First Foreskin was Jesper
All true…a jack off memory, hard to forget
When I was eleven years old I asked my dad why my dick didn’t look like his; he was finishing up taking a leak in the restroom at the Granada Theatre, adjusting his long foreskin, moving his hand back and forth in quick jerks, flipping his cock, working out a few last drops. Side by side at a sort of trough urinal, it occurred to me that our penises were very different. Aside from bigger-littler, mine looked like a small, sleek rocket, no nonsense about it, and his looked massive, festooned in skin folds and wrinkles and veins, skin-capped, very complicated. He told me I had been circumcised a few days after I was born. “No one asked me a damn thing about it,” he said, “you just came home from the hospital clipped…a done deal…the doctor did it.” His face snared when he said “circumcision” like that was an awful thing…painful! Saved from the surgical details, until then, I thought that some boys just had floppy foreskins and some boys didn’t and that we were all born with what he had, plus or minus, a quirk of fate.
In the suburban Los Angeles Harbor high school gym shower, foreskins were the minority, maybe two or three out of a hundred. The rare exceptions, Yugoslavs, Greeks, the sons of fishermen, Danes, Norwegians, foreign-born, some Latinos, they had foreskins. An Italian kid, Salvatore, was nicknamed “Figaro” not because he loved opera but because his dick, very short, bulky, very fat, uncut, looked like a pale, hairy, ripe fig. Openly, everywhere, all the time, he was called “Figaro” and calling him that made him blush beet red.
Another guy, Homer, from Arkansas, from a family of seven kids, changed beside me in the school locker room and he was uncut. Never any underwear at all, he just unbuttoned his dirty jeans, let them fall to his ankles, stepped out of them, scratched his hairy balls and changed into his gym shorts. Scant blondish-red pubes, a thin, very long pink tube cock that came to a perfect point, the thing swayed like a pendulum and bounced in his gym shorts, falling free, as he ran laps. Homer’s claim to fame was that he was screwing his girlfriend’s mother–an older woman–and she “couldn’t get enough” of him!
Homer, called “Gomer”, once displayed his penis injury to others in the showers; I didn’t see it, I couldn’t see, it was too steamy, but some foreskin “string” had torn from vigorous thrusting screwing. While prodding either his girlfriend or her mother, some happy pussy had tightened up and grabbed his rod and wouldn’t let go. “Hurts!,” he said, “and I’m out of action for a while.” The same thing happened to a deeply religious couple I knew later in life, both of them in their mid-twenties, and both absolutely virginal, engaged unsexually for two years, the husband ripped his foreskin on their first sexual coupling, in Hawaii, on their honeymoon, a disaster.
Jesper, an American born Swede, 37 years old, my next-door neighbor, gave me my first experience with an uncut dick when I was twenty-three. He had me go with him to a site in Torrance where Los Angeles County gave away mulched up tree limbs and yard debris to anyone who would haul it away. He needed lots, a commercial gardener, and I went with him to help. Small payment, I think ten bucks, for half a day’s work, we filled his over-sized pick up and a trailer he had attached. Dirty, sweaty, a pause, Pepsi, cigarettes away from the dry debris, in the shade of a grove of eucalyptus trees, he took a leak while I watched, just pulling his dick out of the leg opening of his cut off jeans. Then I peed, long jeans, zipper flared, nobody around for many acres. “Hey bud,” he said, “you like to mess around?”
I didn’t get it, “…mess around.” The wife, he said, had some basic limitations, “there’s stuff she won’t do for me.” To my side, almost hip to hip, he hiked up his stiffening cock from his cutoffs showing it off and rubbed his palm over the front of my jeans.
“What won’t she do,” I asked.
“Head mostly–blow jobs. She doesn’t like that…she thinks it’s ‘filthy’.” He had pinched his foreskin forward between his forefinger and thumb and rolled the fleshy tip rosette in quick circles; I could see the shape or ridge of his cock head under his pink, stretched skin, a big bifurcating vein crossing over the top of his very erect six incher. He pulled at my zipper, having trouble, so I helped him. My white briefs boner-tented, he angled out my hard cock. “Big,” he said, “Jesus!..and you’re cut…that’s pretty.”
