A few notes from your's truly:

-This chapter is short and I appologize for that, it's just that if I don't get SOMETHING out I will be stuck in this little writer's block I find myself in for so long that I forget this story is even out there. Don't you worry, I am working on chapter three (which will actually contain some action)!

-Thank y'all so much for all the attention you've given my little story, this is a first for me in many ways and while writing gay teenage boys is a little tough for me (I'm a straight sixteen year old girl with "about as much sexual knowledge and experience as a baby penguin":) the feedback is helping me a ton! *cough, cough* keep it comin'!

Anyway, think of this as a teaser to hold you over-enjoy;)

Let's cut to the chase. My history with masturbation is short and unpleasant-unlike my manhood. just kidding. (except not really). I have gotten myself off before, or started to anyway. I was young you see, thirteen, and it was really late and I just wanted to go to sleep but I couldn't. To say my hard-on was raging would have been a bit of an understatement-I was pitching a tent so big Boy Scouts could have camped under there. Finally I did the first thing I could think of to relieve it, I just went to town. I didn't finish but instead fell asleep somewhere in the middle-big mistake on my part.

The next morning I woke up with my comforter under my chin, suspiciously tucked in. I did not do that and while it weirded me out a bit, I went about my day. And then came the mortifying part-as I went downstairs for breakfast my dad's (at the time) live-in girlfriend and I exchanged some harmless small talk which ended with:

"Oh, hey, Kurt. Uh…the next time you play with your toys, how about putting them away when you're done? Scared the Jesus out of me last night when I went to put your laundry in your room. " She laughed awkwardly, trying to ease the tension, definitely unaware that she had just scarred me for life.

And that's the last time I purposefully rubbed the magic lamp.

However, the slight throbbing, tight sensation between my thighs is telling me that's going to have to change. And sometime here pretty quick.

I park the car outside the front of the house and sigh-it's a good feeling, knowing you've got the place to yourself for a bit. Somehow I manage to find my way upstairs, drop my bag on the floor next to my chaise and sit down at the foot my bed.

I'm pretty sure I'm the most awkward person in the world-sitting there, smack in the middle of the foot of my bed, with an erection, twiddling my thumbs trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do, exactly.

I mean, I know the motions of it all and the technical stuff. I just don't know where to start. Should I light some candles? Should I put on some 'sexy times' music? Should I take myself out for dinner first? I really suck at being at normal human.

After a few minutes pass I make a last-ditch effort by removing my slacks and blazer/shirt/tie so that I'm now sitting in just my undershirt and black satin boxer-briefs. The lack of clothing however, only makes me more anxious.

Sighing, I do the only logical thing one does in my situation. I call Blaine.

"What am I supposed to do?" I ask meekly over the phone, red permeating through my cheeks. I can practically see his eyes shining at me as he stifles a laugh. God bless him, he tries.

"Well just, you know, take your pants off, or unzip them at the very least-"

"No, no. I mean…How am I supposed to get myself…ready?" I ask, biting my lip.

"Kurt, your dick is throbbing. That sounds like ready to me." Blaine teases. I squirm uncomfortably for about the eighth time today and grimace as I realize the extreme amount of truth behind his statement. It should be easy. I mean, it is for every other male-and I'm assuming most females-in the world. You just sort of…do it. But for me, every time I go in for it, I just feel the same way I did when my dad's girlfriend confronted me at breakfast when I was 13. Like I'm ashamed and I want to barf. But Blaine can help me. I trust him. And therefore I bombard him with questions.

"Well I mean, should I light some candles, should I put on music? What am I supposed to think about? Am I supposed to think about you, I mean you are my boyfriend- am I even supposed to think?" My voice becomes frantic and I can feel myself start to soften up a little down there. That can't be good. There's a silence on the other end of the line and then a sigh-not an annoyed sigh, just an airy, almost humored sigh.

"Tell you what, Kurt. I'm going to help you out even more." His tone now has an edge to it. A sense of need, want. Determination.

"…Okay…" I respond shakily, "What did you have in mind?" I ask, sliding behind me on my bed so that my back is leaning up against the headboard.

"Kurt, what are you wearing?" He asks me in a voice that can only be described as downright fucking sexy.

It's now that I wave goodbye to 13 year old me and strip away my inhibitions with my remaining pieces of clothing. For a second a wave of embarrassment passes over me but that floods away as soon as I hear his little moan as a reaction to my quiet, understated yet still pretty hot response of, "Nothing."

Again, sorry it's so short, it will be longer next time!

Reviews are always welcome:)

~Rhea

"Oh Bambi. I cried so hard when those hunters shot your mommy."