Friday, July 7th, 2006 – Lucas O’Malley, age 19

     I always knew something was wrong with me.
     Even back when I was a cub, I would find myself staring in the locker room at the YMCA’s public swimming pool. I was nine or ten, in summer camp, just about to begin the violent throes of puberty, and my hormones would surge every time I caught a glimpse of another cub changing. As I got older, I would grow stiff in my briefs when the kids in the younger summer class would walk by with their cheeks peeking out from below their ill-fitting speedos. I especially liked looking at the chubby kids—though few were chubbier than I—guts hanging and covering the tie that kept their baggy swim trunks from falling, and revealing that which I yearned to see. 
     After swim time, the sopping wet kids would strip of their soggy clothes, the smell of wet fur, musk, and chlorine burning my nostrils. I had to change quickly before my erection revealed my sick attraction. Occasionally I would go to the nearby restroom and masturbate (though there were no doors nor dividers to conceal my lewd act, this was a large part of the fun), leaving my cum to slide down the porcelain wall of the urinal. Just once was I caught. A friend of mine, who awkwardly asked to watch. That, however, is a story for another time.
     Now well into my late teens, that first glimmer of sexual urges and release has always remained with me. I longed to see them again—the cubs—their soft fur, their innocent testicles swaying beneath them without a care, virgin sheaths that had yet to be parted by that glistening pink tip. So eventually, and almost inevitably, I got a summer (volunteer) job as a Y camp counselor at sixteen. 
     It was never my intention to touch, only to look.
     I would trudge through each day of activities, from arts and crafts to gym time. Movie time, snack time and eventually, my favorite: free swim. Time to spend in the locker room, watching them all change, and time for me to watch their lithe bodies move voraciously through the water.
     Each year, there was another counselor that worked with me, always a girl so she could take the girls into their respective locker room. The year in question I was assigned to the fifth graders, who were nine, ten, or eleven years old, depending on birthdays and standardized tests. My female counterpart was Tracey, a spry young fox of eighteen, only a year younger than myself. Her gratuitous tits would have distracted any man of the heterosexual persuasion. Luckily for her I had my eyes on a younger prize.
     In the locker room, before swim time, I would use my species to my advantage. My father was a purebred English Sheepdog (“We may be called ‘English’ sheepdogs, but not all of us are from England!”, my father liked to say in his thick Irish accent); my mother a bearded collie. Grey-black fur covered my eyes unless I held it up with a hair tie or headband. The kids would never knew where I was looking.
     My favorites to spy on were Jacob—the oldest, a hyper but bright eleven year old husky (“Eleven and a half,” he would say). He had striking blue eyes and was skinny to the point that I feared a tight hug could crush him. My other favorite was the second youngest, nine year old Gustav, who we called Gus. He was a shy and chubby beagle pup who, without a severe diet change, would grow up to have tits as big as Tracey’s. (Not that I had room to speak; my own were hardly a cheeseburger away from being a double D.)  His head had still not yet grown into his extremely long ears, which were marked with a spot of white on the left ear and a tinge of black on the right one. A snaggletooth hung out from his jowl on occasion, twisting one side of his adorable face into a benign snarl. I bet he still had puppy breath.
     It was Gus who eventually pushed my sick urges past their fantastic plane and into reality.
     The best part about the changing room is that I was obliged to watch the children, to make sure they weren’t roughhousing. No one ever said I had to watch anything other than their genitals.
     Sammy was the youngest of the group but, being Tracey’s little brother, he was ineffable. This led to him being indiscriminately cruel to the kids who were not his friends (of which he had two), so the three of them picked on the other ten boys relentlessly when I wasn’t paying attention. He mostly left the girls alone, though, besides to occasionally present them with a bug he found crawling on the side of the playground.
     Tracey was little to no help with disciplining her brother. After that first time seeing him change, though, I started to understand why he was so cruel. Patriarchal society and toxic masculinity had already corrupted his young mind: his balls—and, I presumed, by extension his cock—were smaller than anyone else’s in the group. The other kids didn’t seem to notice or mind this fact, however; he seemed to be the only one aware of his disappointing size. His two friends, Ted and Todd, were twin grizzly bears. They were sure to eventually be much more well-endowed than their friend. The two were not always immune, however, to Sammy’s torture, despite being his friends. He loved to pick on Ted especially, calling him “Teddy Bear” belligerently whenever he got on his nerves. I tended not to look at the three much, some sort of twisted punishment for their disobedience.