Standoff, two guys under the old, smelly red-flowering eucalyptus trees, cocks pulsing, I felt my heart beating. I had done this with others, a few times, but normally, a little beer drunk, very late at night, inside, or in a dark car, or without the seriousness of that moment with Jesper, my neighbor…but never with an UNCUT dick! He let me reach out and up the leg hole of his cutoffs, where I encountered saggy briefs and warm, constricted fuzzy balls which I grasped loosely.
“Kiss it a little,” he said, “just the end…you’ll like it!” It was leaking.
I stroked out and back, over the length of my bigger dick, many times. “I don’t know,” I said. I looked left and right, behind me, up into the gray limbs of the big trees. I lied, “I’ve never done this before.” I moved my jeans and briefs down to my knees, still glancing around, cinching my nut sack with one hand and yanking down while I stroked my dick over the head with the other hand. He turned to face me, opposite, and bumped his dick against my groin, shoving in at my sweaty nuts. The warmth of his rod was electric there. I left weak-kneed, stupid.
Humping slowly into the space next to my nuts, belly to belly, my hard cock crooked up between us, “You like fuckin’ the girls?” he asked. “Bet that big cock makes ‘em go crazy?” Dirty talk…his prick began to lubricate, wet stuff, very sticky, the hair in my groin where he swayed in and out, very moist, some warmth of slick friction there.
He moved back a little and grasped the back of my head lightly with one hand, encouraging me to just bend down a little. No mouth kissing, I had not done that with a guy, he moaned softly and said again, “Just kiss around the end of it…you do me first and then I’ll do you…please.” I could smell his cock, not foul, but not entirely clean.
“Fuck!” I thought…I squatted before him. Out of no where, a quick motion, his shirt gone too, he was torso naked and foot-bound in his cutoffs, and his uncut dick was pointed in my face…maybe four inches away. Messy with white foam of precum, more than I ever make, his foreskin had a couple hairs caught in wet folds. I picked them loose with my fingers and clasped the end of his dick to push back the foreskin, to have a look, to see the inner workings, but it was too tight. “What’s that smell?” I asked him…I didn’t want second hand pussy juice in my mouth.
“I showered up this morning…it’s not dirty,” he said. “A little lube–it’s really clean–it tastes kinda salty.” He pulled back his foreskin…slowly…himself displaying his once showered cock, the inner mysteries revealed to me, the convolutions of his retracted foreskin stretched taut backward on itself, latched just behind the cock head ridge, the entire purple head exposed, wet, very nasty, but probably clean, smelling slightly soapy, maybe a bit sweaty, very gooey. The thing drooled as I watched it make long cords of precum. He wiped his dick head with his finger, put it in his mouth and said, “mmmmmm, good, you’ll like it.”
“Okay,” I said and did as he had asked and kissed the tip, over the peehole; then I pointed my tongue inside the peehole and retreated. Yes! some saltiness, a certain organic sensation, in texture and flavor and smell, not like the three or four cut dicks I had sucked off. His two hands cupping the back of my head, forward more, I thought, “what the hell”, and held his balls as I let him shove the whole raw thing into my mouth; no acrobatics or gagging, his dick was modest, by no means a choker, and I let him hump my face. His pubes at my nostrils smelled, too, faint laundry bleach, maybe sweat, Zest soap…the all-natural, uncut man working his cock in and out of my spitty lips, not so weird–foreskin–yet, but not like the sleek cut ones, those had been more like just rigid flesh poles, fairly anonymous, generic, bland, tasteless.
