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I gotta get to a pharmacy. But safely. The closest one is too dangerous. For some of the girls at the cash know me and my mom. And one of our neighbours might come in while
I'm there. Or I might bump into one in the aisles. Worst of all, I might bump into another kid that I know. I'd just die on the spot. Just shrivel up and die with embarrassment. Then they'll
have to bury me out of town so no one will remember my shame. For Sam would never live this one down. Never.
Hi, I'm Sam. It's my birthday at the end of summer, and I want what all
thirteen-year old boys want - game cartridges. No! Not actually. For what I want, more than anything this summer, is my first real boyfriend and my first real love. You've read about me already as I
make my clumsy, faltering way to share my heart with Keith, who's older and gorgeous and sexy and all that I want.
And the big surprise, really the biggest surprise of all, is that Keith wants
me too. I think. For I work up the nerve to ask him about love and stuff. He tells me everything. And we've been making out too, as I keep telling you in my stories. A little bit at first and more
and more as things get better between us. Some of the make out things I already knew, like kissing and hugging. Everyone just knows about kissing and hugging. And I knew about showing dicks and rubs and
tugs, for I've done that with Travis before I met Keith. Travis and me sorta invented that. But Keith and I invented making out.
Keith teaches me so much more about making out. Like yanking my
socks off while we play wrestled on the grass at the park and tickling my bare feet. That made my stiffie so hard and I never knew such a little thing would ever be such fun. He tickled me while rubbing
on sun-screen and that made me hard. And there's stuff we do just lying on his sofa, our legs twisted round each other as we watch TV. We share a shower and dress together afterwards in his room and
it's more making out and fun that I never knew before I met Keith. I never know with him when playing turns into making out. Mebbe that's how it's supposed to be?
I have these special
feelings about older boys. Feelings that I dream about, which are different, stronger than the feelings I have for Travis. I always knew that I was different from most boys, from as far back as I can
remember. But, since my voice started to change, the feelings have gotten stronger. Now I just about fall in love with every second boy that I meet. I know there's something I want to do with them,
but I'm not sure exactly what that is. And I know that I gotta keep it a secret. There's no one to discuss it with, not even Travis. He knows some things about me, but not everything. Besides, I
know already that Travis is not the one for me. I like doing stuff with him, but he's not the boy that I dream about doing real stuff with. That boy I have yet to meet in person, but he's clear
in my dreams. And he might just be Keith. Every day it looks more like Keith's the one.
That means I gotta be ready to give it to Keith. Just as soon as I'm sure he's really the one I
should give that gift to. You know it, that special gift which a boy can only give once. My cherry. I gotta be ready when Keith takes it.
We spoke about it up in the hills on Sunday afternoon,
when we rode out before dinner at his house. We had a little wrestle and heave on the grass. Keith let me pin him even though we both know that I really can't pin his large body with my small one. It
was wonderful rolling about and rubbing our bodies against the other. Then we had our little chat, me lying on top of him but upside down so my face was over his legs. That way I didn't have to look
into his eyes while we spoke about terribly embarrassing stuff. For this is all new to Sam, and dreadfully difficult to speak about.
'This,' I had said, tugging on it through his shorts to
show what I meant. 'This thingie. You want to put it in me?'
'Yes,' Keith had laughed gently into the air between my legs, for I laid upside down on top of him, my legs either side
of his head. 'But not yet. Not until you love me more.'
'But it is gonna hurt, isn't it?' I protested. 'Look how huge it is. Gotta hurt. Hurt bad.'
'I'll
be real gentle with you, sweetie,' he told me. 'It doesn't have to hurt. But it can hurt if it isn't done right. Don't worry. And if we don't hurry back we won't get any
dinner.'
And that's all we ever spoke about the big event. I don't know if two boys in love ever speak much about this stuff. Do you? Does it take lots of talk before the big event
happens? Or do the pair just know when the time is right, without any words, and do it? Don't you have to make an appointment the week before? I don't know. This will be my first time. After my
first time I'll know what to do, I'll know how these things go. I tried the net, but there's nothing useful there.
One thing I do know for sure. We gotta use a condom. There's
posters about that all over town, even on the sides of buses. Trouble is, the ads don't say where ya get 'em, or how ya get 'em. Just that ya gotta get 'em. What can a poor kid
do?
And I know, even at my tender age, that a boy doesn't ask him mom for some. No way. Ever. I'm old enough now to know that some things a boy never tells his mom. And this is one of
them. Only babies tell their mothers everything. Second time I told my mom that I got a woodie, when I was six or so, and I knew it was time to shut up already and keep that sorta stuff to
myself.
Then one day I was in the pharmacy with my mom, buying shampoo and soap and stuff and I saw 'em. A whole rack of 'em. In strange-looking little boxes. We only passed by 'em but
I saw clearly with my sharp eyes what the labels said. I rushed my mom past them and steered her for the checkout, before she saw what I saw. A boy gotta keep his mom from seeing some things.
