Educating Peter

Once I'd broken the ice by joining in with him, Peter and I started masturbating together on an almost daily basis. At first I'd wait for him to start and then join in, but after a few days, I felt confident enough to be the one to get things going.

We never spoke about it: we just masturbated together and looked over at each other as we did it, and then, after we'd both climaxed, made smalltalk about other stuff or went to sleep, depending the time of day.

I think Peter would have been content for it to have remained a fairly non-sensual event - just two roommates having a wank to relieve themselves - but, within a couple of days, the urge to caress myself with my left hand while I was pleasuring myself with my right became too much to suppress.

I started by playing with my balls, and Peter seemed pretty intrigued by that. I kneaded them between my fingers and thumb, rolling them around like birds' eggs in my loose scrotum. Peter stared over at me as I did it, and even craned his neck to one side to get a better view when my right hand and my cock obscured things.

Then I fondled my nipples and my chest a bit. I'm pretty well worked out and my chest is fairly smooth; I kind of like running my fingernails around on the taut skin and touching my sensitive nipples. As well as that, a small patch of soft blond hair nestles in the middle of my chest, between my pecs, and I enjoy playing with that when I'm wanking sometimes. Peter seemed to find all that pretty interesting too: he peered over at me unashamedly as I fondled and caressed myself.

I even ventured to become a little more vocal as I masturbated, gasping and sighing as the waves of pleasure washed over me. I was careful not to overdo it and steered well clear the amateur theatricals that girls sometimes think they need to put on. I just stopped suppressing the sounds that I normally make when I'm wanking.

Peter's response to this was slow and fairly tentative. He seemed fascinated to watch what I was doing but didn't seem willing to apply the same ideas to his own self-pleasuring. For a week or so he just looked over at me while he did his standard thing: right hand pumping his cock with a fairly average rhythm, left hand lying at his side.

But then, late one night, once we'd both started jerking ourselves after we'd both been on the phone for over an hour to our respective girlfriends, his left hand got involved in the action. As nonchalantly as he could, he raised it from the mattress and laid it on his balls. I say "laid it" because he seemed uncertain about what to do with it: he just sort of placed it there and let it sit there for a while.

He let his left hand rest on his balls for a minute or so and then, making very gentle and subtle movements, he started caressing them with his fingertips; running his fingers through the thick black hair on his balls, as if slowly and gently combing it. The movements were slow but sensual: in complete contrast to the steady and workmanlike masturbating of his cock by his right hand.

He looked over at my face and saw that I was watching him. His cheeks went a little pink and his expression betrayed the fact that it was from embarrassment rather than excitement. Before he had time to withdraw his hand and act like it had never happened, I reached for my own balls with my left hand and made a point of rubbing them to reassure him that this was a totally natural thing to do.

He looked down at what I was doing, his left hand just resting against his balls, and watched me kneading my own smaller pair between my fingers and thumb for a few seconds. Then his own hand returned to fondling his, and we lay like that for a few minutes: the two of us jerking our cocks with our right hands and playing with our balls with our left hands. Both of us looking down at ourselves, and then over at each other.

Peter's left hand soon began losing its inhibitions and he began running his fingers over the large paired mounds of his balls, as if gently tickling them. As he did so, his right hand began steadily speeding up as it worked his foreskin, pulling it up and down the thick shaft of his cock with a new-found fervour.

I opened my legs wider and started rubbing the underside of my balls, running my fingers along the hairy ridge connecting my balls with my arsehole. Peter looked over at me, first at what I was doing, and then up to my face. Our eyes met again and he grinned broadly at me, as though the novelty of exploring masturbatory pleasures alongside another guy had just struck him. I found myself grinning back at him; both of us amused at what we were doing, like we were a couple of naughty schoolboys. Then our gazes returned to each others' cocks and balls, and at our hands playing with them.

Peter cupped his balls with his left hand and squeezed them. He obviously liked that sensation because he gasped and his right hand further increased its pace up and down his cock. He looked down at himself and squeezed the base of his balls between his fingers and thumb so that they bulged upwards against the taut skin of his scrotum, looking like two pink eggs amidst his thick bush of pubic hair. Abruptly, white gobs of his semen started pulsing out of his cock head, spraying across his stomach and chest, covering the black curly hair with beads and strings of his cum.

He kept frantically pumping his cock even as his orgasm subsided, and kept squeezing his balls, making no attempt to reach for his underpants to quell the flow. Then, as abruptly as his climax had started, he stopped wanking and took both hands away from his cock and balls, and lay back on his pillow with his eyes closed. I looked over at him like that, covered contently in the mess of his own pleasure, his cum dripping through the thick wiry hair on his chest and stomach, his cock still thick but resting floppily against his lower abdomen, and felt my own orgasm overtake me.

As my own white jets spewed from my cock, I saw Peter looking over at me out of the corner of my eye. Like him, I made no attempt to catch my mess: I just let it spray across my chest and stomach as he had done, revelling in the feel of it on my skin.

Then, as I lay there recovering, he stood up and started wiping the cum from his chest hair with his briefs. His cock stood out from his body, pointing downwards but still half-erect, with a drip of cum hanging from the end of it. His large balls hung down below it, looking impressive even without his fist squeezing them.

As he finished off cleaning himself up, wiping the sweat from his arse crack with his underpants, I stood up to reach for my briefs. My own cock was still almost fully hard and it arched upwards, the stem showing faint pink and white bands from the squeezing of my fingers. I wiped my own cum from my chest and we looked at each other again. This time I grinned first and he followed suit. Neither of us were self-conscious about the state of our cocks in front of each other, and that in itself felt pretty good. We hardly knew each other, but we had an unspoken agreement that this was okay, that this was pretty good actually, and that was unexpectedly pleasant.

He said, "I'll make us some coffee. You want to take the first shower?"

I nodded and wiped the cum from my cock, still smiling.

He pulled on his robe and left the room, his cock still hard enough to make an obvious lump at the front of it.