Erections... when I was a Little Boy

This is the second-part of a continuation of the topic of erections. 

I am Different than most males, and it has often troubled me in how an erection is viewed by most, compared to how it is for me. This has not been an easy topic to finally allow myself to address, discuss, or even to allow another to know how I feel about it. It quite literally is The Hardest Topic I've Ever written about! (No Pun intended...) But I welcome you to find the humor, and fun in an area I finally am learning to accept about myself, and allow others to understand as well.

To understand a bit-more of what this writing explores, its roots, feelings, and reasons for even writing, please feel free to read the First Part. 

~Warning!~ The text, pictures, cartoons, and entire subject of this blog MAY BE OFFENSIVE to some. In No Way am I trying to shove anything in anyone's face, or in any way be inappropriate, graphic, or sexual. But the topic is about erections, and all that goes with them... So you Have Been Warned. There is nothing visually graphic, except one cartoon. Read, Learn, Laugh, and Explore at your own desire... not because you are in any way forced-to. Please... Enter with An Open Mind... Or Closed Eyes.

This picks-up where I left-off in the first writing (linked above)... You can read this without having read the first-part, but it will make more sense if you know the full-story...

What caused erections for little boys?

(Or the explorations and experiments of little boys n girls):

It was never shameful to see what would cause an erection in a little boy. (Those erections happened quite easily , and often, without much help!) As little kids, it was not uncommon to see where we could fit our penises. Likewise, it was not uncommon for the girls to see what could be fit inside of their own openings. We discovered how some places it would go only when soft, but other places it would go better when it was hard. We discovered it was a bad idea to stick it into a coke bottle… although it fit nicely when it was soft, but the moment it got hard, you could not get it out! Likewise, the girls decided if a coke bottle was such a good fit on a penis, it would be an even better fit in their own openings. To say we had imagination and fun would be an understatement. Of course we joked about the poor bottle-guy at the store who counted these when we returned them! We almost always got erections while swimming naked. I was fun to watch and even to feel as another boy got an erection in the water verses out of the water. The girls delighted in using swim masks to watch under water as we flailed about and tried to “swim with a rudder”.

Who was Allowed to Play?:

(And is it considered ‘sex’ if you are kids?):

We had no notion that it was somehow considered bad that a boy would give another boy an erection, or to feel, play and discover it. It was all healthy, clean fun. Nobody around us was a homophobe, or put those silly notions into our heads.  As little kids, we were allowed to be kids, and nobody made it weird, or sexual. It was simply just learning, exploring, and discovering. Yes, we discovered how it would fit differently into a vagina whether soft or hard. The girls were equally curious, and often the ones to initiate, and try this. Often this was attempted while swimming, or in a bath… the water making it both more challenging, and also more fun.  In a bathtub, it was not as challenging, because the girl usually had the boy pinned down. Also in the bath, they easily discovered the joys of soaps, and bubbles, and how that changed the way it was more slippery. But, in the pool while swimming, the challenge was for the girl to see if she could manage to insert it while the boy was not holding still, also not having anything to make it slippery. We learned that this same activity was not as fun in the sand, or dirt. We found what would fit inside a garden hose, and likewise where that garden hose would fit. This was made even more fun when the water was suddenly turned-on by someone else, and the person playing was not expecting it! It was never a situation of anyone being forced, or made to do something they were not happy with. To us, this was fun, educational, and a great way to learn.

When Good, Clean Play Became Bad For Me:

The only times it was different was if someone would say something to make it “sexual”… such as the obvious “you are having sex” or “we are making babies”. I would hate that! To the girls, or the others around, they did not see it as any different and found it cute to say. I would instantly be repulsed, and could not get away fast enough. None of the people around could understand how that made it bad for me. It was the same action, just with different words. To me, they had just taken something fun and innocent and made it something totally different. The girls loved the thought of “Playing, ‘Lets make a baby’ “. We were not alone often, and the adults watched, but often let us do as we pleased, as long as we did no harm. When an adult would see this happen, they would chuckle. Then admonish whoever said the offending words. But still be giggling. We all knew what it was, but to label it made it something completely different (for me, anyhow). I knew we could not make babies until we grew, and developed further, so it was simply just play… until someone went and mentioned it as otherwise. Often the adults would watch, or encourage, but they left the actual explorations, or desire to see what could or could not be done to our own discoveries.  I always enjoyed them, until someone would mention anything relating the erection to something about sex.  Then I would be humiliated. But if it was not labeled as sexual, I was allowed to enjoy it. I was never offended by simply playing with an erection, until someone made it sexual. That just weirded me out.

Detailed Learning:

(The confusion, and conflict when your views are not like any other’s)

There were a few older people who did in fact teach me much about my body. I was taught about how to feel, understand, and know what I did and did not like, and to discover these feelings for myself, not base them on another’s beliefs. Even as a young boy, I baffled other people who sought to teach, and help me understand what I desired to know. The decisions I came to often did not match those who thought I should feel differently. But they accepted how I felt, rather than attempt to make me think the same as they did. I saw early in life that I was not seeing things the same as others did. Sure, I was conflicted hugely by this. Imagine that everything you find out about yourself is unlike any other human you have ever met… That will screw with a person’s mind!

Understanding the “Wisdom” of The Older People:

(Older… meaning even a year or two older Equals Aged Wisdom, Right?)

I learned very early how touch, and even sensual, intimate touch can be an incredible and wonderful feeling. I learned how to enjoy that touch, and even welcome the reactions it caused. Often the most visible reaction was an erection. I also learned early in life that when not treated as a bad thing, an erection can be wonderful. I learned that if everyone involved had no bad intentions, or ever did anything bad or harmful, there was never any shame, or even anything bad associated with an erection. As a child, I had so many wonderful memories that also included erections. I never once was made to ejaculate. I knew it was designed to happen and it would eventually. I knew how people talked about how it felt and that it was supposed to be the absolute best thing to happen. But I never had one, and did not even expect to, or know when I was supposed to, since to me the erections, and whatever caused them was never done to cause an orgasm. I remembered studying, asking and learning from anyone who would humor my inquiries. Surprisingly, I got most of my information from girls and women. Some of my most trusted female friends were the ones that were older than me, so they had the “wisdom” that came with age. Also, I got much of my knowledge from people like my Gramma, or close family-friends. My Grampa, and even his neighbor (one of my older female friends was his daughter, so they were similarly good at explaining things) were incredible at putting things into words, but they were about the only guys I ever met who could do that. Most guys just could not put anything about this into words.

What is a Phantom Orgasm?

I learned that I would indeed have ‘Phantom Orgasms’ until I developed further, and my body was ready to actually have an ejaculation. I learned I had already had these phantom orgasms since as long as I could remember. Those were wonderful! And I remembered how after having those, my penis would lose the erection, and slowly become soft again. The feeling and sensations that remained were ones I cherished. To me, this was perfect. I learned that most boys, and most men would complain if they had gotten an erection, but never had an orgasm. To them, the feeling of the erection caused discomfort, and the only relief was to orgasm… whether phantom as a young boy, or ejaculation as an older one. This was another area where I discovered I was different. To me, It was never uncomfortable to have an erection. It was blissful always. Even if I never had a phantom orgasm, it still never caused discomfort. I was the opposite. (And oddly enough, still am!) I never, ever complained about the feeling an erection would cause. I would cherish, and hope to keep it as long as was possible. I never cared about the phantom orgasm, or if it ever came. Eventually, all erections go away, and I still felt like they were so wonderful. I was the oddball, and everyone knew this. So, most boys would be eager to either have it go away as soon as possible, or hope to continue whatever would cause the phantom orgasm.

Some of the best memories I have include those who were comfortable enough for me to be around, and comfortable enough to know how to cause the erection, plus cause the phantom orgasm. From what I was told about actual ejaculation, and orgasm, verses the Phantom one, I was led to believe that whatever good feeling there was created in the phantom orgasm, the actual one, when it came would be way better. I had seen older boys, and even men have an orgasm. To me, it did not look like they were enjoying it one bit, or that it was in any way a good feeling. I already knew the fluid that came out in an orgasm was (to me) disgusting, sticky, and nothing I wanted anything to do with! I was not looking forward to my own body creating that mess. I wondered if the orgasm would be as bad as It looked like it would. Since most people already said the stuff they liked and thought felt good were proving to not feel good to me, I suspected the supposed bliss of an orgasm would also be something I would not enjoy. Their faces, and body language told me way more than their words did. I knew that time would come eventually, but was in no hurry for that to happen. To me, everything was perfect now. There was no mess, and those girls I played with also were in no danger of getting pregnant until I was able to ejaculate. I learned everything I could about the body, because I liked to know, understand, and be aware of what could happen, and does happen. I did discuss these topics with almost any female I could get interested. The part about getting pregnant was a huge fear for most young girls. They were always happy to not have that concern. At this time in our lives, it was considered simply just kids playing, and not sexual. It most-definitely was considered sexual once ejaculations could occur (and messy, too!) Again, I was thrilled to still be allowed to play, and not at all considered sexual. I was happy to not have that worry. The last thing I would ever do on this Earth was anything that could possibly create a baby!

Learning About Comfortable, verses Uncomfortable:

I tell the story above (In the first-part, previously posted) about a friend when I was 8 that behaved badly with an erection. He was not the only one. I saw others, too, and learned early how to stay clear of those people, and never allow them to touch you, or to ever allow yourself to be seen naked, or especially with an erection near them. What I could not understand was why some people behaved badly, and seemed to think that because they had a penis, it was perfectly acceptable. I knew if something made you uncomfortable in that way, it was best to not be around. I had already programmed myself to distance myself from anyone who made me uncomfortable because of naked, or an erection. Imagine my conflict when I finally had my first ejaculation, and discovered how horrible it made me feel! The conflict came not because I wanted to get away from the person who caused it, but because it was caused by someone I loved, trusted, enjoyed always being with, and had been one of my best friends since birth! How could I suddenly hate the way someone so important made me feel? It was caused by someone who I absolutely did not want to be apart from…

Did I lose My Virginity at age 10?

(Gasp!~ Or even by age 5?)

In my blog about My Grampa and I becoming Naked Smurfs, I mention quite often the girl from next door. She was a very important person in my life as a kid. We grew up together. In that blog, (and almost every one previous to this, I had not revealed the parts about the erections, because I was still too mortified to talk about them, After writing the blog about the hitchhiker, I found I was ready, and the time was appropriate.) She was two years older than me. My Gramma and Grampa liked to tease us regularly and call her my “girlfriend”. This embarrassed us both immensely. But at the same time, we understood why they said this, but neither of us was ready to be called that. She also was the one who caused my very first true orgasm. This had happened about a year before the Naked Smurfs week. I remember the day very well. I was either 10 or 11. The neighbor girl and I often spent entire days playing together. She and her friends were some of my most trusted friends, and often just being around her I got an erection. Often, she and her friends would purposely cause them. She had given me erections since I was born. She was two, I was a newborn. They all told me later, once I was old enough to know what they were telling me that the very first time she met me, she immediately grabbed my penis, and tugged on it until it was hard. This gave all the adults a good laugh, and they knew we would always be friends, and there would be no boundaries between us. Every time she was near me, she played with it more. To my grandparents and her parents, this was endlessly funny. Occasionally they used this to our embarrassment. They all immediately referred to her as my girlfriend. Sheesh, I had a girlfriend as soon as I was Born… and she liked to play with my penis!

Something is Different:

(Changes I was not thrilled with)

Anyhow, It was not uncommon for her to give me an erection, and also a phantom ejaculation. This was nothing shameful, especially around Gramma and Grampa, or even in front of her own family, or any of the people we were regularly around. Like I mentioned before, I almost always got an erection when I swam naked. Of Course with her here, I Always got an erection… Often caused intentionally by her.  We both found it amusing, and enjoyable. On this day, it was no different, … …until we noticed something was different with my erection. Grampa was working on something sitting at the patio table next to the pool. She and I had swam, naked of course. She had purposely caused the erection, and kept it continuing for quite a while. She often would see if she could get it inside her while we played (of course I did not object!) She did, and commented it felt different this time. I agreed. Something had changed. I could feel it was different, too. She had begun to develop and change, and we both noted the changes as she did. But this time, we both noticed I felt and fit differently. My own erection was different, looked, felt, and moved differently. I was not at all ashamed to have Grampa see this, nor was she ashamed to have him see her do this. This was just part of our playing, our connection. Other than the difference we noticed in the way I felt and fit, this was no different than any other time… Except once we were in the sun, and she played some more, she noticed some fluid seeping from the tip. (yes, we each were quite familiar with each other’s body functions, and even pee’d together quite often. In our freedom, yes we had even explored and learned enough to know what a drop of the other’s pee felt and looked like. We were very comfortable with each other.) She continued to play, and work more out, I could tell it was something different, too. But it was not flowing, just barely seeping. As she explored, and worked more out, effectively moving the fluid around the tip, she caused it to become quite slippery. We both understood what this was. She grinned, and said “it is time”. We both knew it, but she was the first to say it. Not only had I studied, learned and asked everyone who would allow my inquiries, She also was one who told me about this in her “aged wisdom”. She played only a bit more, then stopped, to not cause the ejaculation yet. I looked at her, and told her she could no longer try to put it in. She looked sad, and agreed. We both knew this change in me would forever change the way we could play.

Grampa’s Humorous Advice: “Get Into the Pool, So You Don’t Get It In Her Eye…”

Grampa had noticed, too, and was watching, grinning. As He Chuckled, He said, “Can I offer a bit of advice? Get into the pool, so it won’t get in her eye, and you won’t end up all sticky.” We laughed at this, but agreed. All of us knew The time had come. Sure, we easily could have just ignored it, and let it go away, but we knew the importance of it, and without discussing it, knew we needed to continue it this time. We got into the pool, and began to swim. I knew other boys absolutely loved it when they changed and had their first orgasm. I already had my doubts about it, because of how it made me feel already. The swimming, and the motion of the “rudder moving against the water” did nothing to calm the feeling, it only made it more uncomfortable. I absolutely did not like this new feeling one bit. I stopped swimming. She of course was right next to me. She also could tell how it was making me feel. It was nothing uncommon for her to touch, hold, squeeze, and know every detail of how my body felt, reacted,and moved. Not only could I feel it was affecting me differently, but so could she. As I held onto the edge of the pool, she felt, and "inspected" what I was experiencing. She, too could tell this was not doing good for me, and she suggested we go to the shallow end where we could stand. I told her I felt sick, and could not swim. She took me to the shallow end, and helped me stand. I could barely stand, so we went to the steps to sit, still in the water. I told her I felt funny. I really was not feeling good all of a sudden. She could see how this was not good for me. She held me in a hug. She knew me very well, and also could feel it herself. She whispered, “It is time. Can I help, or do you want to do it alone?”  I knew from what she had told me, she had experience with this already with other boys. I really did not like the way I was feeling. I could not describe the feeling, but it was awful! I could tell it was going to happen, whether she helped or not. Part of me wanted to just be left alone, but also part of me wanted her with me. I could not answer, and was seeming to go into what I called a crash. Those around me knew what happened to me when I went into a crash. It meant I was beginning to feel like I was becoming an unconscious puddle on the floor, yet I was still upright. A Crash to me was when I felt more of everything that was happening, was tuned-into EVERY feeling, emotion, and affect on my body... both inside, and out, yet at the same time could not vocalize, or explain what was happening. For anybody watching, it would seem I was becoming unconscious, yet never actually doing so. For me, it was an overload of everything I felt, feeling every detail in way too much detail, and I mostly-was not conscious, yet I still was. To me, it was a complete overload of the senses. She was familiar with my crashes, and had learned well how to help me.

