My Last Babysitting Job

I don't know about now, but boys didn't do a lot of babysitting when I was a teen. I did the occasional fill-in for my sisters. I didn't do many and much preferred the more guy tasks of mowing lawns and shoveling driveways. I think the per hour was higher too.

One night, my aunt needed a babysitter and my sisters weren't available. They had already had dinner. I just had to send them to bed at an appropriate time. Would I do it? How much trouble could an eleven- and ten-year old be?

The eleven-year old was no trouble at all.

The first warning with the ten-year old was when he asked me to take some glasses down from a high shelf in the kitchen. There were three glasses, each printed with the image of a different handsome men with an overprinting in white to resemble underwear. He was pleading, so I brought them down to the counter.

"Now put cold water in them!" I knew what would happen, but I secured a promise of future good behavior if I complied. It was almost his bed time. I had studying to do before his mother got home. Cold water in, the white areas went transparent. Now they were handsome nude men, their soft cocks visible.

"Okay, I did it. Now it's your bed time." I carefully dried the glasses and put them back, hoping that my aunt wouldn't notice that someone had touched them. He went up to his bedroom and then got undressed.

"I'm not sleepy."

I went up. "Stay in bed anyway."

"Can I see your pee-pee."

"No."

"You want to see my pee-pee?" Before I could even say no, he had his briefs off and was clad in just a white t-shirt. I was seventeen and cock-hungry, but not for his cock. He turned around and waggled his bare bottom at me. "Now show me yours."

"No, put your underwear back on and go to bed." He was a pretty insistent little kid. I barely managed to get him dressed before his mother came home. In a way I understood how he felt. I wanted to see a seventeen-year old's cock up close, not just the glimpses in the locker room. Not that I wanted anyone to know that I wanted to see cock. And what if I showed him my cock and he told someone? All fun and games until someone gets labeled a child molester.

I resisted successfully and my cousin has not my cock. He's now a balding gay man. It took him a few more years before he saw a cock with hair around it.

Sorry about my recent lack of posts; I've been busy. This marks the last of my posts covering my life before eighteen. One last scouting story and then I hit college. Real sex is on the way.

Questions I Frequently Wish You Were Asking

Why are you writing this blog?
I am writing this blog in the hopes that lots of guys shoot a load while or just after reading it. I enjoy making guys cum, but with my limited schedule and means for travel, I can't get around to all of you. If you've shot a load, my work has not been in vain.

I love your blog! How can I ever thank you?
I'm not in this for any sort of monetary gain (wait, do you have cash, because I don't want to be all stupid here). If you really want to thank me, send me your naked pics. If you're a woman, a gracious smile in the direction of your ISP will be sufficient.

What if I think I'm not your type?
Oh, why should that matter? You can still send me pics. I might look at it and think "well, he does nothing for me," but if you got all hard reading my stuff, well that's still something of a turn on.

How big are you?
I'd like to lose a few pounds, who wouldn't? This is a kinda rude question for a sex blog, isn't it?

No, I mean your cock.
Oh, that. Just a little over average according to the stats. Bigger than most of the cocks I've encountered. Go figure.

Why are there no pictures in your blog?
I want my blog to be my own work. So I don't want to gather pics from the Internet. I also want to keep my ass off of this. After all, I started by saying that I wasn't trying to protect the innocent, I was protecting me.

That's not a very courageous stance.
Nope.

In the dark

In high school, my friends were the geeky kids. Or should I say, the other geeky kids. There were a group of four of us who got together at lunchtime to discuss science fiction. We started off pretty much with The Lord of the Rings and The Foundation Trilogy, but my interests in science fiction were soon veering off into other directions. I was reading Dangerous Visions.


What was it about these stories that so appealed to my teenage eyes? The literary language? The experiments with narrative form? No. They dealt with sex. Sex in every form. Straight. Gay. Kinky stuff. Incest. Aliens.