     There was Hank the otter, James the coyote, Kyle, another fox, and Petey, a Maine coon with a luscious coat. They all tended to hang around each other, along with Jacob, the husky, deflecting Sammy and company’s bullying like an iron shield. I wasn’t much into cats or otters, neither young nor my age, but Petey’s fur seemed to ache for my touch. I did like to take a glance at James and Kyle on occasion as well. Their fluffy bottoms looked like perfect crevices in which to bury my snout. 
     Jacob was objectively the sexiest of my class. His markings led your eyes down to his young, forbidden package, which itself was marked with a splotch of white down the center. Of all the kids, his balls looked the softest. The insides of his thighs were white, blending into the grey that covered most of his body. I longed to put my hands there; to feel the warmth of his sex emanating from his lower half; to run a claw down the white stripe on his chest and down to where another’s hands should not touch for at least a few more years.
      Jacob would occasionally dart around the locker room with his sheath full, pink tip just barely showing, balls flapping in the wind, slapping the asses of his fellow campers like a baseball player. I should tell him not to run in the locker room, but I enjoyed watching him get aroused by spanking the other kids, so I would usually let him have his fun for a while before I told him to stop. I hoped he that he would find out that he’s gay early on, like I did. It’s easier that way, I think.  
     The more vulnerable of the bunch, the shier kids, who hung around each other but didn’t seem to talk much, were as follows: Hale, the leader, if you could call him that, a bookish squirrel with savory nuts that nearly dangled to his knees; Comet, a golden retriever whose tail was always wagging (I wondered, sometimes, what it would feel like wagging against my stomach as I buried my knot into his pink, virgin tailhole); Jake (also technically named Jacob, but preferred this shortened version), a dachshund, whose small stature did not lend itself well to Sammy’s teasing; and Terrence, a rabbit with floppy ears and gigantic feet. I often fantasized about those feet, thinking about their light, buttery smell, and the feel of the fur between his toes gliding against my cock. Unfortunately, as you’re about to learn, I’m prone to much more than just the one stigmatized and taboo fetish.
     I like to think that those were the golden days of my life. Back when I still thought I was innocent, and had a harem of naked grade schoolers at my fingertip. The world was my salad bar, and I was swimming in it.
     Gustav was an outsider, even among the outsiders. He would sit with Hale and his gang at snack time and art, but kept a seat between him and anyone else, remaining silent. He usually sat out of gym, preferring instead to stay on the sidelines and read or work on his friendship bracelets, which we had learned to make the first day. I wondered if he had anyone to even give them to.
     The first Friday of camp that summer started out fine; we learned to make beaded necklaces (I scolded Sammy at least twice for calling the activity “gay”), we played basketball, we watched a good old animated classic (which, again, Sammy called “gay”), and we ate hard pretzels and apple slices with peanut butter for snack. Finally, it was time to swim.
     I did my usual routine of staring, my eyes trained on the various shapes of scrotums and sheaths, unseen from behind my fur. I always changed quickly, before anyone else, so I could watch the kids without having a hard-on to worry about when the time came to remove my clothes. I wouldn’t swim with them, but had to at least be ready to jump in in case of an emergency. The Y had put all of us counselors through lifeguard and CPR training. 
     After staring at them and hiding my crotch with my clipboard, they would line up at the door and I would do a head count. I counted one, two, three... a dozen kids. I was just about to lead them out the door that day when I realized Gus was missing.
     “Guys, where’s Gus?” I called out. Most of the kids looked around, unsure, until Ted piped up and said, “He’s crying in the bathroom stall ‘cause Sammy called him a faggot.”
     Sammy turned around, punched Ted in the arm, and said, “Shut up, Teddy Bear, you tattletale.”
     I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my snout, disappointed in Sammy, and disappointed in myself that I was too absorbed by their young, naked bodies to pay attention to what was being said. I brushed my hair to the side so that Sammy could see my eyes, see the sternness in them.
     “You know, your parents are gonna hear about this. No snack time for you on Monday.”
     “Whatever,” came his snarky response, “my sister will give me a snack anyways.”
