If you are under 18, you should not read this. If reading stories of a sexual nature are illegal where you are, then don't goddam read this. Get out and vote!
This story is true, and is from a moment in my life where I was developing my sexual identity. I am a straight adult, but I was a voraciously bi youth. It was all very natural and incredibly fun, and I'm not in the least bit ashamed or unhappy about it. Since then, I tucked it all neatly away on a shelf until the past six months, when writing about it on Literotica, The Kristen Archives, and Nifty, brought it roaring back to my senses. I can taste the moment, feel it, smell it all over again, just by writing. This, in itself, is a new experience, and I'm really enjoying it.
If you like the story, feel free to e-mail me, at the link below. Getting feedback is cool, especially from those with similar experiences! Don't be shy!
Time: Mid 1970s
Place: A Summer Camp On The Chesapeake Bay
When Glen walked in, it was clear that the three of us had just finished a total suck fest. The bunks were pushed together and we were on them together, still naked, all twisted all over each other with our hands on each other's poles and our faces laying across legs or mid sections.
It was also perfectly natural and normal for Glen to walk in, being that this bunk room over the kitchen was his for the summer. I was just surprised that we didn't hear him until he opened the door. The radio was playing, but it was playing loud music quietly!
Paul and Jerry froze. They knew that Glen and I had been jerk buddies, but they had no idea how much time we'd spent 69ing already that summer, so when Glen looked at us with a huge smile and said "Cool!" in a boisterous, friendly guy way, and I answered back "Hey", with a big grin, they were relieved, to put it mildly! Then I froze........
Looming out of the shadows of the doorway came 'Capt'n' Mike, assistant director of the whole summer camp. Mike basically ran the camp and, at 22, was older, wiser, tougher, faster and more worldly than all of us. He was a nice guy, and we all liked him, but he was definitely part of the grown up world, and we were still kids compared to him. He had a beautiful girlfriend who drove a brand new Triumph convertible and visited him from Baltimore every week, and it was common knowledge that they were to get some undisturbed time together during those visits.
"Cheeezus, you guys", Mike said with a big, disarmingly friendly smile, then shook his head and told us to just go on back to our cabins, and added, in a theatrically responsible tone, that we shouldn't really be up here in the first place. We scrambled to get back into our shorts and t-shirts and sneakers, and tore passed them and down the stairs. Halfway across the playing fields I started to howl with laughter, and the other two did, too. Then Paul and Jerry headed to their cabin and I headed to mine.
When I got there, I half opened the door and told the Counselor In Charge that I still had some putting away to help with over at the kitchen. Everyone was nearly asleep, and he mumbled some sort of OK, so I dashed back to the scene of the crime. There was no moon, and I ran like I was in the 100 yard dash.
When I got to the mess hall, I darted around back and quietly opened the gate into Glen's little enclosed yard, looked up, and saw that his inner door was shut. This was a first, and now I HAD to have a look.
The kitchen bunk house had been built in the early 60s, in a rustic style, over the flat roofed kitchen that dated from the 50s. There was a nearly 3 foot wide ledge outside the door and windows on 2 sides, and I slid up the stairs, still smiling and more than a little short of breath, and carefully knelt out onto the ledge along the window side and peeked in through the screen and the slatted wooden interior shutters.
Glen was sitting on the end of the single bunk, feet on the floor, and Mike was standing in front of him. Both of them were plenty naked, and so close to me that I could have reached out and touched either of them. I was so excited my chest was completely constricted. Glen, a friendly, muscular kid with a comically tough edge, straight like me, and like Paul, and like Jerry, and like Mike, I guess (?!), was holding Mike's dick like he had just caught it while applauding. It was absolutely slathered in vegetable shortening from the kitchen, so much that it looked like icing, and Glen's open, extended hands were sliding up and down along the sides of it.
They were talking, quietly, and the tone and cadence sounded like one shy kid trying to talk another shy kid into asking a pretty girl to dance. "Say it", Mike said.
"Can't we just do it", Glen asked?