One day we were discussing something less exotic. In this story, people on an overpopulated Earth had been conditioned to sublimate their sex drives into masturbation. Joel didn't get it. What was this word that kept coming up in the story? What was masturbation?

Bob was the school photographer. He went to all the games and photographed the athletes. He had access to the to the school darkroom. And that's where we went, since the lunchroom really wasn't the place to discuss masturbation.

So the four of us, Joel, Bob, Chris, and I were in the darkroom. The lights were on, but no one ever puts strong lights in darkrooms. In the gloom, in hushed tones, we explained to Joel what we already knew.

"Masturbation is when you stroke you penis to induce pleasure," I explained. We offered the various slang terms for it. Beating off. Jacking off. Jerking off.

He still didn't get it. Bob grabbed a ruler and put it between his legs as if it were an erect cock. "And you rub your hand up and down it." He didn't demonstrate.

We were on the verge. I thought of suggesting that we demonstrate. Drop trou, pull 'em out, get 'em hard. I lost my nerve. It's not like I had other friends to fall back on. We kept it purely theoretical. Joel remained skeptical.

When we next met for lunch, I wanted to ask "did you try it?" I wasn't that bold. I think he did, though.

The Snow Bath

I was about fifteen when this happened. A family moved into one of the new developments in town. I forget where they were from originally. Another state. By our standards, they talked funny.

They had been active in scouting in their old area, so we got three of them. A kid a little younger than me, his brother, a high school senior, and their father who became an assistant scoutmaster. One winter trip, the older boy suddenly stripped bare, grabbed handfulls of snow and started rubbing them on his body.

I was fascinated by his cock. I had never seen a cock of someone that old.

"What the hell are you looking at?" he asked with a scowl.

"You're rubbing snow on yourself," I said.

"Aren't you cold?" asked another kid. Good, I wasn't the only one paying attention to this.

"I'm taking a snow bath, dumbshit." His language often failed to reach the level of decorum that scouts were supposed to attain, but only when the adults weren't at hand. He often spoke with disdain for the rest of us. "You don't want to be all gross and filthy."

We actually preferred to be gross and filthy if it meant keeping warm. His skin quickly turned bright red from the snow.


I think he was done with scouts and ready to move on, but his father was invested in his being in the program. He might have even been an Eagle Scout, though having come to the troop with this attainment.

It was his one year in the troop. Once he hit eighteen, he was out of there. There were no repeats of the snow bath.

Moon Over the Highway

No sex in this one, just bare butts.

Don and a new kid, Gil, became the troublemakers in the troop. As much as I didn't want to see Don naked, I did want to see Gil. Cute guy. Good body. And glimpses confirmed that he had an uncut cock, only the second one I had seen. I wanted a better look at that, but I never got more than a glimpse. He seemed to be aware of the implications of sex play and wanted to stay away from it. He had other ways to get into trouble.

On one camping trip, the adult leaders dropped us off. They were taking all but one car to the end point of our trip. We would hike between the two points where most of the cars were waiting. One car was coming back with the adults. We had some time to kill.

Gil and Don decided to fill that time by mooning cars that were going down the highway. And as much as I wanted to see Gil's butt, it was my job to get him to pull his pants back up. I was also on the wrong side. And he had his cock tucked between his legs, the better to flash the drivers. Nothing for me to see.

And the other scouts started to do this. From just the two to about six.

I knew I pretty much had to keep facing them as I tried to convince them that they needed to act responsibly. No avail.

Eventually, the adults came back. As they walking up, the flashers scrambled to put their clothes back together. It was too late. I didn't get a look at the other scouts' bare butts, but the adults driving back from the stopping point did. There was some discussion of canceling the hike, given the bad behavior.

I took responsibility for the troop's action, although those involved confirmed that I spent the entire time telling them that they had to pull their pants back up and stop mooning the road. That got me off the hook. My attempt saved me. There was some punishment for the boys who did drop trou, though I forget what it was.