Orgasm, or Taking of My Soul??:

Since I could not answer, and she understood, she “helped”.  While I wanted nothing more than to be left alone, and not have anybody near me when I felt so horrible, I also totally welcomed that she knew, and was helping. I knew she was the perfect one to be with when this happened, even if I was feeling worse than I ever had. She literally lifted me onto her lap (facing away, not toward her), and wrapped both arms, and even her legs around me, so I felt completely wrapped in comfort, and her love. She was gentle, placing one hand on my penis, and the other on my testicles. (They were still very tiny, and tight against my body. They had always been small, and tight, but now they were tighter than they had ever been, and they hurt.) She massaged, but could not take away the horrific pain and pressure I was feeling, the feeling of something draining every ounce of good from my body...from the core of my body. But her touch helped make me feel not like I was suffering it alone. She seemed to know more about this than I did, but I also was in no way feeling I wanted any part of any of what was happening. If I could have, I would have run as far and fast as possible, climbed a tree to the highest point, and isolated myself, never allowing such a feeling to EVER happen to me. But I was almost paralyzed, feeling almost unconscious, and unable to think, function, or do anything. But I Felt EVERY Detail in Magnification, and excruciating detail. It was an overload of what I was feeling. I hated it! Her hand on my penis was just comfortably gripping, tenderly massaging, and her fingers were slightly moving across the tip. I could tell that even in the pool water, the drops seeping of lubricant were still very effective. I could tell what she was doing, and why. She managed to make everything smooth and slippery, instead of rough with friction. She knew how to even make a bad thing feel as good as possible. She definitely understood how to be gentle, yet effective. Her touch, and the way she helped move the lubricant around were very soothing… But that was the only thing that felt good down there.  My entire body began to tense, I felt my tiny testicles get painfully hard, and tight~seeming like they were squeezed like you would squeeze a lemon to get every bit of pulp and juice (yet the squeezing feel was not by her hand, it was internal), seeming to withdraw inside my body, but it was like my entire soul felt like it was being removed. I felt like every ounce of positive energy I had in my body was suddenly taken away. I knew it was not something I could stop, and just had to suffer-through. She held me. She continued with her hands, until the final second. She knew enough to move her hand away from the tip, and not let any get on her, or me. She knew I would not want any of that against her, and certainly would not want it on myself. As it left my body, She helped make sure it all got out, by gently squeezing, and pushing the rest out, and keeping the water moving so it carried it way, instead of sticking to me. The way she held, massaged gently, softly, caring was the ONLY part that felt good. I was conscious, but felt (and Wished!) I was unconscious. I felt absolutely sick, felt like anything positive in me had just been robbed by some evil phantom, and I was now filled with nothing but bad energy. I was confused, I was feeling so weak, and like my entire soul was just stolen, and wished I could flee. I wanted to hate her for making me feel such an awful thing (but I knew it was not her fault, it was just how I was made). But I also wanted to just have her hold me, knowing it was her who helped me, and not her fault I was wired differently, and also not at all her fault that I had begun to change. I also was happy that If such a thing had to happen (which I knew It would, and it was just part of growing-up) I was Happy it was with her. She was The Perfect Friend!

Rescue Me!

Grampa saw that it had happened, but also saw that I did not seem to feel good, or find it pleasurable. He also was Very familiar with my crashes. She began to help move me out of the pool. Grampa quickly came and helped her walk me from the water. They laid me down on my back in the sun. She grabbed a towel, and dried me off, making sure there was none stuck on me in the process. She not only knew me well, she felt the way it made me feel.  She had been familiar enough with my life to know what I needed. First, she wrapped herself around me in a comforting hug. Then after a few moments, she began to massage. Gramma had taught her how to massage properly, and she had witnessed Gramma do exactly this same thing when I had many of my previous crashes at Gramma’s house. From her touch and technique, if I had not known it was her, I would have suspected it was Gramma. I was still able to feel everything, just felt like I wished I was not alive. I could feel it was her hands, and could feel how she knew how to remove the negative, and fill me with the positive energy. She massaged exactly as Gramma had. She began to massage my head, then slowly work on massaging my face. Then worked her way down my entire body. She effectively removed all the bad energy, and replaced it with her own good energy. Although she did not miss an inch, she was careful to not do too much in the penis area right now. After she worked her way down to my feet, she turned me over. Then she worked her way back up. By now, once she reached the top of my legs, she could tell my penis had become not so sensitive and she was free to massage it too. She could tell when it was good, and when it was not. (Just like she's seen Gramma do many times.) She massaged without needing to roll me back over. After thoroughly massaging my entire back-side, I had gained enough energy to roll over again. I rolled onto my side, and puller her close. We snuggled for a bit. I was really glad that when it had to happen she was the one who was there. I told her she learned well, and my Gramma would be proud. She smiled, and told me she often watched Gramma take care of me, so she knew how also. I told her the only difference was I could feel it was her hands, not Gramma’s. She smiled, quite proud of herself.

My Gramma Had taught Her Well!

(Yes, Gramma massaged everything. Gramma was always safe, and one who taught me much about my own body. Nobody ever thought Gramma to be inappropriate. She knew the human body well, and had studied Kinesiology, Reflexology, and so many other things that were helpful. Anyone who ever spent time at Gramma’s house welcomed her ways with the body. It was never shameful, or something that was hidden. Gramma even often would help young people understand how to touch, feel, and make another feel wonderful. Would it be wrong to admit the erections caused by Gramma were often the most cherished?) It took me long enough in life to finally be willing to openly admit much I have never disclosed (well not disclosed since I was 12...) But, yep! I will admit what I would not for so many years. Gramma knew touch, sensuality, and understood the human body quite well!

Snuggle, and relax:

We snuggled for quite a while as I slowly gained energy again. Once she saw me gaining life and color again, she kissed me, smiling quite proudly. I told her “Don’t ever make me do THAT again.” We both laughed. Grampa was still sitting at the table. He commented, “Well, chalk another one up that you gotta do differently.” We all laughed. And I groaned, too. Ugh. We lay in the sun, just holding each other and resting the rest of the afternoon.

After that day, we still played mostly like we always had, just careful to never take me to that point again.

Age 12. New Home, You Don’t Fit-in anymore:

I was looking for a picture of me at 12... found this one of me at 13 instead.

Until the age of twelve I never saw my own erections as harmful, shameful, or anything that was thought to be forbidden, hidden, or secret. I had become aware of the difference one I could ejaculate, but made sure to never let it go there again. We moved to Oregon when I was twelve, I was suddenly around an entirely new group of people. The life I knew, and learned how to fit into nicely was suddenly ripped away from me. Suddenly everyone who saw me simply naked, not even with an erection, acted like it was somehow a creepy thing, and saw it as only sexual. Even my own family had suddenly stopped allowing me to be naked. I didn’t even dare to ever allow an erection to be seen. I was confused and baffled, and could find no safe place in my new world. I never once saw my own erections as sexual, except the few times as a little kid that I mentioned earlier. At the age of twelve, I suddenly went into hiding, and never again felt comfortable in allowing another to see me naked, let-alone see, feel or cause my erections. It became an imprisonment of the worst kind. I began to become a loner, and never want to be near others, because I did not know how to fit in anymore. I went into hiding in almost every way. I knew the difference between someone who was safe, trusted, and in no way looking to harm me, and those who were bad, and only sought to hurt another. But others seemed to misinterpret who I was, and what my intentions were. I have written many times about naked freedom, explorations, and discoveries I had as a child. I have written about those who were completely safe, and those who were not. But one topic I have never before fully disclosed was the topic of my penis and how it conflicts me like this. Suddenly, every person I was around would not accept me naked, erection, or not. (There were a few exceptions, of course, but I mostly had to live a secret-life when it involved anything naked, or anyone seeing ANY Aspect of my body.)

Hide My Penis until age 19:

I am wired absolutely differently than any other human. While most find a feeling in both sex and in drugs (even in alcohol) that is appealing to them, it is the opposite for me.  I did not do Anything with anybody that might involve my penis from the age of twelve until I finally allowed myself to have a girlfriend at the age of 19. Then I tried to figure out how to feel what others felt, and called enjoyable in life. Imagine how for so much of my life, I TRIED, Really tried to find out why so many liked these. The alcohol and sex were easy to keep trying, but the drugs… No way. What I have tried in the department of drugs is limited, and could be written in a couple of sentences, but those are still reserved for the few who I care to discuss that with in a private manner. But as far as the Sex and alcohol goes, I was baffled. I thought “these people must be crazy to think something that makes you feel so awful could be a good thing.” I thought “How come so many people like things that make them feel like that?” I even thought that maybe if I just tried more, or with different people I would see how they thought it felt good. But it never did. I always wished I never had done it. To say I was confused about what people thought was good, compared to what I thought was bad was an understatement! (And dare I even mention masturbation?? Nope, I do not like that either…. Well, there are qualifications to that statement… but that gets into a completely different topic. One about whether it involves orgasm, or not, and also what, or why the occurrence may happen…. But for this post, I will keep it simply at I do not care for that either.)

It took years and years of talking to people about what they found to be good in the department of sex, sexuality, and “pleasures” that would fall under that category. I also allowed myself to be open to trying new things, to see if maybe that might change how it was for me, or give me a different feel. I found that what they felt, was not the same as what I felt. Even talking with the partners I have had. With us both sharing the same exact event, I was amazed at what I felt as a bad feeling, and wished it had not happened, yet they felt the opposite, and wanted more of the same. Dare I say I became obsessed with finding out what others liked, and why? I began to learn what others like, how they like it, and to even study more about the human anatomy. I have always loved the infinite wonders of the incredible machine called the human body. To embark on studying more about what made people feel good, what they liked and why, was nothing but pure desire of feeding my insatiable desire for learning. Almost any female I was with, even those who I was not intimate with, I would learn about their desires, and how they accomplished these. I could see the pleasure, and how much it did for them… whether I was the one doing them, or someone else was. But I wanted to know. Yeah, It is weird. I liked to learn about what was good for people like that, but at the same time, I absolutely hated anything sexual. I understood this, too, though. I thrive on helping others, and want them to achieve happiness, and feel good in life. I am usually willing to do almost anything if it will help another… the exception is if it causes myself harm. Harm to myself would include making me feel bad, or feel like I had done something I later regretted.

I AM Non-Sexual:
(That term baffles most…)

I have a rule in life: Harm No One. That includes one’s own self. In following this rule, I have come to the conclusion that I will not have sex. Period. No, I am not “celibate”, or would I even claim to be “abstinent”. Simply put, those are typically religious views about how some go about not having something they otherwise would desire. I am simply “Non-Sexual”. DON'T WANT IT. DON'T NEED IT. DON'T LIKE IT. PERIOD.

What Does "Non-Sexual" Mean?:

This term baffles many. Most understand the terms often associated in a sexual society: Those terms could easily include, but are not limited to the following: heterosexual, bisexual, homosexual, gay, transgender, bi-curious, lesbian, bro-love, or even man-love, celibate, abstinent, or even the many that are often associated with fantasy, and role-playing. There are even names, groupings and labels for the different types of gatherings, or situations where any type of sex may occur. I will not begin to list these, for the list is endless. I am sure I am forgetting to include many labels, but that is exactly what they are: Labels. For some reason everyone feels the need to categorize any sexual activity into some group, or definition. But for me to apply a label to myself about my own sexual activity, or to be more accurate: My own desire to not want any sex, and call myself “Non-Sexual” baffles most. Although the label does infact state exactly what it is, and there is no hidden meaning, or even any way to mistake its meaning, most readily admit they cannot grasp this meaning.

What About Kissing, Snuggling?:

I have been asked if I would still kiss, and snuggle. My answer to this would be “that depends on the reason for wanting to kiss, and snuggle”. I have been kissed many times by friends, or even someone I barely know simply to show gratitude, and appreciation. I also have slept, snuggled and shared very close moments with people. Some I have known a lifetime, and others I have known only moments. Sometimes, I have shared these snuggles while naked, other times completely clothed, or even somewhere in between. I cannot claim that I am against kissing, snuggling, or closeness… unless those kisses, and snuggles are a hidden agenda to attempt something sexual. Likewise, I also have been asked if touching is allowed. By all means, yes! But there are situations when touching is not welcomed, too. If the touch is meant to be sexual, or to place someone in a position of feeling vulnerable, used, or in any way dirty, ashamed, or like they wished it did not happen, then the touching would be not acceptable. But not all touch is sexual, even if it includes the penis. Often people touch to learn, understand, or simply because they are comfortable, and not-in-any way desire anything sexual. Touch can be a wonderful expression between two people. 