     Todd and Sammy laughed at this, while Ted rubbed his arm and pretended he wasn’t about to cry. I bit my lip in anger because I knew that Sammy was right, then led the kids out to the pool and explained the situation to Tracey.
     “They’re kids, Luke,” she said to me, “you never called another kid a faggot when you were their age?”
     “No,” I replied, “I was usually the one being called faggot.” 
     She rolled her eyes and turned her attention to the twenty fifth graders in the pool. She was lucky: there were only seven girls, whose names I never really learned nor paid attention to.
     “He better get used to it,” she said. “They got one more year. Then the next year’s middle school for them. It’s all downhill from there.” Her indifference beleaguered me.
     “Well, I’m going to go check on him. Might be a while.”
     “Take your time.”
     The parents would come in about an hour and a half to pick up their children. A select few went home on the bus. Gus was one of them.
     I reentered the locker room, where a fat old tiger was bending over to pick up his briefs, tailhole staring me in the eye from between the greying orange fur of his asscheeks. I averted my eyes when the lion next to him, just as old and twice as fat, caught me staring.
     I went through the locker room, past the open showers (which frightened, intrigued, and aroused me when I was young), and to the bathroom where a horse was pissing loudly in the urinal, the same one I used to paint with my semen about a decade ago. I nodded at him when he turned to look at me, and when he turned away I stole a glance at his dick. Huge, even when flaccid. I wasn’t sure what I would even do with a cock that big. I heard him zip up his shorts and leave the room without washing his hands, and I knocked on the handicapped stall, where I could see small light-up sneakers flashing sadly from underneath the door.
     “Gus?”
     A stifled sob.
     “Gus, are you in there?” 
     A muffled sniffle. 
     “Gus, do you want to talk about what happened? Can you come out?”
     A hummed “no” came from behind the locked door. Mm-mmm, he said.
     His feet dangled an inch or two off the ground and kicked nervously against the porcelain bowl, making the shoes light up endlessly. I held in a chuckle. 
     “Come on, Gus. You’re missing swim time! Don’t you want to swim with your friends?”
     “No,” came the response, thick with tears and mucus. 
     “Open the door so we can talk. You’re gonna have to come out eventually, the bus will be here to take you home soon.”
     “I don’t wanna talk.” His tears were beginning to dry.
     “Well, do you want a hug?”
     There was silence for a bit, then his sneakers hit the floor and crept over to the door, flashing obnoxiously with each step. The door latch unlocked and he opened the door, standing there with his cheek fur wet and nose running. He stared down at my feet.
     I held my arms out and he crashed into me, forehead buried against my navel, his chest rubbing against my crotch, his nose tucked into my stomach just above the waistband of my pants, in danger of smelling my arousal.
     “What did he say to you?” I asked, petting the boy behind his ears.
     “He said—He called me a faggot. Because I was making friendship bracelets at snack time.”
     “Do you know what that word means, Gus?”
     He thought for a moment, and then said, “No.”
     I’m not sure why I asked him that question, because I wasn’t prepared to follow up.
     “Well, it’s—it’s a very mean word that people usually use to—uh, be mean to—uh, gay people.”
     “Oh,” he pondered, his tears finally seemed to dry, and the snot that built up on his nostrils was now crusting on the front of my tank top. “Does that mean... does that mean I’m gay?”
     “No!” I laughed, unable to help myself. “Of course not. Unless... um, unless you want to be, that is. I mean, unless you are. But you’re young; you’ve got a lot of life to live before you have to worry about that kind of stuff. Some people don’t know they’re gay until they’re real old, like grandpa-aged. Some people know from the time they’re really young, like I did.”
     I bite my tongue, realized too late that I had said too much. If the other kids found out, especially Sammy, I’d become the target of their ridicule. But Gus wouldn’t say anything. I was almost sure of it. He hardly said anything at all to the other kids.
     “So, you’re gay?” He asked innocently.
     “Yes...” I respond. No turning back now.
     “Oh... okay.”
     That was it. He didn’t care. Not all kids were like that. I squat down so I’m at eye level with him.
     “Was that all? He said that because you like making friendship bracelets?”
     “Yeah.”
     “Well, guess what? If you like doing something, no one else can tell you what to think. You like making friendship bracelets? Then fu—forget him. He and his friends can go suck eggs, right?”
     He giggled at my archaic idiom; the kid has probably never even heard it before. His smile faded quickly as he remembered something.
