From Erotic Child To Erotic AdultFrom about the age of ten I *********** regularly and since the age of eleven I have been doing so almost every day. My ************ fantasies were then centred on nudity in nature, exposed to the elements and to danger. I would wait until my mother and stepfather were in bed, turn off my light and wait half an hour until they should be asleep, then I would very slowly ***** my pyjamas off each night, timing each move with the noise of passing traffic so as not to be heard by them in the next room. They wouldn’t have heard anyway, but this meant that it would take a good twenty minutes to ***** and get naked on top of the bed. Then in winter in an unheated room with frost forming on the inside of the windows I would revel in the sensuality of my nudity. I would slowly hump myself, again only when traffic passed, until I came, and then a slow process to put pyjamas back on again – but not always the bottoms! At other times I would ***** but stay in the bed and lying face down rub myself – as traffic passed – against the sheets until I came. As this was not a ‘hand job’ it involved flexing all then muscles of arms, legs and abdomen to achieve the friction. Then I would love to stay naked and motionless feeling my warm ***** slowly cool down. Including the thrill of anticipation then most nights at this age I would be in a sexual experience for 45 minutes to an hour each night.
Often the fantasy at this stage involved me cycling to Cornwall with a friend. We would both be wearing very brief shorts, we would camp. I would end up naked and orgasmic – though I had no vocabulary for it at the time.
One particular session I remember fondly. I discovered the delights of a cold bath – and in an English house in the 1960’s, with a cold water tank in an uninsulated roof in an unheated house, cold means just above freezing and ***** solidifies as it spurts out under water! Parents are out at the pub, I’m stripping naked in a cold bathroom, waiting while the big deep bath slowly fills to about one third. Turn off the water and stand at the head of the bath, legs already aching from the cold, lowering himself very, very slowly into the water in a sort of press-up. The utterly novel and highly, erotically sensual sensation of icy water gradually enveloping the body, holding myself rigid with the icy water lapping about my shoulders, quite taken aback at how good it feels, suddenly an unexpected vigorous, almost violent, ***********, then a train of lesser spurts as the ****** dominated me, holding myself rigid in the icy water in that delicious after-*** phase for twenty or thirty seconds. Then out, marvel at the large milky white, whale-shaped globule of coagulated ***** that had resulted from the first spurt. Drain the bath, dry off with a towel, shirt and pullover on, school shorts without underpants- would mum notice- and down to watch TV as if nothing out of the ordinary, parents return later that evening. And so to bed, lights out, naked, *** again.
History lessons had covered Greece – naked Athenian boys wrestling, naked Spartan boys swimming icy rivers, Joan of Arc burned at the stake, medieval tortures such as the rack and the iron maiden. These made some impression on me and triggered some deliciously masochistic fantasies. What was it like to be a boy in ancient Greece, to be required to be naked all day and walk through a town where the girls and women and men were clothed? What was it like to be tied to a stake (naked of course) knowing that you would be burned in a few minutes, or to stand naked inside an iron maiden as the door started to swing shut? To climb up an Aztec pyramid for the purpose of being a human sacrifice, or to be a Hindu widow about to be placed on a funeral pyre? Odd the things that come to be included in erotic fantasies.
Although I had no exposure to any concept of homosexuality there was this strong attraction to boys in brief shorts, swimming trunks or naked. This was probably because this is what I was familiar with. Girls in tiny shorts, or tight one piece swimsuits also figured in my erotic fantasies – no doubt if I showered naked with them twice a week after an hour or so of contact sports they would have figured more highly!
When I was fourteen my stepfather was posted to an RAF ba
We got to Cyprus, it was cool and wet, it was fabulous being at school, so many long tanned bare legs, boys and girls, all in as short shorts and short skirts as it was possible to be. Then running cross country in the hills behind the school, along goat tracks and beside river beds, between rainstorms, in a pair of plimsoles and black brief swimming trunks.
The big secret is that most boys think shorts are fine if there is no ‘fashion police’ dictating what you should think. Not only were the shorts much shorter than today – the standard issue was mid thigh length, but summer uniforms were always worn with the trousers rolled up to be as short as possible. And from ages fifteen to eighteen about half the boys stayed in summer uniform up to December, because being ******** down to the minimum in the mildly cold winter of the Mediterranean is a really invigorating ‘biophilous’ feeling.