Might You Be Gay?:

In the attempt of others to figure me out, and even to find something I could like about sex, it has been suggested that maybe I was gay, and just did not like females. That one always makes me chuckle, because it is the exact opposite. It does not matter if it were male or female, it is totally about how I am wired, and how sexuality makes me feel… Not about who the other person is. But, again, our world feels the need to label, or place people into categories. They cannot grasp that I do not fit into any of the supposed categories. As far as relationships go, I am mostly attracted to females… but of course, it is not so simple as to say “A male could not interest me.” Sure, there is always that possibility that the right person could come along, and if that person happened to have a penis, I would not for sure immediately say “no way.” I just do not find many males I would be attracted to, let alone wish to spend any amount of time with.  If I understood males better, that might be a different story. But it is not about whether I could love a male, or a female. It is that I am Non-Sexual. Period.  The things that turn a male on, and the things they desire, and do that are sexual are absolutely nothing I am able to connect with, find pleasure in, or even to just to pretend. Similarly, I have indeed talked to many males about what they desire, and what makes them feel good. I have sought understanding, and tried to find out how come they feel this way. Most males cannot put into words what they feel, why they feel that way, and why they act, or desire the things they do. Most males cannot tell another what they would like, and why. Most males cannot tell someone about the reactions, desires, and feelings they have. This makes it extremely difficult for me to gain an understanding. The way most males do things does not at all connect with me, or make sense to me. I cannot find an appreciation for much of the male anatomy, or how it works, because I am a male, yet I have never found one who feels, thinks, or acts like I do. Similarly, I am not shaped, sized, or built like most males. Attempting to connect on an intellectual, emotional, or mental level with males is almost impossible for me. Connecting with females on those levels comes naturally to me. I cannot find books, or other learning aids that demonstrate anything about males that would be the same as it is for me. So, connecting with males in most aspects of life is nearly impossible for me. I cannot understand why males find such a bond with other males. I cannot grasp what males want and why.

Most men Baffle Me:

I am baffled by how to me, most males act and seem gay, yet will deny that they are. I have nothing against any form of love. If two people like each other, and can find mutual love, joy, and sex, then by all means, please do! But what baffles me is when men are attracted to one another, but will flat-out claim they are not. They are only lying to themselves. One of my biggest turn-offs toward another human is when they feel they should lie. I cannot accept that, and will put walls up to block them out faster than if they tried to harm me with a weapon. The rest of the world sees it, but they find it somehow acceptable to deny. The world seems to accept male to male interactions as “just being male”, and for some reason denies it is in any way gay. But it totally is. Also, most of our world encourages males to hide their feelings toward another male. This too is something I cannot connect to. Call it what it is, and stop lying about it. Even in non-sexual areas of life (yes, I am aware of the irony that “to a male, there is no part of life that is not sexual.”) I cannot find a connection to most males. So to suggest that I might find sexual pleasure with a human that I cannot connect to in any way, cannot find attractive, and cannot understand would be like saying I should have sex with an empty toilet-paper tube. Either way… No thanks. Do not mistake this as hatred toward males. I do not hate males. I simply do not understand most of them…. Nor do I understand the connection most females find in males.

 I have no problem with the penises of the males in this world. I do have a problem with how sexual everyone makes a penis. I have a problem with how nobody can see a penis, and not think of it in a sexual way.

THAT Is Exactly What I have a problem with, causes me my own embarrassments, and makes the fact that I was born with a penis a problem. I have a penis. It gets in the way. It often gets hard, and I feel I must hide it from the world. Writing about the hitchhiker caused me to realize how much I have again gone back into hiding my penis, and being ashamed, embarrassed, and mortified that anyone might notice I have reactions. To have a reaction, and not desire anything sexual, or wish to orgasm is a huge trouble for me.  Why Would it be such a trouble, and Why Have I gotten so easily humiliated, and allowed myself to be Mortified if I get an erection?

Why Is This Subject So hard For Me?:

This post is such a hard one to write (no pun intended.) It is one of the most difficult subjects I have ever put into words. When I began to write about the hitchhiker, I realized how much I needed to explore this, and figure out why I imprison myself so much. This writing has caused me to finally be able to say what it is I want to hide. I have had a flood of emotions that have resurfaced because of how deep this goes with me. It is amazing how just the act of writing out my feelings can make me re-live, and feel exactly what I thought I had long ago left behind, and buried. Last night while writing about my first ejaculation, and how I hated it so much, not only did I find the words to describe how it felt, but also I Physically felt it again. I got physically sick just by connecting to that time so long ago, got a crippling headache, and even threw-up.  I had to leave the writing until this morning.

I have never denied that I am a feeling-based individual. Often those feelings are crippling. I have so much more I need to write about erections, and how they affect me (both good and bad!), but for now, I must leave it as it is. Thank You for Caring enough to read my thoughts. I know I write long posts, but I have a lot to sort, and finally let out. The searching, understanding, and finding ways to put so many feelings into words is such a free-ing experience! Yeah, it hurts so much some times to delve into the hidden parts of my soul, and re-live such experiences... But it also feels so good to finally be able to Be Free! I Hope You Allow Yourself to Find Your Freedoms in Life!

If there is anything you wish to ask, or might be curious about me, how my body works, or how I feel about anything, Please feel free to ask! Who knows... I might just learn something about myself, too! I HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT DAY! (and that your erections are good, in whatever way is good for you! ~=:-)

The Hardest Topic I've Ever Written About!

Ok, Here Goes...

The Hardest Topic I've EVER Talked About. 

(No Pun intended...) The topic of Erections, There, I said It!

~Warning!~ The text, pictures, cartoons, and entire subject of this blog MAY BE OFFENSIVE to some. In No Way am I trying to shove anything in anyone's face, or in any way be inappropriate, graphic, or sexual. But the topic is about erections, and all that goes with them... So you Have Been Warned. There is nothing visually graphic, except one cartoon. Read, Learn, Laugh, and Explore at your own desire... not because you are in any way forced-to. 

In writing my blog about the hitchhiker, I began to realize quite a few things I am still easily embarrassed about. Just when I thought I was comfortable in my own skin, and thought I had accepted almost every little quirk about my own body, I was suddenly faced with some of my own embarrassments. Writing about the hitchhiker, and the events that occurred because of her, I found how difficult it is, even for me to openly admit, let alone allow another to know or see certain things about myself. That blog was one of the hardest I have written, because it brings up so many emotions, and fears. I am a person who lives life with feelings. Often just simply writing about an event in my life brings those feelings I felt at that time to the surface now. Simply writing is not so simple. It is all about re-living, and experiencing those feelings, fears, emotions, and all that all over again. Often, this is The Most Difficult aspect of writing for me.

As I re-lived the events of The Hitchhiker those feelings, and the emotions that came with it, I began to realize that while I have made huge progress in moving forward in life, and accepting, even embracing much of what I am not comfortable with, I seemingly have regressed in some areas. Those areas are directly related to the fact that I have a penis. There, I said it. Yes, I have a penis. While in recent years, I have come a huge distance in not hiding the fact that I have never been happy to have been born with a penis, I still find that after 44 years, I cannot totally accept, or allow others to notice certain aspects of it. … Well, I guess it would not be accurate to say that it has been this way for 44 years (almost 45 now.) Because the first 12-years of my life, I never felt the need to hide my penis. The first twelve years of my life were easy in the penis department. So in all accuracy, I gotta say, it has been 32-years that I have been conflicted. (with a couple of brief-times during those where I actually learned to forget about the hang-ups.)

 Here Is A Funny Picture of Me... With My Wood :)

Ya know, It is actually funny how I am about my own naked-ness, and still feel I should hide my erections. This past year has been wonderful in my own growth, acceptance, and even welcoming of my body, the changes I see happening as I age, and finally allowing myself to admit it.

This photo is one Kim took recently when she and her hubby were at my home. The reason I chose this photo is because of the implied joke. (Yup, He's got wood. He's showing his wood. Bare, or Bear?) Any way you look at it, it is funny, and I welcomed her taking the photo. Her hubby thought it was hilarious, and welcomed me to be so free for his wife to experiment in her photography. I did not have an erection at this time, but we did talk later about what if I did? I am not fully-allowing anyone to see me in that way yet... But I am getting closer. Also in the past year, I have taken a few photos of myself, and actually not deleted them just because they showed me with a bit of erection. This is just another part of my growing, learning, and accepting of my own self. I am happy to have friends in my life who also welcome my own growth and explorations.

What Exactly Embarrasses Me?:

Two areas of mortification, humiliation and embarrassment involving my penis are: how and when I get an erection, and how I feel about it. Yep. I said it. It has taken me 44 years to publicly say it. (well ok, maybe a little less since I did not talk for probably the first year…) I often have written, or spoken, but only cautiously mentioned an erection as “a reaction”.  It is kinda odd, and funny… that someone who loves to be naked is embarrassed to admit, or to allow another to see he has an erection. Even as a non-sexual being, I am not able to be so sure my erection would not be viewed as sexual, or offensive…. Yet I know from experience that those who have seen, felt, or even purposely caused it have shown me that I have nothing to be embarrassed about. Wow. My own fear of even writing the word is (no pun intended) huge and hard to grasp. I wrote it four times in this paragraph. The first time was almost impossible, The second, third, and fourth were not easy. Each time I wanted to write “reaction” instead. I would have to search everything I have ever written, but to my best recollection, the only time I have used that word was when I would describe those who behaved badly, and intentionally wanted to have others see their own erection. (Ha! I first started to write “reaction”) But I have Never purposely used the word to describe my own penis…. Thus the conflict I have… is mostly within my own mind. I probably had to use the word in 9^th grade health class to pass a test about sex-ed, but that was totally different. It was not talking about me... and it totally was related to sexuality.

Do I Like Erection(s)?:

(It would seem that if someone was non-sexual, they also would not enjoy an erection, right? Nope!):

Now don’t get me wrong, I Absolutely DO Enjoy my erections. I just can’t grasp (Pun not intended) the notion of it in any way being sexual. IF I never have an orgasm, I would be fine with that. Give me an erection, and just remove all the sexual-ness that goes along with it, and I would be happy! The problem I have is in admitting it, or allowing another to see it. Why have I gotten so I absolutely do not want anyone to see, or notice I have one? As an adult, often in life, I have had close female friends who would share a bed with me. Yup! I got erections, even though there was never anything sexual between us, and often, I would do almost anything I could to be sure it was not noticed… (roll-over, lay on m,y front, wear two-pair of underwear, scoot my hips back so I was not poking her...) even though they would express “it was ok”, or “I don’t mind”. To me, I somehow had connected an erection with sexuality, and absolutely did not want them to think it was sexual, or intended as sexual. The worst was if I shared a bed with a friend, and got one, tried to make it not-noticeable, but they would purposely snuggle-into it, not attempting to make it sexual, or take it any further, just showing me they were ok with it, and I should be too. I would be mortified, but at the same time notice they were not. But why was (am) I always so embarrassed by it? I did not used-to be. There have been occasional friends (Non-girlfriend-type) who I have allowed, and welcomed an erection. It still baffles me, and I cannot yet find logic, reason, or valid thoughts to say why this is sometimes acceptable for me, and other times it is not. Eventually, I might write more about each person who I have felt so safe and comfortable with, but for now, there is only one I have written about. That was when I lived in Virginia. I write in much detail about her (Jill) in my Blog about “Naked on the Roof For Memorial Day”.

I Hate Sex:

(How does That Compare with Drugs and Alcohol?)

It is no secret that I absolutely hate sex. To quote a friend, when we were recently having this discussion, her shocked, yet humorous response was: “Wait. You’ve Had Sex, and Do Not Like IT!?!??”  I laughed, and appreciated her candor. To her, the notion of not liking sex was unheard-of by anyone who had actually had it, especially by a male! That kind of statement was reserved for those who had never had it, or for those who had only bumbled around a bit, not yet having gotten a true understanding of it. No, I am not a virgin. I have definitely had experience, understanding, and know what sex is, and how so many people absolutely love it. Also, in our society, it creeps people out when I state I am non-sexual. For some reason, it is widely accepted, and welcomed for all to openly state how much they love sex, and to have one person (Me) state the opposite, it creeps them out, and they do not know how to react to that. The only way I can compare my hatred of sex is to compare it to Drugs, or even Alcohol. But in our society, most do not understand that comparison either. Seemingly, most people cannot understand how I absolutely hate the way any alcohol, or drug makes me feel, yet most people feel the opposite. While most will openly admit and tell the world about their alcohol consumption, most will hide anything to do with their drug-consumption. (The subject of drug-consumption, abuse, and even what would or would not fall into this category is quite lengthy, and would be a post, or several all in itself. For now, I just mention it as comparison.) Most will say they do not do drugs, but will do them in secret, but will tell you once you have gained their trust. I do not do drugs one bit… At all. And this baffles most. But it is the same with sex. I don’t secretly have sex, and just claim that I don’t. I flat-out hate sex, and will not have it.

As a Child, I always said “Why Would Anyone Want To Have Sex?”:

From as early an age as I could recall, I never could see the desire for anyone to have sex. I could not grasp why anybody would ever want to create another human, nor mix their bodily fluids like that. From as early as I can remember, I never liked the idea of another’s bodily fluids combining with mine. (But, of course, there were exceptions) I also could not image why anyone would find sex to be appealing. By the age of five, I was adamant about all the reasons people should not create babies. I had connected 'sex' with baby-making, and to me, that was absolutely nothing I wanted anything to do with. (But as long as it was simply play, but not sexual, it was ok in my mind. The fine-line was if it mimicked the act of making a baby.) People often were baffled, and assumed I was just repeating what I’d heard others say. But my parents, grandparents, and anybody else in my life all insisted these were my own thoughts, and beliefs. This was easily proven since nobody could find anybody that had the same views as I did, so it would be difficult to have copied another’s words. They would be baffled that I had such strong feelings at such a young age, but in further inquiries, they learned my reasons, and the facts to which I based my opinions. I knew that the main purpose for God to have created humans in the way which our bodies were made, the way they were was so a male and a female could make a baby. No, I was not taught this in a church, or religious setting. I knew this from seeking all the understanding I could about how our bodies function.  I sought learning about everything I came across in life. Humans were one of many things I tried to understand. I was especially always seeking knowledge about humans, and how our bodies worked, because from birth, I had health issues the doctors were baffled by. From birth I learned much of how my own body functioned was not at all like any other, and my mind also was different. I was always told they could not figure out my body, nor my mind. Doctors could only copy what they were shown based on how other humans were made. I was not made like another human.

What about God?:

(And how does God have anything to do with My own Erections?)

Hehe... Master The Art... :)

Conflicting as it was for my own being, I knew who God was, and I was created special, absolutely unique. Most are unique in the fact that their own personality is not like others. My uniqueness was to the core. My senses, how I learned, how food worked, or did not, and even what I thought felt good compared to any other was completely unlike any other. I was created to seek a deeper understanding, feel, and see things differently, and to react to these things differently than most were. What felt good to others did not make me feel the same. My wiring was not at all like any other I met. This conflicted and confused me hugely. Everything I ever learned did not match what others learned. I was confused about much that existed in life. God was a huge confusion, conflict, and bafflement (is that a word?) Because while I Knew God, I also wanted to deny God existed. (Ha! But the subject of My Knowing God is an entirely different subject, and likely many posts all in themselves.) But I Knew without a doubt God had made me to feel, see, and react differently than any other ever created…. But I totally wanted to deny God existed, too. I would later learn that God Created me as a non-sexual being, so I could be The Safe Person in others’ lives. God created me this way so I was not a threat in the sexual-department for those who otherwise had found any penis to be a bad thing. I learned I was created this way so even those who had only found that a penis was a threat, or to be used in a bad-way could find peace, understanding, and learning about what was otherwise feared. (And I’ll bet you were wondering how God in any-way connected to my erections?... I will get to that later, likely a separate post in itself… But I learned that even with my own views of my erections, there would be times when someone was placed in my life that needed to learn in a safe, non-threatening environment about erections. Turns out, I learned, too!)

