Easily-Aroused Eddie

Eddie has been easily aroused by girls since the sixth grade. At age 14, a chance after-school meeting with a similar female classmate seems to have been fate.

Part One

My name is Edward Ryland. Except for a few prim teachers who didn’t believe in addressing students by their nicknames, everyone always called me Eddie.

I was born in a city of about 35,000 people in Canada in 1943. I was raised by my father. I barely remember my mother; she passed away from ovarian cancer around Christmastime in 1946 when I was about 3½ years old. Looking back, Dad did a magnificent job by rearing me and Frances, my older sister, by himself. Frances was born in 1936, so she was about seven years older than I was. She helped out whenever and wherever she could, but Dad bore the brunt of the work. He was self-employed as a dentist. This gave him considerable freedom to book patients at peculiar hours so he could do the “mom things” in the middle of the day, such as attend school functions. I recall Dad being the only male parent present on several occasions whenever there was something happening at the school on those times when parents were invited to observe them.

I was a perfectly normal boy as I advanced through the grades in elementary school. I got mostly As and Bs. I was atrocious at art, though. I couldn’t draw, paint, or even color between the lines worth a darn. Compassionate teachers who knew I was trying gave me a minimum passing grade. However, back in the days when teachers were allowed to be brutally honest on their students’ report cards, my third-grade teacher, Mrs. Carter, wrote, “Eddie is hopeless at art.” In those days, a parent had to sign the report card. It was returned briefly to the teacher just to acknowledge that the child had brought it home. When my father signed my report card and returned it to me, Dad added a sarcastic note of his own for Mrs. Carter. “I had so hoped that Eddie’s art would someday be exhibited at the Louvre. Thanks for the honest appraisal. Now I can cancel my flight to Paris.” Dad was a great guy!

When I was approaching the age of 12, puberty struck me heavily. Almost overnight I went from having zero interest in girls to being extremely horny 24/7. During the summer of 1954 I became fixated with females—seemingly all of them—from the age of seven to 50. Pictures of pretty girls in newspapers, magazines and catalogues set me off. Only the slightest glance at my 16-year-old neighbor Diane Jenkins caused my penis to become instantly hard. Shapely Mrs. Carrington, who lived across the street from me and had to be 45, had the same effect on me. Prepubescent 11-year-old Sally Richards, who delivered the daily newspaper to our house created the same stirrings within me. I kept this biological issue a secret until one brutally hot Saturday afternoon in August. That day Dad innocently suggested that he and I should go to the enormous public pool half a mile away for a refreshing swim.

Dad read the sadly negative expression on my face and was surprised by my lack of enthusiasm for his idea. Before he said a word, I explained why I didn’t want to go.

“I’d love to do that, but I can’t, Dad,” I ruefully stated. Then I mustered the courage to explain my physical problem. Dad was supremely understanding, but he thought I was exaggerating. However, just minutes later, Sally delivered our newspaper to our front porch and interacted with us for about five seconds. When she was out of earshot, I pointed to her and confessed to Dad, “Penis on high alert!”

Dad found it slightly amusing. “Jeez, son, I thought I was horny boy in my youth, but I was at least 13 when I started to get erections from the slightest provocation. You’re not even 12 yet. Sally wasn’t on our porch for 10 seconds and was standing nowhere near you!”

“Yep, it’s been that way for about two months, Dad,” I told him. “What am I going to do about this? It’s embarrassing.”

Dad lovingly put his hand on my shoulder and said, “I’ll tell you what, Eddie. Dr. Parker, our family physician, has his office next to mine. I’ll ask him on Monday morning if he has time for a brief chat. If he does, I’ll ask him for his advice about your private issue.” Then he said with a smile, “When men get to be my age, they often have the opposite concern. Every one of them would envy your problem! It’s a darn shame that we can’t go for a swim today—but I understand completely.”

