Chapter 3

When the Standishes had first moved into the house in the suburbs, Pete had determined to do some gardening and had bought a prefabricated tool shed for his gardening equipment. But he soon lost interest in such pursuits and the shed had, in due course, been taken over by Timmy as a clubhouse for his friends. At first they had got together with their air rifles and baseball gloves and talked of sports and such, but recently the thoughts of Timmy and his peers had turned to more exciting subjects--mainly sex.

Jerry had discovered a secret desk drawer, in which his father kept his supply of mail order comic books--the kind that men like.

He didn't dare steal all of them at once, but he sneaked one book out at a time, sharing the graphic delights with his friend, Timmy.

Thus had they learned all about the birds and the bees--as well as what Little Orphan Annie did with Sandy and Daddy Warbucks, and what Superman could do, other than speed faster than a bullet and leap over tall buildings.

Today the lesson was Popeye.

Jerry had had the small book in his back pocket and it had got wrinkled and damp as he wrestled with Timmy, but that didn't matter much because the pages were already crumpled from being grasped tightly in one hand while the other hand sped faster than a speeding bullet up and down a prick. The paper was already soiled by spent jism.

They went in the clubhouse and sat down against the wall. The tools, mostly unused and still shiny, had been pushed to the back, clearing a space in which the lads could gather in comfort. There was no light in the shed, but a small window at the side yielded enough light for looking at interesting things, allowing them to close the door and achieve privacy for their childhood pleasures.

Jerry got the book out and opened it.

He had already looked at it and whacked off into it, so he held it out and let his friend turn the pages as fast or as slowly as he wished.

The story line was not complicated.

Timmy was a bit disappointed, in fact, for Olive Oyl was not nearly as sexy as Brenda Starr had been, but it was interesting to see pictures of the skinny bitch as she tried to arouse the feisty sailor man.

In the first two pages, Popeye could not get a hard-on, although his dick was almost as long as his leg. Olive Oyl frigged it and sucked on it to no avail. Popeye puffed on his pipe and the clouds of smoke that arose were in the form of naked women floating above.

His enormous cock was shaped like his arms and legs, fatter at the end, just as his forearms were fatter than his biceps. His cock had an anchor tattooed on it.

Then black-bearded Bluto appeared, slapping the pork to Olive Oyl from the back, to her pleasure.

This made Popeye jealous.

Bluto's cum poured out of Olive Oyl, the thick flow forming naked women just like the pipe smoke.

Popeye opened a can of spinach. Gripping his cock in one hand, he squeezed just behind the knob so that the cleft opened wide. He poured the spinach into the opening.

Wham!

Fortified by spinach, his cock shot up into a gigantic hard-on, whistling and smoking at the head.

He slammed that mighty cock into Olive Oyl. It was so huge and she was so skinny that she bulged around it like a boa constrictor that had swallowed a pig. When he came, he shot with such force that he blew her right off his knob and sent her spinning into orbit.

Timmy studied it carefully.

His cock felt as if some spinach had been poured right down the head.

He said, "That's pretty good. But it's more funny than sexy, really. I liked Brenda Starr lots better."

"I wish I could draw," Jerry said.

"Yeah! Me, too. Who would we draw about?"

"I'd draw a real dirty book about your mother."

Timmy glared at him.

"And my sister, too," added Jerry, to take the sting out of it.

Despite his doubtfulness about talking that way about his mother, the idea intrigued Timmy far too much to truly resent it, especially since Jerry had brought his sister in, as well. Dirty thoughts about sisters were just as wicked as lewd thoughts about mothers.

"Fucking and sucking," Jerry added.

Timmy's prick was trying to open his fly just like a can opener with a tin of spinach.

"I'd draw a guy that looks like me, screwing your mom, and a guy that looks like you balling my sister ..."

Timmy felt as if smoke were pouring out of his crotch--and drifting up to form cloud woman at the roof of the shed.

"Then I'd draw a picture of your mom with a huge pecker in her mouth and ..."

"And I'd draw your sister sucking a dog's cock!"

Jerry glared for a moment, then grinned. It was only harmless fantasy . . . what the hell . . .

And the talk had inspired them more than Olive Oyl had. They were both ready to whack off with vigor.

They looked at each other with rueful grins and, by tacit agreement, each opened his fly and hauled his sturdy, iron-hard prick out.

They began to jerk off.

When the boys jacked off alone, they invariably came after only a few strokes, when they were excited to begin with. But when they jerked off in unison they were just enough embarrassed so that their orgasms were pleasantly prolonged. Sometimes they had contests to see who could shoot the farthest or who could spurt out the heaviest dose of jism, but on this occasion they were too excited to bother about such basically non-erotic competition.

Like a two-stroke engine, their fists flew up and down, revving up their dongs.

"I . . . jerked . . . off ... in my sister's . . . panties . . . once ..." Jerry rasped, punctuating each word with a stroke on his cock. "Her . . . dirty . . . panties ..."

"I'm thinking about your sister," Timmy gasped.

"I'm thinking about your mother," Jerry countered.

And then, because the thrill was building up towards the joyful peak, Timmy said, "So am I!"

And they came at the same time.

Cum spurted from Timmy's pecker-head like Old Faithful erupting, the thick, creamy geyser rising halfway to the roof and hanging suspended for an instant--the cum seeming to take the form of a naked woman--and then falling, to splatter on his hand and forearm.

Jerry's cock spurted loops and coils of quicksilvery jism all over the wall and floor.

With the potency of pubescence, both boys shot several times, with force and fluid abundance, and kept whacking away while the terminal drops trickled out.

Then, finished, they grinned sheepishly at one another as their cocks began to droop.

Jerry started to say something, faltered as his vocal cords rebelled, then tried again. "Boy! It's a good thing your mother . . . and my sister . . . don't know what we were just thinking about, huh?" he said.

"It sure is," Timmy agreed.

And both boys, especially Timmy, would have been most distraught had they realized that Jennifer Standish not only knew exactly what they were doing and saying, but that, looking and listening at the tiny window, she had witnessed the whole scene . . .