Why Did I Hate The Idea of Sex?:

My logic, and understanding about the purpose of sex likely shaped my feelings toward sex, sexuality, and how it made me feel, act, and react. But it goes much deeper than just a belief about baby-making.  I truly believe God did not want me to be a sexual being. Could this be because of my views on baby-making? Could this be because of my views on bodily fluids? Possibly. But I will never know for sure. To know that sex is a primary function needed for making babies, the likeliness of that being the reason I could never find good in it is highly likely, but I doubt that is the root of it. But also, I have discovered my own wiring makes what feels good to others not feel good to me. So, it clearly is a dislike of not only the idea of making babies, but also to the core of my own body, and how sex feels to me. To me there is nothing pleasant about sex, and I cannot grasp why anyone would want to feel like that. 

One thing I have discovered is intimacy, or sensuality is completely different than sex. I also have discovered most people do not know the difference, and my mention of it confuses them. To most intimacy, or sensuality is also sexual. There is a huge difference! To me, if you can share sensuality, and intimacy with someone, it is much more meaningful, delightful, and uplifting than any sex ever could be. To connect with someone in a sensual-way, to have an intimacy, an understanding, and a connection that could never be reached with sex… THAT, to me is The Absolute Best Feeling To Achieve! The feeling of being so close, trusted, and safe with another that you can touch, feel, learn, and explore, but have no sex... Yup! I'll take that any day! Ya want sex? Go find someone else.

~As I write, I have my own battles that go on inside my own mind that if I listened, I likely would never reveal any of my true feelings... Fortunately, I ignore those distractions... Mostly.~

THE DISTRACTIONS IN MY MIND THAT CAUSE ME TO NOT SAY WHAT I FEEL:

This is not easy at all to write, but I am feeling inspired, and must get it out while the mood is right… some of this may be considered taboo, or even one of those “best left unmentioned”… I may even delete parts of this later, but for now, I feel I gotta write as it feels right...

Welcome Touch, Exploration, and Learning as a Young Boy:

(Some say it is Taboo, or Forbidden to ever touch…But would you agree a child should learn... and hopefully in a safe, trusted environment rather than finding the answers they seek in an unhealthy way?)

I remember how as a young boy, many of us would happily be naked, even openly touch, feel, and play with others. We understood from an early age when it was allowed and when it was not. Naked play, touch, understanding, and discovery were just simply part of learning, growing, and understanding. Yes, both boys and girls… and dare I mention also older people, too. It was not just us “little kids”. I was fortunate that many of my friends’ parents, my grandparents, and even an aunt by marriage were all safe, encouraging comfortable people. Also interestingly enough, There was absolutely no openness, no touch, and no “play” allowed on my Dad’s side of the family. The idea of anyone seeing anybody even partially naked on his side of the family was unheard of. (But my Dad did not care if anyone was naked, touched, or not… just his family was weird about it.) On My Mom’s side, it was Very Open… Yet my Mom was the one who had the most hang-ups about it. (I cover some of those oddities in posts about “Naked Freedom as a Child, Then Lost”). But even though Mom had hang-ups about it, She Also was one of The Most Positive, supportive, and open, too! We had many neighbors, family-friends, community-groups, camps, and places where touch, learning, and exploration in a safe-environment were welcomed, accepted, and not-at-all-shameful.

What was Acceptable?:

(Dare I Say who touched, and when?? Or is that Taboo?):

I learned as a very young boy that for some reason almost any girl, or woman really liked to have little boys they could give an erection to. But they were picky about which boys they would do this with. I was one they enjoyed to “play” with…  and I did not mind one bit! But they would absolutely not go near some boys’ penises, because of how that boy behaved. Of course, it worked-out that the friends I had who were boys, also fit into this same group. The ones who were creepy did not become my friend, nor would they want me as theirs. Those were the ones no girl ever wanted to be around. This was most definitely true among girls our own age, and the ones just a few years older. But it was not limited to the girls. I learned that if you were willing, and open, it was perfectly acceptable for almost any age of woman to find joy in this. It never felt wrong, bad, or weird. It was never done in a “secretive way”, or hidden. I never really understood why it was acceptable for any girl or woman to give an erection, and even have their friends do the same to a young boy, but it was taboo for them to do the same with any teenaged boy, or a man. I later learned that as long as a boy only had “Phantom Ejaculations” it was totally acceptable. It would all change after a boy could have real ejaculations. (I’ll get back to that later).That was why when the boys were older, it was looked as sexual, instead of just good, clean, safe fun. I also would learn that even once a boy could ejaculate, it was still safe, harmless, and fun as long as it was not taken to that point. But most boys wanted it to be taken to that, instead of just enjoy the erection, and safe play. But this baffled me, and likely helped shape my own views as to why I went into hiding with my own erections as I grew-up. While it was always accepted that a girl, or woman of any age was allowed to give a boy an erection, it was not always the same when it involved older boys, or men. Yep! I willingly admit there were some boys and men who I totally trusted, and never made me feel uncomfortable in any way. (And, No… My own Dad never was interested in this touch at all. He was safe, trusted, and never creepy, but he simply never cared about anybody’s penis. Sometimes, this confuzzled me, too, since I could not understand why he accepted any of this, but would never be part of it.) Some boys and men were completely safe, and never a bad thing, but there were those who were the opposite, too.

Who Were The Creepy Ones?

(The ones who were not safe, and could not be trusted):

Some boys, and men were absolutely creepy, and gave off a feeling that was not to be trusted. I got rid of friends fast, and stayed away from men who would be creepy in this area. (But some were family, and I was forced to be around them …) It was always easy to tell which were the safe ones, and which were the creeps. The safe ones never felt they needed to be secretive, hide, or never be like this when others were around. The safe ones never did anything that made you uncomfortable. It was the creepy ones who wanted to be secretive, or do this in hiding, or have you do things you were not comfortable with, even telling you to “never tell anyone”. Simply put, if someone felt they had to hide their activity, or acted different because others were around, they could not be trusted. I grew up in a very comfortable, open, mostly safe environment. We learned healthy touch, exploration, and observation. The human body was in no way shameful, or even anything that needed to be hidden. But if the occasional creepy one made me uncomfortable, I made sure they knew they were never allowed near me again. This was awkward when it involved a relative, but usually those relatives would make themselves very distant at family functions. The most creepy, and hardest to ever be around were my own brother, and an uncle on my Mom’s side.  They knew they were creeps, but also thrived on this behavior, so they were often torn in their own minds about how to function, or how to hide their desires. They knew many would allow their creepiness, yet I would absolutely not, and even speak-out boldly against them, so they often would attempt to bribe me, or worse, scare or bully me into not saying anything. My brother would go so far as to have his friends attempt to beat me up, bully me, or make my life miserable, all because I would not submit to their creepy ways. It was tough with my uncle, because my family always sent me on camping trips with him. He would attempt to spoil me rotten, giving me all the camping, skiing, and wonders of nature he knew I absolutely loved. My family knew how much he creeped me out, but also knew I loved nature, and that he always wanted to take me along, so it was a struggle for most of my youth. But it was not just those two. There were others in our neighborhood, and community. While I absolutely loved my freedom of nakedness, when the creepy ones were around, I would never be naked, and do anything I could to be sure an erection never showed if they were around. (This, too helps me understand why I went into always hiding my own erection… simply to not attract the creeps!) This began as early in life as I could recall. I always tried to figure out the connection between an erection, and when it was safe, comfortable, and no problem, and when it should be hidden.

Safe and Unsafe People:

I did not have many friends that were boys, but the few I did have were as eager as I was to learn, and discover. We seldom objected to have the girls want to see if they could cause an erection. (It was seldom that they could not!) Heck, even us boys enjoyed giving each other erections. As long as nobody was made to feel uncomfortable, unsafe, or felt harmed in any way, we were free to discover, learn, and explore as much as we could. As long as it was not suddenly made sexual, but simply just an erection, I never got creeped-out by my own, or by any of the friends I had. But the moment one of them would suddenly start to see it as sexual, I would never again be able to be friends with that boy. It is no secret my hatred toward my brother and how he treated me. But I noticed it was not just my own view. None of the girls I was friends with, or the neighbor girls would be naked near him, or ever touch him in that way. We had our share of babysitters growing-up. Most of the baby sitters got the same impression. He made them uncomfortable, so it was difficult to get baby-sitters to return again. (Occasionally, he found a sitter that thought he was perfect in all his creepy ways. Needless to say, my sister and I did not like those sitters.) Nobody could ever figure out why he insisted on being so creepy, and it made many situations very uncomfortable. He had plenty of friends, and was popular… among boys, but the boys who were my friends also felt very uncomfortable around him.

When A good Friend Turns Bad:

(When Innocent play with Donuts ‘n Peanut Butter turns to porn.)

I remember when I was eight, a neighbor boy had me come over after school, because he wanted to show me something that he thought would help me understand his recent changes that I objected to.  We were previously close friends, but in recent months, I had told him I did not feel comfortable near him.

I was often at this boy’s house, and naked, and even erections were never an issue. His older sister was 12, and often played in the same way with us. His dad was always upstairs, (never naked) and seldom interacted with us, but did not care if we were naked, or not. His mom was around, too, but it seemed recently she was always away at work. She interacted with us, and never saw our play as anything but good, safe, normal play. She was totally comfortable and safe. We often saw her naked, and it was never an issue, either. The Mom was never interested in causing an erection, but seemed happy enough to watch, often tease us as we caused our own. One of the joys of this mom was that she liked to encourage us, and even offer various foods to play with, or put on our bodies, and likewise encourage us to get creative in how we snacked, or removed those foods. (Yup, donuts fit nicely on a young boy’s erection. Peanut Butter was hilarious at how much fun it was to apply, and how much work it took to remove.) The sister was definitely part of our normal play, and often would purposely give us erections. I always found it strange that the mom was more interested, and always grinned a bit more whenever her daughter would be playing with either of us. The mom enjoyed our erections and play, more when her daughter would do this, compared to when we did it ourselves. At that age, I did not understand this, but found it curious. The mom was the one who would suggest to the daughter different things she could try to see how we would react. To us, it was normal, and nothing to be ashamed of. Of course we totally welcomed it! It also was not kept secret from anyone else. We were open, and felt we had no reason to hide any of this, since we were not doing anything wrong.

They lived in some condos that had shared backyards. The entire set of condos made a circle around the common yard, or as we called it the backyard. Instead of a private fenced yard behind one house, it was a private fenced yard behind about ten houses. The back-fence of the common area was against a shopping center. In the back yard, it was considered a safe place to play whether naked, or clothed. We got naked, and ran around like we normally would, even in this common-setting, an erection was not a bad thing, as long as it was not done in a creepy way. All the neighbors knew one another, and there was never any trouble. There were other kids, too, and we all did the same here. That was just part of getting along socially. Often, if we got especially messy with food, we would be made to go outside, and there we could be as messy as we wanted, then just hose ourselves off. I had known them for many years, and none of us were uncomfortable with each other.

It seemed that in the recent months, it was like there were never parents at their house, and my friend began to act weird with his own erections, and get scary in the way he acted. His sister saw a difference in her brother, too. We both were uncomfortable around him now. Of course she had been growing and developing, but until recently, this had never become an issue. It was normal, and we all saw it with many of our friends. But in the recent moths, she began to stop playing, teasing her little brother because of how he was suddenly reacting toward her own changes. But she never stopped teasing me. She told me her little brother had changed, and he now was creepy, and had begun to develop enough that now he ejaculated, too, instead of just having ‘phantom ejaculations’, and this made her uncomfortable. As she began to develop, and also when he began to act creepy with his desires, she no longer wanted to encourage him like that, she would come to my house without him, or often we would be together at another neighbor’s home, in their courtyard, or any other place as long as her brother was not around.

To me, she was never a problem, and I enjoyed her. I never treated her any different as she developed. She was not the first girl I’d grown-up around. To me, she was a good friend, and I could not imagine being so rude just because someone’s body was growing up. I also noticed the few times I saw her dad around her when she was naked, and how he, too acted differently towards her and her newly forming breasts. Her brother seemed to want her attention more when he was naked, and often would grope her newly developing breasts, and rub his erect penis against her, and this made her uncomfortable, and made me uncomfortable, too. I could not understand the sudden changes I was seeing in him and their dad towards her. Suddenly, they both had a mean-almost hurtful look in their eyes as they looked at her now. To me, they were very disturbing, and I could see she was not comfortable with this either. She began to go into hiding her body. I told the dad he was being rude, and he got mad at me. I told my friend I was not comfortable in how he treated his sister now, and did not like being around his sudden changes. It seemed his mother was never home anymore. He also behaved different with his own nakedness even when she was not around. I had stopped going over there, because of how he acted.

I had discussed my concerns with anyone who would listen. Mostly, though my concerns were dismissed and never really went anywhere. This frustrated me, because I could see how this was trouble, and nobody else would believe me. People would reply and say things like “He’s just growing-up. That is what happens.” I disagreed, because I saw how the changes in him were turning bad, not just growing-up. I’d been around plenty of boys, and this one was not acting like he was simply growing-up. I knew they would just have to see for themselves, and again they would be amazed at how I knew before anyone else did.

It had been a while since I had gone to his house when he was there. This particular afternoon, his dad was not home. His sister was home, but not naked. He was acting weird, so I did not feel comfortable getting naked this time, just like many of the recent times I was near him. He had changed, and was no longer comfortable. He did, though, and immediately got an erection. The look in his eyes changed, and he scared me. He made it a point to rub against his sister before we went out the back door. I was disgusted. He also groped her breasts through her shirt and bra. She shoved him away, and I saw a fire in his eyes that was not good. He stormed out the back door, telling me follow him, so I would understand. He was parading around with his erection, and a wild look in his eyes. This was not something I enjoyed one bit. A few neighbors scorned him for how he was acting, but he no longer cared about what was right anymore. I did follow him though in hopes that I might gain understanding of what this was all about. I knew who He used-to-be, and I still grasped at the idea that he might return to the person everyone loved, and he used to be a trusted friends, so I hoped I could find an answer. (I was not  unaware of what changes happen to humans, and how they see things sexually that they did not previously, but to see someone I had shared so much with suddenly behaving in such a bad way baffled me. I knew the difference in a good way of accepting the changes, and a bad way. He was definitely not behaving in a good way.To me, it looked like he was behaving just like my brother, my uncle, and so many others I could not stand.)