Part Two

Dad returned from work on early Monday evening. At an appropriate time when Frances was out of the house, Dad told me, “Today I had lunch with Dr. Parker. I mentioned your problem to him. He said apart from your slightly young age, you are a perfectly normal boy who might have an overload of male hormones cruising throughout your body. He suggested that you masturbate frequently to get releases whenever you need them. That will allow you to get along normally for a few hours—until you get your next erection. Another option is to take frequent cold showers.”

I reminded Dad that our house’s bathroom didn’t have a shower—only a bathtub. “Besides, I like the first option better than the second,” I opined.

For clarity, I had to ask for some translations. For example, I had never heard the term “masturbate” before. In general lingo at my school, the popular slang terms among my male classmates were “jerk off” or “beat off”. I had been doing it a couple of times a week for pleasure since school ended in late June. I was mildly ashamed of it, so I told no one, of course. Now Dr. Parker was advising me that I should do it regularly for the good of my health!

Dad said, “Son, be reasonable about this. Don’t masturbate in the kitchen or the living room. Do it in the privacy of your bedroom, please. Keep a roll of paper towels handy to catch the mess.”

I quickly said okay. Not long afterward. Sally showed up with our newspaper and said hello to Dad and me. The moment she left, I glanced at Dad. I didn’t have to say a word. He grabbed the roll of paper towels from the kitchen and handed it to me. “Eddie, take this, do what you have to do. You might as well keep it in your room. Whenever you use up a roll, get another one from the downstairs pantry.” I followed my instructions. I also grabbed the most recent issue of Life magazine; I knew it had a few color photos of children playing on a beach in Italy. A few long looks at the pretty Italian girls in their tight swimsuits combined with a few timely tugs on my erect rod caused a large eruption of semen within a couple of minutes. I must have made some sort of squeal when I climaxed because Dad asked, “Mission accomplished, son?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Wow!” I replied.

Paper towels became a regular rather than occasional item in the family’s shopping basket.

Part Three

That plan worked well for a couple of weeks—until school resumed after Labor Day. My erections came fast and frequently, as the girls in my class began to blossom. Only on rare occasions did I transfer my “bedroom hobby” to the boys’ restroom at school during recess, so I coped the best I could. One strategy was to wear long sweaters to school that concealed my crotch when I was standing up. Almost daily I ended up rushing home to school to beat off to mental images of Pamela James, Natalie Coleson, and Janet Dupree—the three most attractive sixth-grade girls in Mrs. Wilshire’s class.

I explained the logistics problem to Dad, who responded, “I’ll call your school’s principal tomorrow and explain that you have a “bathroom problem”—which isn’t really a lie. I’m sure he can arrange for you to absent yourself from your classroom at a time other than recess when the restroom ought to be vacant. That way you can take care of business whenever you think it is necessary. How does that sound to you, Eddie?”

It sounded great. The principal relayed the message to Mrs. Wilshire. She assumed I had some sort of bladder-control issue and was quite accommodating about it. Whenever I felt the need to go to the bathroom to masturbate, I was to raise both my hands. She would nod at me—which was her signal that I could leave the classroom without having to ask. I took a perverse pleasure in jerking off in a stall while the rest of my class was busily working on geography or spelling assignments. Occasionally, I wouldn’t bother to go into a stall. Only once was I caught—and it was by a first-grade boy who had no idea what I was doing. He stared at me for a few seconds until I said to him, “Your day will arrive, kid.” Then I merrily continued my business.

All the way into the eighth grade, I maintained the “special privilege” of having the luxury to leave my classroom anytime I liked to jerk off. It was a privilege I used almost daily. Of course, as my female classmates began to display more feminine physiques, I became more and more horny. One afternoon we had an attractive 20-something female guest speaker who had recently returned from a trip to Egypt. She was a looker! I didn’t see much of her presentation about her Egyptian adventure. About a minute after it began, I rushed out of the classroom, got to the boys’ restroom in the nick of time, pulled my dick out of my pants and ejaculated into a urinal. It was the strongest, most uncontrollable erection I’d had in my life. My “problem” wasn’t dissipating; it was getting worse!

