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Boy Code, Part I � Don”t Look

 

Author”s Note: This story is a work of complete fiction. It contains graphic depictions of sexual encounters between adult men, adult men and teenage boys, and between teenage boys. Do not read this story if it is illegal in your jurisdiction to do so or if you have any moral objections to the content. The author does not advocate, nor condone in any way, sexual activity with, or the sexual exploitation of, minors in real life. This is fiction, and is a protected form of expression. Nothing said in this story should be taken to indicate any form of support for sexual conduct with minors nor for child pornography. Anything sexual involving minors should be constrained solely to the world of literary fiction, where the characters exist only in the minds of the author and readers, never acted upon or condoned in real life.

As well, this story is set in a fictional environment in which sexually transmitted diseases do not exist. As always, in real life, please practice safe sex with consenting, adult, partners. This story is purely a work of fiction, and any similarity between real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

Finally, this series explores themes of love, friendship, belonging, and sexual development. While nudity and mild sexual elements will be present in every chapter, not every installment will have graphic sexual scenes. If this is not what you are looking for, you may wish to find a different story.

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Introduction to the Boy Code

There is an unspoken code that rules the lives of boys and men. We all know it exists. We all know there are penalties for violating the code. We can be ruthless in punishing our brothers when they violate the code. We insult them, shun them, and may even physically assault them if the violation is severe enough. The code is sacrosanct and must never be violated.

Yet, we never speak of the existence of the code. We don”t acknowledge the simple rules of male life that guide us, shape us, and influence everything from our emotions to our careers. We pretend such a code does not exist, yet we expect all men and boys to know the code. It is learned by observation and osmosis, not through father-to-son advice and teaching. We do not, as we should, sit our sons down and explain to them the myriad rules of manhood which they are, by virtue of having a penis, supposed to know and obey.

Some elements of the code are simple and easy to follow. Rules such as “respect another man”s property” are ingrained in us from birth. We are taught, as small children, not to take what doesn”t belong to us. We have our hands smacked, our butts spanked, or our toys taken away when we disrespect other people”s belongings.

Yet, there are other rules which are not so easy to figure out nor to follow. There are guidelines that we only learn about once we have violated them and been sufficiently chastised. These parts of the boy code are often difficult to understand, with intricate rubrics governing behavior and expectations.

I have personally broken nearly every part of the boy code. I have screwed up, been chastised and shunned, been physically assaulted, and been socially ostracized by violating this most precious of codes.

That is why I am writing to you, my dear reader. I want you to know about the boy code, know how I violated it, and encourage you to think long and hard about what parts of this sacred code are worth protecting. Don”t get me wrong. There are some admirable parts of the boy code worth defending. But, so much of it is simply a throwback to a time of puritan values, forced masculine social roles, and restrictive rules for male behavior. We are not cavemen anymore and while I may appreciate boy code mandates such as “protect your family,” we need to abolish and abandon repressive rules which stifle us and make us ignore who we truly are.

Boy Code Rule: Don”t Look

Somewhere deep in the recesses of the human mind, even long before puberty hits, an instinct awakens in all of us. We all have a kernel of knowledge deep within us about sex from even the earliest age. We may not know what it is, how it happens, or what causes sexual arousal. But, when faced with a nude body, we will all look. Male or female, young or old, we all look.

Sure, some may deny it. Some women pretend to be offended or aghast at the site of a nude body. Some men pretend they are disinterested. But, the reality is that we will all look at naked bodies.

In the boy code, however, you are to only acknowledge looking at nude women. Yes, we all look at other men naked. Straight or gay does not enter in to this equation. When faced with another naked male, of any age, race, shape, or size, we will look. We will look at his ass, peak at his cock, mentally examine his body. Maybe we are comparing him to ourselves. Maybe we are aroused by him. Or, especially for the young observers, maybe we are simply curious to know what our bodies will become when we are older.

Yet, it is a violation of the boy code to be caught looking. It is a further violation to acknowledge that you were looking. We are also expected to call out one another for looking, if they are looking in such a way as to be obvious. If we can tell they are looking at our naked bodies, then they are being too obvious about it and we must call them out on it.