And I never saw their butts again.

Bare in the woods

Well, you can't do what I had been doing without getting something of a reputation. Yeah, the whispered word was that I was a cockhound. I was being as discreet as I could. Also, the sources of cock were drying up. Steve and Don had both left the troop. I was getting older and felt that certain boys weren't pursuable. I knew I could get in trouble.

So on this one camping trip, there were a bunch of us who had spread our bags under an overhanging rock. It was a cool place to camp and I'm sure many had done this before. I knew that I had absolutely no prospects. Nothing had put a lock on my cock like putting me in a leadership position. Let me see. There was the priggish kid who went to Catholic school. The scoutmaster's son.

I still needed to cum (not that any of the sexual activity I was engaging in at that time lead to orgasm). On the pretext of going to pee, I went off into the woods, found a secluded area, and beat off. I unzipped and whipped out my cock. My age and need got me hard pretty quickly. I stroked my cock until I came, white splotches of cum spattering the dead leaves at my feet. I could hear the cum hit them.

Once I was done, "restored to decorum," as I thought of it, I cleaned up, kicking over the leaves to hide the evidence of what I had done. I had become pretty good at the discreet jackoff in the woods, although a couple members of my troop (the two Dons) liked to spy on other guys. I know that the younger Don did once spy on me when I was jacking off.

So I'm zipped up and walking back to the encampment. It's a lovely spring day and now that I won't be getting a hardon, maybe I'll kick back and do some reading. When I get there,

Only one guy was there, Lance, a new member of the troop. New, but joined late, so he was 15 to my 17. He was a lean guy with longish hair (hey, it was the lat 70s) and he always wore a shell necklace. At the moment, that's all he had on. He was lying naked on his sleeping bag. If my load had been in my balls instead of seeping into the soil, I probably would have got hard.

"Nice weather for lying out nude," I said.

I grabbed a book from my backpack and got on my sleeping bag. I was playing this cool.

"The other guys said you'd try to do something with me if I was naked."

"Did they?" Was this an invitation or a trap? Did he want the senior patrol leader to blow him or was I going to become an outcast?

He was going to have to do the work on this one. He was going to have to make a play for me. His stomach remained pressed to the sleeping bag. No cock display. Also, this wasn't the best play to play with cocks. If someone came back, we'd be seen. No tent to hide us.

"It is a great day to just enjoy the breeze," I said. "I think I'll join you."

I stripped off my clothes and lay naked on my sleeping bag. I grabbed my book and went back to reading. It really did feel nice with the sun glancing down and the gentle breeze. This was my first experience being naked outside. I liked it.

He never tried to escalate things. I never tried to escalate things. I was enjoying my book. And when everyone else came back, as I knew they eventually would, the two of us were just relaxing in the nude.

Busted!

Yeah, I was playing with fire. You tell a horny teenager to be careful and behave himself.

There was one time where I probably got caught. I'm not sure how much the grownup involved knew what was happening. Probably more than was good for me.

We were on a winter camping trip. The whole troop was sharing a big, open cabin. This was the same trip where Steve had me show my "man cock" to Dave. When it came time to set out our sleeping bags, Don and I put ours close to each other.

"Are you sleeping naked?" he asked me.

"Yes. You?" I whispered back. He said he was. "Really?" I heard his bag unzip a bit.

"Do you want to check?"

What was I thinking? This wasn't in the privacy of a two-man tent. We were in a cabin, surrounded by the entire troop and the adult leaders. The leaders were even awake, since they were taking responsibility for making sure that the fire in the large chimney in the center of the cabin would burn all night. This was not a time when cold was going to drive anyone to share a bag. There was an upper loft area where I had showed my hardon earlier, but we were right down there in the center of things.

I snaked a hand out and checked, running it down Don's hip. Yup. He was naked.

I pulled my hand back and his hand came in to check that I was naked. Of course I was. Would I lie about something like that? I was also hard when his hand grazed my cock.