We got to a section of the sidewalk fairly hidden by some bushes, and away from the other homes, against the back fence where the shopping center was. He squatted down, and pulled up a metal drain cover. Inside this drain, was a bundle wrapped in plastic. He got a really scary-look in his eyes as he did this. He pulled the bundle out, replaced the drain cover, and led me under the bushes. As he unwrapped the plastic, I could see what he had. He had a pile of magazines featuring naked women, and also naked men having sex with naked women. Basically, it was porn. As he opened them, the wild look got more scary. He shoved picture after picture in front of me. I was disgusted. He was thrilled. He was doing things with his own erection that made me very uncomfortable. I’d seen people having sex before, and to me it was simply that. Two people having sex. I could not imagine that it would be anything exciting for somebody to watch, or that in any way someone would want pictures of it, or somehow find it to be a thrill. I could not see how pictures in a magazine were exciting, or in any way something anyone would want to look at, let alone somehow be anything to get turned-on sexually about. He was beyond the point of talking to him. To him, suddenly this was the most important thing in the universe. He was beyond just a little-boy getting a cheap-thrill from looking at naked pictures. He had a scary-look in his eyes, and was not the friend I used to know. He continued to play with himself, and tried to get me to do the same to him. I refused. I grabbed those magazines, and threw them away from him. I shoved him backwards and asked why he thought this was so cool. He said, “Don’t you see? We could do that with my sister!” I was beyond astonished, and disgusted. He did not care about anything but what he was doing with himself. He made himself ejaculate, and almost got it on me, too. The look in his eyes was not of a friend, or even of a human who cared about any other human. I told him he was a disgusting person and I never wanted him around me again. I ripped up his magazines, and headed out. He did not care about me, or that I was leaving. He chased down his torn-up magazines. I had to go through their house to get outside.

As I went back, one of the neighbors who happened to be a registered “safehouse” on the block was coming out her back door. I told her what he was doing, and how disgusted I was. She told me others had just come to her to complain also, and that was why she was coming outside… to see what he was doing. She told me she would take care of it. I knew that meant she would call the police, because that sort of thing was not at all acceptable. She went back into her house. I went inside, and his sister asked me what was wrong. I told her. She hugged me, and apologized for how he had done that to me. She told me he had done that to her also, and that’s all he can think about now, and how her dad looks at her in the same creepy way. I felt horrible and wanted to throw up. How could anybody look at their own daughter, or sister like that? How could her brother somehow think he was behaving in a good way? We were both disgusted, and decided to go to the park and away from her brother, and the police that were on their way. We already knew he would blame us for the way he acted, instead of accepting his own actions were what got him into trouble.

The lady from the safehouse came to the park to tell us it was safe to return. She told us their mom was with him where they had taken him. She told us the boy had been yelling as they hauled him away about how he hated me, and his sister for doing this to him. We could not believe that he somehow thought his own bad-behavior somehow was our fault. After talking to many people about this, I learned that day that when people get the notion of sex in their brains, that is the most important thing to them, and no way it could be them misbehaving, it is someone else’s fault for their own troubles. They took him to “Juvi” (or Jeuvenile Hall). That was where they took kids who got into trouble with the law. I knew he would not be at school after that, and would be made to go to a strict school that handles out of control kids. His sister continued to be my friend, and thanked me for stepping-in like that. After a few days, her brother was released, and allowed to live at home, but he was on a strict-grounding, and had to follow very strict rules, plus go to special classes to teach him how to behave appropriately. Their mother had changed her work schedule to make sure she was always home when the boy was. The police warned the dad that if he acted that way towards the daughter again, he would be arrested, too. The girl had to stop being naked at home, to keep her dad or brother from doing anything wrong towards her. It was sad. She still had her naked freedom everywhere else, just not at her own home. At her own home, she had to lock her bedroom, and bathroom door, so they would not come-in. She had to hide her body all the time at her own home, because her dad and brother did not know how to behave. All the people in the neighborhood, and the schools knew what the boy and dad had done. It served as a good lesson to everyone to not be creepy about their sexual desires.

I actually was glad the boy forced the issue on me, or the girl would have likely been harmed horribly. Who knows how many people saw what he did, and decided not to do the same thing? She and I remained friends, just never at her house. She was in my life until I turned twelve. She was 16. We moved from that neighbor hood when I was ten, and only occasionally returned over the next two years. She was driving the last time I saw her, and even had a boyfriend. She (and her friends) still enjoyed giving me erections any chance they got, and I never once looked at her differently. They were trusted friends, and in no way was I ever made to feel anything shameful, or embarrassed by them. I also could not grasp the notion of anybody wanting to have sex. Sure, the erections were good, but why would I want to ruin a good thing? I was just a little kid to her… but one she grew up with, and could still “play” with in a harmless way. One of her friends teased me one day and asked how I felt about them being “cock-teases”. I had to admit I did not know what that meant. They weren’t sure they should tell me since I did not know, and was “just a kid”. They explained what it meant. I laughed, and told them they were hardly teasing anything. From their definition that would mean that any boy they gave an erection to was somehow expecting to have sex, or to have an orgasm. I told them I thought it was silly that anyone would think that just because he had an erection, they should have something more. They explained that most boys and all men think they should, and I was different. They explained why I was safe, and they could be free around me. That was why they liked to have me around. They explained that most boys their own age, were always interested in sex, and glad I would not at all grow up to be like them. I agreed. I liked that I was always safe for the girls. She thanked me over and over for helping her.

I have no doubt that behaviors like this helped to form my own views about why an erection should be hidden. But at the same time, I have soo many more events to share, and that have actually been positive, happy, and in no way bad.

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This post is becoming quite lengthy, and I feel if I wait until I have written all I need to say, it will be an entire book. So I have chosen this point to break-it-off. No worries! I will continue my thoughts on erections, my own feelings, experiences, and discoveries about why I have chosen to hide my own… and how I am slowly learning to accept who I am, and allow others to see me in that way, too.

I know ending this where I did does not create any conclusion… and leaves it quite hanging. I guess that is a good thing, right? I have no choice, but to return to post more… (UPDATE: I Have written a second part to this. You can see it here: http://enterwithanopenmindorclosedeyes.blogspot.com/2013/02/erections-when-i-was-little-boy.html

Meanwhile, enjoy your own erections, see what causes them, and be not afraid to openly admit it… Just don’t be creepy about it! 

I picked up a HitchHiker, Part 2

Only Once have I ever Picked-up A Hitchhiker:

