Beebe and Petey Ch. 01

BeeBe and I lived out Aristotle’s definition of friendship: “A friend is one soul which dwells in two bodies.” For a bit over 6 decades we were best friends and best lovers-the kind that knew everything about each other. I’m not exaggerating a bit by using “everything!” We knew each other’s best and worst moments, our embarrassments and joys our habits, our phrasing, our weaknesses and strengths. We could communicate as much with a moment’s glance as others did in hours of earnest discussion. We were the kind of friends that, even after being apart for years, were instantly at ease and read each other like a book.

Beebe is gone now. My heart aches. What follow are a series of stories about the adventures we enjoyed together. Writing about them is bringing cherished memories back fresh, and I’m alternately overjoyed and overcome.

Neighbors, we’d played together since before memories began. BeeBe was a year older; his sister was my age. She was then and still is my best friend-female friend, anyway-and an absolute tie for the intimate friendship BeeBe and I enjoyed. Our families had the kind of open-door, community parenting that wasn’t all that uncommon in the 50’s and 60’s. Both moms were at home until we were in high school. From an early age, we only had to say “I’m going out!” and out we went. When it was time to come in, someone yelled for us. Of course, “Out” meant the front or back yard, or the sidewalks in front of our houses. It included each other’s houses, and any parent had equal reign over any kid.

Dene (Denise) and I were thick as thieves and ever the co-conspirators. Until we started grade school, maybe even for a while after, we included BeeBe, but as we grew he gravitated to boys in the neighborhood and didn’t want to associate with pesty little girls. We, of course, forbade boys from being within our sight! They became mortal enemies and the targets of our plots. We’d spy on them from Dene’s room, listening through the registers. We’d sneak into their “fort” under the lilac bushes along the back fence and leave notes about their shortcomings. (You know, eloquent things like “Boys Stink.)

BeeBe’s real name was Chad, short for Chadwick Preston and it was hard to tell whether “BeeBe” or “Chadwick Preston” made him madder. Dene could use both in the way little sisters have perfected: “Oh CHAAAAAAAADWICK! Chadwick PRESSSSSSSSTON! with a “nyah nyah nyah” overtone. That usually resulted in Chadwick Preston trying to clobber her, but getting caught and punished before he could land any blows. Dene was good at the setup.

The nickname couldn’t be used around grown-ups or SHE was the one who caught it. BeeBe was an acronym for Booger Brain. Not original, but she loved the alliteration. She’d over-used it in front of their parents and they’d finally instituted punishments for saying it. If they were alone, or only kids were around, she’d use the full phrase-Booger Brain-to taunt or as a retort to one of his teases. “BeeBe” was usually hissed out under her breath when she didn’t dare use the whole thing, and he couldn’t dare retaliate.

Chad and I were always able to talk about anything and everything. He and I were as free and open in our conversations as Dene and I were, even as we approached puberty, and surprisingly without reservation or embarrassment. We dished on who was doing what, with which and to whom, and giggled over the differences between a guy’s description of an encounter and the girl’s. He was glad to learn that his friends were pretty much lying about their exploits. We each had our own dating lives and girlfriends/boyfriends. I always told him that having him for a friend was like talking to a girlfriend with really excellent info on boys. He thought the same of me, in reverse. It was like having a spy in the enemy camp and we were careful not to let on how we knew “secret information.”

Things got hot between us eventually. They were bound to, I guess. That sequence began when Chad was in Jr. College and I was a high school senior. Dene scored a book titled “Candy.” We were 18 by then, still resolutely virgins even though we were on the pill, but pretty naive about anything past french kissing and letting guys get to 2nd base. “Candy” was a send-up of Voltaire’s “Candide” and featured a really clueless but gorgeous girl who met a series of guys. All of them wanted to fuck her, always by convincing her with some outlandish story. It made the rounds through all the girls in our group-the first we’d seen of erotic writing. One of the guys in the story claimed that there was no danger of making Candy pregnant because he could control his sperm. To prove it, he made a drop of “pre-cum” appear at the tip of his dick. That was the first I’d heard of “pre-cum.” I’m not sure why I fastened on it, but I got a little obsessive about finding out what it was.

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I asked my sister first, but she said it was probably just regular cum that leaked up before a guy had an orgasm. That didn’t quite satisfy me and I headed to the library. I had to ask for the sex book from the reference desk (thought I’d die) and learned about “Cowpers Glands” and that pre-cum wasn’t really cum (OK-seminal fluid and sperm) at all. I asked Chad if he ever got pre-cum.

“Well, maybe” he said. I’ve never heard it called anything, but when I jack off, or sometimes just after I’ve been hard for a while, like during afternoon Trig class, I get this slick, kind of sticky clear fluid that comes out. Not much-just a couple of drops.”

“Wait,” I said. “You get hardons in Trigonometry?”

“Yeah-don’t know why, there’s nothing exciting or anything, but about 2:00 I’m likely to get a pretty good one. Sometimes it doesn’t go down before passing period and I have to walk kind of hunched over for a while. I can feel that stuff on my underwear afterward.” Then he grinned and added: “You want to see?”

I froze. Of course I did, in fact I had thought about asking him for a look, but he was teasing, I could tell.

“Hey” he said, “Chill! I’m only teasing.”

“Well” I said, mustering my courage “I think I would, if it wouldn’t embarrass you.”

“Christ! Really?”

