The Experimental Method
by Biff Spork
Chapter 3
On the Riding Lawnmower
The morning following our tumble down the roof, the first thing I see when I boot up my computer is an invitation to chat from Nevada, whose chat name is Cumster. My nickname for chat is Dickup.
Cumster: X? You there?
Dickup: Hi DM
Cumster: Any fallout frm last nite?
Dickup: I'm grounded
Cumster: How long?
Dickup: Just today
Cumster: OK but sucks
Dickup: Not bad actually
Dickup: The father figure was pretty cool — says we might have broke our necks. He can't stop laughing. He chortles. Every time he sees me he chortles.
Cumster: Gawd
Cumster: Might have broke our dorks
Dickup: Ouch that wd be bad
Cumster: Hafta go to the hospital
Dickup: What seems to be the trouble son?
Cumster: Fractured cock sir
Dickup: Nurse!
Cumster: I'm going to have to manipulate it sonny
Dickup: Oh doc its swelling up
Cumster: Hmmm erectile function seems unimpaired
Dickup: Nurse, bring the jerkoff simulator
Cumster: Yes doc first I'll grease it up
Dickup: Set it to low and slow in case theres a problem
Cumster: Yes doctor there there little boy just relax. I'll put the ball holder on now
Cumster: You may feel a little warm pressure on your testicals don't worry
Dickup: Do we need the anal probe
Cumster: Yes and it has to be the warty one
Dickup: I understand doctor its lubed and inserted
Cumster: Yes, hmmmm it may be just a sprain but its best to check everything out
Dickup: Nurse I feel funny
Cumster: That's good sonny nothing to worry about let me just tighten the ball holder a bit
Dickup: Doctor we need to test the integrity of the juice tubes
Cumster: Ok nurse I'll put the headsucker on
Dickup: I'll apply the shaftslider collar
Cumster: Ok but just increase the speed slowly
Dickup: Oh nurse I think I'm going to peepee
Cumster: Nurse quickly!
Cumster: Tube clamp!
Dickup: Not the tube clamp nooooo
Cumster: Sorry son we need to test this under stress
Dickup: Try to bear up
Cumster: Shall we call your mother?
Dickup: Tube clamp is holding doctor
Cumster: Scotty, give it warp 5
Dickup: Gawd hes blown the shaft sleeve
Cumster: Theres no time
Dickup: The pressures mounting
Cumster: Splurt splat sprooooooge
Dickup: squeert squoot squoot squooooze
Cumster: lol
Dickup: I like that sproooooooge
There's a knock on my door and Mom says, "Tyler?"
Dickup: brb
I hit the BossIsComing icon and Science Facts for Kids fills the screen.
"Yes?"
Mom cracks the door and pokes her head through. "I'm going shopping. Whyncha mow the lawn? Get some fresh air. I'll give you twenty bucks, and your dad'll be happy."
"Okay," I say in full conciliatory mode. Maybe I can get time off my grounding for good behavior.
"Do a good job," she says.
"Yeah, yeah, okay already!"
"I mean it, seriously. You've got your father laughing now. Let's keep him in that space."
"Okay, but I think we might have to get some professional help for him, some counselling. Really, Mom, I'm concerned about him."
"Really?" she snickers.
"Yeah, like he's forty, balding, overweight — anybody like that would be depressed and lashing out at his family. We may be in danger if he gets completely irrational."
"There's some of those pizza things in the fridge for lunch if you want," she says, completely sidestepping the topic.
"Right, let's just ignore the budding psychotic in our midst."
"I'll be back about two."
"Okay. Okay. Okay! So, go already!"
I turn back to the chat.
Cumster: I'm beaching. CU tomorra.
Nevada's gone. I log off and head for the garage to gas up the mower.
It's one of those days in July I love, when it's so hot you can't imagine what it's like to be cold. I ride the mower right into the center of the lawn. Today I'm mowing in a tight circle spiraling outwards. The mower noise blocks out other sounds. That wall of noise and the smell of fresh cut grass zonk me totally as I go round and round.
After a half hour, I feel hot and thirsty. I throw my T-shirt on the hedge, snag an icy juice-box from the fridge and sit down in the shade of the hedge to drink it. Strawberry-pineapple. It's soooo good. I hear a 'yip' and see Old Man Hinkle's little dog nosing through the hedge. He comes snorfing up, wagging his tail like I'm the ice-cream man.
"Hey, Pinky!" I say.
He's whipping his tail back and forth so hard with happiness, he nearly busts himself in half.
He's a chihuahua, one of those leg-fucker dogs, so he immediately jumps my leg and starts humping away with a goofy grin on his face. His hard little pecker rubs up and down my calf. Usually I just flick him away, but today I'm feeling mellow. I decide to let him have his way with me. He probably doesn't get anything from dried-up Old Hinkle.
Well, I'm not exactly thinking about it, but Mr. Stiff picks up on what's going down, and decides to stand up in a sympathetic erection. Meanwhile, Pinky is going at it hot and heavy, but doesn't seem to be getting anywhere. I pull him off my leg and put him down in front of me, between my legs. He rolls onto his back with his little hard-on sticking out, so I reach over and start to do him.