So
every time we go to the pharmacy and buy hair gel or deodorant, I peek at the condoms as we cruise by that aisle. I'd love to stand there and look at 'em in detail, but a kid like me knows it
just ain't done. 'Specially not on shopping trips with mom. Actually I never see anyone standing at the display. Mebbe no one buy's them despite all the ads around town? Mebbe ya just grab a
box and flee? Mebbe there's some private place to get 'em and Sam just doesn't know where?
And, of course, I can't ask Keith. He's the only one who might tell me. But to ask
would also spill the beans. And I don't want to spill the beans. I want to surprise Keith and be ready when the time comes for my big event, whenever that is.
So I decide to ride my bike
across town in search of a pharmacy where they don't know me, where there's no chance of my mom's friends coming in, or someone from my school. I take off right after school, just stopping at
home long enough to ditch my backpack. As I ride along the streets, I try to look normal. But it feels as if there's a huge sign on my back, saying: "Sam's going condom
shopping."
But my luck holds. I see a couple of people that I know. But it appears that Sam's just out for a ride and some excellent exercise and fresh air. I make it to the strange plaza
and lock my bike to a rack far, far away from the pharmacy. Sam's not so stupid as to ride up to the door, drop my bike, and walk in. And I don't pull up the hood on my hoodie. That would shield
my face but the security cams will pick me up and security will be on my tail in seconds as a shoplifting teen perp. Boys and hoodies just have that reputation.
I pick up one of those wire baskets
to hold my stuff and for cover. Then I pick out some shampoo, even if I have a full bottle at home, and some colouring hair gel, pumpkin orange, even if I don't do the punk look. And a candy bar for
extra cover. Then I cruise by the aisles, pretending to search for something, until I locate the condom display.
There's lotsa little boxes, some bigger ones, and some strange ones in round,
gold foil that look like candy. But the labels all say condoms. I take the chance to pause for a minute and read some labels, for no one else is in my aisle at the moment. Then I get totally confused.
What's a Large? And what's Xtra Large? Then there's Thin, and Xtra Thin. And what the hey is Lubricated? Can't even imagine what Twisted Pleasure means.
'Extra large and
studded for pleasure,' I mutter to myself as I read one label.
'Fruit flavoured,' I read another box. 'Do you taste these puppies?'
Then I get in trouble. Big trouble.
Woodie attack, and a big one. Must be the label "Twisted Pleasure" that does it. In an instant my dick's alive and pounds into a stiffie. Goes somewhere weird inside my jeans, too. For I
didn't sort things out when I got off my bike. And my danglers always go weird places while I pedal my bike. With a softie that doesn't matter too much. But with a stiffie it sure does. It
pinches something fierce as my stiffie lies down my right leg. And not where it's supposed to lie, straight up along my belly, aimed at my belly-button.
I try the
converting-fractions-to-decimals trick. Doesn't work. I try remembering when the War of 1812 actually happened. Doesn't work. Most times it doesn't work. Specially at school. But you know
that too from your Grade VII and VIII days. You try distracting your woodie but it won't listen to you and stays totally hard and pokes out the front of your pants in the most embarrassing
way.
So here's Sam, trapped in a pharmacy with a huge woodie. Death by embarrassment time comes.
Not that I really have a huge woodie. Just feels like that. And when I peek at the front
of my jeans, the bulgie looks huge and so obvious. Even if I know I don't got a big woodie. At least, not yet. I'm way smaller than Keith. Just as big as Travis. Probably just the right size for
thirteen. But I don't know that, for I haven't seen too many thirteen-year old danglers.
I try tugging down the hems of my T-shirt and hoodie. But they're last year's models and
kinda short. Either Sam grew some or the hot water wash shrank 'em. There's not enough hem to cover the dang thing. No way can I stretch the hoodie down to the tops of my thighs.
I try
hiding the bulgie under my shopping basket. Might work. But it's open wire mesh and totally see-through. I shuffle the shampoo bottle into the best spot to hide my bulgie and throw the hair gel tube
on top to help. Kinda works and I don't think anyone can see my pharmacy woodie. Not that anyone is near, for I'm still alone in my aisle.
Woodie's outta sight now. But it still
pinches something fierce. And it won't soften in the least. I know sometimes a woodie runs fifteen minutes before it decides to behave. Not all woodies, but some do. And this feels like one of those
extra long lasting woodies. And my woodie makes me think about sex, which is the totally wrong thing to do right now. But that's what woodies do. So I imagine the Extra Large condom and Keith's
stiffie and my fingers holding both. That makes my woodie give a huge jerk against the confining fabric of my jeans leg, trying to bust into freedom. Makes me feel pain, too, as the unbending woodie
fights with the unstretching denim. Major owwie!
I sneak a look to either side of me. No one. Then I quickly jam my left hand up under my T-shirt, find the waist to my tighty-whities, and slip my
fingers inside. I slide past my growing little patch of fuzzies and find the offender pointing down my right leg. I tug him around and push him to lie along my belly, covering my fuzzies and pointing up
at my belt. Then I wriggle my nuts into a comfortable position while I'm down there with my fingers. Everyone's grateful now and my stiffie rewards me by making the pain go away.