Part Four

There was a new girl in my eighth-grade class, Peggy Buford. She was 14 as was I. Her family had moved into my city during the summer. A curly-haired brunette, I wouldn’t say Peggy was especially pretty, but she wasn’t unattractive, either. She had an odd way of looking at people that made you think she was closely examining you. (Maybe she was!)

One day, just before school was being dismissed, our teacher, Mr. Greenwood, asked for two volunteers to help rearrange our desks from rows to clusters for some group activities we would begin the next morning. Peggy and I both volunteered our services. Mr. Greenwood explained how he wanted the desks to be rearranged and then he left the classroom to get some supplies. It was a harder job than either of us foresaw. This was 1957. Our desks were made of very solid wood. They were heavy and awkward to move. It required both of us to lift and carry each one. Peggy and I accidentally brushed into each other several times. Sometimes it was my fault. Sometimes it was hers. The guilty party always apologized—until after one especially long contact when we were tightly confined against a wall. My torso rubbed against hers for about three seconds. Peggy, a tall girl who was about my height, declared, “Oh, Eddie that felt nice!”

That comment came as a shock to me. “It did, Peggy?” I asked her. “It felt nice to me too—very nice!”

Peggy started to turn red with embarrassment. Then she told me her secret. “I get aroused very easily. I have since I was about 11. I have to be very careful about physical contact with boys. My doctor says I can become amorous at the slightest touch.”

I eagerly revealed the essence of my own huge secret. “Peggy, I have exactly the same problem—only worse! I don’t even need to physically contact a girl. I get aroused by most females just by seeing them or looking at photos. Right now, I’m getting hard as a rock!”

I paused my confession to ask her if she knew what I was talking about. She giggled and said yes. Then she said, “Maybe we were meant for each other, Eddie. It seems a shame to waste all these wonderful hormones in our bodies when we could be putting them to good use. When we get done here, do you want to go somewhere and do something sexual together? I bet it would be marvelous!”

I instantly agreed. I figured I had been overdue for a bit of nookie for three years. My body was certainly craving it. Amusingly, with both of us now sexually aroused by anticipation, the classroom’s desks now seemed lighter and more mobile. We put the last one in place just a few seconds before Mr. Greenwood returned from the supply room lugging two crates filled with magnets and various large and small objects for tomorrow’s science lesson.

“Wow! I’m impressed with you two!” he said. “I know how heavy these old, clunky desks are. I expected this would take you three times as long as it did. Okay, your work here is done. Thanks a lot. I can take it from here. One thing: Can you please return these two crates to the supply room for me? When you’ve done that, shut its door and you can go home.”

Peggy and I readily agreed to do the final favor for Mr. Greenwood. The supply room was at the far end of a secluded hallway. We both instinctively knew there was little chance that anyone would enter it since school had already been dismissed. We practically sprinted to it.

We set the crates on top of a stack of other empty ones. I flicked on the light and Peggy shut the door. It was spacious enough for us to do what we wanted to do. As a bonus, the supply room had an old office chair that was slightly wobbly—but it was still useable and comfortable.

“Let’s get undressed and do this quickly,” Peggy stated. “I don’t want to get caught.”

I wanted it to be a long, sensual experience, but Peggy was making sense. We both got down to our underwear. My erection was obvious, of course. I had masturbated in the washroom, just two hours earlier, but I was fully ready for whatever might happen with Peggy. I was gawking at her when she removed her pristine white brassiere. Her breasts were about the expected size one would typically find on a 14-yer-old girl. I noticed her nipples seemed to be hard already. I stepped out of my briefs. My penis was pointing skyward. I was quite proud of my excellent erection.

“Look what you’ve done to me, Peggy!” I announced. “This is the best, stiffest erection I’ve had in my entire life!”

