Kyle’s Little Discovery – Part 1

I was late to the parent-teacher conference, but Ms. Williams didn’t look upset when I hurried into the room. After all, she knew I had come from the junior high as soon as my class was over. I’d never dealt with her before. She was new in the district this year, but Kyle seemed to like her and he was doing well. In fact, well enough, that I hadn’t seen the reason for this meeting.

“Thanks for swinging by, Mrs. Masterson on short notice,” my son’s teacher said.

I nodded, “Ms. Masterson, please, and it’s not a problem. Gotta pick up Kyle anyway.”

Ms. Williams moved her tape dispenser from one place to another on her desk. For whatever reason she’d asked for the meeting, evidently, she was uncomfortable.

I asked, “Has there been some change in Kyle’s grades since the last report card?”

Ms. Williams shook her head, “No. Actually, he’s doing very well. If he keeps it up, he’ll make all A’s this six-weeks.”

I glanced at my watch. Kyle was on the play ground and if this was just a social call, I wanted to collect him so that we could get on with the evening’s chores. Cooking, homework and getting us ready for the next day. “I doubt this is a social call. Is there a problem with my son?”

Ms. Williams’ cheeks reddened as she said, “Well, um, a few days ago, when I had lunch duty on the playground, Kyle was playing on the swing set. And well, I think he was, uh, massaging himself.”

There were plenty of ways a mother could take what Ms. Williams said. As a teacher myself, teaching sixth grade English, boys and the problems of early puberty were well known to me. Kyle was only nine. I was pretty sure we weren’t dealing with the same problem. “What do you mean massaging himself?”

The red in Ms. Williams’s face spread to her neck as she said, “He, uh, he was, well, rubbing himself against the swing set’s metal pole.”

I blinked at the news. It might be more like the problems of sixth grade boys than I’d imagined. I asked, “Did any of the other kids complain or say something?”

She shook her head, “No. I’m pretty sure Kyle didn’t realize I’d seen him, either.”

I shook my head at the idea that my little boy might not be little for much longer. I said, “I’ll talk to him.”

A look of relief washed over Ms. Williams. “Thank you.”

I continued, “If he’s, uh, rubbing himself, I’ll make sure he knows he needs to be more discrete.”

The look of relief disappeared. “What? Little boys shouldn’t be doing that. It’s disgusting.”

I rose, glanced at my watch, “Sorry, Ms. Williams, I really need to go. You’re new to teaching, so I’ll let it go. But there are few things more natural than a boy discovering something between his legs. The best that any of us can do is to help them understand there are times and places to, ah, become self-aware. Good afternoon.”

With that, I left. I doubt Ms. Williams was more than twenty-three. And based on her views, I’m guessing still a virgin. It’s not that I was all that much older than her, but I’d definitely discovered boys much sooner than she had.

When I left the classroom annex, I saw Kyle in the playground. He was by himself, playing on the swing set. There were a half-dozen swings, with their metal chains running up to a thick metal bar that ran across the top. There were six metal legs that stabilized the set, and those poles were more than fifteen feet in length, running from the ground to the large cross bar. And Kyle was more than ten feet off the ground, climbing up one of the poles, his legs wrapped around it and his hands pulling him higher.

I watched. When he touched the top bar, he slowly slid down the stainless-steel pole. It was too far to see his face clearly, but his eyes were closed as he descended. I wasn’t sure, but I suspected Ms. Williams, despite her lack of understanding of boys and men, had likely identified Kyle’s activity.

As I headed over to get him, I didn’t have any idea what, if anything, I would say to him. I’d been the middle child, a girl between two boys. We were all less than two years apart, so we bathed together until just after Danny turned twelve and Stevie was almost nine. The first erection I’d seen had been Danny’s, about a month before Mom decided us kids needed our own privacy. My older brother had been so proud as he pointed to a single strand of hair on his penis. He even let me touch it, which is when I saw his erection. Apparently, he’d already learned about jacking off, because that’s what he did while Stevie and I looked on. It was also the first time I’d ever seen a boy cum. Even if it had been a few clear, watery droplets.

Also, I wasn’t sure if it was even appropriate for me to say anything to Kyle. He was only a couple of months away from turning ten.

I stopped at the gate to the playground. Oblivious to anything else, Kyle was sliding back up the pole. Just thinking about Kyle’s birthday reminded me of my brother’s tenth birthday. Stevie was excited about leaving single digits behind and while our mom had gone to the store to pick up his cake, he came into my room and sat down on my bed, where I’d been reading a book.

When I finally looked up at him, he asked me what I was getting him for his birthday. I wasn’t quite twelve yet, and I wasn’t about to give up any of my meager allowance for him. So, I asked him what he wanted.