This is the second-part of The One and Only time I ever picked-up a Hitchhiker. To fully grasp all that has happened to get to this point, please read the first part. You are welcome to read only this part… your choice, but you will not grasp all the importance of these events…

~~~~~ A Word of caution about the following events described in this post:Some people may find this to be a VERY disturbing writing. Just the feelings that came to me, and reminded me of this time in my life are extremely difficult to allow to surface again. Beginning to blog, just over a year ago was an Incredibly hard decision. The idea that I was actually going to allow myself to relive the events that have shaped so much of my life was therapeutic. The idea that I would finally put these into writing was hard to grasp. The idea that I would actually allow another to be able to see some of what I have kept a secret for most of my life is even more difficult. Why, you might ask, am I writing these events? And more importantly, Why would I allow them to be public? Simple: Some of the greatest help I have received in dealing with my own struggles is that which came from someone who had also been through a similar situation. Finding one person who can relate, and make you understand that things happen, and those things are what makes us into the person we later become, it all it takes to plant the seed of hope. I have been given that courtesy by others, and I have also given that hope to others. By choosing to actually find the words to put into writing, and make it available for anyone who might need that connection, understanding, or support, Then That Is Why I write my life’s events, and allow them to be viewed by others.

In No way would I want someone to begin reading this without knowing it confronts and deals with subjects many are not comfortable reading about. Just searching to put the feelings into words is an emotional roller coaster. Writing about the struggles, fears, shame, and imprisonment often heaped upon victims of sexual molestation, victims of rape, and victims of anything that would make people feel insecure, dirty, or even ashamed of their own body, the naked body, normal functions of the body, or anything that would normally be seen as sexual is one of difficulty. These topics are also often forbidden in society, so it makes it even harder to write about them without being too offensive, or even considered too graphic.

Often, just allowing anyone to even know what I have been through is embarrassing, and could be humiliating. People are mean, and often just allowing myself to be vulnerable by sharing what I feel, what I’ve battled, and how I view things is a hard choice. Fear is crippling. But Freedom is far greater. I strive for freedom daily. Sometimes, just allowing some “secret” part of my life to finally be released takes away the self-imposed (or often society-imposed) imprisonment.

The following events involving the picking up of a hitchhiker made me confront and deal with topics I wished did not exist. I hate more than anything in this world that people will harm another. It is amazing, though, how by allowing yourself to help another when they are in need, you often are shown how to deal with your own fears, insecurities, and overcome some of your own greatest barriers in life. It makes me wonder: Did God Place the hitchhiker in my path to help her, Or To help Me? While the underlying causes of the events below are horrific, Know I will not take you to that place. I will show you how those events took many people, myself included, to one of The most Positive, Most Rewarding places One could ever hope for. Good Truly does come from what is thought to be bad.

This event, involving the hitchhiker Does in Fact cover some Very Graphic, Very horrific feelings. Be warned, and know I discuss Rape, Molestation, and so many other Topics which are Some of The Most Difficult to confront in life. (At least for me, they are difficult.) If you Read Further, Know You Will read details about The human anatomy (yes, My own, and others, too), reactions (often considered to be sexual by many, but NOT intended that way by me), and some Very Private, Very Personal  Issues. I do not wish to discourage anyone from reading, learning, and understanding, But I DO Want to Be sure You Understand the content may be offensive. Please, As You Read Further, Enter With an Open Mind… Or With Closed Eyes. ~~~~~ (Enough about cautions, let’s get back to the event of The Hitchhiker!)  

I crashed-out in a solid sleep almost as soon as I laid down. I did not bother to put any clothes on for sleep this time. This was not the way I normally slept.  At this point, I had only slept naked occasionally, but not often, and was not used to sleeping naked… especially with a girl in the apartment, where I might have a reaction, or somehow cause alarm. I also was cautious usually about if anyone might walk-in with my door always unlocked, and not ever wanting to allow those I knew to ever see me naked. But this night was different. I was not concerned about naked one bit. I thought I would be up, showered, go get my laundry, and be dressed before anyone else in the building was up, and also before I woke up Laura. I figured the girls would transfer my clothes to the dryers, then leave them there for me to gather in the morning. I figured I would be dressed, and have Laura’s clothes next to her bed so when I woke her, she would feel comfortable, and not exposed. I was not worried, and surprisingly comfortable and relaxed about sleeping naked this time. I had not felt this comfortable sleeping naked since I was a kid at Gramma’s house. It was a good feeling.

Oh, did I ever sleep solid! Nothing could have disturbed me. When my alarm went off, I realized I was not alone, was naked, had another naked hum laying on top of me, and was being held intimately close by another human. (And I could tell this human and myself were Very …shall we say… Close!)  I was groggy, and not yet awake enough to grasp all this. It was so seldom that I ever had another person in my bed, that it took me a moment to clear the fog from my mind, and really figure it out. It also took me a moment to grasp that I was on the living room floor, and not in my bed. That is when I recalled what had occurred the night before, and that Laura must have awakened during the night, and come to join me while I slept. I also could smell that she had showered, plus brushed her teeth, too. I could feel her face just inches from mine, watching me come to life, but that too was not a bad thing. As I focused my eyes, and looked at the face barely inches from my own, sure enough the face right next to mine and the arms that were wrapped around me, and the rest of the body that was almost-one with mine were attached to her. I was trying to grasp why I was waking up naked, and intimately close to someone I did not know. Laura was there, smiling, holding me close with both arms wrapped comfortably around me, and watching me wake up. I could feel she was naked, too. To say I was bit confused would be an understatement. She was definitely more awake than I was, and could see my fogged-brain attempting to make sense of this. She waited until I registered it was her, and saw me smile, then gave me a kiss. It was not a kiss as in wanting romance, or attempting anything else. It was a kiss of gratitude, trust, and thanks. This too was new for me. Seldom have I been kissed by anyone who was not seeking more, (it took me back to when I was a kid, and the best-friend I had then!) It was wonderful! She did not say a word, just smiled and held me as I slowly got my brain in gear. Her smile, the way she held me, and the kiss said more than any words possibly could have!

She watched as my fogged-brain slowly got into gear. She ran her fingers gently across my face, seeming to want to memorize every feature. Her touch, and the way she traced my features felt like this was already comfortable and familiar to her, almost as if she had done this before. I sensed that she may have touched me while I was sleeping, and she was so safe, (plus The fact that I was zonked-out) that she did not disturb me, or set off any of my ‘alarms’, by entering my safe-zone, told me all was safe and good. I have learned to trust what presents itself in a safe manner, even if it is new to me. Her touch also felt as if she was not simply touching me, but wanting to feel what I felt from the inside, understand, and grasp the energy, and spirit within me. As I woke, I realized even more to my horror, I had gone to sleep naked, and noticed I had awakened with ‘morning wood’ and not only could she feel every bit of it, but also that she was in a position that I could feel every bit of her! Even with what had happened with the girls downstairs last night, at this point in my life, the last thing I ever wanted was for anyone to Ever see (or feel!) it! I was mortified. I almost freaked-out, and got some space between us. But in the seconds I was coming alert and grasping all that I was feeling, I noticed she was definitely completely aware of my reaction, and not only welcomed it, but seemed to ‘embrace’ it. I knew instantly that This time, it was not shameful, or anything I should be mortified about, even Knew this was a completely good thing right now. This was confusing to me, but I accepted it, even wondered if I could just enjoy it. She had managed to make me more comfortable than almost any person I’d ever allowed to notice, see, or especially feel such a reaction. (The exception would be the ones I grew up with, and was close with as a child, but none since the age of 12.) The way she had positioned herself against me made it so I was, shall we say, umm… literally I could have been having sex with her! (but she showed me without doing anything more, that it was in no way intended as sexual.) She was not in any way harming me, nor doing anything offensive. She was not taking advantage of me in any way, and certainly not doing anything that I would later wish she had not. I was conflicted, yet knew I needed to not freak out. I was not inside of her, but was perfectly aligned between the folds of her Vulva. I also could feel that she had shaved while in the shower. She did a good job, and was not stubbly, but very smooth. I also could tell that she had reapplied powder to herself, plus applied some to me so there was no roughness between us, especially against her tenderness in and around her vagina. She was not rubbing in any way, just snug against me so we each were fit nicely together. I also could feel that the energy from her vagina was not in any way that of desiring sex. I cherished this feeling, and energy. I understood exactly what she desired, and how my penis against her like this was healthy. I felt Very humbled that I could be the one she chose, and was beyond happy to the deepest part of my soul that We could help each other. She was watching my face, and seemed to know what I was realizing. As she noticed what I was feeling, she pressed herself closer (I had thought we were as close as could be, but she pressed those parts closer…, more umm, wrapped, more snugly fitting, and even so I could feel more of her, umm shall we say ‘warmth and tenderness’?), so as to assure me that it was in fact intentional for her to be where she could feel so much of me like this, and likewise so I could feel that her swelling had gone down, and she was welcoming this contact in a soothing, comforting kind of way. I was not accustomed to having someone umm, be so intimate with me like this. I could tell she was not trying to sneakily get me inside of her, but rather to hold as close as possible. To allow us each to feel a positive energy from sources we each usually were repulsed by. She had carefully aligned my penis so I in no way entered her, although it would have been easy to shift slightly by either of us, and simply have that happen. I understood how she purposely placed us so close, yet she understood I would not make it go further. After the way I helped ease her discomfort last night, she knew I would in no way do her wrong when I simply could at that moment. Yet she wanted to feel every bit as was possible in this way.

She started crying, but not a sad cry. She was crying a happy cry, yet also a bit from pain, too. I could tell she was still very sore, and tender down there, and when she pressed herself closer, she winced a bit, even flinching, almost pausing down there before she accepted the pain, and welcomed the 'embrace' as she so delicately made it happen. (For me, describing Any of this is extremely difficult, and even often mortifying. Just the mention, or thought of mentioning my own reaction is often something that is extremely difficult for me to allow myself to accept. It is hard, for me, to describe without getting too graphic, or even mentioning some of my own mortification.) She winced, and flinched every time she felt my ....umm... 'pulsing, or... umm... let's say 'throbbing'. (Man, That was hard for me to say!) But I understood the significance of her 'embracing' in this manner. It was good for both of us, and for equally meaningful ways to cope, heal, and move forward. 

She softly told me everything that was going through her mind: (of course, I am paraphrasing, because I likely do not recall every word she said verbatim.)

“Thank you. Last night, you made me feel so special. Before I met you, I swore I could never find any good in any man, or any penis ever again. I was scared when you backed-up, but I knew You were the one I needed to allow myself to be seen by. Dozens of other drivers slowed, and looked similar to how you did, but they could not see me, and proceeded onto the freeway. When you first looked at me, I knew you were going to stop. I froze, and got nervous, but did not flee. Then you shined your light my way, and still did not see me. Only once you backed-up, and I looked right at you, could you see me. Then I knew. I knew you would not hurt me, and actually would understand, and help me. But I was not sure what I was supposed to do. So I just asked God to have you lead the way. You must have asked Him for the same, because you did exactly that, and I never once felt scared.”

“When you pulled off the freeway under the overpass, My first instinct was to be afraid, but I knew I was safe. I did not know what you were going to do, but you knew how to explain, and help me. I saw you, too, were scared to be seen naked. I was terrified when you first got naked, but I still knew this was just programmed fears every time I ever saw a penis. But I saw you were shaved down there, and immediately thought you were some sort of sexual pervert, yet I knew this was not true. I had never before seen a shaved man. It was the strangest thing I had ever seen. Yet, I also knew you were in no way like any other I had ever met. I knew I could trust you. Then I watched you. You never once got aroused, or looked at me like others with a penis would have. Then when you even offered to turn off all the lights so as to not make me so visible when you removed my wet clothes, I knew you understood.”

“ You thought I was shivering from cold, but I was trembling with fear. Yes, I was cold, too, but the fear outweighed any feeling of cold. You made sure to not feed that fear. I watched your eyes as you undressed me. You never once looked at me like I was something for you to get your jollies with at my expense. I knew you could tell what had happened to me, but you never acted like I was the freak, or should be ashamed. Then when you went to towel me off, I looked again at your penis. You still were not aroused. I kept staring because it looked so strange without hair, but I did not want to have you notice me staring, or to make you uncomfortable. I almost smiled, because it was so unusual, and so were you. You were not aroused, even still. I waited and watched. I watched your hands and your eyes as you toweled me off. When you reached to hug me, I actually felt comfort with your penis being right in front of me. Then as you hugged and explained, I could feel your penis against me, and I did not mind. Then when you removed my top, and your penis was between my boobs, I actually felt a positive energy from it. I was certain with your penis rubbing my boobs, you would arouse, yet you did not even look at me like I was naked.”

“You Showed me from the very first moment you understood, and also that you could feel more in the dark about a person than could be seen by vision, or the normal sense of touch. I was still trembling, because I knew you would be able to ‘feel’ the wrong that had been done to me down there. Yet, I allowed myself to move my covering towel so you could continue. I was not worried that you would know. In watching your eyes, and feeling how you moved, I felt that you could feel it, yet you did not once look like I was dirty, look horrified.”

“Your touch and care made me accept and welcome your willingness to sooth me in that way. The first moment you began to clean my butt, I felt relief. Then when you moved forward, Oh it hurt so much! I wanted to kick you for even beginning to dry me there! I thought I never wanted it touched, ever again. I did flinch when it hurt so bad when you toweled me off there, and you wanted to stop, so you would not hurt me. Then when you held that towel so firmly against me, I thought I would scream from the pain, yet you knew, and I could tell you knew how to help me. I could feel you releasing all the tension. Then even more when you pushed that towel inside, and held the pressure. I would have thought any touch, especially a firm pressure would be horrific, but you knew. You released the built-up tension, you took all the bad energy and got rid of it. Then you gently cleaned me in a way that was the most delicate I had ever experienced. I thought that, too would be horribly painful, but the contrast of the cool wet cleansing wipes and your warm fingers inside me were a new level of comfort, and even more release of the bad energy.”

“Again, I was amazed that a touch from any man could be welcomed, and even comforting. I forgot about the pain. I welcomed your gentle cleaning, and even allowed the warmth of your fingers to give me warmth. I felt every bit where your fingers touched me inside. It hurt. It also helped. Your touches in there seemed to fill me with a warm, positive energy that made the negative feeling flee. Your touches were not like any form of groping, or to see what you could feel. Your touches were safe. You gave me hope. You took away my fears. I was for that moment able to forget all the horrors.”

“I finally was allowed to sleep. I cannot remember the last time I actually could let myself relax and actually sleep. You gave me safety. I did not have to worry where you would take me, or what would happen. I was just finally allowed to sleep. When I woke up earlier this morning, I was not sure where I was, I was naked, but knew I was safe. Then I felt the baby powder down there, and was so happy that you had taken such good care of me, and taken away so much of my suffering. I did not feel vulnerable getting out of the bed naked. I did not even first look around to see where I was, or who was near. I knew I was safe. I used the bathroom, not bothering to shut the door, feeling a freedom I had never before felt. I showered, then saw you had even placed a toothbrush out for me!”

“I went to go climb back in bed, but decided to look around a bit. I saw that you had placed me in your own bed, then made a separate bed for yourself. You truly made sure I was not threatened in any way. You understood how bad it would be for me to wake next to a man in a strange bed. I saw that you, also were sleeping soundly, and felt completely safe. You did not even stir, or wake when I used the bathroom, or stood looking at you. I saw a stack of folded clothes and blankets by the front door, and saw my clothes were washed and folded there also. I was tempted to put my clothes on and flee before you woke, but I knew I was safe, and should stay. I also noticed you left your front door unlocked, so I knew you were safe. I opened the door and looked into the corridor. It also felt safe, even with me standing in the opening naked. I knew you and your home were where I needed to stay until you were ready to have me leave.”

“Normally, I would be terrified any time I saw a naked man. But with you, I hoped you still were, so I lifted your covers to see. I found myself smiling, instead of terrified to see your penis. Then I smiled more when I recalled how I first felt when I saw it last night. I watched your penis for a while, and felt safe, happy. Your penis was the first I had ever seen that did not harm me. I knelt beside you and placed my hand on your thigh, right next to your penis, just like you had let me do last night. You knew how to allow me to find my own level of comfort, unforced, unsolicited. I remembered how shocked I was when I accidentally touched it last night, but then realized how it also did not feel bad. I screwed up the courage to allow my hand to move onto it, not grabbing, or stroking it, simply just resting gently on it. I felt the energy you have. I even allowed myself to gently hold your testicles, and was surprised I did not find fear there either. I found I was trembling at first, but also only because of my own fears, not because of you. I was not even worried that I might cause a reaction, but I was very happy to find that I did not. I held you, and even traced the edges of it for a moment more, just gently allowing myself to touch a safe penis. You did not react at my touches. I covered you up again, and returned to the bed in your room.”

