I was probably six or seven one summer day, playing in the back yard with my best friend, a neighbor who was two years older than me. My brother was there too.We had an old flag pole in the back yard. With no reason other than it being there, I started climbing it as I probably had dozens if not hundreds of times before. As I got near the top, I'm uncertain what Steve actually said, but what I know I heard was, “my Dad says that climbing a pole is what a girl feels like.”
Maybe it was only coincidence. Possibly the mere mention of a girl. Perhaps I'd had an orgasm climbing that pole before. Whatever it was, I came. Did I ever! Oh my gosh, it felt beautiful. As I humped that spectacular piece of steel, overwhelming pleasure washed over me again and again.My brother barked, “stop it! Get down!”
Having been sated, I probably didn't give the incident much immediate thought; however it wasn't long before I was hit with the compulsion to feel like a girl again. To say the least, I was confused--and jealous!
Why did girls feel that way? Why didn't boys unless they climbed a pole? I tried assuaging my disappointment at being a boy by telling myself that if girls felt that way all the time they couldn't enjoy it. That was just “their normal.” It didn't work.
Why couldn't I have been lucky enough to have been a girl?!?! I want to feel "what a girl feels like." I WANT TO BE A GIRL!
I must tell you all, making yourself feel like a girl by climbing poles is an inconsistent proposition. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. It isn't easy finding opportunities either when you must conceal your obsession from a plainly disapproving older brother.
It had never been mentioned again. His voice had told me everything that day in the back yard. He was a man, and he wanted a tough little brother, not a sissy sister feeling like a girl.He made me be tough, and I was on the outside. Boys are better than girls at everything. I was a man. Someday I'd “fuck” girls and prove it. It was good to be a boy.
Inside I knew better. My brother was crazy. I knew "what a girl feels like," and it was better than anything.
On a cold day many months later, I was at recess with the rest of my class. The bell rang and the monitor blew her whistle ending play time. All the other kids began dutifully running toward the school, I however lustfully eyed the jungle gym and monkey bars. I knew better. I couldn't help myself. I started climbing.
I could see the other children racing away as I pulled myself up, then pressed the pole between my thighs, reached higher then pulled again. My little leg muscles strained to cling my body against the cold rigidity.The other boys and especially the good little girls were beginning to reach the school. The supervising teacher had turned with them, her arms spread like a mother hen shooing them toward the door.
Squeeze. Pull. Squeeze. Pull. I neared the top. With excited, tense anticipation I placed my hands over the end. One last pull, then I could push myself all the way up. Legs wrapping the pole, I held the knob of the big staff firm against my groin.
The teacher turned and looked back. One final pressing grind, and I was flush with orgasm. My eyes stared at the matronly figure in her bulky coat. She blew her whistle and waved for me to come. I couldn't move!
The first wave was beginning to subside. I relaxed the tension just a bit then pressed again and a second wave poured over me. My gaze was transfixed on the teacher. She whistled and waved more urgently. As I watched her watching me, it had never, EVER felt so good.Then somehow I realized she knew what I was doing. What I was feeling. I was to stop. Suddenly the connection was made. This was about my little pee pee, and I wasn't supposed to be doing this.
Unconsciously I had relaxed then tensed once more wracking both body and mind with this new conflict of guilt and pleasure.
The teacher knew. She wanted me to stop, but I couldn't. She would be angry. I should stop, but it felt so very good. Terrible shame was mixing with the pleasure. A woman was keenly aware I was enjoying my penis and telling me “no!” I was doing it anyway.But, wait. She wasn't telling me no. She had stopped blowing her whistle. She wasn't waving anymore. She wasn't sternly walking toward me. She wasn't angry at all but patiently waiting.
The teacher was sharing my moment--my secret--our secret--girls' secret. Comforting understanding eased over me. I was enjoying feeling like a girl, and I SHOULD! Of course! She knew what I felt and acceptance was made through it. She welcomed me into sisterhood, the wonderful world of feeling like a girl!
The orgasm gone, I slid down the pole and hit the playground running. The shamed boy in me rushed head down past the recess monitor without a look. I couldn't. That little piece of me clinging to manhood wouldn't let me. She'd seen inside me. I knew she knew I knew, and she approved. What a smart little boy I was. It was better being a girl!!!
10 comments:
Very very nice story, especially about the teacher. Touching. But that last picture is a non-sequitur and spoils the effect.
Perfect Lips, are you tweaking me back? It's very disappointing to read the story was spoiled.
"Touching?" Doubly disappointing. What I tried evoking was one of the most erotic experiences of my life. When I wrote it today at the Subway shop, uh hum, the excitement embarrassingly returned. Thank goodness no one yelled "fire."
(Sorta started on a ramble here. I thought maybe I ought to save it for a future post so "delete" it went.)
You really think that’s just a gratuitous “money shot” thrown in for the satisfaction of more prurient natures that visit? Are you sure?
Unquestionably, a reader must construe according to their wits as well as the text and pictures presented, but are you certain it's a non-sequitur?
I apologise unreservedly for the "touching": it's very weak. I couldn't think of what to say. I found the "but wait" paragraph and the one before it very powerful. The whole story, building up layers of shame and secret, climaxing in this moment when a woman --- in authority --- was "merely" not punishing. I wasn't trying to get you back and I'm sorry my praise was weak. Your writing is very good. Even "story" sounds wrong now.