     “He also... He also said, ‘I didn’t know pigs could get so hairy’.”
     I had to admit, a clever, if not speciesist, way to call someone fat. I stifled another laugh, then grew angry at myself for it. I pulled him in for another hug, without even meaning it in a sexual way. I just wanted to console this broken child in whom I saw myself. My snout rested in the crook of his neck, with his breath tickling the sensitive undersides of my dangling ears. 
     “I think you’re perfect just the way you are,” I said, and meant it. He began to cry again, so I hugged him tighter. 
     “What can I do for you? What will make it better?”
     “I don’t want to change in front of the others anymore.”
     Typical, I thought, of fat kids. I was the same way when I was young. But my curiosity—my bi-curiosity—kept me there, ashamed but unbothered, staring at the other kids’ privates. I figured we could arrange something. There were, in fact, private dressing rooms. The kids just weren’t allowed in there typically, since no one would be in there to supervise.
     “Well, I’m sure we can work that out, kiddo.” I broke the hug and tousled his hair. “Come on,” I beckoned, “Grab your bag.”
     I led him to the door of the private room, and opened it up.
     “I’ll be right here if you need me.”
     “Thanks, Mister Luke!” He ran excitedly into the door, almost slamming it. I stood outside, leaning against the wall, wishing I could have watched. I sighed, exasperated, and adjusted my throbbing sheath. A minute or so of silence later, and the door opened. Gus shyly peeked around the corner of the door frame, still fully clothed, and called to me.
     “Um, Mister Luke, I... I need help.”
     Yikes. In my three years of volunteering at the Y, I had never had to help a kid undress. Not even when I was assigned to the younger groups. Watch them do so, yes. But I’ve never put my hands on them in the dressing room besides to stop one from running out into the pool room naked. I wasn’t sure I was prepared for this.
     “Okay, um, can I come in?” This wasn’t allowed under any circumstances.
     The door slowly opened and I snuck inside anyway. We weren’t supposed to be alone with a lone child, especially not in a room that had a lock on it. People like me were the reason why. I locked the door behind us.
     “What’s wrong, Gus?”
     “I, um, I can’t get my belt undone. And I have to pee really, really bad.”
     Christ. Fate was testing my will. And my loins.
     “Okay,” I started, “let me see.”
     His knees were buckled together, feet dancing in time with the urgently flashing lights on his shoes. It was an emergency.
     I kneeled down on the grimy linoleum and Gus lifted up his gut to reveal his belt. It was one of those stupid ones, like we used to have in Cub Scouts, with the metal buckle and a pin you had to move out of the way to release the fabric trapped within. I could never quite figure them out myself.
     “Okay, okay, calm down, stop—stop dancing, let me see!”
     He stopped moving from side to side, but still squirmed in place. My hands fumbled with the buckle, struggling to loosen the fabric, and it finally began to come undone just as a small wet spot began to form on the front of his shorts. 
     “I can’t hold it anymore!”
     My mind began racing—the kids brought their swimsuits every day, but no other change of clothes. If he wet himself further, he’d have no choice but to wear his swim trunks home, shamefully carrying his soiled shorts and undergarments in a plastic grocery bag. Oh, and face even more ridicule from Sammy and crew for it. So, now that the belt was loose enough, I did the only thing I could think of: pulled his pants and underwear down in one fell swoop. 
     I don’t know what else I expected. As soon as his private parts were freed from their cotton cage, his bladder let loose with a forceful stream of piss. It started at my chest, where it leaked down between my breasts—so to speak—and began to run down the round crest of my stomach and soon trickled into the front of my pants. The warmth then hit my face as his release gained speed, forcing me to close my eyes as the fur that covered them became wet. Eventually he was pissing so hard that the stream hit the underside of his belly, soaking his fur nearly from his navel down to the tip of his scrotum. Then the stream slowed, moving back down to my chest, then my stomach, then to the floor, and finally became a dribble that slid down the drenched fur that covered his precious little ballsack. All of this happened so fast that I couldn’t even have moved had I wanted to, and Gus’ instinct was to cover his eyes in shame 
     I was astonished, soaked, but most of all, painfully aroused. My mouth hung open, streams of piss sliding off the fur of my snout and pooling in my lower jowl.