“After a moment, I decided instead to come and join you. I grabbed the bottle of baby powder. I did not even hesitate to be naked, and climb in next to a naked man. This, too, surprised me, because I swore I could never be near a man or especially a penis ever again. I powdered you, and allowed myself to touch more freely what otherwise would horrify me. You did not wake, but now my touches aroused you, and I was actually happy about that, not afraid. I had not intended to cause arousal, but found I was pleased when it happened. Even your penis has wonderful energy. It is not an aroused, sexual energy, but an energy no words can describe. I was happy to have you aroused, because I knew that while penises of bad men had caused me pain, your penis could actually help me. For reasons I do not understand, I told myself that allowing your penis to be as close as possible would be good for me. I thought this was the craziest idea I ever had, and tried to talk myself out of it, but something made me feel I needed to embrace this moment. I did not want to in any way violate you, because you were careful to not violate me, and I could tell that you valued that far more than any man ever did.”

“When I showered before joining you, I could not get enough hot water or soap, or enough scrubbing to ever remove the awful feeling down there. Then I saw your razor and shaving cream in the shower. I remembered that you were shaved, and I thought it was odd. Then it hit me. You, too, have been treated wrongly, and while no amount of soap, or water, or scrubbing could ever remove that feeling, removing all the hair might be very cleansing. I imagined how delicate and thorough you would be in taking care of the shaving if you were the one shaving me, and shaved myself in the same way. I have never before shaved down there, only occasionally trimmed, but not even often at that. I cut myself often, not knowing the technique, but I was excited to continue. But the completely smooth feeling does an incredible job at removing the feeling associated with what has happened down there. Feeling cleansed by removing the hair, then feeling you as you got aroused, I knew I needed to embrace that energy, and closeness.”

“I knew you might object, or be embarrassed to have me feel your arousal, since that was not what your intentions were. I also figured out that you had been similarly harmed, and that any unwanted arousal, or touch cold be as bad for you as for me. I knew I could give you the same level of trust and comfort that you provided me. I hoped you would not freak-out before you had a chance to understand what I was doing. I hoped once you woke and realized I was not going to hurt you, you would welcome it.  As you woke, I could first see the way your first reaction was to get away, but I saw also how you quickly felt the same thing I did, and in seconds accepted and welcomed me in this way. Having you like this right now does more positive than any amount of soap, or scrubbing could ever do. The energy you have is very comforting, very healing, and even against my bruises, cuts, and scrapes, the tenderness does not hurt, but instead is comforting, healing, and safe. I feel your penis against my vagina is the most-healthy thing I could have done to move forward. I hoped you would not object. I meant you no harm. I knew it was a risk, and selfish, too, but I felt it was right. Just like you helped me to not feel embarrassed last night, I want to be sure and give the same comfort and trust to you. I was tempted to just feel you for as long as I could until you began to wake, then quickly move away, or leave your bed so you would not know, but I knew you deserved to not only know, but to also feel what I had felt, and you would welcome it, and it would be mutual, instead of just selfish on my part.”

She had let all her worries and thoughts flow. She was happy to have safety and comfort. Now, she just smiled and looked into my eyes. When I first saw those eyes on the freeway ramp, I saw a completely different look, but there was also hope. Now that hope is not a distant vision in those eyes, but a bright feature.

In answer, I wrapped my arms around her, and held her tight. I kissed her in the same way she had kissed me. We both felt the same gratitude, and thanks. She only initially caused alarm and the reaction to be “mortifying”, but I was reacting on pre-programmed fears, much as she had when she saw my penis the first time.

It was rare, but I actually did not wish the reaction to go away. This was strange, too… that I would willingly allow someone to either see, or feel me reacting, and enjoy it myself, too! Also strange was that this reaction was not one where I felt I would orgasm, or in any way like it would lead to the dreaded feeling I get with sex, or an orgasm. I did not know what she had or had not done prior to my waking. But every inch of my entire body felt as if it had been somehow touched with a magic energy. It was not a feeling as if I was just feeling good, or that the closeness and trust caused. It was not a feeling that the kiss(es) caused. It was not even a feeling associated with any reaction, or the closeness of us to embrace that. It was a feeling as if something (someone) had purposely taken the loving time and care to feel, touch, and understand every single inch of my body. It was a feeling that one gets after you have shared a treasured time allowing someone to have the freedom to do as they pleased, when they truly wanted to know everything there was to know, feel, and understand about you. But unless she volunteered what had been done before I woke, I would not make her uncomfortable by asking. I suspected that she had not just traced my face. The feelings I felt in every cell of my body (and not just on the surface of the skin) was that of having been lovingly touched... Deeply felt, and not touched just to feel the skin, but touched to feel the energy that the skin was just a shell for.

To say she knew exactly how to treat me would be an understatement! She could tell I was not interested in sex, but fully understood that sensuality, understanding, and trust were important! She treated me in exactly the same way I had treated her. We did not know one another, but each treated the other with such kindness, respect, and care. It was very wonderful! Her face showed gratitude, appreciation, and peace. She kissed me one more time, again, just showing gratitude, and the safe-feeling. She clearly was not seeking anything more. Her kisses melted me in so many wonderful ways!

I allowed myself to begin moving my fingers along her body. She welcomed my touch. I could feel the new energy she had today, that she did not have last night. Her cells now felt alive, and energized, compared to barely existing last night. Last night her cells felt as if they only were attached, but not alive. This morning, they were very alive, and welcoming. Without separating, or disturbing the closeness she had managed to create, and certainly not wanting to remove my penis and her vulva from the snugness she had wrapped so well together, I traced all that I could of her. I could tell she had done something similar with me before I woke, but I also could tell there was more that I did not know. While last night, she had been wary of any touch but seemed to not flinch when I did, this morning, she seemed eager to have me touch as much as I desired. While I normally would not allow myself to dwell, or even focus on breasts, simply because I normally do not really find them that fascinating, this time was different. As my fingers gently traced, I could also see her own willingness to welcome more. She was showing a welcome to what previously would have been negative touch by other men she had been near, yet finding great comfort in it now. I had to admit, for reasons I did not understand, I actually found it to be … Umm, shall we say ‘Very stimulating’? I also did not mind this time, even welcomed it. Her own responses were very much the same as mine. (For me to even be able to write any of this is baffling to myself. Accepting my own self is often one of my most difficult battles.) We both allowed ourselves to explore freedoms we seldom had...fully, uninhibited.

We both wanted this to continue just like this. But she also was no dummy. She asked what that alarm was set for, implying she knew I needed to get up and get moving for something. I told her my 'plans' for the morning. 

She got up from the bed, teasingly pulling the covers with her. She grinned as now my reaction was, umm... very exposed, and visible. Keeping the mood light and positive, knowing I likely would still not be thrilled to have my reaction viewed, (although I seemed to accept it was very much felt) she made it funny. She offered me a hand, and when I held my hand out, she jokingly said “I was Gonna Grab that Handle! (Pointing at my penis) So she did. She pulled on my hand, And on the “handle” that was seemingly there for that purpose. I appreciated that, and told her “Ah, so that’s the purpose of that thing!” We both laughed, and the lighthearted nature made it so I did not care that I had a visible reaction, nor that her hand was still wrapped around it. 

She asked if she could look closer some more. I gathered from this that she had done plenty of looking while I was asleep. I decided this was a good time, and I was in a good place, too, so it would not make me uncomfortable. I also recognized her need to be able to look at something she thought she could only hate, but instead has found positive, and healing in such an item. She knelt down, so it was at her eye-level. I watched her eyes and was quite satisfied to see what she saw. Her eyes showed that she was not simply looking at a man’s penis, but at something far more important. After “Pulling me up” she had never let go. She had gripped and tugged quite firmly, because she had literally pulled me up like she playfully had suggested, and allowed her tight grip to remain. I found it odd that her holding me so tight was not at all uncomfortable. She applied a firm grip, much the same as I had to her last night. She seemed to find peace in studying how it looked, felt, and ...ummm... throbbed... in her grip. I also was pleasantly accepting of this, and still kinda amazed that I did not mind, or feel uncomfortable. (This, too took me back to the best-friend I had a kid.) It seemed as if now that she had accepted it as not a bad thing, she wished to “hold on” to that feeling, both metaphorically and physically. Now as she looked closely, she allowed her grip to relax. It was almost as if she had “captured” something potentially dangerous, then once she had her face where she could watch, she let it go, to see if it was no longer a danger. She just looked for a few minutes. Watching, looking from every angle, really close, and seeming to inspect it at very close proximity. She reached again, gently to touch with her fingers. She traced every bit of it, much like she had been tracing my face earlier.

I knew without a doubt that she had done this with my entire body, because the feeling left behind after her touch was the same as I described earlier about how my body felt like it had been magically touched. I knew immediately that she had felt every cell on my body, yet was not saying she had. Yes, her touch was very much arousing, and for a second, I wanted to make her stop. But I watched, and let her continue. She was creating a feeling that was unlike any normal arousal, and it was in no way a sexual arousal. I could tell that she was not taking me to place that was sexual, or possibly would lead to my most hated feeling of an orgasm, but she was allowing herself to feel what touch alone cannot feel. She was feeling the spirit, the energy, and all that was within me. She had closed her eyes, and was feeling what was an invisible thing to the sight, yet following with her fingers the energy flowing within each vein. It was very intriguing to watch as she traced and followed every vein that was currently so visible. I could feel what she also was feeling. I watched, and could feel what she felt. I could also see, what she could not, and without her seeing, she would trace a vein that was not in any way raised, or large by any means to have a bump to feel, and allowed her fingers to feel without seeing. I could see where the various colors curved, and she followed them precisely only by touch. She was following the flow of the blood in the veins only by feeling the energy. She continued this in absolute silence and the peace she exuded as she did was incredible.

I could literally see her spirit glowing. As she continued, I was completely carried in with her relaxed safe spirit. While she had created such an arousing feeling, as she continued, it had the exact opposite effect. She continued until there was not an ounce of it in an aroused state. The smile she showed, as she felt the absolute-relaxed state, was once of having conquered the greatest fear she's ever known. She still had not opened her eyes. She leaned forward and kissed my penis, still smiling so proud, confident, and alive. I felt the same. It was incredible to watch this acceptance and trust. Still without opening her eyes, she stood, only inches from me, brushing her breasts barely against me, Leaned in and kissed me one more time, not having ever looked to see where my lips were. And, no… I Did not object one bit that she kissed me immediately after she kissed my penis. It was also funny, since I saw that she had gotten white lips from the baby powder, and then gave me white lips as she kissed me. I knew she would see this once she opened her eyes. She hugged me. When she opened her eyes, I saw a soul that had found peace. It was incredible to have witnessed the transformation from the scared, troubled soul I saw in those eyes last night. I held her tight. I knew she would be alright. She looked at my powdered lips, smiled knowingly, and without a word, she went to use the bathroom. I went to make the coffee.

As soon as I had coffee made, I poured two cups. I went into the bedroom to see if she was still in the bathroom. As I passed the front door, I noticed the girls had indeed finished all the laundry. They had even folded and stacked it all nice and neat, placing it just inside my living room. They had come in while I was sleeping, and not disturbed me one bit. I continued to the bedroom. Laura was sitting on the windowsill, with the curtains wide open, watching the sunrise, still naked, and not caring if anyone could see her. I knew I was in a fog, when I had not even bothered to look outside yet! I handed her the cup, and sat next to her, still fogged. As she turned to face me, she saw my lips were still slightly covered in baby powder, she knowingly smiled again. She laughed , looked at my baby powdered penis, and jokingly asked how I felt about having seemingly kissed my own penis. We both laughed. In answer, I leaned over and returned the favor. I kissed her now bare, but powdered vulva, then kissed her. She, too had white lips now. We both laughed. We both smiled. We both understood how our otherwise repulsion by such things had become a bond between us, and could actually accept and embrace those repulsions. We drank our coffee, naked, not concerned, watching the sunrise in silence. I noticed it was no longer raining, and was actually going to be a sunny, clear day. That made me happy that she would begin the rest of her journey in sunshine, instead of rain. I asked her what she wanted to do from this point. She smiled, and said “Continue to California.” I told her “I think your clothes and shoes are dry and next to the front door.” Her smile broadened. She asked what I meant by the “I think”. She had thought I was the one who folded them and placed them there. So I told her about the neighbor girls who offered to help. I never got a chance to tell her how much they did or did not know, or even about our shared adventures after I put her to bed. I was not going to tell her that they had come and seen her while she slept.

Almost as soon as I had told her about the neighbor girls, and the laundry, my front door opened, and all three girls walked-in. We were in the bedroom, and could not see the front door. Normally, I would have hid my nakedness, but since they had been so comfortable and safe last night, I did not hide this time. Laura grabbed a blanket to cover herself. While she had allowed herself to remain comfortable around me, not feeling the need to hide the bruises or her nakedness, she was not sure about these girls. I half-expected to see them all three still muddy and naked, but they were clean and dressed. I introduced each of them. They were grinning, and it made me wonder what they were up to. They took Laura by the hand to the front door. She looked a bit puzzled, but did not resist. I followed. They opened the door and took Laura into the main corridor. I heard them telling her “These are for you.” Laura dropped her blanket, and hugged each of the girls, again not worried one bit about being seen naked, or allowing her bruises to be visible. Of course, I needed to see what was so exciting. I squeezed between all the girls to see. The commotion got some of the other neighbors to open their doors and peek out. We told them ‘hi’ without covering or offering explanations. They simply greeted us and went back into their apartments.

I knew the girls were up to something for asking to see her size last night while she slept. I had an idea that they might attempt to get a set of clothes Laura could wear, but I really did not expect them to do much more than find a pair of pants and a top. What a Surprise! They had several days’ worth of clothing stacked neatly outside my door! The girls picked up the piles and brought them in for Laura to see and try –on. Laura was not the same size in any way as any of the three girls, but they had gotten clothes that would fit her! The girls even brought bras and panties that were the perfect size and fit for Laura! They had successfully gathered clothes for entire outfits, including two more pair of shoes. They were busy during the night! Laura was speechless, crying joyfully, hugging each girl, and me, too. I told her I had nothing to do with the clothes. She and the other girls insisted I totally was the reason for the clothes. They all insisted that if I had not helped Laura, they would not have had a reason to help her either. The girls insisted Laura hurry up and go shower so she could get dressed and enjoy her new clothes. Laura hugged everyone again and thanked them, then went and showered, to get ready for the new day, and new clothes.

While Laura showered, I decided to make breakfast. I asked the girls if they would like some, too. They all agreed they would. Then they joked about me being naked while making breakfast. They made jokes about “Are we having sausage and buns for breakfast?” They joked about if I would pee out the window if I had to go, or would I use the sink? They teased that I could of course just go pee in the shower while Laura was using it. Usually, I would be mortified at this. The fact that I had openly peed with them and knew they knew more about me than I normally let anyone know was kinda a good thing. Normally there were so few I willingly allowed myself to be seen naked in front of that I knew. Those few who had seen me naked were only for brief moments, and I certainly would not have been naked for extended times around them, especially socially while making breakfast!  But for whatever reason, being naked in front of them was actually comfortable, and felt good. They, too noticed this. This was very healthy for me. 

I had mostly hidden myself for the past 10-years. There were occasionally a few safe people I would not hide myself from, but there had not been many, and certainly not to this extent, where I was freely interacting, and not worried.

As I continued to make breakfast, each of the girls told me how they had previously seen me naked when I had thought nobody could (or thought I might be seen, but thought I had not) see me. One girl’s window faced the area I thought was very concealed outside. This was where I would go late at night and watch the stars. When she would see me go out there, she would go and get the other two, and they all three would watch from her window. This surprised me, and embarrassed me a bit. They saw this, and assured me it was not that they were watching to embarrass me, but to see they joy and freedom I felt while doing it. That made me feel good, even safe in knowing they saw that. (It also reminded me of the time I was twelve and a high school neighbor girl and her friends told me how often they watched me when I thought I was secretly alone, and how happy that made them!) One of the girls had an apartment door that faced mine across the corridor, and she would watch with her door barely ajar when I would go and do my laundry late at night when I thought nobody was looking. She told me how much fun it was to watch me bounce joyously down the corridor feeling my naked freedom, and thinking nobody saw me. As soon as I was down the stairs, she would go down the set of stairs on the other end, and watch from behind the stacks in the basement. She said how much she enjoyed watching the freedom I allowed myself when I was down there. The first time she saw me pee in the floor drain, she had to stifle her laugh. She explained how she thought it was so funny that I found joy in that, and also watched in amazement at my making sure I always aimed perfectly. She said one time she saw me miss, and go find a bucket, fill the bucket with hot water and wash the floor. She told the others about this, so they all started to sneak down and watch, too. They discovered if they were outside, because it was dark out and bright in the basement they could watch me without hiding. By them telling me how much and how often they had watched me, it actually helped me, not scare me off. They proved safe, and comfortable. They told me about other neighbors who watched me regularly, too, and every person thought it was wonderful because I went about it in a way that did not shove nakedness in others’ lives, but instead showed I wanted to enjoy it, but be semi-private about it.

