Curious George

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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


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 gaziantep escort 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.

“Yes,” he said simply.

“Did you jack off with other men? Other men jack you off? You jack them off?” I flooded Phil with questions. I was curious and my curiosity was growing along with my cock right then. I wanted to know what men in prison did, everything they did. My cock was really getting hard, and I felt the head getting moist in my shorts. I shifted my hard, wet rod with what I hoped was a subtle move with one hand to keep the wet spot from becoming obvious to Phil.

“George let me answer your questions with the same questions,” Phil said. Do you jack off with other guys? Has anyone jacked you off? You jacked off any guys?”

“Yeah Phil, some,” I said.

“Did it feel good for you, George?” Phil asked me. “Better than when you jack off yourself?”

“Sure Phil it felt good, better than doing it alone,” I answered him honestly. “But it was just playing around, curiosity. I’ve never even seen a real man dick hard, not even my dad’s, his soft a few times, of course, but not hard.”

“Are you hard now, George?” Phil asked me.

Hell I knew he knew I was. I could see he had gotten hard in his knit sports shorts too. So I had no reason to try lying to him. I said, “Yes Phil, I am hard now, leaking some, horny. You are hard too aren’t you?” I asked him.

“Yes, I am hard George,” Phil said. “How could I not be talking with you about this on the back porch alone?”

“Phil will you show me your hard, real man cock?” I asked, my curiosity and hard, leaking, horny prick overtaking my senses.

“Are you sure George?” Phil asked me. “Won’t you think it is faggoty, queer for us to do this, like your dad said? Won’t you think I am a faggot?”

“No, Phil,” I said. “We are good friends, that’s all.”

“Well,” Phil asked, “will it be just between us as friends?”

“Of course, Phil,” I said. “Gee why would I tell anyone I wanted to see your cock?”

“Okay, George,” Phil said, “show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”

I giggled.

Phil asked, “What?”

“Nothing Phil,” I said.

“Come on George,” Phil chided me. “We are friends right? We speak honestly with each other don’t we? Why are you laughing now?”

“Well,” I kept chuckling, “it just reminds me of when I do, er, did it with guys, er, a guy my own age. We agreed to the same thing. Show me yours I’ll show you mine.”

“You first, George,” Phil said, “if you want to see mine.”

Oh did I ever want to see Phil’s. I looked him right in the eyes. Excited, I scooted forward on the porch, unbuttoned my shorts, worked my boner out of my underwear, smearing some pre cum on my hand accidentally. I let go of my stiff, wet dick so Phil could see it.

Phil looked at my arched up cut cock. He returned my look eyes to eyes, lifted his hips and slid his knit shorts down over his muscular thighs.

“Oh, oh,” I gasped. Phil’s cock was just a bit longer than mine but much thicker. He had dark curly hairs all around and above the base of it. His balls were way bigger than mine, golf ball-size orbs hanging down between his open thighs in a crinkly, hairy pouch.

I looked at my dick, back at Phil’s. We were similar, but different. Mine was pointy-headed, just a bit of a flared crown, an indentation then the shaft, the same size from the head to the base where my hairs were light colored and sparse. Phil’s cock head was like a helmet, a mushroom crown the circle distinguishing the head from the shaft then a real veiny stalk getting larger from just behind the head to his bushy root and lower belly. It looked like a thick wedge of solid meat. But he was not wet with slick pre cum like I was.

“Phil, I want to touch it,” I said.

“Touch it, George,” Phil said. “I will touch yours too.”

I touched the end of the head first with one finger, two. It was wider than two of my fingers. I put a third finger beside the other two — my pointer, middle and ring finger. They covered the end of his cock head.

I slid my thumb and little finger on either side of his crown. They did not reach to the bottom of his helmet. The skin felt soft, hot.

I wrapped my hand around his cock. The ends of my fingers could not reach my thumb.

I moved my hand down his shaft, felt my fingers getting further apart from my encircling thumb, his hard core but soft skin, the veins, so many of them, one thick on the underside of his big tool.

I slid my hand all the way to the base feeling his bush of curly hairs against my little finger, the side of my hand. I moved my hand up, down, stroking his big cock. My eyes were locked on what my hand was feeling. I watched a bubble of clear juice — pre cum — form in his piss lips.

I rubbed the slimy juice on the end of his knob. More flowed out for me to smear over his cock head, still more for me to wet his shaft.

I was close enough, leaning forward, enraptured by the sight of Phil’s now slick rod. I could smell his man aroma, much like mine. I leaned closer.

“Unh, unh, ooh, uu uu, yeah,” I purred. Phil was sliding his fist up and down on my slimed dick too.

He opened my shorts wider. I lifted my hips, let him pull my shorts down, then my underwear out over my hard penis and down my legs, all the way to my ankles. Phil cupped my nuts in one hand, kept stroking me with his other hand.

I put my free hand under his big balls, felt them fill then spill out over the sides of my hand.

“I’m going to kiss your cock, George, suck you,” Phil said.

Still stroking him, holding his balls gently, I leaned back on the porch, opened my legs wider for him. He kissed me right on my knob end, licked in my little slit, closed his lips over my pecker head. I trembled. He circled his tongue around and around, sucked.

“Ooooooh, ungh, oh, yeah,” I moaned and shook, feeling so good, all tingly.

Phil held me in his wet mouth firmly, moved down my cock all the way to the base. Sucked, licked, swallowed my knob into his throat. Pulled up sucking, licking, his saliva and my pre cum coating my throbbing cock. Moved back down, up, down, up, down. He massaged my balls gently. A tip of his finger slid over the space behind my sac, touched my puckered hole.

“Unnngh, unnngh, ungh,” I grunted. “Gonna cum. Shoot. Phil please.”

I expected him to let go of my cock with his mouth. He clasped my tingling rod tighter in his mouth, trapping it against the roof of his mouth with his wriggling tongue, clamped his lips, sucking, moving just a bit, an inch, two inches, three.

“Phiiilll, oooh, ungh,” I tried to push his head away from my crotch, his mouth off my dick.

With that effort of tightening my muscles to push him away, his hot, wet mouth sucking, moving up and down in short, fast slides, slurps, his fingertip rubbing on my crinkled hole I felt a surge of cum coursing up my shaft, shooting into Phil’s mouth. Phil swallowed, sucked, swallowed my next blast of cum. Sucked, took a third wad of my jism, swallowed it. Kept sucking and swallowing as I squirted more into his mouth.

Just at the right time he stopped moving, sucking, held me in his mouth, letting me drain onto his tongue. My cock was tingling so much, feeling so sensitive I would have screamed out loud if he had done anything other than hold me in his mouth.

I had collapsed onto my back splayed out on the porch, gasping for breath, trembling. Feeling the curly hairs on his head. I stayed hard. The tingling, intense sensitivity stopped. Phil felt my face, neck, shoulders, nipples, arms, stomach, legs, butt cheeks, balls, sucked me off again swallowing my cum load again.

I was still hard, but I wriggled away from Phil just enough to get my hard, wet cock out of his mouth. “Oh Phil, I want to suck you,” I said, more like begged, pleaded.

© 2007

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