The Saints Cum Marching - Christopher & Peter 1

In the Summer of 1975, my family moved to a newly developing community nestled against the sprawlings hills that divide the San Gabriel Valley from Orange County. I was an extremely horny teenager at the time. When I found out we where moving from Reseda to the hell whole I called Green Acres, I threatened everything from running off with the Hari Crishnas to commiting suicide. I had recently found out what a jackoff buddy was and actually had one. I didn't want to move away from Paul because I would have to go back to doing it myself. For that past 6 months, Paul and I where making each other cum without ever laying a finger on our own units. We had learned so much from each other. I had come a long way from where I started my chicken choking hobby years earlier.

In fact, I would have describe myself as Masturbationally Retarded. I discovered the world of weenie whacking by accident, and ran into problems rather quickly. Not because I didn't know how to do it. My problem was being careless and getting caught. I had been caught the first time, within my first 30 days of being a squirter. Most guys will jack happily for a year before the get caught red handed. They say that those who make to 2-years without getting caught, usually sail through the rest of their life without ever knowing the embarrassment of being caught, penis in hand, stroking at full speed. 

I didn't realize that there wouldn't be a little birdie to land on my shoulder to remind me to lock the fuckin' door. I was doing "it" on my brothers bed because he had a lock on his door. I just wish I wouldn have remembered to lock it. I had my brothers headphones on, so I never heard anyone coming up the stairs. I was just catching my breath after coming down from the 41st ejaculation of my entire life. I was admiring the mess on my chest when my mom and sister come walking into my brothers room with laundry. Now, you can't get anymore caught then that! 

I originally heard rumor that Paul was queer. I initiated a friendship in hopes for finding someone who might want to make a trade. Since a guy has to stroke his cock to cum, it made since that it would be better to just lay back and feel you self being brought to that point where everything is building, rushing, and converging until it all comes flying out of the end of your penis. Then when you're done, and it's you're buddies turn to squirt. All you're doing is using the energy on him, that you would've had to use on yourself anyway. 

Having a Jack-Off Buddy has nothing to do with being gay. Paul was in no way queer and had never tried any homo stuff. I can speak for him on that, and say that he was just a slightly chubby teenager with a small penis, who was having a tough time getting a girlfriend. I was suffering a slight outbreak of acne and was trying to get that under control so we just picked up the slack for each other, so to speak. 

It was Paul that made me realize that I was headed for a life of faggotry. At this point, I wasn't totally 100% queer and did have queer thoughts about liking the feeling of Paul's chubby dick in my hand, and his cum dripping down my fingers. Touching Paul's penis always made me get hard. Paul never said anything when It was my turn to get jacked-off and I was already aroused by stroking his dick. He must have known that I had queer tendancies, but chose to remain as my friend. I was going to miss Paul so much. On the last night before we moved, Paul stayed over at my house. I did it for him 3 times that night, and he did it for me 5 times. He left in the morning before I woke up and I never saw him again, but I was just as sad about that as I was happy. It would have been too emotional for both of us. We said our goodbyes to each other in my bed that night. How difficult that must have been for him to get up and walk out of my life without looking me in the eyes to say goodbye. 

My first night in Green Acres, I made myself shoot twice. Without Paul, I was no longer satisfied by the once daily deal we'd did. I 'd fallen off the wagon and reverted to my old ways like when I was 13 and 14 years old. For months, 1 hand job from Paul was all I needed, but now I'm back to Jacking Off 4 - 6 times a day. I'd walk a trail up into the hills and step about 40 or 50 feet into the birch trees. There I could strip naked and jackoff all day and never fear that I'd be caught.

There is something so exciting about stripping down as naked as the day you where born. and just bringing yourself off in nature. I had started to realize that I was getting sloppy like I would never get caught. I began go back into the hills, strip down butt naked, fold my clothes along the trail next to a marker I'd make with rocks. And then walk totally naked along the trail while I masturbated. Then one day it occured to me that I was standing outdoors , butt naked, and jacking off about 1/2 miles from my clothes. I had to cool it.

I still continued to jack off up in the hills, and I still continued to strip naked when I did it. I just stopped going on my naked boner nature walks miles away from my clothes. On a weekend in August I took an old crappy telescope that I had into the hills. You could see Downtown Los Angeles from the first ridge and I got this stupid idea that I might be able to see my old house from up there. I didn't , but I did see something way better then that. 

I saw a naked butt flash across the telescope lens as I was tracing along one of the trails. I looked into the scope and could see the butt cheeks like I was standing 10 or 15 feet away. My dick began to stir within my pants.

I remember thinking to myself how quickly I was liking to watch and do queer stuff, because now I didn't even need to touch a dick to get hard. I could pop a boner by watching a guy a 1/2 mile away, jack off through a telescope. At his rate, I'd be Liberace by the time school started. 

I watched the guy and wished that he'd turn around, but he didnt. He wasn't pissing by the way his hand moved frantically in front of him. I could tell the very moment that he started shooting. His butt cheeks flexed, and he jerked forward a few times. Then he pulled his pant up and walked down the trail. No just any trail, but the one that will take you practically into my backyard. So I knew that the guy had to live on my street or was parked the Tastee-Freeze or the Market Basket.

The next day was a scortcher and I walked over to Tastee-Freeze for something to drink. The guy took my money and gave me my change. He went to pour the large rootbeer, and I watched him try to fill the cup with Ice before pouring the rootbeer. I already know that trick. He might as well have asked me to pull his finger.

"Hey man! dump out half of that ice, are you from Alaska or something? He walked over to a little sink to dump some of the ice, and when I saw that guy's hair from behind, I was like BINGO! - That's the dude that was beating-off on the trail.

Now that I knew who he was, I had spotted him walking up the trail at the same time as I noted. It was his break time and he come back down 10 minutes later. Then I got the idea that made my heart race, and my dick hard. I was thinking of ways to catch him doing it, but it would be better if he saw me doing it without catching me.

I went up the trail early on a Sunday because I knew he worked that day. I went up to his jackin location and stood over the semen drops on the rock and couldn't believe my eyes. There where 2 rocks below the trail that he had a clear view of. 

I laid on the rock and watched the trail. There where a few spots where I'd see him pass by for 2 seconds and then I have 20 seconds before he was in his hidden jack-off spot. I didn't even have to rub my dick to keep it hard, the excitement was doing it for me.