The first autumn we were there my mother and I went on a short tour to Egypt.
I had just turned fifteen and we were returning on the boat from Alexandria to Limassol. Mother was seasick and had gone below. I was on the deck near the bow, enjoying the cool breeze. I was dressed in khaki shorts, less than mid-thigh length, and a short sleeved white shirt. I must have looked ok because someone tried to pick me up. He was about twenty, spoke fair English. He engaged me in a stilted conversation, but soon had his hands rubbing my bare legs and then started to feel my **** through my shorts. I would like to say that I went down to his cabin and, ******** naked, was vigorously taken from behind as I stood pressed up against the bunk beds, and maybe followed by his room mate and one or two others, to return satisfied to my own cabin (If his cabin was like mine he would have to have taken me standing up). However this did not happen.
I terminated the conversation and retreated rapidly to my cabin. What I was worried about was being seen, as this was in full view of the bridge. Oddly, being touched up was no concern. While I was disturbed by this at the time after a while, a few weeks, I began to regret not allowing him to go further. I now know I would have been taken down to his cabin, ******** and buggered, and if he had been any good at it I would have enjoyed it. If I had been a year or so younger he would certainly have had his way with me, and if I were a year or two older I would have overcome my inhibitions and might even have ****** him as well. I think these regrets started to surface after hearing my stepfather relate to mother a conversation he had with the owner of a local bar. The bar owner had heard some sounds coming from a woodpile, went to investigate, heard someone saying “I think you’re awfully sweet”, and found two English boys, stark naked and about ten or eleven years old, lying down one on top of the other embracing and kissing and little penises stiff with arousal. All this was related in a tone of amusement, and certainly not of disapproval, which just reinforced my feeling of having turned down something I should have gone along with.
But then girls started to be the dominant element of my erotic fantasies. There was a raft moored off the beach where we used to swim which was much used by us kids, all around 13 to 17. Lithe sun bronzed girls in bikinis would be lifted up by the boys, carried to the side of the raft where boy jumps into water still holding girl. Repeated many times, bare muscular limbs entwined, wet skin on wet skin, for no reason other than it was nice to be in close near naked contact with girls, and the same no doubt for the girls in contact with near naked boys.
Then a little older, after dark on a warm summer’s night, lips together, tongues in each others mouths, bare thighs emerging from tiny skirts clamped around bare thighs from tiny shorts, hard erection pushed tight against taught flat abdomen, just two la
And so to young adulthood. A girlfriend and I lost our virginity together a few days after we met. I was 21, she nineteen and in teacher training. We liked each other and respected each other, but I wouldn’t say love as such came into it. Day one, after going out with mutual friends, back to my place. We ended up on the bed, making out and ******** down to just pants. On day two we ended up on the bed naked, making out, my fingers well inside her vagina, she very receptive to fingers, but my penis allowed no further than the lovely moist entrance to the vagina. Then day three, sex, penetration, coitus interruptus – yes I withdrew in time, what ten years or so of varied ************ gives you is control of your sexual performance. Over the next few months we were both eager for sex, but oh how I wish I knew then what I know now. The clitoris, ***********, how to make a girl come, the secrets of multiple ******. My next girlfriend was into bed with me after the first date, she was very sexual, I could feel the rhythm of her vagina contracting as she orgasmed. She was the youngest sister of a girl I knew socially, and she brought her sister along to a social function we both attended. I didn’t know at the time that she was fifteen, she looked about 18 dressed and about twenty in the nude, but she had been having sex with a forty year old guy for a couple of years. We were together for three years and both grew apart. I suffered from premature ***********, I think because I felt smothered by the relationship, but we were both broken hearted when we knew that we couldn’t sustain the relationship. No premature *********** with my next girl though. Again primarily a sexual relationship, although we had a good social relationship as well. She was slender, wonderful in bed, multi-orgasmic and made me multi-orgasmic as well. She had been in a sexual relationship for five years from the age of fourteen, with a more experienced man, which was probably why she was so good in bed.