I snuggled closer, put a hand back into his bag. Yeah, he was hard too.

We whispered and giggled for a bit while we wrestled with each other's cock. Then one of the assistant scoutmasters came over. He tapped the back of my head with a shovel. "Quiet! Settle down!"

That was a shock. I don't know what had been seen, but that was too close for comfort. On the other hand, there didn't seem to be any repercussions. No one ever took me aside to tell me not to grope my fellow scouts. But I was more wary after that.

Getting creative

During everything else, I continued my solo play. Hell, I still continue with solo play. Sometimes, that's what I want.

I had figured out that it could feel nice to have something in your hole while jacking off. Of course, a fifteen-year old in suburbia in the 70s wasn't going to have a great array of options for butt toys. Like many a teen, I was creative, making do with what I had.

So I assembled my hidden stash of butt toys. I started with a pen. Skinnier than my finger, but also longer and firmer. From there I progressed to a dried-up marker. The end was reasonably smooth and with a little baby oil it could be slid into my hole. It was thicker. I did find an old candle at one point, but I kept worrying that it was going to break inside me or something. How could I explain a butt full of bits of wax? Would it break off inside me?

I was also worried about anyone finding my little collection of toys. How could I explain this collection of random junk? Who keeps a dried-up marker? What would you do with it? Obviously, "slide it in and out of my hole when I jerk off" wasn't going to be a winning answer.

After any sort of butt play, I'd take my makeshift toys and very carefully clean them. Didn't want any traces of baby oil left behind, because that would completely give things away. And forget about poop. That would have been a disaster.

Eventually, a bit of home repair meant that the hiding place for my toys wasn't going to be usable any more. If I hadn't removed them myself, they would have been discovered. I didn't want to explain the baby oil and marker to my father. So, after a final bit of butt play, I threw away these items I had saved from the trash. It was a sad moment.

There was another memorable opportunity for getting creative. I had read in some source about the frequency at which men could orgasm. I knew that although I tended to spread things out in eight-hour intervals, I could probably do it more frequently. One day my family was going off to something that my sisters wanted to do. My brother was going, but I was old enough to be left on my own.

I waited a few minutes after everyone left, just to make sure that no one was suddenly coming back. Then I ran to my room and stripped, throwing all my clothes on my bed. Now I was naked at home. I strutted back and forth a bit, reveling in my nudity. It was a warm day so I didn't need clothes to keep warm. It was great.

But there was no time to waste. I got on my bed, lying back with my knees slightly raised. I grabbed my cock (yeah, by this time I had worked out that it felt better if you wrapped your hand around it) and stroked out a load. Of course it was as done as quickly as possible. The concept of delaying an orgasm to improve upon it had not entered my mind. Edging would have seemed not only incomprehensible, but physically impossible. Keep an erection for a half hour? Can't be done!

And that was not the point that day either. The goal was to to get as many out as I could before my family was due back home. I shot all over my stomach and chest and then went to the bathroom to clean up. This felt really naughty, taking my cum-drenched naked body down the hall to the bathroom. Normally, this would be impossible. With my family gone, I could do what I wanted.

After cleaning up, I went back to my bedroom. Before long, my cock got hard in anticipation of my plan. I forget how long I had to wait for shot #2. A little longer. Cleanup was easier this time. I had thought of grabbing some toilet paper which I wadded up and threw into the toilet.

Still naked. I touched my cock and balls while I waited for the next hardon. This was new. Usually my cock was hard before I got my underwear down. This time, my underwear was in a pile at the foot of the bed and my cock was in no hurry to get hard.

But it did eventually. I wish I had made notes. I kept a journal at the time, but all of these exploits were exactly what I didn't put into my journal. Once, in my teens, I wrote something about either some messing around on a camping trip or jacking off. I thought better about it the next day and carefully scissored out the page, transcribing an expurgated version on the next page. What if someone found it?