Now, there are some intricacies here that will alter things slightly depending on age of the boys, the type of relationship, and the nature of the looking. Young kids can get away with openly looking, since they aren”t old enough to have figured out how to do it covertly. Good friends can get away with openly looking at each other”s nude bodies, since their relationship has evolved to the point of having fewer secrets from one another. Athletes and people working out in a gym can get away with it to a degree, but only if it is couched in some sort of compliment such as “damn, your leg lifts are really working!” Openly gay men can get away with overtly looking, but only at other openly gay men. Bob and Bill can openly admire one another”s nude bodies, provided both Bob and Bill are openly gay (or, perhaps, bi). If either is straight, or either”s sexuality is unknown, the previously stated rules and expectations apply.

But, overall, the rule is this: You will look at other men naked, but you must do it discreetly and covertly. If caught looking, expect to be called out. If called out, do not acknowledge you were looking unless one of the previously stated exceptions apply. If no exception applies, deny looking.

I was fourteen when I first learned how bad şişli escort it was to violate this rule of the code.

It was my ninth-grade year, fall of 1995, and I had decided to try out for our school”s wrestling team. I had wrestled before, with friends and cousins, but it had never been an organized activity. Instead, it was simply us tackling one another to the floor and rolling around in a futile effort to pin one another.

But, this was actual, competitive, honest-to-God, wrestling. I was excited and showed up on the day of the try-outs just chomping at the bit. I couldn”t wait to get on the mat, no matter who I was paired up against.

“Alright boys,” Coach Vargas, a twenty-something Hispanic man with a deep voice and densely packed muscles, started as we all sat on the gymnasium bleachers. Behind him, four wrestling mats in our school colors (green and black) were covering the hardwood floor.

“Today,” he continued, “we will find out who has got what it takes to join the Salem High School junior varsity wrestling team. You will be paired up with numerous partners. Expect to toss and pin one another and show me what you are capable of. Do not be upset if you are not perfect. No one is at this stage. Just try your best, and you”ll succeed.”

We all looked around at one another, 36 eager ninth and tenth-grade boys just dying for a chance to get on the mat.

“Before we start, I am going to call each of you down, one at a time, to grab a singlet. Once you all have them, you”ll head in to the locker room and put them on. Remember, please remove all of your own clothing before putting the singlet on.”

I blanched a little bit when he said we”d have to put the singlets on now. I expected to wear one for competition, but not for practice, let alone try-outs. Still, I did my best to seem as tough and unfazed as the other boys (again, there”s that boy code.)

“Anderson, Patrick,” Coach Vargas called out. A tenth-grade blonde boy walked down the bleachers and grabbed a green singlet from the coach.

“Baker, Thomas.

Campbell, Mark.”

And so it went, boy by boy. Each of us waited for our names to be called and then, on cue, collected the skin-tight spandex singlet from the coach. With a name near the end of the alphabet, I had to wait a while. Finally, I heard my name.

“White, Jonah.”

I made my way down the bleachers, my stomach turning circles in anticipation. I was nervous about the try-outs already, but even more nervous about being in a singlet in front of all these boys. I figured I would wear a jockstrap to help hide my bulge from other boys and the coach. I was quickly dissuaded from that notion, however.

In the locker room, boys began to undress rather quickly and quietly. There was a palpable feeling of anxiety in the room as the boys disrobed. Each, naturally, faced a locker and kept their back to the assembled boys as much as possible. If one was forced to expose one”s body to other males, the boy code demanded that the penis be hidden from view as much as possible. If given the choice to expose your ass or your cock, you were expected to choose “ass” every single time.

Why? Don”t we all, as boys, have dicks? Don”t we all understand that penises come in different shapes, sizes, colors, and sensitivities to arousal?

But, we don”t all understand that. We are all taught, through the damned boy code, to judge one another as men by the size and shapes of our cocks. We willingly put down another man because his dick isn”t as big as ours, or because his circumcision status is different than ours, or because his testicles aren”t heavy enough. Face it, we are complete and total assholes to one another, all over the size, shape, color, and cut of our penises (as if we had any say on any of that).

Okay. Sorry. I”ll stop bitching about that for now. That”s a part of the damnable boy code as well, but more on that subject later. This is about not looking, not about not judging.

I”ll get back on track now.

So, there I was, in the locker room with nearly three dozen other boys as well as the coach. All of us were in some state of nudity at this point and desperately trying to accomplish four things simultaneously, a burdensome task for a pubescent brain.

First, we were all trying to keep from allowing our bodies to be seen by the other boys. As I said, of course we all had the same body parts. But, we were upholding the code by not willfully exposing your cock to another boy unless you absolutely had to. This led to some interesting contortions as boys stripped out of white briefs and into green spandex.