He said that he wanted to take a bath with me, like we used to. I wasn’t interested in getting wet, so I asked him if he just wanted to see me naked.

When he nodded, I closed and locked my door and stripped down naked. Even though I was almost twelve, I was lagging behind Danny at the same age. Weird. It’s usually the other way around. My tits were small, just a bit of puffy nipples and a tiny bit of swelling. And not a bit of hair yet between my legs.

Still, Stevie was happy and came over and started poking at me. When he touched my slit, I don’t know why, but I spread my legs and let him push his fingers in there. He was clueless and didn’t know what he was doing, but he still managed to rub a finger over my immature clit, even if by accident. It was when he managed to slide a finger into my vagina that I decided two could play at that game, and within a couple of minutes, he was as naked as I. Of course, playing with my body had made Stevie hard as a rock.

He was the first boy I ever gave a blowjob to. I shook the memory away and called out, “Hey Kyle, let’s go.”

He slid down the pole and when his feet touched the ground he still slid down until his butt touched the playground gravel.

Then he bounced up and ran over, “Hi Mom. What did Ms. Williams want?”

We headed over to my car, and as we got in, I said, “Just teacher stuff.”

There couldn’t be anything more boring than ‘just teacher stuff’ to a nine-year-old. He asked, “What’s for dinner?”

We were an hour behind schedule and I was tired. In the distance, I saw the solution to my problem. “How about Dairy Queen?”

I winced as Kyle nearly shouted, “Yippie!”

The rest of the day was a bit of a rush. When bath-time rolled around, I’d already forgotten about Ms. Williams and her concerns.

I love going to the park. Mom’s already said that once I turn ten, she’ll let me ride my bike over there by myself.

Our bikes were parked next to a picnic table. Mom was reading a book. Probably something by some dead English guy. Sometime over the past year, the park had got a new play-set. It was shaped like a pirate ship, except it had swings and slides and even a fire-man’s pole.

I ran over to a ladder and climbed up the side of the “ship.” From there, I ran over to the slide and went down face first. I slid to a stop just before I would have fallen off. I yelled, “Hey, Mom, lookit!”

She waved at me and returned to her stupid book. I wished she’d get out and play with me. It’s not as much fun as when Jimmy or Cade play, but it’s a whole lot better than when Kimmy comes over. Gross.

I turned around and pulled myself back up the slide. When I reached the top, I found the fire-man’s pole. I reached out and grabbed hold of it and then wrapped my legs around it.

I inched down a bit at a time and felt my thing tingle as it pressed against the pole. I slid down slowly, enjoying how good it felt, sliding all the way down until my bottom touched the ground.

I jumped back up and raced back up the slide, and the nearly jumped onto the fire-man’s pole and repeated it again. My tummy and my thing felt really good.

I don’t know why I like how it feels when I slide down the pole, but sometimes it even makes my thing stiff.

After a few more times, mom called for me to come on, it was time to go. When I climbed to my feet, I felt a bit weird. My thing was poking at my shorts.

Mom called again, and I tried to shift it around so that she wouldn’t see it. That would be really embarrassing.

I don’t know how much poetry I’d read while Kyle played. After playing on a few of the different features, he settled on going down the fireman’s pole over and over again. By the second time around, it was evident he was enjoying himself. A few glances around the park and I decided there was no reason to say anything. We had the park to ourselves. With two brothers, I realized Kyle’s behavior was perfectly normal, no matter what Ms. Williams might think.

Eventually, though, the day was getting along and I still had dinner to prepare, so I called out for him. As he raced over to me, I could swear he adjusted himself. Had he given himself an erection?

As we peddled back to our house, I wondered that maybe it was time I said something to him about this. At least to let him know that he shouldn’t rub his penis in public. But as I watched him ride on ahead, so innocent and carefree, I really didn’t want to him to think what he was doing mattered to anyone else.

That changed after dinner. We had just finished watching one of his VHS movies and He’d gone to get ready for bed, when he came back into the living room. He was naked from the waist down and wore a frightened expression on his face.

His voice trembled, “I, uh, think I hurt my thing.”

He pushed his pelvis out, thrusting his little penis almost into my face.

His face was a mixture of fear and embarrassment. Not wanting a repeat of my own childhood, not that it was possible, as Kyle was my only child, I’d taught him to take his own baths by the time he was seven. So, flashing himself in front of me wasn’t something he’d done in a couple of years.

Kyle’s glans was red, evidently, he’d rubbed himself a bit raw.

I asked, “Does it hurt?”

A tear slid down his face as he nodded, “Yeah. On my pee-pee.”

I led him to the bathroom and found some topical ointment. He whined, “It stings when the air touches it.”

