cucumber. Like he’d said, once I started jacking off,
the "wet dreams" stopped almost all together. Only on the rare
occasion when I couldn’t get time to jack off would I wake with a wetness in
my PJ’s.
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My Sheltered Life II
Ride The Wave
Meeting Ray Anthony Robinson changed my life in ways I never expected. Although he rarely talks to me now, I still live with the memories of our time together.
Unlike his, my sheltered life continued, my parents holding the reigns tight, even though I was 15 now. I couldn’t even go anywhere without parental supervision. For the most part, my life was the church. Choir rehearsals, bible classes and performing at multiple churches with my choir. My Sunday evenings were a blur of concerts, church anniversaries and pastor’s appreciations.
Staying the path of the straight and narrow was even more challenging now with my newfound knowledge. Before, all I had to worry about was the occasional "wet dream", a horror in and of itself but the lesser of two evils, if you asked me.
While I was glad I didn’t have to fear soppy, sticky PJ’s, I found myself fighting the battle to not jack off. Now that I’d been introduced to it, it was my dirty secret. One I guarded with my life, forming weird rituals of secrecy.
For one, I had to find the most secret place to keep my new magazine. The obvious place would’ve been under my bed but, unlike most boys, my mom ruled our house, making almost anything in my room unsafe.
Though I’d never admit it, I really liked that magazine and the last thing I wanted was for mom to find it and throw it away. After much searching, I finally settled on the bathroom toilet in my room. Rigging a string assembly that let me lower it behind the tank I trusted it would be safe there.
Nights, I’d sneak it out of its hiding place, thumbing through the pictures
in its well worn pages (Ray Anthony must’ve really liked this one), a bulge in
my PJ’s the shape of a cucumber. Like he’d said, once I started jacking off,
the "wet dreams" stopped almost all together. Only on the rare
occasion when I couldn’t get time to jack off would I wake with a wetness in
my PJ’s.
Strange thing is, until my time with Ray Anthony, I never remembered the accompanying dream to said "wet dreams". Waking with that horrible wetness in my shorts, I’d lay there wondering how the heck it’d got there. But now, to my greater horror, I’d awake on those rare occasions to the wetness and immediately remember the dream. My face turning crimson, I’d feel my dick (I can say that now!) getting hard as visions of Ray Anthony would resurface.
The dreams varied, they were all embarrassing, Ray Anthony staring in them filling my PJ bottoms with heavy, soppy cream. Whether we were walking on the beach, naked at night, or on the swings at the park, equally naked, there was always that funny feeling. Like Ray Anthony was the new "woman/girl" in my, here-to-fore, innocent dreams.
Terrified, I’d clean up the mess, frantically wiping the spot on my bed with a wet towel (I found that usually eliminated the most glaring evidence) and washing my PJ bottoms in the sink, which I hung in the back of the closet, praying they’d dry before night.
Taking an aggressive approach to my "problem", I took several steps to healing. First I got rid of that vile porno magazine. I never should’ve taken that thing from Ray Anthony. With a solemn "purge" ceremony, I burnt it on the backyard Bar-B-Q grill, tears running down my face as I promised God, never again.
But I knew the flesh was weak, so to reinforce my efforts, I doubled my bible classes, attending not only the weekly Wednesday night class but also the new, Friday night Brother’s class. It felt good to be in the presence of such godly men, all there for the sole purpose of studying God’s word.
Mom was really proud of me, beaming at my shirt and tie that first night, a bible tucked under my arm. "Becoming a real man," She gushed, straightening my tie.
Week after week I attended, the lively discussions about various bible passages just the medicine I needed. Things were going well and I felt comforted once again by my faith. That is until the morning I woke with a pajama bottom full of cum. Sensing the wetness, immediately the accompanying dream came to mind.
It wasn’t Ray Anthony this time. My face heating up, the visions of me and DJ, alone in a pool rushed to my conscious. Me and DJ alone and naked! Alone, naked and sporting erections like fence posts!
Like a siren’s call, the memories instantly rushed to my groin, elongating my dick until it poked up beneath the covers. As if the sopping mess in my PJ’s wasn’t enough!!
Seriously conflicted, I lay there, half of me certain I should get up and pray, but the other stronger half replaying the dream that’d made the mess. In the dream the water was crystal clear, our bodies distorted beneath the liquid.
"Do everything I do." Following my instruction, DJ mimicked me, reaching beneath the water to stroke his upright root.
The water distorting the view, I saw his hand moving but couldn’t make out this dick. My hand on my dick, we happily stroked, tiny gasps and whimpers echoing above the water. My hand involuntarily finding my dick in my bed, I scooped up some of the wetness about the base, slathering it around the swollen head.
I knew I was doing wrong, my recent bible classes providing plenty of ammunition against such behavior, but I was helplessly falling to the temptation. Up and down my hand went, ushering more visions to summon the fateful event.
DJ’s dick at the bathroom…his honey-brown fingers in the popcorn bucket. Those same fingers around his extra hard member. My hard dick in my hand. Ray Anthony’s dick, that boy in P.E. with the big bulge in his shorts. Up and down, closer and closer. With an excited whimper, I felt the warm pelts of guilty release, all of the shame crashing down on me, the moment the last drops fell.
Raising the covers, I looked at the utter mess, my guilty conscious smiting me even more. Rushing to the bathroom, I sopped up the mess with a towel. Returning to my bed, I searched for the damnable spot, my eyebrows rising when I found none. Must’ve been on my back when it happened.