“Oh, that does look big, Eddie!” Peggy happily replied just before removing her pink panties. For the first time in my life, I was in the same room with a nude girl. I liked it!

Peggy was a practical lass. “Eddie, you sit on that old chair,” she advised. “I’ll sit on your lap and fondle your penis. While I do that, you can touch my private parts. Won’t that be fun?”

“Fun! Yep, that’s the proper word!” I lied. I figured a better adjective would be ‘fantastic.’

Anyway, I followed orders. Peggy positioned herself on my lap and began to give me a delicate hand job. Had I not come about two hours earlier in the boys’ washroom, I figured I would have shot a load of hot cum in about 30 seconds. I was so fixated on the pleasure Peggy was giving me with her hands that I almost forgot about what Peggy was displaying inches away from me. I gently caressed her breasts—a totally new experience for me. They were soft and a bit squishier than I imagined, but they were great playthings for any 14-year-old male. I began to suck on her erect nipples and rub her surprisingly hairy vagina at the same time. It was blissful! We were both sighing with the utmost content. This was a true milestone in both our lives and we were enjoying every wonderful moment of it.

“Peggy, I believe this encounter of ours was absolutely meant to be!” I told her. “I don’t normally volunteer to do physical labor after school.”

“Neither do I!” Peggy concurred. “Let’s face facts. We were supposed to get together and fuck today! Isn’t that great?”

That was the first time in my life that I had ever heard a girl say that particular, four-letter word. It was almost unheard-of in the schoolyard. Canadian children in the 1950s generally did not do a lot of cussing on school property. I had also not considered that we would have full intercourse. I was going to be more than content just getting jerked off by a female classmate.

Peggy did not mince words. “Put your dick inside me, Eddie,” she demanded. “I’m getting very horny.”

“I will, but I won’t keep it inside there for long, though,” I declared. “I don’t want to have an accident in there, if you get what I mean.” The birth-control pill was still a few years away.

She did. Peggy said, “Mom explained it to me. She and my dad have it down to a science. Whenever they have sex, and he gets the sensation that he is going to come soon, he pulls out and shoots his semen on Mom’s tummy. If you do the same with me, Eddie, we’ll be alright.”

There was no clock in that supply room, but by my reckoning, my first-ever fuck lasted about 25 seconds. Based on three years’ experience pleasuring myself, once my penis was sufficiently aroused, I knew to the millisecond when I would come. I pulled out of Peggy’s lovely, tight vagina just in time to launch a huge rope of jism onto her abdomen. It splattered all around her navel. Some of it ricocheted back onto my torso. It was a tremendous feeling of pleasure combined with exhilaration. Peggy just sat on my lap giggling for about a minute. I was laughing, too. Then we decided to kiss for the first time, which seemed odd after we had already fucked.

Peggy then thrusted the finger of her right hand into her vagina and began to move it around. “I want to have an orgasm, too,” she explained.

“Let me do it for you, Peggy, please.” I suggested.

“Oh, yeah! Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?” she said.

My middle finger replaced hers. I shoved it in and out of Peggy’s most private area with great delight for about three minutes until she squirted. I considered the liquid gold dripping from Peggy’s pussy onto my lap to be a trophy of sorts for me.

“We must do this every single school day!” I told Peggy. “It’s too pleasurable not to do it!”

“I totally agree with you. We’ll just have to figure out the logistics of doing that, Eddie,” she stated.
I agreed and added, “One thing is for sure, Peggy. I’m not going to waste any cum shots by jerking off in the boy’s washroom anymore. I want to save it all and give you a full load instead.

For the remainder of the eighth grade, every school day, without fail, Peggy and I waited for nearly all the students to vacate the premises. Then we made our way to that unlocked supply room, went inside, and carnally amused ourselves with the help of each other until we both attained an orgasm.

In July, we both mailed heartfelt thank-you notes to each other’s family physician for diagnosing our individual sexual problems.