Second, we were all trying to keep our own boyhoods from getting hard. At that age, everything makes you hard. You take your cock out to piss, you could get hard. If a strong breeze blows up the leg of your shorts and tickles your bits, you probably will get hard. An errant glimpse of a girl”s breast or another boy”s cock, though? You will get hard. Given the amount of male flesh being unleashed around us, each of us who had any sense of self-awareness knew that erections were likely.

Third, we were trying to sneak a peak at the other boys. Does Billy have a bigger dick than me? Is it true that Johnny shaves his pubic hair? Is Tommy really uncircumcised like the girls say? These types of questions course through our heads. We want answers and the only way to get those answers is to look. This is hard to do, especially without being caught looking, given the fact that every boy was trying so hard not to be seen. That”s the game, you realize. “How do I look at the other boys” dicks without being seen while, at the same time, preventing them from seeing my dick?”

It”s maddening.

Finally and most mundanely, we were trying to finagle the awkward singlets on to our already awkward bodies. For boys who had never worn a singlet, it was not a simple task to get it on. Several were put on backwards, three inside-out, and one nearly upside down (the boy next to me tried to put his legs through the arm holes until he realized that there would be no place for his head and would have, in fact, left his dick and balls dangling freely in the breeze).

I stood with my back to the rest of the boys and had stripped out of my jeans and t-shirt. Wearing only a white jockstrap (which I had put on that morning and worn all day, just in anticipation of tryouts and containing the boners I knew I would get when my hands grappled with the other boys).

“Jonah!” I head Coach Vargas bark at me just as I was about to slip my legs in to the spandex singlet. “What do you think you”re doing?”

sivas escort I turned to face the very accusatory voice near me. The coach was staring me down, standing less than two feet away. His eyes took in my nearly-nude boy body from head to toe. But, his focus really was on my jockstrap-covered boyhood.

“I told you boys to remove all of your clothes,” he said with a note of disapproval. “That means underwear and jocks too. You can”t wrestle wearing a jockstrap. They restrict your movement too much. Now, take it off and hand it over.”

I didn”t understand how a jockstrap � essentially just a few strips of elastic and a fabric pouch � could restrict my movement. But, the tone in Coach Vargas”s voice made it clear that this was not a topic to be argued.

Nervously, I slipped my hands in to the elastic waistband of the jockstrap and slid it down my legs. I could feel the waistband slide over my smooth and exposed ass as I slipped the article of clothing off.

As I handed the white jockstrap over to Coach Vargas, I couldn”t help but notice his eyes. They weren”t focused on my face or my body. He was very clearly looking straight at my cock. In noticing this, my cock began to thicken a bit.

Here”s another little intricacy of the boy code. When it comes to looking, age does not matter. Little boys look at teenagers, teenagers look at adults, adults look at little boys. We all look at the exposed dicks of any male in range. But, when it comes to calling one another out, you are pretty much expected to stay in your own age range.

Kids don”t call out teenagers and adults because, as kids see it, they are older and must know what they are doing. If someone older is doing something, it must be okay. Adults don”t call out teenagers and kids because, as they view it, the boys are still learning. They, the young boys, are trying to uphold the code, but aren”t mature enough to do it yet. Only teenagers, and by that I mean fifteen to eighteen (give or take) are in a gray area. They don”t call out adults most of the time because, to do so, would be to risk a confrontation with someone who is likely much older and still bigger than you. They don”t call out kids because the teenagers secretly like having a younger boy admiring their body. It makes them feel big, important, and mature to be able to nonverbally communicate “yeah, my body is more adult than yours and my dick is bigger, too.” It”s a posturing thing. Think of it like a peacock spreading his tail feathers in an effort to intimidate other peacocks. Only, for human males, it”s an older boy swinging his cock around to intimidate younger boys. Primate behavior, pure and…well, not simple, really.

If anyone ever tells you that the boy code is simple, they are either lying or painfully na�ve. It is anything but simple. It is a complicated web of rules, addendums, expectations, exceptions, and caveats. “Rule 1A applies only in situations 2B, 3C, and 4D, unless exception 5E and 6F are present and the rule-breaker is a member of group 7G or 8H engaged in activity 9I or 10J, in which case see the ruling explained in subsection 11K.”

See what I mean? Simple doesn”t even begin to enter in to the equation. It”s like the mad fever-dream of a sociologist combined with the addled ramblings of a meth-addicted actuary.

But, again, I”m getting off topic. Sorry about that.

