Curious George: Not the Monkey but a Young Man
Usual disclaimers and copyright apply. This is a story based in truth about a curious young man and his new, at first, neighbor -- a man. The story was told to me by George as we became and continued as lovers. He asked me to share them with you. So here we go, George's story as told by George
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I was 18 when Phil moved into the duplex next to our unit with his brother and sister-in-law. Phil had just gotten out of prison for robbing a store with a toy gun. I thought that was really funny, robbing a store with a toy gun. By the time the police caught him Phil had spent all the money, only a couple thousand dollars. I thought that was funny too, all the money spent.
Phil's brother and sister-in-law worked. So did my parents, both of them. In the afternoons after school - the final year of high school, then college - I was home alone for several hours before my parents got home. Phil was home alone too all day. No one would hire him to work, and he was restricted about going out in the town.
I would see Phil on his front or back porch, mowing the yard, trimming the hedge, and inside his house through the screen door or a window often when I was home alone. We greeted each other, real neighborly, and some times I would sit and talk with Phil, especially when he was on his back porch inside the hedge not easily visible to others. Phil was always nice to me.
My parents had warned me to stay away from Phil. They told me he was a criminal and more. Phil was a handsome guy, muscular with some tattoos -- a naked woman, heart with an arrow through it, cross, and a Flag on his big biceps and stout, hairy forearms. I was not afraid of Phil though. How scary could a guy be who robbed a store with a toy gun?
Besides Phil gave me my first pair of real baseball shoes with cleats and all. I was pitching baseball. I sort of lied to my parents about the shoes; told them an older friend gave the shoes to me. They thought I meant another young adult, and I left it at that. Phil was 34 years old, way older than any other friend I had.
The day after Phil gave me the baseball shoes he was teaching me how to clean and oil them to make them last a long time. We were sitting together on his back porch. Chatting somewhat aimlessly, Phil asked me why I always went inside my house or away somewhere before my parents got home. I told him about my parents' warning to me and I babbled on with some details.
"Phil, I like you. You are one of my best friends," I told him. "But my dad said you are a faggot. He said you did things with men in prison."
"George, faggot is not a nice word," Phil chided me gently. "Did your father tell you what he meant by did things with men in prison?"
"No, Phil, not really, but I have heard stories, seen movies about men and women in prison," I answered him.
"So," Phil asked, "what kinds of things do you think men do in prison?"
"Sexual things Phil," I said, "with each other. And women with each other too in prison."
"Like what?" Phil asked.
"Kissing, touching each others private places, you know like jacking off together," I said.
"Do you jack off George?" Phil asked.
"Yes, sure I do. Don't all guys?" I asked Phil.
Phil chuckled. "I suppose so," he said, "when they are horny."
"Sure," I said. "Some times I just have too or I have what mother calls wet dreams. You know cum in my bed at night while sleeping."
Phil chuckled again. We had stopped working on the baseball shoes by then, and I was getting a boner. It may have been obvious to Phil, chubbing up in my shorts. I was thinking already about going inside soon and jacking off before my parents came home.
"Phil do you jack off too?" I asked.
He grinned at me. "Sure I do," he answered. "Here at home alone like you."
"Did you, I mean, could you jack off in prison too?" I asked Phil.