     “Gus, I—” I didn’t know what to say. What to do. There was no way I could tell anyone about this; it would mean nothing but embarrassment for us both. Possible jail time and definite termination for me. So I simply looked down at myself, staring at the wet fur, my wet shirt, and then up at his sheath.
     “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’m sorry...” he cried, first covering his crotch with his hands,  instantly self-conscious of his nudity as if he had tasted the forbidden fruit. He then returned to his original defense mechanism of covering up his eyes.
     “It’s okay,” I lied, being far from okay myself. “We’ll just—we just have to take a shower. It’ll be okay, no one will ever know.” 
     He sniffled, forcing back tears. He wiped his eyes and moved his hands back to once again cover his genitals, to my dismay.
     “You mean, you won’t... you won’t tell on me?” This was less of a question and more of a plea.
     “Of course not.” I wiped the piss-soaked hair out of my eyes so I could look into his. “I’m in charge here, right? Who am I gonna tell on you to?”
     “My dads.” Oh, of course. That’s why he had no problem with me being gay.
     “Nah, of course not. It’ll be our little secret.” This part was less to protect him from ridicule, and more to protect my job. I was breaking the rules already, being in a locked room with him. There was no way I was going to tell them I also pulled the kid’s pants down. And that he unknowingly indulged me one of my biggest fetishes.
     He nodded to me. 
     “I guess we’re gonna have to take a shower, then, huh?” I said. 
     There were two ways we could go about doing this. One, I could take him out to the open showers, where men of all shapes and sizes and ages and species would be using them. They would smell and see the piss all over me, and have some very valid questions. Or two: we could shower right here in the private dressing room. This ‘private’ dressing room had a shower but, as the room was typically meant for only one person, there was no curtain or divider to speak of. Either way, I was going to have to get naked in front of him. And my erection definitely wasn’t going to go down any time soon. I could already feel my knot forming at the base of my sheath.
     “Okay,” he said, still covering his crotch. “Um, are you gonna take a shower... with me?”
     I froze. I didn’t know what to say. 
     “Well, I, uh, I kind of have to take a shower. We might as well take a shower together. There’s no private shower in here, and I definitely can’t go back out there. You kind of, uh... peed all over me, remember?”
     He frowned. “Sorry.”
     “It’s okay, kid. Accidents happen. Sometimes you can’t help it.”
     He thought for a while and came back to his other reservation.
     “So, we have to get naked together?”
     “Gus, we all get naked in the locker room together every day, remember?”
     “And you’re not gonna make fun of me?”
     I’m almost offended by this. “Of course not! I’m not a bully like them. You’re already half naked right now.” He blushed. “Besides, I’m a big guy too, we gotta stick together, right?” I squeezed his bicep in reassurance. This made him finally relax his arms and expose his genitals once more. Thank god.
     He smiled. Suddenly a strong whiff of urine hit me like a brick, reminding me of the situation I was in. I looked down at his crotch and then at myself. 
     “Okay, well, we better get to it. There’s probably not much time left in free swim. The rest of the boys will have to come back soon, and we don’t want them to know what we’ve been up to, do we?” He shook his head.
     I took my shirt off and tossed it towards the shower. I would rinse it off there. I stood up looked down at Gus, who looked up at me.
     “Alrighty,” I said casually, placing my hands on my hips, “let’s get naked!”
     I untied my swimsuit and loosened the elastic waistband.
     “Come on,” I prodded Gus when he hesitated. I repeated the same thing said to me by my camp counselor when I first started summer camp and was nervous about changing: “We’re all guys here, right? Plus, you already peed on me. And I’ve seen you naked before.” Okay, well they only said the first part, not the part about peeing.
     He chewed on his lip and stared at my shoes. 
     “I know, but...”
     “But?”
     “I’ve never seen a grown-up naked.” Grown-up. Hah. Looking back, I was still very much a kid, too.
     “I’ve changed in front of you before.”
     “But I’ve never... y’know. Like, looked. You always change so fast, like lickety-split. You’re done changing before I even get my bag out.”
     So someone had noticed my erection-hiding strategy. He just didn’t know its purpose.
     “Well, I, uh... you don’t have to look if you don’t want to.”
     “But the thing is... I do want to.”
     “Oh, uh,” I’m caught off guard. My heart sinks, and then rises. My already hard cock pulses in its sheath. “I, um, well...”
