The Private Jayhawk Jiggle

My mother and I were on vacation driving through Kansas when the car broke down (something about the transmission). AAA sent an old man in a dirty truck who towed us to a garage in a tiny town. The "garage" was a grundgy two-bay service station that was run by the old man himself. He had to order everything from another town and wait for it to be delivered.

We got a room in the lone motel. My mother left the room only for meals and to check on the progress of the car. I roamed back and forth between the motel and garage, anxious to get back on the road.
While I watched the old man wrestling with the transmission, a dude showed up. He was the old guy's grandson who had brought his bicycle to get a flat tire fixed. The grandfather did not bother to introduce us (I doubt if he even knew my name), but we sort of acknowledged each other and got into conversation. The boy looked a little younger than me (I was just finished with middle school). He wore denims cut off above the knees, a sleeveless Jayhawks shirt and worn orange sneakers. his hair was blonde, pretty short and gelled up at the very front.

I asked whether there was anything to do in the town. Maybe an arcade or even a Dairy Queen? The boy shook his head, saying that the little cafe across the highway was the entire action. We looked each other over, as guys do when they are thrown together. Then he said, "I'm Ben. You wanna walk around town with me and let me show you some stuff?"

"Marty," I told him, and we shook hands and headed out into the morning sun with him saying that a single basketball goal was the town's entire recreation facility.

Through the open doors came the old man's voice: "Bennie, you keep away from that courthouse, you hear me? It's dangerous."

"Right," Ben said, with a tone in his voice that told me he was offended by his grandfather's warning.

We walked around for a few minutes. The place was an obvious dead end like I had never seen. I was asking myself how Ben could stand it. Meanwhile he pointed out the unused school, a tractor dealership, and not much more.

"What's this about a courthouse?" I asked.

"Over near the railroad tracks," he answered, "In the old part of town." We took off walking again.

As soon as we got past the empty storefronts lining the highway I could see a big three-story brick building out ahead. Ben told me that this town used to be the county seat, but they lost an election a long time ago, maybe a hundred years, and the old courthouse had been abandoned as long as anybody could remember. There were big pillars out front and a broad flight of steps going up to the doors.

Ben obviously knew all about the building. He led me to a basement window where we wiggled in.

"It's not really dangerous," he said. I come here all the time and..." He stopped and started over again. "I like to explore and all that stuff."

He looked at me to see if I understood. I was wondering what he had started to say, wondering if the lil' dude came to this old ruin to take care of personal needs.

Dangerous or not, the place was falling apart. Some of the roof was missing and birds flew in and out. When we were inside we found the stairs rotten and the floor marked by missing boards. Everything that we saw was warped or cracked. The building was full of dirt and had a general feeling of desolation.

After we looked into several rooms Ben said, "Let's go upstairs." We carefully picked our way up the staircase. Right away we entered a big room that was two-stories tall with a balcony around the sides. "This was the courtroom," Ben said, and then he led me to a door near the stairs. "And this was the bathroom," he announced with sort of a little laugh.. "Look at where the shitters used to be. Somebody stole all the pots and sinks and a lot of other stuff. But look at the holes in the floor! The crappers used to be right here, see, and those big holes are the pipes where they flushed the turds down!"

We stood looking at the holes in the restroom floor. All of a sudden Ben said, "Lotta privacy here. Do you need to piss?"

"Not really."

"It's real funny to do it here. You piss into one of those big holes and you can hear the piss echoing back and forth in the drain pipes. I do it all the time before I..." Again he stopped and started over. "Kinda freaky. Go ahead and try it. I won't look. Real private here."

Maybe I'd been thinking something like this might happen. Anyway I opened my fly and stood over one of the holes in the floor and let loose a few ounces of urine. Ben was right; you could hear the hollow echo of splattering drops down in the big pipes.

As I finished pissing Ben edged a little closer to me. "Did you aim straight into the pipe?" he wanted to know. At the same time he was holding onto his fly in a kind of strange way. "Are you going to shake it off?" he asked. "Maybe you need to do some more?" All that time he was moving and jockeying around until he had my dick right in his line of sight. "Do you want to try a different pipe?" he suggested.

"Your turn," I told him.

"You want me to?"

"It's only fair. I piss, you piss."

My dick was still exposed and I shook a drop off of it. Ben managed another peek at me, still holding onto his fly.

"What else do you do in here, man?" I asked.