“Yeah, I think so. To be honest, I know so, but I really don’t want to screw up how comfortable we are with each other.”

“If you did something to make it even, I think it’d be OK with me.”

“Making things even” became our inviolable guide. Just like the the bathroom surprises, we were in partnership.

So we began to plot when and where. It didn’t take long. Dene was on swim team with an afterschool practice. Chad and I ran track, and the season was over. Both our moms were working by then, so we had the afternoon. We met at his house and started negotiating what was “fair.” We figured if we both were nude from the waist down, that would be fair and shucked out of slacks and underwear. This was a little more than our previous peeks had been, especially undressing in the same room at the same time. It was pretty awkward. We weren’t sure what to do next.

“So, how do you start to jack off?” I asked.

“I usually get out a Penthouse and look at the pictures” he said, “and play with my dick some while it gets hard.”

Looking down, I said: “I don’t think you’ll need the magazine this time.” He was on his way to a pretty good erection already. “Am I doing that to you?” I asked.

“Oh, hell yes!”

“Can I touch it?” I asked, and then reached out to take his dick in my hand without waiting for an answer. His whole body jerked like he’d been shocked. I let go immediately: “Oh, God! Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry!” He said he thought it was the anticipation-it was the first time a girl had touched his dick-and he guided my hand back. This time, it was completely hard and pointing nearly straight up. I lightly stroked it for no more than 10 seconds when he stopped me again.

“I’m about to cum already,” he said. “Let me do it from here if you want to see the pre-cum.”

He’d stroke for a few seconds at a time, then pause. Finally, he gripped his cock tightly at the base and milked it up toward the tip. And there it was! A big drop of clear fluid. I reached out and wiped the drop onto my finger. It WAS slick. And it was stringy-I could pull a string from his cock a good 5-6 inches. Then another drop rolled up and I realized my pussy was actually dripping down my legs. What made me taste it is still a mystery, but as soon as I licked my finger, I felt an orgasm building. I mean instantly-just as soon as the drop touched my tongue I went from zero to light speed! I squeezed up another drop from his cock, lifted it to my mouth and shoved his arm between my legs. I clamped down hard as his wrist bone pressed into my clit.

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“AAIIEEEEEE! UNGH UNGH UNGH UNGH UNGH UNGH” I screamed and bucked against Chad’s wrist as wave after wave of orgasm took complete control of my pussy.

“Petey!” Chad cried, “What’s wrong-are you OK? What’s happening?”

“G-g-g-g-give me a second.” “NNNGGHHHH EE EE EEE EEEEEEEEEEE OH OH OH Oh Ohh ohhhhhhhhh.” Finally, the waves stopped.

“Petey, what the Hell!!”

I just panted for a long time before answering: “BeeBe, my sweet BeeBe, that was without a doubt the most awesome orgasm in the history of the entire world!”

“Christ-I thought you were having a seizure or a heart attack or something!”

“Just let me lie here a little bit and hold me-no talking for a while.”

“Can I get my arm back?”

“Oh (giggle) sorry.”

As I came down from the orgasm, different waves started rolling over me-guilt, worry, puzzlement, embarrassment. I almost ran for it. Chad was being wonderfully gentle, though. I thought maybe I owed him some extra “even.

“Beebe?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you like me to jack you off?”

“Oh, hell yes!” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

“Hey, you’re not hard anymore!”

“Well, you scared the crap out of me, Petey.” (“Petey,” by the way, is how you can pronounce the letters P. T. short for Pine Tree. Longer story, but if you guess, you won’t be far off.)

“Tell me what to do.” He didn’t say any more-just took my hand and guided it to his already growing cock. I caressed it for a little bit, and it got as hard as it was before. I sat up to get a better angle, and began a slow stroke around the shaft.

12 strokes later (yes, I counted) he said: “Oh Shit, I’m gonna-” and shoved my hand away “cum” and as he said the word, a stream shot over my shoulder and landed on the back of my blouse and a little on my cheek. I tried to get up, but on the way I ended up slightly over him and a second jet caught me under the chin. “Shit, I’m sorry” he yelled as more jets of cum squirted out, one catching me in the forehead, and the rest ending up on BeeBe. After a while, he stopped squirting and it was his turn to lie panting.

“So was I good at it?” I grinned.

“Arrrrrghhhh,” was all he managed.

I picked up my panties and started wiping up the cum, but experimentally scooped a finger full off my neck and brought it to my mouth. An hour ago, I would have thought that was unbearably gross, but it seemed, I don’t know, playful and OK. And it wasn’t bad!

With a start, Chad asked: “Hey Petey, what time is it anyway?”

“Oh, shit! Your mom should have already been home with Dene by now! We gotta get a move on!” And as we jumped up, we heard the garage door go up. I pulled on my slacks and stuffed my cum-covered panties in my pocket. Chad yanked his jeans up and opened the window. We were in Dene’s room, on the bottom floor of a bi-level, so the window opened right into the landscaping. I made for my house, and Chad grabbed his bike so he could pretend to have been somewhere else, riding back home.

I made it in, stripped off and put my clothes in the wash, showered and dressed, emerging just as Mom pulled in. Dad was minutes behind her. I probably didn’t act normal during dinner, but no one said anything.

After dinner, Dene came over. Up in my room she said:

“I know.”

“WHAT!!”

“It’s OK” she said.

“How–” I asked, and began sobbing.

–continued.

Updated: December 20, 2016 — 7:00 PM

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