     “I’m just... curious, is all.” He rubbed his elbow and averted my eyes. I had to close my mouth to stop the flies from entering.
     “Well, there’s no shame in being curious. I was always, um, looking at the other boys when I was young. I went to this same summer camp when I was your age, you know? Even younger. That’s how I knew I was... gay, ‘cause I liked looking at the boys.”
     “That’s the thing. I... I like looking at the boys too. But I’m too scared to talk to them. And when Jacob comes around and smacks my butt, I... kind of like it. It makes me feel weird in my... you know...” he whispers his next words: “my pee-pee.”
     Again, the boy had left me speechless. The innocence of the phrase, the taboo of saying it aloud, the fact that he was even mentioning his ‘pee-pee’ to me had me stunned.
     I had always fantasized about one day finding a cub that I knew wouldn’t tell. One that I could trust with... a secret of this calibre. On my darker days, I fantasized about taking one and making sure that he wouldn’t tell. I always figured that, if my urges ever got too strong to resist, I would have to resort to the latter. Eventually, I would. But here an opportunity was, presenting itself to me with piss-stained trousers. I had little time to lose.
     “Well, Gus, I’m no expert,” I was, in fact, an expert on gaiety, “but, I’m pretty sure that means you’re probably gay. Or at least bisexual.”
     “Bisexual?”
     “Means you like both boys and girls.”
     “Oh, well, I’ve never seen a girl naked. But I kissed one on the playground in kindergarten. I don’t remember my pee-pee getting tingly then, though.” He gasped and covered his mouth, realizing he had said ‘pee-pee’ a little too loud and a little too casually.
     I chuckled, “Well, it probably was too soon to start doing that. It doesn’t happen until you’re older.”
     “Oh, like how old?”
     “Well, looks like you’ve already started, bud. But it’ll get... different. I... I really shouldn’t be telling you this...” I said this for two reasons. One, it was true. And two, because I knew saying that was exactly the push he needed for his curiosity to take over.
     “Telling me what?”
     “Well, I don’t know...”
     “Come on, you can’t just say that and then not tell me!”
     I try changing the subject, for now.
     “Let’s... Let’s get into the shower first. We really gotta get cleaned up.” This much was true.
     He sighed, and kicked his sneakers off, each one bouncing towards the wall with flashes of colorful light. He stepped out of his pants, which were still down around his ankles and gracefully spared from the mess he had made, besides the initial wet spot. I resentfully realized I would have to clean up this mess. 
     When he waddled over to the bench to take off his socks, I snatched his pants and underwear up, under the guise of putting them in a safe space, and inhaled deeply before Gus had a chance to even turn around and catch me. The sweet and sour mix of urine and his prepubescent musk made me leak precum through the netting in my swim trunks; one of the holes was catching on the tip of my cock.
     I put the somewhat soiled clothes down on the bench opposite him, then walked over to him and unceremoniously dropped my trousers. He looked up, wide eyes trained on my groin, mouth hanging open, his nervous hands squeezing the balled up socks in his hand. I could tell he was intrigued by the inch of pink flesh sticking out from my sheath, leaking a clear liquid I was sure he could not yet produce.
     “What... is that?”
     “Oh, uh. That’s... my pee-pee.” I felt dumb using the word, but he felt emboldened. “It’s my penis.” 
     His eyes snapped up towards mine, obviously having heard the word before, or seen it written in Sharpie on bathroom stalls, but I could tell he had not yet heard it come out of a ‘grown-up’s’ mouth. Sex ed wasn’t until next spring, when a lot of the females would start their first heat.
     “Your... penis? Will mine look like that too? When I get older?”
     “Well, yeah, uh, I guess so.” 
     “Why don’t the other boys have a pink part?”
     “Because...” Because you pissed all over me and turned me on, kid. “...because I...I’m tingly, too. From uh... seeing you naked.”
     “Oh, right, ‘cause you’re gay.”
     The casualness of the statement again caught me off guard.
     “Yeah, because I’m gay.” And because I’m a pedophile.
     Beat. “I’m tingly now, too,” he admitted.
     I nearly fainted. This couldn’t be happening. I suddenly realized I’m showing off my cock to a nine year old—a nine year old who’s turned on by it. 
     “F—from looking at me? Naked?”