However, I do think the final picture is bogus, and that it spoils the effect of the story. Unless that's the point of the picture, I don't know why it's there. I don't presume to guess why you put it in. I can't see the link to the text or the other pictures. Give me a clue.
PL, thanks for stopping by. Please don't apologize "for though we musicians seek praise, we love truth better." I think your line is then to say that you shall then give me your honest opinion, but your taste in prose is reputedly deplorable. I will reply, your taste in writing is excellent! It exactly coincides with my own. (I've a quarter for you if you can identify that exchange.)
I was only kidding about the tweaking. It's the second time I've tried writing that story. I had it posted up at this blog pre-purge. I have no idea if it conveys what I remember. When writing it this go, for the first time I thought about what the teacher was really thinking. Probably something like when a dog humps a leg.
As for non-sequitur, I'd argue I'm living contrary proof. It may be as remote as early Cambrian to Quaternary, but years ago I was on that pole, now I find myself excited by such images wondering what it would feel like being the girl pictured.
(And it's a money shot for the more prurient natures that visit.)
I'm afraid I can't identify the exchange at all. I'm no good at repartee.
I think the teacher probably had more tender thoughts for you than that (unless she was a pig).
OK< I can see the link. It was a sudden long jump.
No, I hadn't read this story before. The best I have read so far. Not only in your blog. On the net. At least what regards autobiographical writing. I know exactly what you're talking about, I had planned writing my own pole story. I won't now. It would be no match for yours. Even if I admit being vain enough to believe that I could do the writing as well as you - and to say that is very vain! - my own story doesn't hold up to your's. To begin with, it's lacking the teacher. By the way, very touching indeed, how she handled it! And saying that doesn't diminish your experience a bit! But you know that. Very intersting too is your friend's father's comment. That he knows about that feeling. That he doesn't mind telling his son about it! That's all very beautiful! Like the teacher's he's doing rhe right thing. The world looks for a moment as if it could be a better place, a good place, for people like you and me.
Of course then there is the shame, the prejudice and all the proof that the world is after all, no good place for girly boys. But it's getting better.
I really believe it. It's getting better by the minute.
And, without diminishing my praise for the text, let me say that your illustration is also fabulous, questionable moneyshot or not...
Thank you, Friedoline. I think you got a bit carried away, but thank you nonetheless. I see many style errors in this story but have not tried correcting it. I emphasize "style" errors because I do think it reads true.
I do wonder though if readers get it. I didn't. Literally I was 20 something before the light went on as to what my friend's dad had been trying to say.
Did my friend say, "that's what sex with a girl feels like?" Or, "that's what being inside a girl feels like?" And just being too young to comprehend that, all my little brain could grasp was, "that's what a girl feels like."
I was obsessed for sometime with the notion of girls getting to walk around every minute of every day in orgasm and my personal quest for orgasm was on. Ever since I've been driven for the need to orgasm. Get that hit.
At the core THAT's my problem. I'm not really into any "ism." I'm just an orgasm junkie. I'm constantly searching for anything that grabs my interest so my dick gets hard, then I can orgasm.
You believed that girls are walking around every minute of every day in orgasm! That IS funny!!!
As for being an orgasm junkie. It's not so extreme in my case. I have phases, extended phases, when I am not. I am lucky to have a creative job. Well, at times. When I am in the middle of an exciting project, it happens that I have no need for sex, not even wanking, for weeks. But then it comes back, always...
(So, when you verify that I am off the web, suddenly, you know why.)
Yes! I did. Literally. My first recollection of an orgasm coincided with the thought, this is what "a girl feels like." Not this is how a woman makes a man feel through sex. It's how a girl feels. How she experiences life.
So at that young age, I wasn't masturbating on poles as a sex substitute for orgasms, I was mimicking the feeling of girls. THAT was my objective. Here was this incredibly powerful drive telling my brain, go "feel like a girl." And of course, when I succeeded, talk about positive reinforcement! I wanna be a girl all the time. I wanna feel like that every minute of every day.
Obviously, somewhere along the way I figured out what an orgasm was. That the feeling was the end result of sex or at least masturbation. I probably knew this before I learned how to masturbate. I understood that girls were not walking around in constant orgasm.
Still, I know it wasn't until my mid-20s or possibly even later that the pieces came together for me; gave me the insight as to why Steve had said, "that's what a girl feels like." That it was his way of explaining sex.
So in the end, this story really DOES fail. You didn't get the true jewel.
Interesting....I think what the incident conveys, is the innocent confusion about pleasure, orgasm and sexuality at an age before sexuality is fully formed. I was masturbating at that age, so I knew about the penis' role in bringing about erotic, orgasmic bliss. Even so, I strongly identified those feelings with "being like a girl."
At about that age I asked to be a girl at Halloween, and my memories being a girl at school that day are of strong, pre-pubescent excitement. I felt good all over, and especially good between my legs. I had no sexual thoughts then, but I did have strong emotions and feelings and sensations I'd call erotic.
It's only later that we put the pieces together, successfully or not, and I discovered "feeling like a girl" enhances and intensifies my eroticism when one day I put on my girlfriend's bikini...
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