By the time my family was due home, I had blasted out eight loads, although the last couple hardly counted as blasting. A little dribble. I cleaned up, flushed the evidence of this experiment down the toilet.  Then with shaking legs, I made my way back to my bedroom and put my clothing back on.

I opened a book and was reading when my family got home. My mother noticed my wobbly step. "My foot went to sleep."

The Two Dons

I wrote about sharing a tent and even a sleeping bag with Don. Don and I shared a tent a few times after that, sometimes sharing a bag for warmth. We were usually in the nude, even if we were in separate bags. Hands would go back and forth to confirm that the other was actually nude.

Then one camping trip, Don suggested that we share a three-man tent with a younger scout named Don. This Don (I'll call him Don B) was a year younger than Don A. I had no desire to see him naked. It was mostly a personality thing. He was a bit of a troublemaker.

I got into my sleeping bag, sliding off my underwear. Don A asked if I were sleeping in the nude. "As always." Don A confirmed that he was also nude. I think Don B was a little surprised about this. Usual thing. Are these two older guys trying to scam the kid? And this was fair because a lot of stuff that went on in scouts was based on scamming the younger kids. This time, we were on the up-and-up. We really were naked.

Don B joined us in this. When we demonstrated our nudity, we unzipped our bags and showed a line of skin from chest down the hip. We kept the naughty bits covered. Don B flipped his bag open and spread his legs wide flaunting what he didn't have. It was a warm night and Don B was there completely naked in the dim glow of the flashlight.

Donny (we called him that to differentiate him from Don, since he was not only younger but way less mature) showed off his little trick. He could take his penis and press it back into his body. So he went from very little to really nothing at all.

I don't remember ever seeing Don's cock, although I felt it a few times in the dark. It seemed pretty normal sized, although I also don't think I ever encountered any hair. He had fine blond hair, so maybe it was just some wisps above the shaft. Or maybe I just missed it.

There was no questions about Donny, who was happy to show off his dick and his butt. I think he got off on the sheer naughtiness of it. I didn't do anything sexual with him. However, on this or some other camp out, he learned that Don and I had shared a bag on a few occasions. He wanted in on that. With Don.

The two Dons got into Don A's bag together, naked. I was hard in my own bag. Once we killed the flashlight, I did a discreet jerk off in my bag. I was probably thinking about Don's cock rubbing up against Donny.

That was sort of the beginning of the end with Don. He started sharing tents with Donny, going for the two-man tents. No room for a third. That left me finding someone else to share a tent with. Usually someone who I knew wasn't going to enjoy groping cocks in the dark.

After a while, Don left the troop. I tried to remain friends with him at school, but we didn't share any interests. And so we sort of drifted apart. Never got to suck his cock. Never did more than a few gropes on camping trips.

I have one more story about Don. I think it came after this. We haven't quite said goodbye to him.

The first taste

I was about 16 when I had my first taste of cum. I had developed a three orgasm a day schedule. Once in the morning as part of getting ready for school. Once when I got home from school (especially if I had gym that day). Once before I went to sleep. If I went all evening without jacking off, I couldn't sleep.

Sometimes, when everyone was asleep, I'd creep off to the bathroom and that's when I got my most creative. I had figured out that butt play was fun. Brush it with a finger. Use some spit to slide a finger inside. (Yeah, I tried shampoo and liquid soap. They kinda burned.) Then one day, my mother came across an old bottle of baby oil. My brother was long past baby stage. Years past. How that bottle had survived the purge of unneeded baby stuff so long was a mystery. Yeah, of course I grabbed it.

Now I had a lubricant and the possibilities were endless. Why with appropriate lubrication, I could do more than stick one finger partway into my hole. I could get two. Could I get three? Wow. All the way in too. My cock was rock hard as I slammed a trio of fingers up my hole. This was dirty, wrong, and I had an amazing orgasm when I came. Usually, I just went for a finger or two. Three took work and time.