I can’t say I was surprised he’d rubbed himself raw. I’d lost track of the number of times he’d slid down that damn fireman’s pole at the playground. Whether I wanted to or not, I guess I was going to have to say something to him. But first things first.

I held out the ointment, “Let me put a little bit on your finger and you can put it on it.”

Another tear leaked from his eyes, “But, Mom, it hurts.”

“Do you want me to put it on there?”

The implication was clear. He could fix it himself or go through the indignity of his mom having to touch him. I could see his wheels spinning, weighing his options. Finally, he winced again and said, “It won’t hurt as much if you do it.”

Sighing, I sat on the toilet and pulled him to me, setting him on my lap. Up close, I could see his penis was perhaps an inch and a half, maybe. His scrotal sack was tight against the bottom of his penis. Whatever Kyle might be feeling, seeing him this close, he was still a long way from puberty.

I smeared the ointment on my forefinger and said, “Alright. Are you okay with me putting it on your penis?”

I hated the names boys came up with for their junk. Call it a penis, a dick or a cock. Those are fine. But Kyle, like his little friends, were still at that stage where the proper name was almost as bad a using a cuss word.

He nodded.

With one hand, I took hold of his little tube and with the other I smeared the ointment over the chafed part of his little mushroom shaped head.

By the time I was finished applying the ointment, his little one and a half inches had stretched to more than two inches as blood filled his penis, making Kyle erect.

I tried to ignore his physical reaction and said, “All good, kiddo.”

His hands covered his erection as he mumbled, “Sorry.”

Funny how a boy shows no inhibition walking into the living room, naked as a jay-bird and then when we’re in the bathroom, putting on the cream, he gets a little boner and freaks out. Boys…

I hugged my boy and said, “Nothing to be sorry about, Kyle. That’s normal.”

He sniffled, “But you saw my thing get all stiff. You think it’s bad.”

I was a bit shocked Kyle would think that way. When he’d been little, I had taken him into the shower, I guess, until he was around five, so that he knew what women looked like. I certainly didn’t want him to thing his body was something to be ashamed of.

“No, baby. Why would you think that?”

More tears came, and as only kids can do, he blubbered, “Because you told me that I should do everything by myself. When I was in kindergarten, you let me shower with you, until my thing got big and then, you didn’t let me shower anymore. You said, I needed to learn to do it myself. And then a couple of years ago, it happened again and then you said, I didn’t need your help bathing anymore. That’s why you think it’s bad.”

I was stunned. In thinking back, the times I had decided Kyle needed to learn to bathe himself had coincided with an erection. I hadn’t intended for him to associate growing up and needing to learn how to take care of himself, with the spontaneous erections little boys notoriously get.

Silently, I cursed Kyle’s father. Simon and I had met in high school. We had fallen in love with each other our freshman year. Me, this scrawny fourteen-year-old girl with blond ponytails and Simon, a gawky, gangly fourteen-year-old boy with dark brown curls. His father was the rabbi for the small Reform congregation in our city.

It should have been Simon explaining things about a boy’s penis to his son. But that would never happen. When he got me pregnant our junior year, his parents hit the roof. There was no way their son was going to marry a goyim, a non-Jew. After Simon’s fight with his parents, he flew out of his house in a rage. He was killed when he wrapped his car around a telephone pole on his way over to see me that night.

Even though I’d never seen his parents after the funeral, when Kyle was born and doctors asked me if I wanted him circumcised, it had been an easy choice. I said yes. I had no idea that Jews had their own ceremony for that kind of thing. But, again, it hardly mattered. Even nine years later, Kyle has never seen his grandparents.

“I don’t think it’s bad, Kyle. Your, ah, stiffy, is perfectly normal.”

He sniffled again, “A-and you d-don’t think it’s dirty?”

I shook my head, “No, sweetheart.”

Slowly, he pulled his hands away. His little penis still pointed toward the ceiling. He wiped a tear away from his eyes, “Okay. I guess the way you stopped doing bath stuff with me meant you hated it when that happened. Uhm… Mom?”


“Um, if you don’t hate my thing or stuff, why won’t you give me a bath anymore?”

I rubbed his Scooby-Doo night shirt, I guess I’d stopped bathing him because that’s what the experts had said, and who was I to question Dr. Spock? One woman with whom I taught had once told me that she let her kids decide when was the right time. She said her oldest, a boy, had stopped wanting help when he was eight. Her daughter had stopped wanting help before she turned ten, and her youngest, another boy, she still bathed, even though he’d just turned twelve. She had said the child will know when they want that extra privacy.

Perhaps my colleague was right and the experts had been wrong. I said, “Do you really want me to give you a bath?”

He nodded, “Yeah. I always liked it better when you bathed me.”

