The ”I” in bi

Or ripening. I fantasized about girls, looked at suggestive drawings in comic books and would rewind fragments of taped movies that featured a bare breast or an obscured lovemaking scene. Anything to keep an erection going long enough for me to try once more to have a proper ejaculation, something that I’d heard Dave talk about but that still eluded me for some reason. We’d been getting sexual education in class of course, and like all boys our age – presumably – we’d gotten our hands on the odd discarded porn magazine, so I knew what was supposed to be happening, at least technically. But I still lacked the skill, though not the practice. Dave on the other hand, boasted plenty of skill. He was taller than me at that age – though not anymore – and had started broadening before me, sporting broad shoulders and strong arms and legs, while I just got taller but remained a boy in all other aspects. Where I was afraid to talk about my clumsy first victories conquering myself, he confidently talked about
beating his meat
, about how hard and long his stiff cock was, and about how he would
squirt sperm
in thick long plumes into the air when he
came
. These were magic words to me then, the lingo of boys who had transgressed into early manhood, vernacular forbidden to the likes of myself. But peer pressure ruled our social life in those days, and for all I knew, Dave was just bragging himself without much to brag about, although I was sure he hadn’t been, not Dave. And it would turn out he hadn’t.