One day, I decided that I wanted to try to see my fingers going up my hole. My mother had a hand mirror, but there was no way I could get that from my parents' bedroom to the bathroom. What was I going to say, "I wanted to look at my butthole as I stuffed some fingers up there"?

I was a limber teen and I wondered if I could curl up enough to see. Bracing myself against the tub, I got my legs up and over my head. And there it was.

As I noted, I really wasn't getting a lot of cock. Steve, from time to time at school, but he was such a jackass. There wasn't anyone else who looked like a good prospect. And there was my cock, practically hitting me on my cheek. My cock. I couldn't actually see my butthole (though I was getting a great view of my baby-oil slick hand). Could I get my cock in my mouth?

I opened my mouth and two exciting things were now happening. I was sucking cock. My cock was being sucked. I could tell what felt good and started to realize that certain things felt really good. See, we needed communication. We didn't tell each other what felt good. Here, I knew. There was instant feedback.

With a combination of stretching my neck and pulling my pelvis closer to my face, I actually managed a bit of in-and-out. My lips were on the shaft. It felt good. No, it felt great. Like playing with my friends it had the excitement of lips on my cock and at the same time having my lips on a cock. Did I actually need anyone?

My cock went in and out. The feelings were intensifying. I kept going. I felt my hole twitch around my fingers as cum spurted to the back of my mouth. This was hot. I greedily sucked my juice down, trying not to make too much noise as I had an intense orgasm. I was breathing heavily as the cum went down my throat.

Then I slid my fingers from my hole and slowly stretched back out again, lying on the bathroom floor for a few minutes. That was intense and I knew I would do it again. From time to time, since this took longer than a quick jack off, I'd close myself in the bathroom and blow myself.

I kept doing it, off and on, when I had privacy. After coming out, I did it a couple times for boyfriends, adding a little spice to our sex life. In my late 20s, I stopped as I was getting too thick around the middle. But middles can be trimmed.

Yeah, I can do it. I'm in my late 40s now and I can blow myself. Takes more prep than when I was 16. Though I can get slender enough, I'm still heavier than I was at 16. I don't get quite as much in anymore. Takes more time. I'm able to postpone the orgasm until I'm ready to cum. Still feels great. And I love swallowing my own cum.

The Discovery of Masturbation

Yeah, yeah, this is another one that is not in chronological order. Despite my efforts to keep moving forward, i keep thinking of things that are a bit further back.


It started with the discovery of Playboy. When I was about 10, I found that my father had magazines under his side of my parents' bed. If there's any possibility that early exposure can influence sexuality, I would be straight or least bi, given the the amount of naked female flesh I saw before the age of 12. I knew that Playboy was grown up and sexual. Looking at the magazines made my little dick hard. I'd flip through them and then I'd carefully slide the magazine back into place. And then there were books.

I forget which book I found first. Was it The Happy Hooker or Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex? One of those. It was hidden under my parents' bed near the Playboys. Okay, what did this hold?

I read these books in whatever order I discovered them. Happy Hooker was a shorter book. The only thing I remember about it is an acceptance on the part of Xaveria Hollander of any form of sex as long as no one was hurt and she got a cut of the take.

Dr. Reuben did terrify me with his chapter on homosexuality, describing a world of butches and femmes in which men were either hypermasculine or in drag. He also taught me about masturbation, though I wish he had done a better job of it.

As an instruction manual, Everything You Always Wanted to Know falls short. I remember reading that masturbation is described as the rubbing of the penis to the point of orgasm. Okay, I knew what rubbing was. You might rub a table to get the dust off it. You rubbed a piece of sandpaper on the wooden car for the Pinewood Derby. Rub. Got it.

My earliest masturbatory attempts were done with the flat of my hand rubbing up and down the length of my penis. It felt good and I found I could do it for a while. Despite the influence of Playboy, I imagined my male classmates wrestling about nude in a dogpile.