It was strange, yet freeing to allow the girls to be so close, looking, and talking about me in such a positive way. As I continued to make breakfast, they each began to look closer at my body, but not in a way that made me uncomfortable. At first, I noticed they were seeming to "sneak" closer glances. One noticed I had seen another "trying to peek", and giggled. The one who "got caught" was embarrassed. I reached to give her a hug, and tell her it was alright to look, be curious. Another, giggling, asked quite teasingly if "touching was also alright?" She expected me to say 'no'. They were genuinely interested in learning more about me, and I could see that this was a good time, not making me uncomfortable, or feel like I was on display. I also could tell they were not going to be mean in any way to me. I always allowed those who genuinely wanted to learn and understand different aspects about me to do so when it was not done in any kind of mean, or cruel way. For any who treated me with kindness, and respect, I seemed to let all my walls down. One thing I have learned in life is that too many people hide when someone wants to learn about the body. I always valued those who welcomed my curiosities, and in turn would allow others the same freedom.  I told her, "Yes, Touches were OK." She looked slightly embarrassed, even suddenly bashful, but allowed herself to begin to gently touch, and explore. People are curious, and in a safe place, curiosities often lead to touching, feeling, and exploring. The girls were happy to watch, feel, see, and learn how different bits moved, reacted, and changed. I too was interested in allowing these, since I was learning more about myself, too! (keep in mind I was still young, at 22, and had not had much 'experience' like this since the age of 12. They, too were my own age, and seemed also to not have much 'experience' like this.) Funniest of all was when one had cold hands, and discovered how fast cold changes things. (Have no worries, they were quick to warm parts up again.) To have so many touches, and different people all at the same time learning, touching and watching was new for me. In my life, I have had one or two curious touches, or even one or two looking, but to have all these at once, yet it be totally safe was a new venture for me! For me to not wish to hide, or even allow a reaction to remain visible was an incredible step-forward for me! I normally would hide and be mortified any time a reaction happened or was visible. (The oddest part was when I got a reaction, not from any touches to those regions, but rather when one girl was tracing my ribs!) The girl who was touching my ribs when I reacted stopped touching me as soon as she saw the change. I surprised myself by not suddenly wanting to hide it, or cover-up. But after last night, and how safe these girls were, I did not feel I needed to hide it. I actually was happy to not feel I should. Naturally, All eyes were suddenly watching this change. Mine were too. They had seen this last night, but we all knew the situations last night were different. I smiled, then said “I guess you found the switch!... and go figure, the rest of us thought it was down there.” This made us all laugh, and not worry about it. It was funny, because I had not reacted one bit while there were touches down there, yet from her touches to my rib! Then teasing her, I said: “Now you need to figure out how to make it go away”. This made us all laugh. She grinned at this, and said, “Nope. I wanna watch, not get rid of it.” To my surprise, I was OK with it remaining, even being watched, touched… More learning for all of us. Laura came out of the shower, and stood watching these interactions. She smiled, and could tell how safe all this was. The girls looked to Laura to see how comfortable she was with this. She smiled, and confidently said she had done the same for a couple of hours earlier while I had slept. This caught my attention, and she saw the look of curiosity on my face. She smiled, seemingly like she had been caught with a guilty pleasure. Then looked at the girls, then back at me, seeming to see if it was alright to further explain what she meant by her statement. I grinned and told her “Do tell.” Each of the other girls grinned and nodded, noting we all wanted to know what I had slept through.

She proceeded to tell me, (and the girls) how when she woke up in the early morning hours, she was at first disoriented about where she was. …Proceeding to fill the girls in of what she had already told me... She said she looked at the alarm I had set to see what time I would wake up, and knew she had two hours available. Then she continued telling what she had done after she came to my bed. She told how for almost two hours, before I woke, what she had done: She had allowed herself to feel every single inch of my body, trace every bone, every muscle, every vein, and every cell. She wanted to allow herself the freedom to touch a man who had been the only safe man she’d ever been around. She wanted to feel every ounce of my energy, and fill herself with the same. She was thrilled to find that I would react not from her touches to my penis, and testicles, but how I reacted when she touched my face, or my hands, or my feet. She would watch, and trace some more. The first time she caused it she told us she got scared. But when I did not wake, and also when it did not change the way my energy felt, she decided to embrace this otherwise thing she feared. She blushed a bit as she told this. I went and hugged her, and just held her. She looked around and asked if it was safe to tell? We all assured her she could tell us, and it would not be shameful. She looked confident again and continued telling what she had done: She had decided to hold it next to her face. Then as she held it, she began to kiss it. She liked how much this felt like she was thanking me, yet at the same time, she was finding her own strength, and willingness to accept that at least one man could be decent. She not only kissed it, but then kissed every bit of it, making sure to not miss any bit. She was worried that I might get too aroused, and she decided to not focus on it for a little bit. But the kissing made her feel it was better than simply a touch. She said she could feel what felt like little fireworks in every cell each time she kissed on it. She held it in her hand, and just enjoyed feeling it, and the blood flowing in it. She said she had never before actually enjoyed holding one. Then, she decided to start kissing every bit of my body. She wanted to bring those little fireworks to every cell in me, since I had helped her so much, and this also helped her, plus gave back to me.

I dished-up breakfast, and we all ate as she told us more: She proceeded to tell how she kissed every bit of my entire body, and as far as she could kiss down toward the part I was laying on.  She noticed how my reaction would go away, and then come back again. Each time it came back, she would watch to see if I might wake. She said I only smiled, but never moved like I would wake, so she would again place her face next to it and hold, kiss, and grip it. Each time, taking it a bit further, feeling what I was feeling, not wanting to take it too far. After she had done this many times, she knew how far and how much she could do without causing me to be overly stimulated, and cause orgasm. As she told this part, I thanked her. She smiled, and told me she knew it would be bad for me if I woke to an orgasm. I hugged her, and told her I wish more women understood this! She continued telling: She watched as the clock got closer to 5:30. She had made sure to let the reaction go totally away, so I was not anywhere near overly-stimulated. She re-powdered herself, then powdered me, too. She said this made me stir a bit, but not wake. She kissed my body some more to make sure I would remain asleep. The she positioned herself so her vulva was perfectly aligned over my penis. She told how it was completely relaxed at that point, and how fun it was to have a soft penis in between her vulva folds. She laid there, just allowing that to feel so wonderful. Then she began with the touches, and kisses again. She had learned what areas caused more of a reaction than others, and focused on those. She said the feeling of my reaction with it snugly sandwiched, perfectly aligned inside her like that was the absolute most healthy thing she had ever experienced. She had never felt a penis in that way, and it was incredible to embrace it as it happened. That was what I woke to when the alarm went off. Just having her tell it, and how she went about it totally caused me to react again. I did not feel I needed to hide it. We all just smiled.

Watching my reaction occur once more as she told this, she decided to tell me (and of course the girls, too, but she directed it at me) about how it felt when I began to allow myself to touch and explore her. She did not skip any details, and told these with such a sparkle in her eyes! I was amazed even more at how much just her telling these feelings was causing me to react more and more right now!

As we all sat happily, comfortably enjoying what had happened in the past twelve hours, the level of comfort, and safety we all felt was beyond comparison. Then she commented that if I had not stopped to help her last night, I would not be so safe and comfortable today. She was correct. For whatever reason(s), God placed her in my path last night, and also made it so these neighbor girls would be in her path, too.

The neighbor girls then told her what had happened after they saw me come home. They seemed to enjoy that the telling of the events caused me to continue to react even more. I was not used to this! I was, umm… more, umm… let’s just say I had more reaction in this past few hours, and even past hour than I normally had in my life!! But I was not uncomfortable for some reason. I did not mind one bit, and the girls all seemed to enjoy it as much as I was.

The girls suggested I head to the shower (and joked I may need a cold shower!) and they would help Laura try on her clothes. Laura was excited, and kept coming in to show me each item, and how good the girls had done in finding the right size and fit! She of course started with the bras and panties. She was especially thrilled to show me how well her bra and panties fit. I got the impression she had not previously had good-fitting ones, or even flattering ones. It struck me that I did not yet know anything about this girl. I quickly gathered that she was probably very poor, or had never known she could flatter herself, or possibly that the person/ people she was running from were not the type to appreciate her, or ones she would want to feel pretty  and flattering around.

It always amazed me how much more alluring it was to see a woman in bra and panties, when she was proud, happy, and flattered, than it ever was to see her naked. It created a mystery, and for some reason, I always found that to be sexy, yet never saw a naked woman as sexy. To me, viewing a body is not in itself sexual, or even a turn-on. But the opposite is true when in bra and panties… but not always. If I saw someone changing, that was no big deal, or even alluring. Even when a woman was showing/ modeling yet the items were not flattering, or properly fitted, there was nothing exciting about the bra and panties. But to have someone showing, modeling in ones that are flattering, properly fitted, and make her feel special almost always was. It was similar to the girls last night and how they caused me to notice how alluring, even sexy they were. There was something about the presentation, the way a girl stands, even proud to have you look when she is modeling herself like this. That made me happy. (Yes, she definitely caused a reaction, and I was not ashamed of it. She noticed which items caused the reaction, and even commented similarly.)

Then they all came into the bathroom. The girls had brought hair-stuff, and makeup too for Laura. They proceeded to do her hair, and her makeup (only a bit, nothing fancy) while I showered. Good thing I was not mortified to have them all see me!

Once I finished showering, I too went to get my clothes (which were still piled in the front room.)  All four girls jokingly said they needed to help me get dressed, too. I laughed and asked if they were planning to do my makeup, too. We laughed, but it turned out they were not joking. They really wanted to dress me! They were continuing from how safe and open I was allowing this morning to be. I decided to allow them this playfulness. This was weird for me. They of course started with my underwear. I at first thought, ok… no big deal, so they pick out some underwear, and slide it on me. Simple, done! Nope! They each wanted to try a different pair on me. They took much delight in this. I was not sure how to react. The weirdest and most bizarre was that each had a different idea of how I should fit in my underwear. In keeping with the light-spirit and learning, safe atmosphere, I decided to just let them. I gotta say, it was a completely new experience, and weird, too! Never before had anyone ever dressed me, let alone adjust my parts into so many different ways in my underwear! None of these girls had seen me in just underwear, so none had seen how I positioned my parts. (Laura saw me undress the night before under the overpass, but had not taken the time to notice these details.) Also new to me was in having my parts touched so much, yet it be completely safe, and in no way was it uncomfortable. It was definitely a new experience! Once they each had done what they were satisfied with in the underwear, they finally moved onto the shirt, pants, socks, and sweatshirt. Those did not prove any challenge, or even any level of creativity. But over-all the being dressed was quite fun for all of us!

I grabbed a small duffel bag to pack Laura’s new clothes in. She was very happy to ask me to throw her old ones and the shoes in the garbage! I showed the girls where I had some posterboard and markers, so they could make her a sign that would attract the right driver headed to California. I gathered some food and even made a couple of sandwiches for her, gathered toothbrush, toothpaste, the hair stuff, and the makeup, and packed it all in the duffel bag. At the last minute, I thought about grabbing a raincoat. I did not tell her about that, just included it so she would find it later. As I was ready to go for work, I asked again if this is what she wanted to do. (Meaning hitchhike to California.) She looked confident, and said she did. I did not doubt this was the right thing, just wanted to be sure it was what she thought she should do. The three girls walked with us to my truck to say good bye to her. They each dug into their pockets, and altogether handed her about 20-dollars. It was not much, but it might come in handy for her. She did want to take it, insisting they had done enough, but they insisted. She stuffed it in her pocket, then gave each one a tearful goodbye hug, and we drove toward the freeway.

She did not say anything, just smiled confidently as we drove the short-distance. It was a beautiful sunny morning. It felt like the world was happy to see this Laura greet it today, rather than the Laura the world saw last night. I heard her quietly say, “Thank You God.” And her smile, and confidence literally glowed.

I parked as near as I could to the onramp. We each got out. She was crying, but not sad tears. She was very happy. I was too. She hugged me tight for a long moment. Kissed me, thanked me, grabbed her duffel bag, sign, and confidently marched up the onramp. She stopped briefly to look, smile, and wave goodbye. Goodbye Laura. God be with you.

I went to work. Coworkers always liked to hear about my adventures when I went to Portland for a couple of days. This day was the same. Everyone asked if anything exciting happened. I told them about the things that I did with my Mom and sister, and what we did around Portland. I did not tell them about the hitchhiker.

A couple of days later, one coworker who had been off since I had come back, came in and was grinning like she knew something I did not. This was not uncommon. Her husband was a police officer, and often she found out the scoop about something that had happened around town, or to someone we mutually knew, and she always liked to tease me and see if I had found out the same details she had. This day, she asked me if I had anything exciting to tell about my trip to Portland. She was grinning, like there was something she knew, but would not tell me until I spilled-it myself. I cautiously asked her why she asked. She decided to turn it on me, and asked how I felt about picking up hitchhikers. But she already knew how I felt, and knew I Never did. This was something we had discussed at length previously. But I knew she knew something about Laura. She was grinning, so I knew it was not bad, or that anything had happened that involved the police. To safely answer her question, yet not spill too many details, I said, “Under the right circumstances I might pick one up.” She said, “If her name was Laura, would you?” This caught me. I looked at her and said, “spill it!” She was laughing, and I knew she was dying to tell me:

She began to tell me how her husband had found an old pickup in Redding, California he wanted to buy. They decided to go down with his truck and trailer, get it, spend a day relaxing out of town, and then head back with his new toy on his trailer.  They headed out at 8 in the morning the same day I came back to work after being in Portland. (I could see right now where this was going…) I had dropped Laura off at the onramp about 7:45, then was at work by 8. As her and her husband entered the freeway, he grumbled “Another Damned Hitchhiker gonna get themselves killed.”  As they went by, they both noticed this was not a normal-looking hitchhiker. Her husband pulled over near the top of the ramp, and grumbled about “That pretty girl does not belong out here. Something doesn’t fit.” Being the cop, even off-duty, He always stopped if something did not sit well with him. They discussed how clean she looked, and, even noticed she did not have a tattered cardboard sign, but instead a decent, neatly written one on posterboard. They also could tell she was not from here, but then got to wondering how she had gotten here. This was not a typical place out of towners would be for hitchhiking. Usually, they would be two-exits down, where all the truckers came and went, where the other cross-roads met the freeway. They noticed the girl did not run to where they had stopped. They had not stopped to pick her up, and she did not feel she should force herself on whoever had stopped up there. This, too was odd. Normally any hitchhiker will run to any vehicle that has stopped, whether it was intended for them or not. They both got out and walked back to her, hoping to talk her into not hitchhiking. As they approached her, he identified himself as a police officer, even showed his badge, and told her she was not in trouble, nor were they here to harm her. She happily greeted them, and asked what she could do for them. They had not expected that. They talked to her for a bit, then ended up offering her a ride. They at this point still did not know I had a connection at all. Laura had told them she was hoping to go to Redding, because she had friends there. They asked how she got here, and where she came from. She told them “God sent me someone last night.” But they could tell she did not want to say more (yet).  My friend and her Husband both felt they should give her a ride. They asked her if she would like to come with them. She did. The husband, of course being the cop, told Laura he would ask lots of questions, and make sure everything was alright. Laura’s answer: “A Calm, knowing smile, and a confident “It already is alright.”

They drove down to California. As they drove, and asked questions, they began to put the pieces together. Laura was cautious, of course about how much she revealed, but soon could tell these people were totally safe. They were able to get details from her about what she was running from, and even her full name. Laura was happy to tell them, and seemed not to be needing to hide anything. At one rest-stop, the cop husband made a couple of phone calls (and told Laura he would, so as to not deceive her. He had her trust, and did not want to do it any other way.)  to see if Laura had anything that did not check out. Laura was confident, and did not object. They verified she had in fact run from a bad domestic situation. It was her own family who was hurting her like that. They also verified she had called the police many times seeking help, but  never could get true help. She finally fled, only with the clothes she had on, and hoped to find a better life. He verified she was not in any trouble, or wanted by any authorities.

Without Laura ever telling them who had picked her up, she revealed she was picked-up in Wilsonville last night. She also told them she was taken care-of, helped, and given a safe place to stay the night. Then she was given clothes, food, and dropped off on the freeway ramp as the one who picked her up went to work. After Laura told them these little bits of information, both my coworker and her husband smiled, exchanged a knowing look, but did not let-on that they knew who had helped her. They  both knew I had come through Wilsonville that evening, and had gone to work at 8 the next morning. They both knew my nature, and how I loved to help people.

My coworker was giddy about knowing my little secret, and also knew I likely would never tell a soul if it was not brought-up. Now 22 years later, I am feeling the tug to write about such an important day in my life. I mentioned at the very first of this post that I recently met a young lady who reminded me of Laura. Yup… another hitchhiker… but I will write about her in another post… someday. (Maybe 22 years from now?... maybe tomorrow. We’ll see when the inspiration strikes.)

I still wonder to this day If I was The one who was helped, or if She was. Either way, I Know God works in wonderful ways, and I always am glad when I am receptive enough to actually do what was supposed to be done.