Pencil Tracings

It's a shame, but I seldom go to the public library anymore. Everything that I need for research, news or entertainment is usualy available on the internet. However, yesterday I gathered up some books I wanted to donate and went to the neighborhood branch. Turns out, I'm glad that I did.

After handing over the box of books, I browsed around in the fiction stacks to see if anything appealed to me. The only other people in the building (besides employees) were a mother with a pre-school daughter and a son of maybe 11. The son, wearing khaki's and a dark green polo shirt, was sort of curled up in a large upholstered chair, one leg under his butt, intently reading a book. His mother and sister were busy in the children's department. He himself had that "juvenile-conservative" look due mostly to his side-parted school haircut.

I first noticed him while just walking through the reading room. He had two things going on: Reading his book AND giving his lap some private stimulation. I walked behind a set of shelves so I could look between the books and appreciate the boy without seeming to stare.

He held a pencil in his right hand. As he read, he dragged the pencil along his lap. The eraser of the pencil began its journey somewhat low, near the bottom of his fly. It gradually made its way upwards in a sort of diagonal direction. Then he lifted the pencil from his pants and again placed it on the lower part of his fly. From there it slowly dragged its way along the khaki pants, retracing the previous route.

Ths occurred again and again. The boy was so engrossed in his book that he was unaware of me or anybody else. Meanwhile he continuously dragged the pencil along the length of his hidden manhood.

I watched him from different locations for around fifteen minutes. During that time he never mashed his lap, never rearranged his fly, never went to the restroom. But he continued to slowly drag the pencil along its diagonal line.

The young guy was clearly pre-pubertal. I suspect he had a happy little boner hidden in his pants, but he was not yet old enough to be aware of the procedure for dealing with it. In all innocence and without a single horny thought in his head, he was enjoying tiny stimulating feelings as his eraser tingled his innocent young stiffie and perhaps made it harder and harder. 

I think I'll visit the library more often.

Regi Sharp