once we’d been told that what we’d been doing was ‘wrong,’ and especially that it was a ‘sin,’ we weren’t inseparable anymore.
When we did start playing together again our mothers seemed to watch us much more carefully. We didn’t play Cowboys and Indians, and never took off our clothes anymore. We also stopped playing with our older girlfriend.
Coincidentally, my family moved to the suburbs toward the end of that summer. Of course, being five years old, I assumed that we had moved because of what I’d done with Billy, though we had been visiting the construction site for months prior to being caught. That’s just how little kids think.
I didn’t see Billy again until we were both teenagers. His parents were in the process of getting a divorce, and his mom brought Billy with her to visit my mom for a few days. Now I wonder if there had been some domestic violence, but nice people didn’t talk about such things back then.
Everything was different between us. Billy immediately told me about his girlfriend, as if he was holding up a cross to ward off a vampire. He slept in the room I shared with my brother, but on the floor, wrapped up in a sleeping bag. I never saw or talked with him again after that.
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(c)Copyright 2013 Jordan Bradders. The author reserves all rights. Permission is granted to download this story for personal use only. It may not be published in any other forum, website or book without my prior written permission.