I looked up at Coach Vargas, my eyes meeting his for just a moment. I could tell he had been staring at my hairless (yes, I was still hairless at fourteen) and now-hard boy cock. He could tell that I could tell. We were both, in that moment, in violation of the boy code. After a moment, his eyes moved away from mine and back to my smooth boyhood. As he stared at my very obvious erection, I watched as he licked his lips.

In that moment, I knew something was happening that shouldn”t be. I knew that we were violating the boy code, even if I didn”t have the words to describe it. He was openly staring at my cock and I was letting him. It didn”t help matters that I was rock hard as well, my five inch pubescent and hairless boner sticking straight out like a sexual divining rod.

“That”s better,” Coach Vargas stated, his eyes finally moving off of my cock and up to my face. “That is how you should be under your singlet; just as God made you.”

He took one more quick glance at my cock and walked away, off to supervise more nude and nearly-nude teenage boys.

“He really wants us naked, doesn”t he?” I heard a voice behind me ask with a tone of righteous indignation.

I turned to face the source of the voice. It was Carter Whitmore. He sat next to me in English, social studies, and math. With names right next to one another in the alphabet, we had been sat next to each other in nearly every class since he moved here in third grade.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I said, trying to hide my boner while getting a peak at his cock.

“I guess it”s not too bad,” Carter said, turning to face me fully. “I like being naked, so I don”t mind that much.”

At that moment, I, too, broke the boy code. I knew I wasn”t supposed to look, but I couldn”t help it. Carter was standing in front of me, fully nude, with his body on complete display. Anyone could have very clearly seen his smooth chest, his flat stomach, the tiny little beginnings of a trail of hair which led from his belly button to his groin, the small tuft of dark brown hair growing there, and his sizeable, cut, thick, cock nestled over two low-hanging balls.

I have known I was gay since the second grade. While the other boys on the playground giggled and made elementary dirty jokes about girls” panties and their big sisters” boobs, I was focused on exploring male-on-male sexuality. One of my clearest memories from that time includes me and three other boys hiding behind the building during recess and showing each other our penises.

We got caught, of course, and got in trouble. While the other boys seemed to promptly forget about the event after our punishment was over, I tried hard to get them to repeat the “game.”

They all said no.

The next year, Carter moved in to our school. He was assigned the same third-grade teacher as me and, because of our names, was sat in the seat right next to mine. I spent most of that year, and nearly every year since, fantasizing about him. I had daydreams and wet dreams about him showing me his penis behind the elementary school.

Now, the object of my youthful homosexual longing was standing in front of me completely nude. He was not only showing me his penis, but seemed to be inviting me to look.

So, I looked.

I didn”t hide the fact that I was looking at his cock, nor did sıhhiye escort I hide my cock from his view. I think I was too in awe of my crush being nude in front of me for me to really think about my own dick (or, for that matter, how hard it was at that point).

Carter, for his part, seemed completely okay with me examining his body. He looked at me, smiled, and continued getting dressed. In what seemed to be slow motion (though, honestly, I have no idea how fast or slow it went), Carter slipped his nude body in to the form-fitting green spandex singlet. The stretchy material hugged every line and curve of his body. It clung to his smooth and soft skin like it had been tailor-made for him. The fit around his cock was especially brilliant, since it allowed me to see his thick circumcised cock as though the material were painted on.

“You know,” he said as he pulled and stretched at the material to get the fit just right, “I kinda like this thing. You should put yours on, Jonah. It”s actually really comfortable.”

I swallowed hard, shaking myself back in to some sort of mental clarity.

“Especially,” he said as he cupped his youthful package and gave it a squeeze, “down here.”

He then gave me the sly “you know what I”m talking about” grin that boys only give to other boys when they say or do something naughty.

Being prodded in to action by Carter, I slipped in to my own singlet. The soft material felt strangely good against my skin. I could feel it clinging to me and knew, as I slipped the material over my hard cock, that it would show off my boner to everyone. This made me nervous and I felt my face flush.

“Eh,” Carter said, waving his hand in the air as if to dismiss an idea as of yet unspoken, “don”t worry about a boner. Everyone gets boners in these things.”

That made me feel a bit better, if a bit awkward. On the one hand, it meant that other boys would be getting hard too. I wouldn”t be alone and I would be able to scope out more hard cocks as we complete our try-outs. On the other hand, it meant that Carter had seen my erection. While part of me felt a little rush of excitement about that, I mostly realized that my cock was not as big as his. I worried that he would judge me for being a bit of a late bloomer. I was still totally smooth while he had some hair. I was about five inches fully hard while his cock was easily five inches soft. We were both circumcised, but there the similarities ended.

