My First PenisbySierra9572©
I met my first penis when I was eighteen years old. It was quite by accident—or perhaps it wasn't—and it belonged to a high school friend by the name of Robby.
This first chance encounter also occurred just days after I snuck a copy of the Village Voice under my bed sheets, and read a sex column.
First about the sex column:
A man wrote in that every time he urinates, some droplets always seem to splatter in his shorts no matter how man times he shakes his penis afterward. What should he do? The answer, surprisingly, came from a woman. She said she loves to relieve her boyfriends of this issue, and has a tried and true method of saving them from such spillage: She takes two fingers, and presses the muscle on underside of the penis, between the scrotum and the anus. She then pushes forward. "Never fails," she wrote.
Now back to Robby.
Robby was a girlish boy. He was small- framed with porcelain white skin and jet black hair and the girls in high school loved him. They never felt threatened by him. Robby was just a great kid, one anyone could confide in. Your secret was close with him. That's just the way he was.
And days before he headed off to the University of Rochester, and me to Princeton, we took a walk in the apple orchards near where I grew up and lounged by the stream, which is something we often did. He was just a friend, and I loved him dearly. I never looked at Robby as anything sexual. I was going to miss him terribly.
We laid down on the roots of this large oak tree and chatted and watched the stream go by talking about college and what it was going to be like leaving home. And he started to shuffle and said, "I have to pee really bad, just a sec." And he stood and went around the bushes.
I won't lie. I never saw a man pee. I had never even seen a real man naked. So I snuck around the bush and I spied on my friend Robby. He was just standing there, a penis sticking out of his pants, urinating on another tree.
"Hey, stop peaking!" He hollered, and circled around so I wouldn't see him. But my curiosity was incurable.
So I giggled and stood next to him and as he kept trying to hide, I kept grabbing him, until I finally grabbed his penis to hold him still.
"Sierra, cut it out!"
I was laughing, but he grew hard in my hand. I learned this would later happen. Rare is the instance where a woman gets to watch a man pee, because they will always get an erection.
"Crap. I can't finish!"
"Oh, I'm just teasing," I said, and removed my hand.
And Robby started to shake it.
"You're not supposed to shake it," I said.
"No. Watch. I read this in the Voice."
And I went over and unbuckled his pants and his balls popped out, and there he was, standing there in the middle of the woods with an erection!
"You take two fingers," I said, "and go like this." I pressed my two fingers under his scrotum, and pressed forward, and sure enough, a few drops of pee came out.
"There!" I said, admiring my work. "No more mess!"
"Very funny," Robby said. "Now what the fuck do I do?"
I admit, I couldn't help laughing, but I'm sure to him it was no laughing matter. He sat down and wouldn't tuck his erection away until it went away. He told me it was uncomfortable stuck in his pants, and I believed him.
So he sat down, his pants around his thighs, next to me. And I took a good luck. His skin was white, and his legs were thin and dotted with black hair. Out of a full bush of jet black pubic hair was a very proud erection, also white in color. His ball sack was just nestled on his thighs. I wanted to touch him, to feel his penis—my first. To just see what it felt like in my hands. And Robby was such a friend. I wanted to experiment more than anything, to satisfy that curiosity.
To just see what it was like with no commitment.
And so I did.
I leaned forward, pushing my sweater out of the way and rolling up my sleeves, and I grabbed his erection. It was so hard, yet so rubbery. His body was so girlish, but there was this huge mature erection poking so proudly at the sky. And against his own body, the thing looked huge.
And I grabbed it, and he jumped. "Sierra!"
"Oh, what's the matter," I said. "Ever get a hand job before?"
"Just lay back. I never did this before."
"Well , me neither," he said.
He tried haphazardly to feel me up while I moved my hand up and down, but without much success. The feeling of my hand on his cock was just too much, and he couldn't concentrate long enough to get past my bra. For both of us, this was biology 101. There was no better person to practice on.
Precum started to come out, and I took this and smeared it down his shaft to feel it dry in the crisp August air.
A few more pumps and he forgot all about getting to second base and just propped his hands on the ground and closed his eyes. His breathing quickened, and his balls tightened, and I felt them.
Two more pumps, and my poor little Robby couldn't hold back anymore. That big hairy penis of his erupted and squirt semen about two feet up. It came down and landed on my forearm, but by then, a whole bunch more shots went off. I wasn't exactly sure where to point it, so I pointed it up and most of the semen just collected on my hand, settling between my fingers. I kept moving my hand up and down and felt his penis start to soften. I wasn't looking at him, but watched the angry red head—looking so much more mature than the rest of him.
When his cock went limp, I held my fingers up to the sun and looked at the sperm. I had never seen it before. It was odd. It was white but clear. The white strands in it were wiggly, like ribbons. Some stuck between my fingers like glue.
"Weird," I said. I bent over and sniffed it and it smelled kinda Cloroxi.
"I can't believe this stuff makes babies."
I looked at Robby, flush. His penis was soft now, but still huge, moist and draped over his thigh.
"I love you, Sierra."
"I love you, too, Robby."