What I do at home alone—the “pervert” solo sexual stuff

I’m a gay nudist bottom

Part One: My Toddler and Little Boy Years

Even when I was a toddler to about six years old, I was already fascinated by my body, my little uncircumcised dick, my bottom and what I could stick in there, and things my father taught me, and things my mother refused to let me do. “Mama? Can I go outside naked and play?” 

"No. If you do someone will see you and call the police.” This was no idle threat, and even back then as a four-to-six year old, I knew about the police. It was the 1950s and the McCarthy Era. No, I didn’t know that then, but I was afraid of the police.

I was younger than my two older sisters, and when they went to school I was alone with my mother most of the day, until I was about four. It’s beside the point, but my mother had a baby when I was four, another sister. But love them all, I was more fascinated by being naked, playing with my dick, and what my father taught me. Of course, I had no idea that when his brothers came to visit and sat around in our living room and I was on the floor in front of them playing with my toy truck that I wasn’t supposed enjoy being at eye level with their spread legs and their blue denim crotches, and I just knew that all men had dicks and I wanted to see them. I didn’t know it was “wrong” or that it portended anything. This all portended what I would do at home, if I was alone...the solo sexual stuff. It started early and I was a sexual being from then on.

On weekdays, when my father was working and my sisters were at school, one of my mother’s friends in the neighborhood would come over to visit and bring her boy about my age and we would run off together and play in the back yard. We lived in town, but we had a chicken house and chickens and dogs and cats. The kitchen door opened to the back yard, and I never gave it a thought that my mother could see the entire back yard. But of course she could. And she kept an unbeknownst eye on my diapered shenanigans, of which I will now confess.

My father had taught me to pee standing up in the bathroom, and he taught me right away to pull back my foreskin. No, he didn’t show me his own hooded dick to demonstrate it. But he did take his very huge and beautiful thumb and forefinger and pull back the foreskin on my little boy dick. And then made me try and then watched me pee and said, “That’s the time. Don’t forget to do it like that, each time. You’re too big to pee in your diapers, and we’ll get you some shorts like mine if you learn."

Are you kidding me? I was happy to have a reason to run around outdoors in the back yard and play with my dick, and practice pulling back the foreskin. Each time I did, I felt nice things and watched, pleased that my little two-inch dick grew to four inches and the little head lost its hoodie and also grew bigger. I was a four year old masturbator and didn’t have the language to call it that. 

So, I remember clearly on the day that my mother’s friend came by to visit and her son and I played in the back yard. He instigated things that I never would have thought of on my own, like showing me how to stick my dick through the chicken house wall, as he did, and then we went inside the chicken house and the chickens were outside in their fenced in yard and we sat down (I think this was post diaper days when I had a T-shirt and white briefs like he did) and he said, “Show me your honey butt."

“My what?”

“You’re honey butt.”

So I pulled down my shorts and my little stiff pecker popped out and showed itself, and I pulled back the foreskin and he got right up into my crotch and watched it from close up. He told me to turn around and so I did, and he kissed the smooth, hairless butt cheeks. I recall this decades later as if it just happened, and I can say I didn’t think it was wrong what we did, just the kind of fun that gave me trembling happy feelings in my dick and in my bottom. I also realized many decades later that he had probably been sexualized by someone in his family; had to have been, and here he was passing on that sexualization to me, and I took to it like the future gay nudist bottom I would one day be.

Part Two: The farm boy years, from seven years to eighteen.

My father quit working at the cotton gin when we lived in town, and he had also worked as a carpenter on a crew that built one of my hometown's largest residential sub-divisions. I didn't know any of this, really, except I remember one time he took me to the cotton gin and showed me where he worked. He had a brother, married to a nurse, who had also been married to a man who had worked at the cotton gin, but had gotten into an accident and lost both forearms and both hands, and back then my uncle's wife just took care of her first husband and all three of them lived in the same house; and I just remember the man with no hands and forearms sitting at the kitchen table. It was a lot to take in when I was younger.

So, anyway, we moved to the farm and my father took over farming. He's bought this farm way before I was ever born and he just rented it out and let other families farm it, until he decided he needed to move us four children to the farm and so we started living there. My father built a new house on the farm and we moved in there. I shared a bedroom with my grandfather, and then when he moved into a little trailer on the farm I had my own room, and that's where I stared really getting into my solo sexuality. I had ideas and much of them involved being naked, playing with my dick and feeling around the other side and sticking my finger in my butt, which I also did a lot when I took a bath.

I discovered the erotic visuals I could get by putting a mirror on the floor of the bath room and standing over it with my legs spread, so I could see my growing dick and my butt hole and my growing balls. I was a very visual solo sexual kid and then teen. This picture isn't that, but it's an erotic visual, the kind I start leaking precum over.

But oh, the farm, the wide open spaces, far enough away from the house to strip naked and run across an alfalfa field when it's high and still green and not yet cut and baled, and it stings with wetness between my legs and I cum hands free.

Other times, I would lay awake in bed until one by one, I could hear the others in the house go silent as they all went to sleep, and I would put on my sneakers, dressed only in my underwear and on a summer night sneak out of the house, get on my bike and pull my shorts off and hang them on the handlebar and ride through the middle of the night naked and at speed, and I knew the dirt roads around the fields like the back of my hand. 

Back then my solo sexuality, involved climaxing by ejaculating hands free, as I would when I was flying down the dirt road on my bicycle naked and hard and trembling with the excitement of my rising climax. Back then the cum was the thing, the orgasm was the reward. I didn't yet know about the joy of edging for hours and hours, or even days at a time. And I sure didn't know about butt plugs that companies actually made and you could walk into an adult bookstore/video arcade and buy them.

I scooped up all kinds of sex toys that caught my fancy, including cock rings, dildos shaped like men's cocks, with their little ball sacs hanging off the end, all shapes and sizes of butt plugs. These were better than dildos, I discovered, when they weren't shaped like cocks, because they had a specific purpose, even for men, and that was to wear them and do things while wearing them. The best one back in the early days of advanced plug material and design said, pop it in and go play tennis, and you know, it gave me ideas. One plug I bought and wore completely out was shaped like a traffic cone with a shaft that my sphincter would close around once the cone part of the plug was in my rectum. I wore these plugs even when I was in relationships with guys. It was a private part of my life that I didn't choose to share and chance the issues they might have with my somewhat more experimental solo sexual play.