My Private Mexico Lessons in Life (Part II)

Story continued from Part I

The pleasure of the encounter watching that dude shoot his wad quickly evaporated. I didn't know cum ever contained blood. The sight scared me. It must be a sign of terrible sickness, I thought. Maybe cancer. Cancer of the dick! Going back over the incident in my mind, I asked myself questions. Had I touched him? No. Had he touched me? No. Had I touched or even smelled of his cum? No. Could there have been even a tiny chance of contamination? No. Not even fingertips touching through the gap. And yet I was frightened pissless that I'd been exposed to sure death.

If that crisis had happened today, I would have Googled "blood in semen" and learned that the occurrence is rare and usually harmless, a transient response to a momentary disturbance of the male reproductive system, such as a digital prostate exam. But in Mexico hardly anybody had a computer at that time, so Googling anything was not an option.

So, in addition to the turmoil of the move, I now had two new worries: First, that I might have been infected with a lethal disease by masturbating with the guy. And second, that masturbation itself might be dangerous. Maybe the dude jacked too much and that's why there was blood in his cum! What did that mean for me? I certainly jacked frequently. Continuing to jack off might be damaging to my organs and result in blood in my cum, God forbid!

I couldn't do anything about the first worry, but I could control the second one. No more masturbation. Give it up. Don't even think about it. Walking out of that restroom, I knew I was going cold turkey. My jacking days were over. I'd shot my final wad.

That was around the third week of October. I kept worrying about that strange experience. I put every ounce of my will-power to work, forcing myself never to touch my penis except when urinating or showering, in hopes that I was going to survive my encounter with an unknown but possibly lethal disease as well as the unknown but frightening effects of cumming every day for more than a year.

About two and a half unbearable weeks passed during which I was often erect and always scared about that drop of blood in the other boy's cum.

After lunch one day I was standing at a urinal trying to piss, which is tough when your dick is hard. I'd developed a strategy that seemed to work. I would get my dick out and let it poke forward while I relaxed every muscle in my body. I also tried to empty my brain of all thoughts. If I was patient enough, my erection would slowly sag downward. It never got completely soft, but eventually I could piss. Boys entered and left while I waited for my erection to go down.

The building was old and the urinals were the type that were installed right into the floor. There was a good line of sight between urinating boys. While I waited for my piss to begin draining, a bigger guy came in, a high school guy. Ignoring me, he stood at the only other urinal, the one right next to me. Out flopped out a large and uncircumcised peter. The boy peeled his foreskin back. In contrast to me, he did not have to wait for his flow to begin. A thick yellow stream immediately sprayed out of his dangling dick, like pressurized water out of a hose. It continued spraying for quite a while before thinning out and finally diminishing to a series of drops that splatted heavily into the urinal.

When the drops ended he grabbed his dick and shook it several times before cramming it back into his fly. Then he washed his hands and departed without giving me the slightest look. I might as well not have been there.

At last my own stream of piss dribbled out. I was ready to put my tool away and hurry to class. But my damn dick was already thickening and poking forward. And I knew why, too. I had just viewed the biggest dick that I'd ever seen. And now I was seeing it again in my imagination. How long it seemed to be, how big around, how all-over "impressive" it appeared. How he pulled the foreskin back. And the way the piss sprayed forcefully out of that big prick! What if it had got hard and that guy had..... JACKED ..... that big tool? I bet he does jack it! I bet he shoots huge wads of cum!

I was thinking all those horny thoughts and meanwhile my dick had already gotten unbearably hard again, demanding something that I refused to give it.

I washed my hands, conscious of nothing but my aching erection and the mental images of the high school guy's large, floppy dick and forceful stream of piss. Standing at the sink with a full-scale boner in my pants, I thought: "This is stupid!" I bumped my aggravating dick against the sink. "Get soft again," I mentally told my dick. "Shrink up and leave me alone."

Bumping the sink gave me funny feelings, somewhat like the "warning" feelings that preceded ejaculations back when I used to masturbate.

I was angry at my dick, still scared that I was going to die of a disease, and heavily loaded with un-shot cum. My body was a walking faultline on the verge of a seismic catastrophe.

"Damn you," I silently told my dick. "Leave me alone!"

I was trembling with sexual hysteria. "Damn it!" I said out loud, "Get soft! Get soft!" With a series of forceful bangs I bumped my confounded erection against the sink. Then I kept bumping the sink, kept bumping.....

Oh, God! What am I doing! I backed away from the lavatory, trying to calm down, when it happened. There was no warning except the excruciating stiffness of my erection and a feeling of doom throughout my body. My balls, prostate and dick combined in an involuntary clamp of unwelcome ejaculation. I came. Inside my clothes. Came with a passion. The stuff flooded my whole crotch with a warm torrent of semen that soaked my boxers and coated all of my junk. I didn't really climax; I just came, came, and came more. I could feel tears running down my face. Why the hell was I crying when I had cum to worry about?

The word "Shit!" hissed out of my mouth. Meanwhile more trails of wet sperm oozed thickly out of my aching dick. More saturating wetness.There was ejaculate wadded in my pubic hair, ejaculate fouling my boxers, ejaculate running down my leg. And then, ejaculate soaking through my pants, dampening my khakis. Now my crotch displayed dark patterns of wetness for the whole world to see.

I spent the rest of the day using books to hide my wet crotch. Holding books in front of me when I walked. Laying a book in my lap when I sat. I was actually glad for PE that afternoon because my dry jock was a welcome relief after the slimy boxers, and the shower removed all the slime from my skin, although none from my clothes..


For several more days I kept trying to give up masturbation. But it was a losing battle. I shot a gargantuan nocturnal emission one night and woke up with cum in my bed. That was the end of my battle, and I knew it was over. I had lost. Way back then I hated myself for being weak, but now I realize I was fully normal. No adolescent boy can refrain very long from getting his nuts off.

My return to the pleasure of jacking occurred the next night after the wet dream. I knew the fight was over. I knew exactly what I was going to do and took a hand towel to bed with me. Adam's stem was excruciatingly hard before I ever touched myself. Then I wrapped my hand around my engorged erection and began pumping. Within seconds I shot a painful ejaculation I was so unbearably aroused that the climax actually hurt.

The next night it was better, and the third night was wonderful.

Since then I've been in a few situations where I had to skip a day or two, but I've never again tried to give up the wonderful act.

The End

Arnold Stockford