The Experimental Method
by Biff Spork
Chapter 4
Look Ma, No Hands!
Around noon on the day after my grounding, I pedal down to the rocky end of the beach. I know that's where Nevada will be. It's furthest from the fries kiosk, so it has the lowest population — there are still other sunbathers there, but everyone spaces themselves out enough so you can talk without people hearing. I chain my bike to a tree and walk out onto the sand.
Nevada's green Speedo is easy to spot. Mine's blue. Both of them are as skimpy as possible. No board shorts for us says Nevada; we need maximum exposure to the sun's healing rays, to replenish the vitamin D. I throw my towel down beside his, doff my shorts and T-shirt, and lay down on my belly.
Nevada turns his head to me and grins. "Buenas anus, Amigo."
"Buenos penis, Chico."
He gets up on his elbows. "I've been thinking…."
"Try not thinking for a change. I mean it. It's really hard. In fact I think it's impossible."
Any time I say something is impossible, it's like a challenge to Nevada, but this time he doesn't bite.
"No, listen. How many times did you jerk off today?"
"Every time I think I manage to stop thinking, I realize I'm thinking about not thinking, NOT not thinking," I say, ignoring his question.
"How many?"
"A gentleman never tells."
He tilts his head sideways and looks at me threateningly from under clenched eyebrows. "How many?"
I give up. "Twice!" I enunciate.
"Three for me, but by the third I was noticing something."
"You were developing a blistery knob?"
"No, no, no technical problems. But by the third I was feeling a little…dull."
"You should try it on our riding lawnmower."
"Really?"
"Yeah, that was my third, yesterday. Pretty exciting. And I had some foreplay with Old Hinkle's little doggy."
"You had sex with the neighbor's dog?"
"Well, no, but I sorta helped him out."
"Interesting," says Nevada, getting that look on his face when he is filing a piece of information away for later consideration. "Anyway, aside from your excursion into zoophilia, I think we're on a plateau, we're getting stagnant. We're losing the edge we had when we entered puberty, when it was all so new and exciting."
"It's time to take things in hand," I remark.
"Precisely," says Nevada, narrowing his eyes. "We need to broaden our horizons. But not here, not now." He stands up and stretches. "Now is the time for all good boys to rush out into the water and get cool."
And we did. And then we baked dry and ran into the water again. And ran back and baked the other side. One of the things I like about Nevada is that we don't have to talk. Mostly we have fun when we talk but lots of times we have a few hours of silence when we just do things together without talking about it. I come out of a light snooze when I hear Nevada shaking the sand off his towel.
We retrieve our bikes. Nevada turns in the direction of his house. "C'mon," he says. "The parents are at an all-day conference. We can relax and explore some new alternatives."
I like Nevada's old house. It's full of nooks and crannies stuffed with strange things his parents have accumulated in their travels. For instance, there's an umbrella stand in the front hall with a bunch of wicked looking spears in it, real spears, and there are little shelves here and there that carry Buddhas and other statues like elephant gods, old men with bulbous heads carrying peaches, and people with eight arms and necklaces of skulls. The walls are covered with batiks and paintings on cloth called thangkas . When I ask his parents about anything, I always get a long, interesting lecture about it. It's a comfortable house. You can sit down anywhere in big, soft furniture, and there's always something weird to look at.
In the kitchen, we check out Nevada's dedicated cupboards, his personal pantry. Since he was ten, his parents have given him a food allowance so he can do his own shopping, and buy whatever he wants to eat. Of course, he can't eat like a normal person. He's vegan, and he's working on me to stop eating dead animals, but what he lays out for our snack is pretty good — crunchy taco chips and a spicy avocado dip chased down with icy, fruit-flavored drinks made from coconut yogurt.
Nevada's room is messy. I told him so once, and he said, "It's not messy. Everything is where it should be. Your perception of disorder is based on your twisted view of what order consists of. You've been conditioned, my boy, conditioned to view everything where order is not symmetrical as being 'messy.' Without ever looking, I know you have a sock drawer, and I know what your sock drawer looks like — every sock matched with another identical sock. It's downright simple-minded, a sign of a fearful, cloistered imagination."
There was a lot more, most of which made pretty good sense though I'd never try it out on my mother. It's easier for me to just put stuff away in the right place.
I'm still buzzed on beach and sun, so I throw myself into one of the bean bags in Nevada's bedroom and put my hand inside my shorts. "So," I say, "new alternatives?"
Nevada lies back in the other bean bag. "Patience, Grasshopper," he intones. "The river of wisdom flows slowly but always reaches the ocean...."
We're both addicted to re-runs of a 70s TV show called Kung Fu, where a Chinese boy monk nicknamed Grasshopper is constantly lambasted with bits of obscure philosophy by wrinkled priests.
"But the fountain of sperm spurts exuberantly when the time is right..." I declaim, "...and when the balls are boiling, Grasshopper, the steam must escape." A few hours at the beach always makes me horny.
"We'll get there, my boy. See, I've been thinking about the whole subject of sex, not just the little jerk-off details but the big picture. You see, we've kinda got off on a side trip, just playing with our dicks and having orgasms. It's fine, it's fun, but it's just a small part of the process."