In the shower I scrubbed myself raw in an effort to remove the stain of sin. Determined more than ever, I went to Brother’s meeting early that week. Seeking out our new Youth Leader, I asked him if he had a minute.
"Sure Bro. Kyle," He said. Closing his bible, he patted the seat next to him. The open sanctuary a bit disconcerting, I leaned in close, informing him this was a personal matter. He looked up at me, recognition spreading across his face then said, "Follow me."
Walking out the sanctuary, he led me to a side classroom. Closing the door behind us, he directed me to a seat, sitting next to me.
"Go ahead, Bro. Kyle." I looked at him for the longest, struggling to find my words. I felt so confident coming to church. But now, face to face with this godly man, my words failed me.
"Let me take a guess," Bro. Lewis finally said, placing his bible on the empty seat next to him. "It has something to do with sex?" Surprised, I looked at my feet, slowly nodding my head.
"The battle is not yours, Bro. Kyle. It’s the Lord’s." Moving his hand further, I flinched.
"I… I don’t understand."
"That’s why I’m here to help you." His hand inching closer to my dick, my heart thundered in my chest. "Give it over to the Lord, Bro. Kyle." Thoroughly confused, I stammered, trying to find my words. My eyes on his hand, to my horror he moved it over the lump in my pants.
"God wants to help you," He instructed, his warm hand on my thumping growth. "You just have to quit fighting. I tried fighting it and I kept loosing the fight, just like you." His hand tightening, it gently squeezed my length. Without thinking I let out a gasp...
"It’s all good, Bro. Kyle," He said, squeezing my leg again. "We’ve all been there." A familiar thought in the back of my head surfacing, I bat it down, focused more than ever on his last words. Had Bro. Lewis had temptations like mine?
As if reading my mind, he somberly added, "In fact, I’m working with Pastor Johnson right now on this same problem." Pastor Johnson? I was shocked!
"It’s a problem the Black church shies away from," Bro. Lewis continued. "We’re loosing too many young men to this problem and we’re working on solutions to address this."
"Loosing young men?"
"Yes, to homosexuality." It hit me like a ton of bricks. Dear God, Bro. Lewis thought I was GAY!!
"Oh, but I’m not gay." He gave me a knowing pat on my leg, continuing his speech as if he hadn’t heard me.
"On the Downlow, they call it. You can’t imagine the young men who’ve talk to me about this." Glancing over at me, he squeezed my leg again. "Your problem is tamed by comparison, Bro. Kyle. Young men have told me about uncles and friends who’ve had their way with them. About nights running the streets in search of another man."
On and on he went, each account more horrifying than the last. My head reeling, I was somewhat alarmed. All of these things were happening in our church? Who were these men and how come I’d never seen them?
"Yes, you did the right thing, coming forward. I’m going to make you my special project. The devil’s not going to win this one," He said, his hand moving up my leg. That distant thought moving closer to the surface, I suddenly felt an unwanted stirring.
Looking down at his hand, I appreciated the nice tapered length of each finger, not unlike Ray Anthony’s hands, save the darker, caramel complexion. A young man himself, Bro. Lewis was probably only ten to fifteen years older than me. His skin a smooth, caramel brown, he was rather attractive, a constant circle of young women always at his beck and call.
Quiet, I looked at his hand, inches away from my groin. He continued talking, his hand never leaving my upper thigh. The vile temptations surfacing, I felt my member betray me, slowly filling my pants with an obvious bulge.
"I need to know about fighting temptation now," I interrupted, clutching my bible. Looking at me, Bro. Lewis stopped talking, his eyes almost immediately falling on the bulge in my pants. My face turning crimson, I suddenly felt very tiny....
"I’m so glad you’re coming to a correct understanding about this." He pecked me on the lips again.
"Me too," I agreed, my voice just above a whisper. I leaned forward and kissed him this time.
He looked down, drawing my attention to the wicked growth standing out my pants. "What should we do about that?" He taunted, running his finger up the underside. I quivered, my hands balling into fists. I knew there was no longer any resistance but still I hunched my shoulders.
"I think you need some brotherly help," He said, encircling my hard inches with his warm fingers. Slathering the ample supply of juice about the head, he started stroking me. My hips slowly raising, the most incredible sensations rocketed up my length.
Jacking off with Ray Anthony had been something new and exciting, introducing me to a part of my sexuality I never knew. But it was wrong because he was ungodly, smoking weed, looking at wicked porno magazines, and doing God knows what else.
But this… this was what I’d needed. "Thank you brother Lewis," I moaned, my hips edging upward.
"Devean," He corrected, whipping his hand around the head of my dick.
"Oh God! Devean, its coming!"
Cum…..cum everywhere. Inside me, running down my backside, on the bed, my
balls. Warm at first, it was beginning to cool. My head down, I panted, the
gooey mess oozing between my cheeks.
A hand patting me on the head, I heard that same unmistakable voice. "You’ve done well, my son." Gently caressing me, the big hand was tender now, unlike the brutal actions of the same person minutes before.
"Your work will be rewarded," He continued, hand moving down my back now. When it moved down the curvature of my ass, I tensed up. Holding my breath, I listened as he continued praising me, his hand playing about my sloppy cheeks now. As it moved between them, darting at my aching hole, I actually flinched.
"This is the highest prize, young brotha," The eloquent voice detailed, his finger sliding back and forth against my violated hole. "Use it wisely." His sliding finger worked across my wet hole.
I felt my hole contract, despite my predicament and then, just as my willy started growing, he left, the door closing behind him. Locked on my knees, I remained in the dark for some time, my hole aching, my ass in the air....