When I started ejaculating, it came as no surprise, since Dr. Reuben had already prepared me for that. Oh, that felt good. Eventually, I found that it felt even better if you wrapped your hand around it. This was probably after seeing the other boys do it in the back of the bus. On my one demonstration, they were fascinated by my flat-handed technique.

At one point, and this might have been in Everything You Always Wanted to Know or maybe in Playboy, I saw a reference to using a toilet paper tube as a masturbatory aid. The idea was that you slicked up your cock and slid it along the inside of the tube as if you were fucking something (or someone). Pocket pussy/ass on the cheap.

One day, I noticed a toilet paper roll in the bathroom trash. Good boys take out the trash. Bad boys filch things from the trash to use on their cock. I hid away that toilet paper roll until I had a moment by myself. Just to try, I poked the head of my cock into the roll.

And that was it. My first thought was that whoever had come up with the toilet paper roll story was just kidding. There was no way my dick was getting stuffed into that thing. Sure, my cock soft would fit into one, but hard? No way. The whole thing had to be a lie. At the time, I figured every cock was like mine, or even bigger. Yeah, I had seen the boys on the bus, but not enough to compare. Later, I would realize that there were dicks out there that would fit inside a toilet paper roll.

I'd stroke my dick until I came three times a day. Okay, not every day. Every once in a while, aware that masturbation was a sin, I'd resolve to stop masturbating. My record was a whole four days. I decided that there was no torture in hell as bad as an aching teen boner and the embarrassment of trying to hide that I was hard most of the time. Not long after that, I decided that there was no hell and no God trying to torture guys by making their cocks hard 24/7 unless they masturbate.

There were times when I worried about the mess and so I would pinch the head as I came. I suspect I managed a retrograde ejaculation, sending it into my bladder. Probably not a good idea. It seemed like a good idea at the time, since I got the feeling of an orgasm without having to clean up the mess. Given that decades later, my cock still works, I guess I didn't do any damage.

Boxer Rebellion

This one isn't that sexual. It's also out of sequence, since I was eight when this happened.


My oldest memories of underwear are good old Fruit of the Loom tighty-whities. There's a photo of me taken one night. I was eight and had left my bedroom to get a glass of water. My father had just bought a camera that night and took a picture of me in a white t-shirt and briefs. Not long after that, my father told me it was time to stop wearing little boy underwear and wear big boy underwear. Boxers. Okay, whatever you say. My parents had bought me some boxers and away went the white briefs.

In third grade, we had periodic bathroom breaks. The teacher would march the whole class, divided by sex to the restrooms and then we would enter the appropriate one according. At the urinals, the other boys quickly found that I was wearing something different underneath my pants. There is, of course, no greater crime among third graders than "different."

I was already the kid who was being teased by his classmate and called a fag. I didn't really know what the term meant, other than that it was so unspeakably bad it couldn't be repeated to adults. "He called me a bad name" was as specific as I could get. No one ever did anything about it.

One day, on the way home from school, I got stopped by three of my classmates, including one who a few years later would torment me on the bus (yeah, that bus). "Come with us." They hustled me down a path in some woods. Was I joining some sort of club? Nope.

They wanted to see my underwear. Was it true that I was wearing something different? I was told to drop trou or I'd get beaten up. Once my pants were around my ankles, they made me shuffle about as they looked at my boxers.

Then they pulled down my boxers and I had to shuffle about with my pants and boxers around my ankles. They laughed at me and then they all took off. When I was alone, I fixed my clothing and then ran home.

They did it a few times after that. Finally, I told my parents that I wanted to go back to briefs because, "the other boys were making fun of me." I refused to wear them again. The old underwear was still available and went back into my dresser. The boxers went goodbye and I wore white briefs again until college.

These days, I sometimes wear boxers. Then again, no one is threatening to punch me if I don't pull my pants down. Those who do want to see what's under my pants, take it further. And they're not laughing, either.