I'm
Ok now. Almost. For my bulgie is outta sight unless you really stare at the front of my jeans. For a woodie lying along the belly is closest to invisible. He could just be the normal creases around the
zipper of a boy's jeans caused when he sits and stands up a lot.
I gotta get outta the pharmacy and soon. So I return to examining the condoms. Now I know that my mom buys me tighty-whities
that say Medium on the label. And say "Waist 22" to 24", too. That's easy. Medium means a waist between those two measurements. I see Large condoms. But, what's a Large woodie? How
long is that? Or, does it apply to the diameter, not the length? Mebbe it applies to the softie, not the stiffie? Then, there's Xtra Large. But no Small. No Medium, either. That's strange, for
some woodies gotta be smaller. I peer at the boxes, and read the fine print. There's nothing to help with size. No table that says for Waist 22" buy size Medium. This has gotta be some total
secret only adults know. And, who teaches 'em? Who teaches boys?
Then there's Coloured and Flavoured! What the hey could those be? And, Contoured. Contoured to what? Ribbed? Who's dick
got ribs on it to fit those? Imagining the shapes of dickies to match the description on the boxes doesn't help my pharmacy woodie to go away. Shall I buy one of each and have a fun time trying them
all on Keith, seeing how they fit and finding out which one is best for Lil Keith? I know Keith will tell me if I ask him. Thinking of that makes a huge gush of pre-cum slide up my woodie and out the
tip. I feel it move inside my stiffie and out the end, and make a wet spot on my tighty-whities.
Do I buy a small box or a box of a dozen? The small boxes say "three", but is that
enough? I thought one would be enough for Keith to do my cherry. Or, is he supposed to do it three times? Once isn't enough? Is that why they come in threes? Three sounds like more fun than one, but
I'm not sure three is good the first time. I'm not sure at all. Might be painful.
How come no one sells one?
Should I buy a hundred now, so I never ever have to stand before the
condom shelf in a pharmacy again in my life?
Reservoir Ends. What the hey can they be?
I'm getting desperate now, eager to make my selection and be off before I get rumbled. Before me
and my woodie get caught doing something totally pervy. Then we'd have to leave town, but only after they beat up on poor Sam.
I grab a plain-looking box that just says "Trojan
Condoms" and "Large". If I got it wrong, well, Keith will understand. I drop it into my shopping basket. It's the smallest thing there but I'd swear it was the largest, shouting
"condoms" at everyone in the pharmacy in 200 point font. And in blinking lights too, so everyone in the store will pay attention to what Sam buys. Time to flee. I head down the aisle, still
un-observed, for the cash registers.
A little old lady comes into the line behind me. There's no way I'm gonna lay out my stuff at the register with her looking on. So I grin stupidly at
her and let her slip into the line ahead of me. Then there's no one behind me and I can do my business in private. I hope. The little old lady is as blind as a bat and takes forever to dig out the
money. For once I'm not annoyed at the hold-up. My pharmacy woodie continues as I stand in the line, my bulgie hidden behind my shopping basket. But, there for all to see, is my little box of
condoms, with flashing lights. Lucky for me the old lady can't see too well.
I don't want to face the cashier, but I got to. The little old lady disappears and I gotta face the music, as
much as I don't want to. No one is behind me. And for these precious few moments there's only the cashier and me. She's a teen girl and I don't know her.
Is she gonna say
something? Is she gonna ask me what these are for? Did I buy the right size? Or, who they're for? I'd just shrivel up and die if she says something. Why aren't there boy cashiers? What if she
yells out: "Price check on line 2" and the manager comes? What if she says: "Hi little boy. I see we've been condom shopping today."
I take a big breath and heave my basket
up onto the counter. She takes my stuff and runs 'em by the scanner then drops 'em into a shopping bag. Not a word spoken, as I look on with what I'm sure is a slightly red face. Can it be
this easy? I read the screen and drop some bills on the counter. In only a moment I'll be free and outta here, mission accomplished. Then she does what I've feared. She looks at me straight in
the eye and I just know she's gonna open her mouth to speak. My pharmacy woodie instantly shrivels to nothing. Two centimeters, max. Six year olds have a bigger softie than I do at this horrible
moment.
'You got two pennies?' she says. If she sees the scared look on my face she says nothing. If she thought I was about to bolt from the store and leave my purchases behind she says
nothing. If she thought I was about to sink into my running shoes she says nothing.
'Yeah,' I mutter and dig into my pocket. The squeak in my voice is more fright than my voice changing. I
feel Lil Sam hiding under my coins, smaller than he's been in a long time, as small as if he'd swum in cold water up at the lake. Then I drop two pennies on the counter and she gives me the
change and my bag.
I'm out the store in a rush. No one sees me go. I walk to my bike and then I relax for the first time in this whole adventure. I hang the bag off the handlebar and get on my
bike. I pedal home feeling relaxed now that the tension of my first shopping trip for condoms is over. Sam's done it and he didn't get caught.
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