I reckon youâve heard my story before â but not the way that it really happened. Mr. Mark Twain might have found in me his great muse, but he never had the cajones to tell the truth of my extraordinary adventures. All the same, he loved to stretch the truth, and other things besidesâŠbut Iâm getting ahead of myself. The true account of my story should start where every good story begins â at the beginning.
I grew up in a little town set right on the banks of the great Mississippi. I was an orphan, well at least mostly so. My mother died shortly after I was born, and my pa was a mean olâ scoundrel who I hardly ever saw.
So I was left pretty much on my own, which meant my life was completely and wholly mine, with no interferences of an adult kind for most of my childhood. Until the Widow Douglas moved in on me, and attempted to âsivilizeâ me to the best of her ability.
I was twelve the first time I attended school, and I tried to act proper and respecâable but I felt somethinâ was missinâ from my life. I didnât know exacâly what it was until that day on the riverbank.
It was the summer just afore my friend Tom was to leave for University. Now Tom is a nice feller â my bestest friend since afore I can remember. Nice mousy brown hair, pale white skin, chocolate eyes, and a sly grin that you just know means trouble.
Tom was the first feller I ever fooled around with, as a matter of fact. It was that very summer of our eighteenth year that I remember cominâ upon Tom by the riverbank.
He was stretched out on the grass right beside the water, his fishinâ pole and books at his side. There was nothinâ turrible unusual about this. Iâd seen this very picture a hundred times before as I passed the river, but this time the picture was noticeably diffârent.
Tom had his willie outa his trousers, and was jackinâ it like it was a jaybird. I fully remember the strange, sweet feelinâ that was pulsinâ between my legs as I gazed at Tomâs long, lanky body in the sun, his strong, bare legs spread wide to each side of him.
I watched Tom as he slid his left hand up his starch white shirt where it found a nipple to play with while his right hand kept on jackinâ his pole. I couldnât help but start to rub myself over my breeches while I watched his youthful, slightly defined biceps contract as he slid his foreskin up and down the wet head of his cock.
His breathinâ started gettinâ heavier and heavier. His tongue ran over his lips, and an expression of agitation came into his face. His thick black eyelashes fluttered a couple of times, and I knew he was gettingâ close to blowinâ his smokestack. I knew I had to make my move now.
I stepped through the bushes with a loud rustle and crunch of leaves, and Tom seemed to fly up in the air, terrified that someone had caught him. He quickly buttoned up his trousers and whirled around to see who had intruded on his privacy.
âOh, Huck, itâs you!â He said, as a look of subtle relief washed over his face.
âFor a minnit I thought you was Aunt Polly, or worse! Sheâd a skinned my hide for shore if she seen what I was doinâ.â
Tom stepped back then, and I could tell, although he may have been grateful I wasnât Aunt Polly, he was still embarrassed that his best friend had caught him playinâ with hisself.
âYou like to do that a lot, Tom?â I asked, my voice takinâ on a deeper tone than even I was âspecting.
âWhat?â He asked, tryinâ to play the innercent.
âWhat you was doinâ just now.â
âWhat you talkinâ about?â He said, scratching the back of his head with his hand, a crooked grin spread across his face.
âYou know what I mean â playinâ with yisself,â I said, lowering my hand to the crotch of my own breeches, and stroking the bulge that was still there.
Tomâs eyes followed my hand to the bulge, and I could tell I was peakinâ his curiosity.
âWell, yeah, Huck. I do it a lot, actually.â His voice sounded ashamed, but his face was sure innerested in what lay under my breeches.
âYou ever seen another fellerâs willie, Tom?â I asked, my eyes meeting his as they rushed back up to mine in shock.
âSure, plenty a times. At the watering hole.â
âBut have you ever seen another fellerâs willie when itâs hard, like this?â I asked, undoing my breeches and lettinâ my pole flop out. It was so hard now that my head was completely out of the foreskin, and the veins in the shaft throbbed with expectation.
Tom didnât say anything, but reached down into his trousers, pulled out his own rod, and started jackinâ like a madman.
I chuckled at his response.
âSawyer, you nincompoop. You wanna do more than just look at me and jack off, donât you?â
Tom nodded his head slowly, looking me straight in the eye.
âWell, come on then. Git down on yer knees.â I said, grabbing his shoulders and shoving him down on to the ground in front of me. His face was now directly in front of my looming cock, and I could tell he looked kinder scared.
âYours is much bigger than mine,â He said quietly. I couldnât deny this fact. My own cock measured a good nine and a half inches bloated up, compared to Tomâs average six.
âThatâs alright,â I said, tryinâ to comfort him, âMineâs biggerân most fellers. Just gives ya more to play with, huh?â
A little smile creased his lips as he silently studied the specimen before his eyes.
âYou ever sucked on one of these before, boy?â I asked, tryinâ to determine the reason for his hesitation.
âNo, but I sure as hell wanna try,â He said, right before shoving my entire pole down his throat.
I almost cum right then and there, but luckily I was able to stop miself. I wanted to savor this moment for everything it was worth.
Now Iâve had plenty a fellers suck my olâ cock since, but none was quite able to compare with the suction that my pal Sawyer was able to incur. His mouth and throat just slid completely and effortlessly over my rail, and gave me the sweetest satisfaction Iâve ever felt.
His tongue slid up and down my shaft, licking up my precum with an exuberance I never wouldâve âspected from a boy like Tom. I figgered he mustâve fantasized about this moment for quite a long time, and all his dreams were finally cominâ true. I was glad I had been in the right place at the right time.
Finally I couldnât hold it in any longer. I pulled out and sprayed a half dozen streams of sticky hot cum over Tomâs pale face, accidentally getting a couple squirts in his eyes. He scrunched up his face in surprise, and I smiled a big, toothy grin.
Tom wiped his face and eyes with his hand, and then opened his mouth wide and licked up the stray cum with his hot, red tongue. Afterwards he looked up at me with his big brown eyes, and smiled like the very devil hisself. I put my hand on his head and playfully ruffled his hair.
âYou shore you never done that before, Sawyer?â I asked, teasing, âCause your mouth shore did know how to do a thing or two. You must be a born cocksucker.â
Then I buttoned up my breeches, and jauntily swaggered down the road, whistling as I went. I didnât wanna leave with him feeling too confident about hisself, ya see. Better to leave quick-like, and leave âem anticipatinâ the next time.
I arrived home near sunset that eveninâ. The Widow Douglas was in one a her regâlar moods, and was insistinâ that I eat dinner with her like a proper gentleman in a suit and tie. As I was dressinâ in my room, I happened to look out the winder, and noticed a large black figger workinâ in the yard.
I come to realize it was Jim, the new slave the Widow Douglas had just acquired. I had never noticed him before, but now my attention was totally fixed upon him.
The black man was shirtless, and his torso was broad and well muscled. Sweat poured down his chiseled chest, streaming down to his waist, where his bottom half was covered by some ragged trousers.
I didnât know why at the time, but I couldnât take my eyes off him. Especially his cut, perfectly shaped pectoral muscles, and the rippled, wide expanses of his shoulders and abs.
That night as I lay in my bed attemptinâ to get some shut eye, all I could think about was Tomâs mouth on my cock, and the mysteries of what might lie beneath the trouser cloth covering Jimâs crotch.
What did it look like? Would it be the same as mine? I wondered if Jim was bigger than me, and I ached to know what it might feel like to have something like that inside of me. I didnât know just how soon I would find out the answers to those questions in the days to comeâŠÂ Â
