Spring in West Virginia comes cold to the runs and valleys and warm to the low mountain hills, when the sun heats them in the afternoon. My time there was brief. The boy, his name reserved so that even as this time has passed, he won't be embarrassed by what I am about to tell ... The boy intrigued me. Thin. Not tall. His high cheekbones flushed often when outdoors. Just out of high school, we were on a mission to help the desperately poor mountain people.
We were building a dormitory so there was no place to sleep except the floor. The girls took turns on the two sofas. There was no privacy. 14 young people huddled together in the evening, playing spoons after dinner. Playing guitar and singing. Nights were cold. The boys competed in the outhouse Olympics. How fast can you run outside and go. No one was alone except the outhouse and that was timed.
In time I would realize, that it was hard for the boys. Most young men at around this age, we were 19 or so, masturbated daily. As the week went on their poor cocks must have been bursting. For myself, the close quarters, the messy work with the chickens, in the garden, in the kitchen and helping out in the new construction, never really put me in mind of sex. Perhaps my Catholic upbringing helped condition me in that way.
Father Dave kept us busy. We went into town twice that week, to visit his flock. How they loved him. These poor desperate dirty people; three and four generations living in the same few rooms greeted him lovingly when he showed up. And why not. He was a fine carpenter and a good shepherd. Generous with both food and money.
There's a deeply satisfying feeling that you get when you selflessly give. There were moments that I knew that soul satisfaction, or glimpsed it anyway. I could see as I watched him, that the boy gained a satisfaction from his efforts with the poor.
But in his sleeping bag, as I watched at night from my own bag on the sofa, I could see there was a growing need for another kind of satisfaction. The bulge was obvious, even in the dark, but we were crowded so close together, his release would have to wait.
I followed him up the hill. It was a small West Virginia hill that he scaled in a half an hour. I wanted to get to know this young man, this boy, so I followed him. I wanted to see where he would go and what he would do, when he had time to himself.
When we got to the top of the hill I stopped before the clearing. He continued. At the clearing was a large boulder the size of a shed. The earth warn from the face on the downhill side. He disappeared behind it. But before I could follow him I saw that he had climbed the thing, only to turn and look back over the valley. He stood, with arms out, breathing the clean air. And then he began to strip.
Flannel shirt, t shirt. It was a late spring day. Warm and filled with the smells of the season. Maybe he wanted to get some sun. Then he took his shoes off. Then his jeans. There he stood, in just his socks, naked at the top of the mountain.
Sun? He was clearly thinking sexual thoughts. His cock rose quickly and without his hands which were still outstretched like some messenger of Eros. He thrust his hips so that his cock slapped his stomach. I could hear it in the quiet of the wind. Then he slowly ... stroked ... up... just up. Only up his cock. One hand. Then the other. He spread his feet. He moved to the edge of the rock. He began to masturbate in earnest.
He was right handed. But his left hand was busy. Cupping his balls. Feeling that place behind his balls.
His right hand derricked his cock. Up AND down. The now moist cock head popped out of his hand. Soon it was a blur.
I stirred and flushed and watched him unable to move.
He held his left arm out now as if preaching. The other masturbated himself. Stroked himself. He jerked his cock with real passion. What a show. Knees buckled. He pounded his cock. Harder. My eyes glued to his cock as it repeatedly disappeared into his hand. Faster. Harder. Pure power. He wasn't merely jerking his cock or stroking it, he was pounding his cock. One more stance change. Bending further at the knees. His hand a blur now his body spasmed. Jets of cum spurted out. The first shots arching over the edge of the stone and onto the grass. He was cuming. He was seeding the earth. It was hard, and it was primal and it was over.
There he stood. Cock in hand. White rivulets dripping off from his hand. It was my first time seeing a boy masturbate and I hurried down the hill so he wouldn't know I was there.
The winds blew warm that night. Spring had arrived.