     “Yeah.” He stared down at the socks in his hands as the balled them up and unfolded them continuously. I could feel my cock visibly twitching.
     “Well, that’s okay,” I managed to squeak out. “Different strokes for different folks.”
     “Different strokes for different folks.” He repeated, then turned his attention down to his kicking feet and he continued to fiddle with the socks in his hand. How I wished he would put them down so I could smell those as well.
     I was suddenly aware of the time. We had a little over a half an hour before the kids would be coming back.
     “Okay, okay, now let’s shower, real quick, before they all come back.”
     I turned on the faucet; it’s one of those ones with a push button, where you have to keep pushing or the water stops. He pulled off his shirt and jumped in front of me. The water started out cold, freezing even, but quickly became warm enough to bear. I rinsed the piss out of my eyes and chest fur, not bothering to use the shampoo from the dispenser next to me. It smelled like a hospital.
     He rinsed his face and his ears first, shoving his snout up into the stream of the water and smiling. The reach of the water was small, and we were in close quarters. When he turned around to rinse his backside, he came face to face with my cock, which was jutting out even more than before. 
     I didn’t realize this at first, since my eyes were closed, but they opened at once when I felt an innocent finger tugging at my sheath.
     My thighs tensed up and my knees locked; I nearly fell to the ground.
     “Gustav!” I managed to cry out. He was startled by my use of his full name.
     “Sorry... I thought you said it was okay to be curious?”
     “I—I did, but,” I tried to catch my breath as I leaned forward to press the button on the faucet. “You really shouldn’t touch someone else’s...pee-pee. Without their permission first, at least.”
     “Oh, can I touch your pee-pee?” His frankness made my eyes widen. “Can I, uh,” he cleared his throat and put on his best grown-up voice. “May I touch your penis?”
     My mind was swimming. My head was spinning. My eyelids were heavy. I needed to lie down.
     “Y-yes, you may,” this wasn’t how I expected this to happen. This really shouldn’t have happened at all. I shouldn’t have let it happen. But I did.
     “But,” I said, stopping his hand in midair. “This has to be our little secret too.” 
     I heard the shower stream begin to weaken, and I pressed the button once more.
     “Okay!”, he said gleefully, and instantly grabbed my sheath with both hands.
     He was silent as he stroked me, exploring, pulling my sheath down to expose more and more of my cock. My knot was threatening to expose itself. I leaned forward again a minute later to press the button of the shower.
     “You promised to tell me more. When’s my... penis gonna get big like yours?” He was still getting used to saying the word. 
     “Well, ahh-hah—” I gasped as his fingers traced the outline of my knot, still hiding within my sheath. “I—I mean, it might be big already. You’ve never...” Another gasp. “You’ve never rubbed yours before? Seen it come out of its sheath, like mine?” 
     “No, it just gets tingly sometimes. And stiff.” He removed one hand from my dick to scratch at his chin and ponder. “One time I rubbed it on my stuffed giraffe. But it was dark, and I had my undies on.”
     I pressed the shower button again. No use, really, since we were hardly doing any showering.
     “Oh, well. If you’re old enough to get tingly and stiff, I’m sure you could get it to come out, if someone shows you how.” The words came out of my mouth without me even realizing the implications that I would be the one to show him.
     “Really?” His grip on my cock tightened in excitement, and my knees jerked.
     “Y—yeah, but it really should me someone you trust, like your dad or... your other dad.”
     “I trust you!”
     Fuck it. The kid was already nearly jerking me off. I may as well return the favor.
     “Okay, but—you really, really gotta promise not to tell anyone. Not your dads, not your friends, not even your stuffed giraffe.”
     “But I tell him everything...”
     “You gotta promise. Just us.” I held out a pinky. He locked his with mine reluctantly, feeling as if he was betraying his best friend. 
     I pressed the shower button again before I got down on my knees. My hands shook as they reached up to touch his already full sheath. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. My heart was racing. I felt faint. The skin of his sheath slid back, for the first time revealing his tender pink flesh.
     He gasped. Not a short gasp, mind you, but a long, drawn-out one. It was more of a sigh in reverse. The water stopped.
     “Can you—can you make sure that stays on? It’s kind of cold,” I said. He awoke from his stupor long enough to brace himself against the button, putting all his weight on it, keeping the shower running indefinitely. Why hadn’t I thought of that?
