Troy's Peter Juice

I've mentioned "Troy" several times in posts to this blog. He was a couple of years older than me but we became good friends, particularly in private matters. I was lucky to have a couple other pals that liked to wank, but Troy was tops.

I met Troy when I was in ninth grade. In another post I describe my technique for determining whether a guy might like to get horny together. I would tell the dude that I needed to get some paper towels (or a lost book or whatever) from a janitor's closet at the back of the auditorium balcony. The closet was always unlocked but the custodians never used it during school hours.

Whether we looked for my book or not was immaterial. I would mention kind of apologetically while standing around in the closet that I needed to pee and then say, as if I'd just thought of it, "What if I just do it in the mop sink?" Based on how a guy reacted, I might go ahead and piss in the sink, or not. I made a few "pissin' pals" thanks to the mop sink, and an occasional jacking bud.

Troy started out as a mop-closet friend. He was large but easy-going and quiet, just the most pleasant companion you can imagine despite some academic difficulties.


One day during lunch break I was looking for somebody to go to the janitor's closet with me. To tell the truth, I had begun evaluating every boy I knew, eliminating the tough guys and bullies, and asking myself whether any of the remaining boys might enjoy mop-sink pissing and possibly something more interesting. On this particular day my eyes landed on Troy.

I called to Troy and told him I'd lost a book. He was so sympathetic that I was ashamed of the lie.. Then I proceeded with my "line," saying that the janitor might have found my book and put it in a certain closet with other lost-and-found items. Troy was immediately ready to go with me.

Of course we did not find any lost books in the closet, but the stage was set. I expressed my need to pee. Troy thought the idea of pissing into the big sink was funny. He offered to leave so I would have privacy, but I asked him to stay and hold the door closed. I unzipped my pants and pee'd, making sure Troy had a good line of vision in case he wanted to cop a peek.

By the time I finished pissing Troy was constantly flicking his eyes at my weenie, just like most any guy would. I asked him if he needed to piss, but he turned down the opportunity. As we left the closet I assumed that Troy, although interested in seeing my peter, was not going to be an intimate friend.

I couldn't have been more wrong. A couple of days later we saw each other in the hall during lunch break and he asked if I'd ever found my lost book. I told him no. He suggested that the janitor might have found it by now. Maybe we should go look in the closet again.

We headed for the balcony and entered the closet. Without ever looking for a book, Troy immediately asked if I needed to pee, offering to hold the door again. I was sort of surprised, but lost no time getting my peter out while Troy held tight to the doorknob and stared straight at my dick.

I finished peeing, but it seemed like Troy was not finished watching me. I shook my dick a few times, feeling it beginning to expand. With Troy openly staring I rapidly got hard. After a moment Troy seemed to realize he was gawking. "Through?" he asked, and we hurried to our classes.

This little show was repeated every few days. Troy stared at my dick, which was now hard before I ever took it out. I wiggled it around for him. He would stand with his mouth slightly open, his eyes fixed on my erection. I would give him a good show, wiggling my boner around.

On one of those trips to the balcony I was exhibiting my stiffie when Troy seemed to make a major decision. He stepped up to the mop sink and unzipped his pants. What he pried out of his fly made my eyes pop. He had a big boner that pointed up about 45 degrees above horizontal. Troy's boner was not just longer than mine, but also wider. Without either one of us saying anything, we began to slowly pump ourselves. After just a few strokes Troy was making soft noises.

He climaxed rapidly and without any warning. His large shots splattered again and again into the sink. He whispered the words "Peter juice!" several times as he ejaculated. Meanwhile I delivered my own spurting cum on top of his load.

When we were both empty Troy seemed embarrassed. "I won't tell," he said.

I told him I wouldn't tell either.

Troy avoided me for several days. I suppose he felt guilty about what we had done. But then he came up to me at my locker and sort of hesitantly asked: "Want to go to the closet again?"

We did go to the janitor's closet. Troy immediately told me that if I needed to do anything to my peter it would be okay. He was extremely nervous, sort of hesitant and also squeezing his fly from time to time. The dude was very self-conscious about what he was suggesting, deeply embarrassed yet I could tell he needed to make a shot. He was obviously determined to try for another hook-up with me. I guessed that he didn't have any other jacking friends and was badly horny..

I pulled out my boner and slid my hand back and forth for a few strokes.

Troy's eyes focused on my moving hand, He opened his zipper and popped his thick hard-on out. Within seconds both of us were steadily pumping.

Once again Troy climaxed before I did. This time he warned me that he was cumming, whispering "Gonna make peter juice. Peter juice on the way!". He rose onto tiptoes and aimed his erection into the sink. His ejaculations fired like shots from a water blaster.

"Had to do peter juice," he told me while he caught his breath, not exactly apologizing this time but apparently wanting to explain his actions.

As our relationship grew I learned that until we became jacking partners, he allowed himself to jack off only once a week. Now that we'd discovered each other, he masturbated every time we could get together - but he refrained from jerking when he was alone. If we missed a few days he would be in misery to fire a load.


Several weeks into our partnership Troy reached toward my straining stiffie and asked whether I needed any help. He became the best boy-buddy you can imagine, very concerned about making me feel good and always thanking me for helping him fire his loads, which he continued to call "peter juice."

I was not as disciplined as Troy; I pumped my stiffie whenever the mood hit me. But Troy was so deeply into our friendship that he only shot his peter juice when we were together.

Summer came and we no longer had the mop closet to play in. But that wasn't the end for us. We lived in Albuquerque, the only real city in New Mexico. Along dirt lanes and undeveloped blocks the city is dotted with ruined old mud-brick (adobe) shacks. We found a decrepit adobe shed facing an alley in a forgotten block of prickly-pear and weeds. The doors and windows were empty holes and the roof had partially caved in. But that mud shack was heaven for a couple of horny boys.

Martin Davis