Thinking back, I said, “Yeah, I liked washing you, too.”

I glanced at my watch. It was a Saturday night. Not normally a night either of us bathed. “Do you want one now or wait until tomorrow.”

Knowing how little Kyle enjoyed getting his baths, I was surprised when he said, “Now’s fine.”

“Okay,” I said as I stood him up. I pulled his night-shirt off and pointed him toward the tub. “Be a gentleman and run the water.”

I plugged the drain once the water had warmed up and a few minutes later, I had my naked son smiling up at me from the tub. “Wash me!”

I scrubbed his back with a washcloth. It felt the same as the last time, nearly two years before. I washed his chest and his legs. When I was finished, I said, “All done, Kyle.”

He glanced up, his father’s brown eyes shining back at me. “Mom, you forgot one place.”

He was sitting Indian-style, his little penis having returned to its normal state as he pointed to it.

“That area’s kind of private. Perhaps you’d rather wash it yourself?”

Kyle frowned. I could see his mind thinking over things. “But if it’s not wrong, then I don’t understand why you can’t clean it for me.”

I decided a different tack, “While it’s not wrong, boys your age usually want their mommas to let them do that part themselves.

He cocked his head, confused. “So, if it’s not wrong, is it okay if you do?”

I didn’t really have an answer. Still I had a strong idea what kind of bodily reaction Kyle might have. Holding the washcloth in one hand, I soaped it up with the other. “Okay. You know that this is your body and nobody touches you without your permission, right.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, “Duh, of course.”

I lowered the washcloth onto his penis and moved it around, lathering him up. Before I could move to his scrotum, I felt his flesh pushing against the washcloth. I pulled back and said, “Was almost finished. I can stop.”

Kyle shook his head, “Mmm, no. Go ahead and finish.”

I washed his scrotum and even ran the washcloth over to his bottom before I said, “All finished.”

Kyle stood up, water cascading off his body, his little two inches pointing up at a bit of an angle.

When I dried him off and took him back to his bedroom, he opted to wear his Scooby-Doo underwear, but didn’t want the shirt on. He said, “I get hot in the shirt.”

Later that night, when I went to bed, I lay there, thinking. I had images of Kyle sliding down the fireman’s pole. I could imagine his little erection rubbing against the pole as he pleasured himself. Then when I closed my eyes, I saw his erection, bouncing right in front of my face as he climbed out of the bathtub.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Another image came to mind. The summer before high school, I was home alone with Stevie. I was about to turn fourteen and he’d already turned twelve. Danny had a job already and was seldom home.

I had been masturbating my bedroom, using one of my brush handles to push in further than my fingers would let me go, when the door to my bedroom opened. Stevie looked shocked. He had stammered and said, he was only opening the door to ask me about going to the community pool.

Still, when he came in, he asked me if I was jacking off. I told him girls don’t do that because that’s something only boys do. Then I told him I was masturbating. He looked confused for a second, before he asked if he could watch me.

I only agreed if he would let me see him jack off at the same time. By now, my boobs had grown in. They were still pretty small, not even big enough to fill up an a-cup. I had enough hair down below that I didn’t feel too self-conscious that it was still more silky strands than the thick curls older girls had. Stevie was larger, too. Even though he had just turned twelve and still didn’t have hair-number-one, he had an impressive five inches when hard.

It didn’t take very long, each of us watching the other, for both of us to cum. Stevie might have been well-endowed, but his ejaculate was mostly watery clear goo. Still, seeing each other shaking in our orgasm was enough for me to tell him I wanted to feel him inside me. Stevie didn’t blink an eye. I half-think he was hoping for an invitation. His erection slid right inside me. Of course, I was slicker than snot on a door handle from cumming a moment before.

We were rocking together, finding the right rhythm, grinding our young bodies against each other until we both came again.

With that thought cycling in my brain, I pulled my panties down and grabbed my little shoebox of toys for moments like this. My vibrator was soon shifting between satisfying the persistent itch within my clit and the hunger my pussy felt to be full. I pulled my shirt off and while one hand worked my pussy, the other rubbed against my tits.

Closing my eyes, I could see my brother, as he had been at twelve, looming over me, as he pushed his five inches into me. I’d blink and my brother’s face was gone and in his place was Kyle. I blinked, trying to recall Stevie’s face, but all I could see in my mind was my boy waving his penis in my face.

I couldn’t help myself, I kept moving the vibrator until I felt myself fall over the cliff of my orgasm. My body shook until I pulled the sex toy away from my pussy.

That’s when I noticed my bedroom door was open. Kyle was standing in the doorway, a stunned expression on his face, his hand pushed down the front of his Scooby Doo briefs.

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