     I gently stroked his cock, which was girthy, though just average in length for his size, and the same deep red-purple color as mine. He looked down in disbelief, both at my touch and at the sight of his own cock.
     My nerves began to get the best of me. I had fulfilled his request. We were on a time constraint here. “Okay, okay, that’s enough. I showed you how, now we really gotta get dressed and—”
     “Can I—can I give you a blowie?”
     “What?! Where did you hear that word? How do you not know what—but you—where did you learn—what?!” I was more shocked by this than anything else that had happened so far. He had never jerked off but knew what a ‘blowie’ was?
     “Um, I heard Sammy talking about it. He said he saw his sister doing it to her boyfriend. I just... I wanted to know what it was like.”
     Tracey. You slut.
     “I, um, I don’t know...” What was I saying? Of course I know. Yes, yes, yes, suck me off!
     “Please?”
     “Alright,” I relented, “But this really, really, really has to be our little secret. You can’t go telling—”
     My throat closed off as his mouth closed around my penis.
     “Ah—!” I gasped for air as my fantasies came true. I fell backward against the wall, bracing myself against the handicap bars. He got to his knees to be more comfortable.
     “Gus...”
     I reached down to relieve my knot of its post inside my sheath, then wrapped my fingers around the flesh beneath it, squeezing tight. I knew he wouldn’t be able to take my knot into his mouth, nor would I try to make him.
     The shower stopped running and the only sound in the room was the humming of the air conditioning, the dripping of water off our fur and onto the floor, and the sound of Gus slobbing away on my dick. I was freezing, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t.
     He would pull off and start licking at it with his long tongue, then go back to sucking it, gagging as the tip entered his young throat. Occasionally, his milkteeth would drag along the flesh of my shaft, but I didn’t mind. It kind of turned me on.
     He was inexperienced, to put it lightly, but the mere fact that it was him, it was him, it was... a child, so attentively embracing my cock that brought me to orgasm within minutes. 
     “Gus...” I panted. “Gus, I’m gonna cum.”
     He pulled his mouth off and looked up at me.
     “You what?”
     Just then I released the biggest load I’ve ever shot, all over his face and chest. Ropes of cum painted his snout, his forehead, the fur between his tits, his stomach, the linoleum floor. He turned away and shielded his face with his hands.
     “What was that?” He finally said once the torrent of jism stopped flowing.
     I was panting, but I told him.
     “That was, um, an orgasm. I... It happens when you get a blowie... a blowjob... or when you jerk off. Or have sex.”
     “Jerk off?”
     “When... you rub it yourself. Look, we... should really get cleaned up. Again. We’re running out of time, Gus, I really shouldn’t have...”
     Guilt like I have never felt before ran through me. Fear, even. I expected to be in jail by the next week.
     “Can we do it again? Will you give me a blowie too sometime?”
     Fuck. Yes. Of course. 
     “I don’t know... We really shouldn’t.”
     “Please?”
     Who could resist those puppy eyes? And that adorable face, covered in cum?
     “Okay, but—but not here. We can’t talk about this here, okay? Let’s get cleaned up. We really have to go.”
     We showered and dried off. We got dressed, and headed out to the pool. We had hardly made it through the doors when Tracey blew her whistle. The kids lined up and I led the boys into the locker room. Gustav trailed behind the rest of the group as usual, but at least this time he was smiling. 
     When the boys changed, I didn’t even bother to look. I just came. I didn’t want to get horny again already. Gus changed back into his clothes, confident enough in his own body now that he knew he was big and grown up like me. He even smiled as he undressed, a smile that said I know something you don’t. 
     We waited at the lobby for the parents to come. When the bus arrived, I led the five kids from my class who rode it outside—Gus, Terrence, James, and two of the girls. Gus hesitated as the first girl boarded, and turned to me. 
     “See ya Monday, Mister Luke?”
     “Yeah, Gus, see you then.”
     He gave me a hug and said, “Thanks.” No, kid, thank you.
     He released me and reached into his pocket. He held out his hand and placed something into mine.
     “Here, for you.” He whispered. “Our little secret.”
     Without another word, he turned from me and ran up the stairs into the bus, then took his seat in the very front. He waved to me as the bus pulled away.
     I opened my hand and inspected the gift: a pink and blue friendship bracelet, expertly woven.