"Oh, I just... sometimes I... it's real private, y'know?"

Ben was squeezing the front of his cut-offs. "Real private," he repeated in a funny voice. I guessed that he was unsure of what he'd started and afraid of rejection.

I stood very still, occasionally lifting and moving my dick. He was about to hyperventilate, now looking straight at my dick and trying to hide his hand while he squeezed the front of his pants.

I decided not to say anything else, just let him decide if things were going any further. I kept on lifting and moving my peter, just my thumb and index finger. It was steadily growing. Ben's eyes were about to pop out of his head. His hand clenched and unclenched whatever he was hiding in those cut-offs.

After a few more moments of staring, Ben's fingers moved to take hold of the tab at the top of his zipper. Slowly the zipper moved downward. It had barely started when he stopped for a moment. Then it went down another inch and another and kept moving. He was taking his time, ogling my now-erect peter.

Once he got the zipper all the way down he stood still for a few more heartbeats. Then his fingers parted the fly and hunted the opening in his underwear. He stopped again. For a moment I thought he was going to chicken-out, and maybe he did too. I stood perfectly still, slightly moving my hard dick, letting him make up his own mind.

All of a sudden he dug around in his pants and pulled out a straining boner that astounded me. The kid had a fully grown tool. It was sticking up halfway between horizontal and vertical. It was so hard that its head was a dark reddish color, a real contrast to the pale shaft. Without a word he began feeling of himself, moving his stiffie around, squeezing, jiggling, and at last turning hesitantly toward me.

"Your thing looks really hard," he told me.

"It is." I turned slightly toward him. "And yours is too, man. Nice one."

Neither of us spoke for a few seconds. "You come here to shoot your load?" I asked.

"Ummm," Ben kind of murmured, not actually saying anything, not really replying.

Mind if I let my pants down?" he asked, betraying a little nervousness.

"Not at all. Go for it."

In another second he had unfastened the brass button at the top of his shorts and let them drop past his knees. "Here's how I do it," he told me, fishing his impressive boner back through his briefs and sliding the briefs down toward his cut-offs. Now his junk was fully exposed, along with a tangle of blond pubes. Ben knelt on the floor above one of the sewer pipes, continuing to jiggle his peter.

"See, the stuff goes in the pipe and nobody sees any evidence on the floor." He was busy wiggling his peter around, apparently having conquered his nervousness. He seemed pleased that I was watching.

"You can do it too," he suggested.

I opened my own pants and knelt down in front of a different hole.

"There used to be fancy walls between the pots but somebody stole them," he told me.

A moment went by while we just jiggled our stiff pricks without saying anything.

Then Ben spoke again: "Yours is nice."

"Yours is a keeper too," I told him.

"A guy at school said I have the biggest one he's ever seen."

Another moment went by. We silently agreed to touch each other's boners and to share strokes. Then we resumed taking care of our own business. Ben was now fully jacking, his hand moving steadily on his stiff peter while he watched me.

"Do you have anybody here to do this with?" I asked.

"Not here. There's no kids here except for a few girls. I've got that one friend at school. We do it when we get a chance." A silent pause and then another thought: "I'm glad you... you..."

"I'm getting ready to cum, dude," I told him. "It's happening fast."

"Me too."

Within another few strokes I climaxed very deeply and spurted an excellent bunch of loads. I didn't have the range exactly right but it went mostly into the drain pipe. Ben was watching me while he jacked himself. Now he, sped up for his orgasm and told me "Watch! Watch! I'm cumming!"

I scooted closer to him, sensing that he craved somebody's approval of what was about to happen. "Here it comes!" he told me.

He rapidly stroked back and forth on his boner, his hand going faster and faster until it was just a blur. Suddenly he gasped "Now!" Several thick knots of ejaculate squirted into the dark cavity. "Very nice," I told him. He shook his dick and got his breath, looking at me with a strange expression, his dick just hanging there with a thread of semen dangling from its tip.

"I wish you lived here!" he blurted out.

What could I say? It would never happen. We both knew we would never see each other again.

That was mid-morning. The car would be ready late that afternoon. We hung out together and made another trip to the courthouse to share a parting wank around 4:00, taking our time and enjoying each other. When we got back to the garage Mom was there, hacked at me because I'd wandered away.

While I was dealing with my mother, Ben disappeared. We never even said goodbye.

Martin