His design, “you do me and I’ll do you,” seemed to be falling apart. Four or five minutes of his cock-ramming, he leaked a lot more, he fell off, hid dick got wobbly, he got steely hard again…and I thought he was going to jizz me in the mouth. He said, “open you knees, spread your legs apart so I can see you jacking the big cut one,” I let him see more as I worked on my own load. Squatting before him, he said, “Do you ever play with your hole? Maybe you can put your finger up your ass so I can watch?” I did that, rarely, not publically, it had bigger meanings to me…like real “queers” take it up the ass, so I mostly froze, not much motion anywhere expect my slurping mouth. Moving down to somewhat squat beside me, his wormy dick plopped out mouth-range; earnestly spitting a wad on his lefthand finger tips, he forced my legs further apart and placed his hand squarely and hard under my balls and wedged, I think, his middle finger upwards towards and then into the ring of my asshole. He spun his finger in circles and it felt very good! Too good! I felt like I needed to squirt.
I had never been screwed and I had never thought much about it; I had never screwed another guy. With buddies, it was only handjobs or blowjobs…the theme then: it’s okay to help a buddy get off. No butt fucking…that’s fuckin’ queer! Some censor went off in my head, “If you’re not quick, that foreskinned neighbor Jesper’s going to be fucking your punk ass!” So I grabbed his left wrist and removed his fingerly intrusion; “No way, Dude,” I told him, “I’m not into that.”
“That’s cool,” he said, “no big deal.” He laid out my jeans and his t-shirt over the matt of eucalyptus leaves, and circled like a dog making a comfortable spot and laid out on his belly, his head at my crotch. “Your turn,” he said, “give me some cut weenie!” He sucked my cock deeply and expertly, going for depth, nearly coming off me, then plunging forward, leaking spit all over my nuts.
“Hey Buddy…that’s too good…I’m getting close!” I told him. He didn’t seem to care. I had only had jizz in my mouth twice, both accidental, unannounced donations from my nervous friend Ronnie, a small, fat, cut dick, who had no control. So, quickly, the issue came up, does Jesper, the married neighbor, want me to cream his throat? “Hey…I’m almost there, oh God! You want my stuff in your mouth?” No answer at all, or something said but gargled, my jizz bullets went off, thuds of them, deeply down his throat, out his nostrils, into his eyes; I swooned with soft moans, like agony, but really pleasure over the top, delirious for thirty seconds, then laid back and stared into the tree limbs over head.
He had wobbled on his knees, ranging his pulsing uncut cock between my legs, the thick wad of foreskin knotted forward, into my butt hole. My ardor, the urgency of my horniness, had left me, but still hard, my cock a mess of juice, poked up. “I don’t want you to fuck me,” I said, “I can’t do that…I’ve never done that.” His cock was not massive, just very hard and while I felt that “one of these days” I’d probably want to try something like that, a prick in my hole, today, now, here, was not right…and I contracted by spitty butt hole moving him out, and used both my hands to shove him up and off of me.
Some distance from the target, butting into my nuts, bullying but not entering my ass hole, he jacked himself. Two-handed, jacking my cock, jacking himself, the gooey, long foreskin making loud, lewd smacking sounds as he leaned over me, his hot cheek on my hot cheek. Cords of tension, high speed, rigid all over his body, sucking air between his teeth, parts of words, “oh shi…fuck…ah…fuck…ahh!” he rose up on his knees, placed his purple skinned-back cock head at the opening of my ass…and unloaded very hot jizz for nearly a minute. Perfect silence, his heart beating, sweat over his forehead, dripping off his nose, once last moment of glory, he shoved his cock forward in the slime of his own jizz and poked far into me; I let him do that. It seemed okay.
The gracious clean up, his t-shirt volunteered, swabbed under my saggy balls, spun at my creamed butt hole, wallowed over his shrinking dick, he moved his foreskin forward a few times and brought up fresh pearls of cum–and tasted it himself! Nearly dressed, I asked to see his sexy cock again which was now soft and three inches long and very red. He wiped it on the pocket of my jeans, skinned back, inverting the foreskin, showing irritation and clots of cum…and then we drove home with him shirtless.
very hot story…my skin’s wet, too now!