Dogs got funny dinks, no head, just this pointy bright pink shaft. Pinky's gone. He's totally enjoying this, with his back legs spread apart and his front paws limp, as I rub him up and down.
I reach inside the elastic waist of my shorts with my left hand and start to give myself a few strokes, just to keep him company.
Pinky gives a few little yelps and snorts and I can tell he's just about over the edge. His eyes have gone all funny — open but unfocused.
I'm on the brink, too. Left-hand jerking is a whole different experience. I've got my eyes nearly closed. The garden is a bright green haze and everything seems to be buzzing and humming. Pinky and I sail together towards bliss.
"Pinky!" barks a voice. I look up to see Old Hinkle glaring down at us from his side of the hedge. Pinky jumps up looking guilty and wagging his tail like he's going to die.
"Hi, Mr. Hinkle," I say brightly, and start scratching my leg with my quickly pulled out left hand. "How ya doin'?"
He stares grimly at me for a minute at least, then snarls, "Fine," and disappears into his yard. Pinky's already wormed back through the hedge.
I pull open the waistband of my shorts and have a look at the offending organ. It's gone soft now with a little ooze leaking out the end of my foreskin. It's kind of nice actually, to have this nearly cumming feeling lurking down there in the loinal region. I finish my juice and get back on the mower.
As I'm going around, I see Hinkle pull out of his driveway. I feel nicely alone again. And there's something about the vibration of the mower, the way it just goes right through me so all my insides are vibrating. I reach down inside my shorts to meet the monster all perked up once again. There's a kind of sweetness percolating down there that wants out.
Since I only need one hand to drive this thing, and I'm doing the last wide circles around the edge of the lawn where it meets the flowerbeds, I pick up where I left off, and give myself a little rub. The steering is tricky because of a shallow ditch thing where the lawn ends, but I'm not going fast. Everything is moving along just fine, until the last moments. Gawd! What a cum!
At that crucial instant, one wheel of the mower slips into that little gutter. The whole machine slews sideways into the flower bed. As I'm bucking up and down off the seat with a really excellent orgasm, the mower is grinding up the dirt and flowers and making those clang bang ponk ricochet noises when it hits some rocks.
In case the noise has attracted anyone's attention, I spin a few circles in the flower bed until I have shaved it completely. I don't want it to look like I lost control. Then I make one more high speed circuit and I've finished the lawn.
I'm hungry. I nuke a couple of mini-pizzas and take them up to my room, so I can shed my jizz-soaked shorts. As the shorts hit the floor I sniff deeply — definitely bleachy smelling, though there is a hint of fishiness too. I fill in my diary while I eat.
The diary is Nevada's idea. He read somewhere that the average thirteen-year-old boy jerks off twenty-two times every week. He says we need to keep track ,so we don't fall below average. "If you don't use it, you lose it," he says. So we have to keep records to make sure we're on par with our peers.
I make a tick under today's date, the third tick today. I had one in bed just after I woke up, and another in the bathroom after breakfast. I ponder about whether I had one or two outside just now, but decide that although I nearly had one with Pinky, that ooze doesn't count.
The total is seventeen so far, for this week. I still have nearly three days left, maybe another seven jerk-offs for the rest of the week to make a grand total of twenty-four. This is not a rock-star total, but considering I've only just turned thirteen, I'm definitely above average, doing very well.
Wet dreams are not counted in the weekly total. Nevada says, "A nocturnal emission is a bonus item — very nice if you get one, but not a dependable means of building stamina or boosting sperm production."
The other thing we keep track of is the record for a single day. Nevada's the current champ with six in one day. I figure that once I've got this week's minimum of twenty-two, then I'll keep my hands off it for twenty-four hours and go for the record. To get seven in one day is going to require serious restraint and some careful planning. Logistics!
We also have records for the fastest cum, from first stroke to first spurt. Nevada says this is an important adaptive ability. "You're on the savanna with your female, gathering roots and berries. Suddenly you see you're being stalked by a lion. He's hunching down and springing his claws, preparing to charge. You see that in a minute you're going to die, without leaving any child behind. Very important to jump your female and make sure she is completely impregnated before that lion tears your body into bite-size pieces. Very important! The survival of the species depends on it. Slow breeders soon get culled out."
I hold the speed-cum record—thirteen seconds from initial hands-on to first squirt — but I was really horny. For the slowest cum, Nevada is the record holder with forty-two minutes and twelve seconds. He says we don't need to keep records for this. It's just an interesting and symmetrical statistic.
The other diary entry I make is for a new list we just started last week. I write, "On the riding lawnmower." Nevada has this thing about having sex in different places. He says people are much too limited about where they do it.
"We should be having sex everywhere," he says. "Not just in bed or in the bathroom. We need to integrate it into all our activities, make it a part of our everyday life."
I'm not doing too well with this one. Aside from "In the tool-shed" and "On the roof," the only other entry I've got is, "On the bus."
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