*Gay Sex: Older & Young men*

I was 14 or so, and my parents were away somewhere. Without asking, they sent me along to an international summer camp down on the coast in the Oslo fjord.

It was a nice camp. Lots of things to do, swim, sailing, canoeing, table tennis and a lot of other sports. But best of all, lots of boys from Norway and US, in the ages from 12 to 14.

After just a few days at the camp I got really friendly with a boy from New Jersey, John. He was twelve years old, and a funny boy to be together with. We did lots of things, but in this story I will concentrate on a bit more special side of his activities.

He must have been very occupied with sex. He used to show himself to the other boys when they changed for swimming, and lots of the time he did that he had a hard on!

But one day after about a week, John and I were watching a game of table tennis, we were supposed to play when a couple of other boys had finished. For some reason or another, we started to tickle each other. We went on for some time, and I remember I tickled John in his groin, when John suddenly suggested that they should go to his cabin.

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Jeremy had a stammer, and my heart went out to him.

At the time, I was fourteen and Jer was twelve. I was popular enough. Though sometimes I wished my jet black hair was a different color and I wanted to be a little more muscular, I was happy with my looks. I had plenty of friends, but I went out of my way to be friends with Jer.

I couldn’t believe how cruel some kids were to him. He was an only child and had no siblings to speak up for him. And every time he struggled to say something, I ached a bit for him.

Now I need to be honest. By the time this took place, I had messed around with other boys enough to believe I was at least bisexual if not outright gay. And Jer was beautiful; brown/blond hair, grey eyes, slim, tall, bubble butt. I was attracted to him. And he brought out something of a big brother instinct in me. Jeremy lived three houses down.

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When I was twelve, I had plenty of friends but sometimes none of them would be around, so there was this kid named Jimmy, maybe 11 or 12 years. old, who lived two buildings up the street from me, and if he was around, I’d sit on his stairs and talk to him. He really wasn’t my friend, but he didn’t seem to have any friends, and he was rather slow.

We were sitting on his stairs one day just talking, and I noticed that I could see the tip of his cock sticking out of the bottom of his shorts. I kept looking at it as it seemed huge. He told me that his older brother (in his 30s) had some of those little dirty comic books, “eight pagers,” they call them. Dick Tracy, Popeye, Little Orphan Annie, Superman, etc.

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It was the second week of summer vacation and I was settling into the routine of sleeping late in the morning and going to bed late at night. Summer was my favorite time of the year because of being out of school and having so much time to spend with my friends or just on myself. “Good morning Jeremy” my mother said as she knocked on my bedroom door and slowly opened it. “Time to get your lazy bones out of bed and mow the front yard” she said. Then reality began to set in. I was free from the routine of going to school but I still had to do my chores around the house, cutting the grass, keeping my room clean and taking out the trash. I opened my eyes and looked at the clock radio on the night table next to my bed. It was 10:30 a.m. Mom made sure I was awake and then she closed the door in order to give me some privacy getting out of bed.

I slid the sheets down below my feet and looked at my body. As usual, I had my morning boner. For as long as I could remember, I had been waking up with a boner. I had learned long ago that almost all males wake up like that, so I never thought too much of it. All I was wearing were my white jockey shorts and against my tan skin, they looked so white. I put my hand on my shorts and pushed my boner towards my feet and let it all back to my belly. I did that a couple of times, it just felt good stretching it like that.

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They call me Matt; but it was Matthew when I was younger. It’s a good, strong, masculine name of which I have always been proud. This name, and the gift of life, were the only things my parents were allowed to give to me. Unfortunately, they both perished in a fiery automobile accident on a treacherous winter’s night when I was a mere infant. I have no distinct memory of them other than two dog-eared snapshots circa 1953: one of my then-18-year-old dad. hair slicked back, leather jacket over white tee, a cigarette dangling from his lower lip and standing in his best James Dean impersonation; the other of my mom in a wrap-around plaid skirt leaning against an old Ford, looking very much like a young Natalie Wood. The photographs were taken two years before I was born, and less than a year later they were gone.

From that moment on, I was shifted from relative to relative, from coast to coast, never spending enough time in one place to grow any roots or develop any lasting relationships. Luckily, both my parents came from large families so there was no shortage of homes for me to visit. Usually, an aunt would decide that the burden of another child in the household was too much and I would be packed off to the next home.

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“Aw, Mom!” he tried. “Please!”

“No John. This you just have to do!”

“Please!” he tried again, a bit feebler now, as he recognized his mother’s no-nonsense-voice. This had already been decided, he clearly understood. But he could not give up without a fight.

“But mom! I was to go hiking with my friends!”

“I’m sorry John. But have to do this. You can go hiking with your friends another time.”

“But mom…”

“Listen John: The Rein family are you mom and dad’s best friends. When they ask us a favor like this, we say yes! Besides, Peter’s father is dad’s biggest client.”

“Yes, I know, but… Why cannot Peter be home alone for the weekend? He’s 14 and all. I was alone home when I was 14!”

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My best friend, Bobby looked like a kid from a Saturday Evening Post cover. He had reddish brown hair, freckles and brown eyes. I had a round face, light brown hair and blue eyes. We started jerking off together just before we turned 12 and sometimes we would jerk off each other.

We were 14 that summer. Bobby’s brother, Greg was about two years older maybe a little more.

Danny and Greg always hung out together. Since Danny and Greg were older our Mom’s referred to them as the ‘big kids’ and Bobby and I as the ‘little kids’. The ‘big kids’ had no time for the ‘little kids’ in the neighborhood.

If you remember the ‘Father Knows Best’ TV shows, Danny looked like Bud, the son, played by Billy Grey. I had a crush on Danny since I was 7 and had first moved into the neighborhood.

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When I was growing up, I had a friend that lived across the street from me. His name was Billy. Now Billy and I were pretty good friends and did everything together. If you found me, you found Billy and vice-versa. Lots of time we were out in the open field behind my house in one of our two tree forts. They were simple and crude, but they were our palace and refuge away from the world.

We were typical 12 year olds, meaning skinny and gangly. Neither one of us weighed more than 80 pounds I’m guessing. I had dark brown hair and Billy’s was blonde. I had a few freckles, Billy had none. I guess one might have called us cute kids.

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Hi my name is Nick Huppe. I’m 6 feet tall, 175 pounds, brownish-blonde hair, and 14 years old. I’ve known for a while I was gay, but I’ve always pretended to be disgusted at the thought of it. It all started when I was 10 when my big brother Joel walked out of the shower and I saw his big cock, it must have been 8 inches long. I didn’t know why but I got turned on. But now, four years later something more has happened, here is my story:

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It had been a year and a half since Heath Simmons died, leaving his old boyfriend Nick Huppe alone. Nick was now 16 and he could still remember the exact moment when Heath left him. It was as vivid in his mind now as it was minutes after it happened:

Flashback: He sat next to Heath in the hospital room as he lay, hooked up to a life-support system.

“Why did you have to get mixed up in that fight, Heath?” Nick asked out loud, knowing perfectly well that Heath could not hear him.

Heath had gotten into a fight with a gang that was terrorizing Nick for being gay. Nick had begged him not to, but Heath wouldn’t stand for it. Heath had put up a good fight for a while, but the gang fought dirty as hell, they out numbered him by 4 and had all picked up pipes. By the end of 10 minutes Heath lay unconscious and bloody on the ground and the gang members had fled. Nick had tried to stop them, but one quick knock in the back of the head knocked him out too, but they did not beat him like they had to Heath. When Nick awoke there was a crowd around the two of them and the ambulance was putting them into stretchers to be taken to the hospital.

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