Uncle gay sex story
Uncle Jerry cocked his head at me, and his brow furrowed. My heart was in my throat, partly from my excitement, and partly from the fear of being discovered. "You okay in there, little man?" he asked cautiously, looking about with concern. It was then I heard Uncle Jerry's footsteps approaching, and I rushed to pull the covers up over me again as he opened the door and stuck his head in. My whole body seemed to be electrified, and I audibly whimpered in pleasure with a sound that seemed to come from somewhere other than me. With my heart racing and my eyes fixed at the images on the pages, I pumped my 10-year-old cock to what had to be the best orgasm I'd ever experienced by that time in my life. I pored over the pages of the little book, staring at the pictures of beautifully veined, thick cocks, with bulbous, mushroom heads that looked like they could almost spring out from the pages. I felt a surging in my little dick a tingling and sudden hardness that needed to be satisfied. But these men had HUGE, stiff cocks, and enormous balls. Playing with themselves like I liked to play with my own self. Naked men with hairy chests and hair all around their dicks. I opened it up, wondering what women were in this one. It was about half the size of the Playboys, with thicker paper. Then one night I found a different magazine.
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And getting a hard-on was no problem, especially when helped by the glossy photos of full tits on nubile bodies. My orgasms always felt good, enough to make my legs stiffen and bounce as I pumped my little hard-on between my fingers and thumbs. While I didn't know what they were called back then, I've been able to achieve very pleasant orgasms for as long as I could remember. I'd settle back against the pillow and open one of the usual dog-eared issues of Playboy, find a pictorial of one of the ubiquitous large-breasted women within, push down the covers and then my underwear, and eagerly play with my young cock. Then, in the pale light of the small bedside lamp, I would reach down under the bed and pull out a couple of the magazines that I knew Uncle Jerry kept there. Then he'd kiss my forehead, ask if I wanted a light left on (I always did), and tell me "Good night, little man," as he left the room and closed the bedroom door behind him. I would dutifully go off to the bedroom and get undressed and jump into the big bed, after which Uncle Jerry would come in and tuck me in tightly.
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Uncle Jerry always let me sleep in his big bed (well, it sure was bigger than mine), while he would take the couch for the night. He'd order pizza to be delivered, and we'd play Parcheesi, or Yahtzee, or crazy 8's for what seemed like all night. It was a "man's place", without frilly curtains or bedspreads, or tablecloths and lace doilies. Well, it wasn't a house, but I didn't know what else to call an apartment at that time. I liked staying at my Uncle Jerry's house. It was 1968, and he was what this 10-year-old wanted to be. He spoke of many girlfriends he had, and of faraway places he had visited during his stint with the Navy. He rode a motorcycle whenever the weather was good (and always had a ride "saved" for me), and drove a rustbucket of a Jeep in the winter. His hands and arms were huge, but always gentle. He was quick with the jokes, and generous with horseplay and hugs. He was tall and stout, with a mop of curly blond hair and the most infectious laugh. I had a perfect mix between paternal figure and pal in him. He was an adult, but still enough of a kid to make me feel like I fit in with him. Uncle Jerry was about half-way between my age and my parent's ages, which helped to foster the closeness I felt with him. Now, Uncle Jerry wasn't really my uncle, but he was a long-time friend of my mom's family that was always at the Thanksgiving and Christmas gatherings, and someone who always treated me like I was special.
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Whenever mom and dad decided to head up the mountains to gamble in Reno, they usually left my sister with the neighbors and their daughters, so I got to go to Uncle Jerry's.