Chapter 1

I remember when I was fourteen, way back in the early 60’s, when it seemed like my dick was hard more often than it wasn’t. It was a more innocent time and even though sex was something that was done and had been done for ages, very little of that information filtered down to us, us being those individuals going through puberty and the ones that needed this information the most.

What I learned, I learned through word of mouth, from other kids that knew little more than I did, or at least thought they knew more than I did. About the only thing I knew quite a bit about was jacking-off, something I did as often as I was able.

It was a time when just the sight of that cute blond girl in home room was enough to tent my pants, and should I be lucky enough to have the wind blow up her skirt and reveal her panties ... well, then I would have to go home and change my pants.

There was almost a constant buzz going on in my groin, just waiting for something to transform my limp penis into a glass cutting tool.

Sex, especially at that age, is a magically weird thing. Where masturbation and orgasms are a secrete pleasure and I was constantly on the lookout for private places where I could rub one out.

These jack-off locations were anyplace that I had a relative amount of privacy. I had places in the woods, and places that had been abandoned on the outskirts of the city.

Another place that I often went was my grandfather’s unfinished basement, where he kept his wood working shop. It was a great place for several reasons. One was that it was cool, damp and musty. The place smelled of the red Georgia clay mixed with sawdust from fresh cut lumber. After a while, just the thought of that smell gave me a woodie.

This location, as many other places that I had, while were great, they weren’t necessarily as secure as I might have wanted and quite a few times I was almost caught preforming my favorite past time. Of course getting caught was about the most terrible thing that could happen to a fourteen year old with his dick in his hand.

On this particular December day I was in my next door neighbor’s tool shed. The shed wasn’t much warmer than it was outside in the winter wind and the cold made my balls draw into a tight little ball. The cold air felt strange on my crotch adding to the eroticism of the moment. Just then the door to Mr. Benson’s tool shed opened and Mr. Benson was as surprised to see me with my dick in my hand as I was to see him.

Usually when I am in one of these less secure locations I only drop my pants and skivvies to my knees so that I can make a quick recovery. This day was no exception, and red faced, I snatched my pants up around my waist and held them closed with one hand while pushing past my surprised neighbor with the other hand.

Mr. Benson, who is almost as old as my grandfather, was still standing there holding his shed door as I glanced back just before I rounded the corner of his house and out of his sight.

I cursed myself for being so careless and I wondered what I would say when I saw Mr. Benson again. It wasn’t like he didn’t know me, or that I lived several blocks away. No, he lived next door and was friends with my dad. Well sort of friends, he and dad borrowed each other’s tools and discussed how much they liked President Kennedy and what in God’s name were the Ruskies doing in Cuba?

I stayed on the lookout for Mr. Benson and avoided him for almost two weeks. Then one day he came knocking at our door. I saw who it was and I let my mom answer his knock. I hid in my room and waited for him to go away. I could hear mom and him talking, but I couldn’t tell what they were saying.

After a few minutes there was a knock on my bedroom door. It was my mother and she asked me.

“Bill, Mr. Benson has something on his roof, go over and help him get it down.”

Not, would you mind helping him, or please help him, it was just GO and help him. So without directly refusing to help, which I would have to explain why I didn’t want to help, I trudged over to the Benson’s and stood red faced in front of him.

“Mom says you need me?”

“Yes, Billy, There’s something on my roof and I want you to climb up there and get it for me.”

I hated being called Billy, but he was an adult and I was just a kid so I said. “Yes sir.” And I climbed the ladder that he had leaning against the house.

The thing that was on the house was the best baseball glove that I had ever seen. It wasn’t new, but it was well cared for and oiled to a flexible softness like I have never seen. The pocket was perfectly formed and I could tell that this was no ordinary ball glove. I almost stumbled of the roof admiring it.

When I got down I held it out to Mr. Benson and he told me.

“You keep it. I don’t need it anymore.”

“REALLY! WOW! Thanks Mr. Benson.” I couldn’t believe my luck.

When I looked back up he was smiling back at me. “You know that thing that happened in my shed a couple of weeks ago?” I didn’t say anything, but we both knew what he was talking about. “Don’t worry about it. It is a natural thing for a boy your age to do, so don’t be ashamed. Ok?”

I nodded.

“In fact if you have any questions about ... the birds and the bees ... Ah hell. If you have any questions about sex and fucking, well I would be happy to tell you whatever you want to know.”

My mind was a blur. He said the “F” word.

“In the meantime,” he said, “Let me tell you about the glove. You want a soda or something?”

I dumbly nodded, and followed him into his house.

He handed me a Royal Crown cola and he pulled out a Pabst Blue Ribbon beer for himself.

We sat at the kitchen table and he told me that he almost made the majors as a short stop. He told me of meeting a few famous baseball players that I had never heard of and couldn’t remember to this day. He showed me how to care for it and gave me a leather pouch that he kept it in. He told me that he tossed it on the roof so that he had an excuse to talk to me about jacking off in the shed.

That was something that I had already figured out and I thanked him again for the glove. “It’s a beauty.”

“If you want to use my shed to beat off again you can. I put a latch that locks from the inside on the door so you won’t have me barging in like last time.”

I was too embarrassed to say anything so I just nodded.

“Boy, I can’t tell you how many times I got caught when I was your age. But that never stopped me. In fact every now and then I still beat my meat.”

“You do?” I asked amazed.

“Sure. The thing about jacking your own joint is that you know exactly what you like, and you know just when to do whatever you like the best at exactly the right time to do it.”

“Yeah.” I whispered in agreement.

“Don’t get me wrong. Pussy is the best, or a good blow job is killer too, but nobody knows what you like better than you do.”