Nevada tugs his sandals off and fingers grains of sand from between his toes. Okay, I've got to admit here that I wish I had toes like Nevada. Like, mine are okay, but kind of square and short. His are longer and wiry, and sensitive looking, intelligent looking. I always find myself staring at his bare feet and feeling guilty, because I like them so much; I like looking at them so much. I want to have feet exactly like that. I want them to be my feet.
"You see," he says, "it's time to stop thinking about the dork as the sex organ."
I nod, waiting for the rest. When Nevada is in rhetorical mode, it is best not to interrupt the flow.
"The whole body is a sex organ, from head to toe. And what is a sex organ? We know the eyes see light, and the ears hear sounds, the tongue tastes things, the nose smells things and the skin senses temperature and texture. But the dong, the penis, the greatest of sense organs, what does the mighty penis sense?"
"My hand?" I offer. As we speak, my penis is enjoying my hand, though within the cramped confines of my shorts.
Nevada stretches out his leg, hooks his foot under my arm, and pulls my hand out of my pants.
"Your hand! Your hand is just a facsimile, a fake, a false alarm. Your penis, and, by extension, your entire body, is built to sense other people, directly. That's what's missing in our current activities, Grasshopper — the other."
"The other what?"
"The other person," he says, looking vaguely into the distance.
"So now we should get someone else to jerk us off?" I'm starting to get frustrated with philosophy.
"Why someone else?"
"You mean? Us?"
"Well it seems we don't have any choice. We don't hang out with anyone else now it's summer. See, I figure there's a set of frequencies you're missing, when you just do yourself. It's like, if all you ever heard was your own voice, you'd never know what other sounds you're missing, like bird songs or music. Church bells. Our sense organs are capable of picking up a lot more than what we generate ourselves. Now, if we were to touch each other, I suspect it would be a lot different from just touching ourselves."
"But, yoo hoo, hello there, earth to planet Nevada: aren't you forgetting we're both boys? And…."
"Yes, yes, yes. That was my first thought too, but I don't think it should make any difference. We shouldn't allow conditioned repugnance to discourage us from experimentation and discovery." He leans forward in his chair. "Tyler, we have to approach this in a logical, scientific way, not get all tangled up in archaic prejudices."
Nevada spreads his hands out. "We just need an experiment, some way to find out if there are sensations we're missing because we're only tuned to our own frequencies. It's neither here nor there that we're both boys. What's important for the purposes of the experiment is that we're both other. The thesis we need to test is that when you touch me, it will feel different from when I touch myself. And vice-versa."
I still don't know exactly where this is heading, but it sounds like a cum is on the horizon, and I trust Nevada. "Okay," I say. I'm horny enough to try anything. "How are we going to test this?"
"Get on the bed and lie down on your back."
I follow his instructions.
He continues, "Usually we just jump straight in to stroking our cocks. But generally, when two people are going to have sex with each other, as it were, they start with some foreplay, to get their entire bodies engaged in the process. So, I thought we might just explore some typical foreplay for now."
"Some typical foreplay?"
"Yes."
"Like what?"
"Don't worry. I've done some research into what's typical. I'm not going to do anything invasive or threatening. Just close your eyes and relax."
A moment later I feel him fiddling with my shoes and dropping them to the floor. Then he peels off each sock. My feet feel the coolness, happy to get out of those hot shoes. Nevada's warm hand cups my heel and the other hand slides up the sole of my foot. He rubs between each of my toes and gently squeezes each one. Then he does the other foot. Then his hands caress my calves and thighs. I'm hard again.
This is so nice. I've never had anyone feel me like this. The button on top of my shorts gets undone and the zipper is pulled down. Then he grasps both sides of my shorts and slowly pulls them off. I'm still wearing my Speedo and my dick strains to rise. He runs his hands under my t-shirt up to my nipples and grazes them a couple of times. They feel like they are glowing.
"Okay, sit up for a sec. Are you okay so far?"
"Hmmm. It's weird but nice." I don't want to talk because my voice is shaky for some reason. He pulls my t-shirt over my head and pushes me back down again. All his moves are slow and gentle.
This is definitely weird. We've seen each other naked dozens of times, but getting undressed with someone is just not the same as getting undressed by someone. He runs his fingers lightly over my arms and chest, grazing my nipples again. I almost feel like cumming. His hands move down to un-knot my Speedo. He lifts up the front to free my dick and slides the silky nylon down my legs. My boner swells and bounces up and down.
He starts again with my feet, feeling each toe individually and holding and caressing each foot. I'm floating in a haze of pleasure as his hands move up my legs. One warm hand holds my balls and the other gently grips my dick. It's like tiny little cums everywhere he touches. Then he moves up to my nipples again. Then his fingers explore my face. His hands move down to my nipples and he rubs each with the palms of his hands.
"Okay," he says, leaning back. "How was that?" His voice is husky.
"Oh God, that was awesome. You're absolutely right. It's totally different from touching myself when somebody else touches me. But I'm definitely going to explode soon. What happens next?"