“Did you enjoy the show, fairy boy?” I heard an all-too-familiar voice shout at me from nearby.

Mark Campbell. He was the biggest bully in our grade and loved to torment anyone he perceived as different. Short, stupid, stocky, and very strong, Mark was an intimidating figure.

“Shut up, Campbell,” Carter answered on my behalf. “Like you weren”t looking at guys” cocks, too.”

“Fuck you, Carter!” Mark spat back with venom in his voice. “I”m not a fucking faggot like you and your little fairy boyfriend there. I saw you showing off for him and he”s the one with a fucking boner, not me!”

With that last line, Mark grabbed his spandex-covered package and gave it a shake, a rude gesture he probably learned at the side of his in-and-out-of-prison father.

“How did you know he had a boner unless you looked? And, of course you didn”t get a boner, Campbell,” Carter continued without letting the other boy respond. “You have to have a dick to get a boner. You don”t qualify, you dickless retard!”

“Fuck off, faggot! I got a bigger dick than you”ll ever have!”

“Yeah?” Carter said, his anger obviously growing while my apprehension did the same, “care to prove it?”

With a sense of bravado only available to teenage boys, Carter slipped his arms through the singlet and slipped the material down to his thighs, exposing his thick boyhood to Mark.

“Here”s mine,” Carter said, grabbing his dick and shaking it at Mark. “Now, let”s see yours so we can see whose is bigger.”

“What the fuck? I”m not showing you my dick, you little fairy. Go ask you boyfriend!”

“Aww, worried that we”ll all see that you”re really a girl? What”s the matter, pussy? You scared?”

“What the fuck did you call me, faggot?” Mark spat, moving up to get in Carter”s face. At that moment, the bully didn”t seem to care anymore that Carter was practically naked. Mark was pissed and he wanted Carter to see that.

“I called you a pussy, pussy!” Carter said, taking a step forward to close the gap. Their faces were now an inch apart at most. Of course, I couldn”t help but notice that Carter”s naked dick was also pressed up against Mark”s spandex-covered one. That was doing nothing to alleviate my boner-that-wouldn”t-end.

“What? You wanna hit me, Campbell? Go ahead, hit me. See what happens!”

Mark seemed to be weighing his options. You could see it all on his fat, ugly face. He wanted to hit Carter. Hell, he wanted to hit me, too, for committing the cardinal sin of not hiding my boner from the rest of the room (which, now, I regretted). But, he also wasn”t sure he could take Carter. Mark only got in fights he was sure he could win. Carter may not have been as big as Mark, but Carter was fast and agile. Mark, on the other hand, was slow and lumbered like a troll.

“Man, fuck you,” Mark finally said, backing down from the fight. Without Carter being a willing and easy target, and with his victory in the fight not guaranteed, the school bully backed down easily.

“Yeah, that”s what I thought,” Carter retorted as Mark took a step away. “A pussy with no dick!”

With that, Mark stomped out of the locker room in anger. It was obvious that he didn”t expect Carter to actually take his dick out and wave it at him or challenge him to a fight. Frankly, neither did I.

“Sorry about him,” Carter said, pulling his singlet back up and stuffing his enviable cock back in the tight material. “Mark is such an asshole. So what if you were looking at my dick. We all do it. I looked at yours.”

I was too stunned and taken aback to say anything at that point. Not only had Mark realized that I was looking at Carter”s dick and balls (and was sporting a very hard erection), but Carter, the boy I had lusted after since third-grade, had noticed and come to my defense. If there was ever a case for “every cloud has a silver lining,” this was it.

“Yeah…I mean, uh…thanks…” was all I could stammer out as I watched him re-dress himself.

“Alright, boys!” Coach Vargas yelled, “it”s go time! Move it or you won”t make the team!”

Quickly, Carter and I headed for the exit of the locker room. Back in the gym, Coach Vargas wasted no time in getting things started.

“Okay, boys, line up facing one another. Each of you, choose a partner!”

“Want to be my partner?” Carter asked as we approached the green and black mat.

“Yeah, sure,” I said, trying to sound casual and not as excited as I really was.

“Cool. Oh, and don”t worry about your boner. I don”t mind. I”ll probably get one too. Hope you don”t mind it rubbing up against you.”

With that statement, I nearly passed out.

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