"Now," he says, "if you don't mind, you do me. Just the same. Okay?"
"Okay." I scoot over and point to where I was lying.
Nevada lies on his back, and I slide down to where his feet are. I like his feet so much I enjoy fitting my hands to them and fingering each toe. His feet feel even better than they look. I move up his legs and get his shorts off. I try not to rush, though I want him to experience what it's like to have his dick held by someone else. But I try to follow the script he's laid out. I slide my hands under his T-shirt and give a little grind over his nipples. I feel them get hard, and I give them a few extra rubs.
His T-shirt comes off next, and I feel his face and run my pointer finger over his lips, before returning to his chest and those stiff little nipples, coffee colored against his golden tan. Next, I pull his green Speedo down. His slim, pale boner jerks upward from his smooth crotch, as if blindly reaching for something.
I start again at his feet and work slowly up his legs. Then I hold his balls gently in one hand and wrap the other around his dick. It's warm and smooth, of course. But it seems like a special kind of warmth, better. And hard, it's really hard. Like me, he's not circumcised, but it's totally different from holding my own bone. I resist the temptation to slide his foreskin down and give him a few strokes. Instead, I just move my hands up his belly to his nipples again.
My hard-on is flopping against his thigh. It feels his warmth and wants me to press into him.
"I hope things will get messy soon," I say.
"Mmmmmmmmm," groans Nevada. "All in due time, Grasshopper. All in due time." He rolls onto his side so we are facing each other. I reach down and clasp his dick. He takes my hand away, puts it on his waist, then puts his hand on my waist.
"Just to touch base," he says, "Speaking objectively, would you say this is an avenue worth exploring further? Are you okay with this research?"
"Yeah, I think you're right. It's a different experience. But it's weird, too. Are you okay, too?"
"Yeah, it feels good. And your hand, holding me in the same way as my hand, is a very different feeling. Definitely a worthwhile experience. I believe my thesis is correct."
We lie in silence for a minute, then he looks at me and says, "So, shall we move on to the next phase of this experiment?"
"I don't know if I can stand much more of this scientific approach," I say.
"Ha! Now remember, the point of all this is to get away from the hand-to-dick kind of sex we've been experiencing. I thought for the next step in this experiment we could examine the kiss."
"The kiss...."
"Yes, the kiss. It seems to be a fundamental part of the process."
"We're going to kiss each other?"
"Of course! Who else? We've done fondling, and after fondling comes kissing. Okay?"
We are very close, but not actually touching except for our hands on each other's waist. And our knees are touching. He leans towards me and touches my lips with his. I'm surprised his lips are cool. I thought they would be hot because they're so red.
He leans back and smiles. "Shall we go again?"
I nod. He leans in again and our lips meet. His lips open and I feel his tongue teasing my lips. I open my mouth a little and his tongue darts in for a second. I can taste a hint of that strawberry yogurt stuff from his tongue. Mine was banana flavored.
I push my tongue into his mouth and feel around on his bottom teeth. I've seen those teeth often but I never felt them. I run my tongue over each tooth, getting to know them. Then his tongue finds mine and the two tongues meet. At the same time I feel his hand move from my waist around to my back. He pulls me closer so our bellies are pressed together. Our tongues are dancing, sometimes in his mouth and sometimes in mine.
I pull him closer and move my hand down to his bum. It feels so smooth and warm, I stroke it, like petting a cat. It has a curve that seems made to fit my hand. I feel his hand on my bum. Gawd, nobody ever touched my bum before. I love it. I never knew my bum could feel anything, but when his hand touches it, it's like it's been waiting since I was born to be touched like that.
We are now pressed together all along our bodies. I feel the tops of his toes wriggling against the bottoms of my feet. Our dicks are squashed together against our bellies. He pulls me closer. Our mouths are glued together. Our tongues seem to be discovering a new language, beyond sounds or words. We writhe together and wriggle against each other and then, I feel it coming. I don't know what to do, but in an instant it's too late to do anything. As I begin to spurt, I feel his penis jerk too, and we rock together in a slippery orgasm that seems to last forever. I feel like I'm melting into him, and I want it never to end.
We lie in peace, dazed, for a few minutes, still glued together. Then we pull our faces apart and look into each other's eyes.
Nevada grins and says, "Look Ma, no hands!"
I feel like crying and laughing at the same time. I pull him tighter against me and whisper in his ear, "I love science!"
We hear some noises downstairs that signal the arrival of Nevada's parents. We pull apart, wipe off and get dressed.
I suddenly feel an urgent need to be alone.
"I've got to go," I say to Nevada as I leave his room, and I am down the hall and out of the house as fast as my legs can take me.
I run all the way home. WTF? I forgot my bike at Nevada's.
What is wrong with me? This is bad. In my room I can't sit still. I can't stop thinking, but I don't want to think about what just happened. I just had the best experience of my life, so why do I feel like I'm totally destroyed?
I stare out the window without seeing anything. It's like I left something very important somewhere. Though I can't remember what it was or where I left it, I miss it terribly.
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