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Chapter One: Buried Treasure

"You gotta promise not to tell anyone." He'd said.

Mark and I looked nervously at each other, then nodded our apprehensive approval to him.

"Swear it." He said sternly.

"I swear." We replied in unison.

"Okay, but if I find out you told anyone about this, I'll deny it." He repeated, giving us a nervous stare in return.

Mark and I sat cross legged next to each other on the wooden floor of the treehouse, anxiously awaiting this mysteriously exciting promise of pubescent angst; our first look at a real, honest to god, nudie magazine.

The new kid unzipped his backpack and fished inside, pulling out a crumpled paper bag, then unsleaved the object of our fascination. I recognized the the name on the cover, along with the signature ears and tail the model wore, but as he flipped open the magazine and laid it down on the floor in front of Mark and I, I was unprepared for the site in front of us.

I had seen my little sister naked before, I had even seen my mother without her bra on once, but I'd never seen anything like that before.
"Whoa..." Was the comment of choice from both Mark and I, as we both attempted to pop our eyes back into our heads. The woman in the picture was elegantly stretched out on a bed, exposed fully for our enjoyment, and believe me, we were enjoying ourselves.

Mark began to gently turn the pages, all of us staring intently at each and every new photograph with eager delight, back and forth until we had seen every page nearly twenty times. After about an hour or so, the new kid, Paul, stood up and announced that he had to go, and had to take the magazine with him. After several attempts to get him to leave the magazine, or at least let us look a little longer failed, he carefully slipped the magazine back into its cover and headed down the rope ladder for home. Mark and I sat alone in the treehouse silently for a while, daydreaming to ourselves about the wonders we'd seen. I worried for a while about the boner I had, wondering if Mark would notice, and tried my best to disguise it's persistent aching. Mark finally broke the silence, suggesting that it might be time for us to leave. Thoughts of heading home were enough to subside the swelling (for the both of us) and we headed our separate ways back home.

The night passed uneventfully, my mind distracted by the family and being allowed to stay up late to watch television, and that night I fell into a deep and satisfying sleep.

In the morning, Mark was at the door bright and early, asking my mother if I could go out and play. We climbed on our bikes and pedaled away, Mark shooting ahead of me while calling back, "Come on!"

I followed Mark as we pedaled past his street and down the next, listening to the suburban call of Saturday morning mowers humming, and enjoying the familiar smell of freshly cut grass, before coming to a stop in front of a house I didn't recognize.

"This is where that new kid Paul lives." Mark revealed.

With a ring of the doorbell, we stood fidgeting nervously until the door opened. A silver haired woman stood behind the screen door, looking rather suprised, but with a pleasant smile on her face. "Well, good morning boys."

"Good morning, Ma'am" We replied.

"What can I do for you two?" She asked.

Mark chimed in, " Well we were wondering if Paul could come out and play?"

The woman smiled and opened the screen door, "Oh how sweet. Tell me, what are you're names?"

"I'm Mark" Mark replied.

"I'm David." I answered.

"Well Mark and David, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm afraid thought that Paul isn't here. You see, he goes to visit his father on the weekends."

"Visit his father?" I wondered silently. Perhaps it was the innocence of the times, or more likely my youthful naiveté, but I didn't understand what she meant. Why would you have to go somewhere to see your father?

"I just baked some cookies, would you two like one?" She asked politely.

Mark and I looked at each other for a moment, before Mark answered, "Sure... I mean, yes please."

She ushered us into the kitchen and handed us each a warm chocolate chip cookie, fresh from the oven; still soft and deliciously gooey.

"So where did you boys meet Paul?" She asked as we munched on the cookies.

"At the park." I answered. We had been playing a game of football when one of the kids had to go, leaving the sides uneven. Paul had been standing off to the side watching silently, so we invited him to fill in.

"Well, Paul will be back on Monday, and I'll make sure to tell him that you two boys stopped by to see him." She said.

"Okay." We replied, "Thanks for the cookies."

"You're very welcome." She answered, as we headed out the door.

Mark and I headed for the treehouse, parking our beloved banana seated bicycles behind the the stone fence in the customary manner of disguising our "secret" place, and spent the afternoon hanging out and just talking; mostly about the magazine we'd seen the day before. We talked a little about Paul, of how he'd managed not to get himself creamed playing football because of his small and skinny size, but mostly wondering where he'd gotten the magazine, and wondering if he could get more.

The next morning, as I sat in the back seat of the station wagon as we pulled into our driveway coming home from an excruciatingly boring morning of church, Mark was already waiting for me outside the front door. After a quick dash to my room to change out of my Sunday church clothes, we headed out on our bikes for the day. We made our way over to Mark's house where he stopped for a minute and ran into his garage.

"Wait here." He yelled as he dashed in, rummaging through a storage bin by the kitchen door. He came back out wearing a backpack and carrying another, tossing it at me as he hopped back onto his bike.

"What's this for?" I asked.

"I'll tell ya in a minute, come on!" He yelled and we were off again. I pedaled behind him with curious excitement for a block or two before hollering out to him, "Okay, now tell me what these are for!"

Mark stopped his bike along the curb and I pulled along side.

"Soooo..." I asked impatiently.

"This morning, my Dad made me help load up the car to take some stuff to the dump." He began.

"Yeah?"

"Well, he asked me if I wanted to go along."

"So?"

"So, I go along with him. We get to the dump and nobody's there, but the gate's open, so we went on in."

"...and...?" I asked, getting impatient.

"And so, we're dropping of this old chair my mother didn't want, along with a bunch of old paint cans and stuff..."

"Yeah, so...?"

"Alright, alright! So anyway, I see this huge trailer, you know like the eighteen wheeler kind, just sitting out in the middle of this big open field that's full of stuff. So I asked him what it was for, and he told me it's where you drop off for paper recycling." Mark finished, beaming a huge smile on his face.

"Yeah, so what?" I asked, completely oblivious as to what the big deal was.

"Don't you get it, dummy? It's where people drop off old papers, old newspapers, old M-A-G-A-Z-I-N-E-S...?"

I couldn't stop the smile from growing on my face as the light bulb finally went off over my head. "Yeahhh!" I hooted.

We sped the long haul to the dump, oblivious to how far it was, our excitement masking any symptoms of fatigue. I'll never forget the moment we arrived at the empty junkyard and stared at the trailer across the open field, feeling like explorers in a new land.

We made our way out toward the trailer, nervously afraid that we'd been seen and stashing our bikes at the fields edge, then stealthily making our way across the open field on foot and climbing up into the opened trailer doors.

"Wow! Look at all of this!" Mark screamed. The trailer was filled with piles and piles of old newspapers, magazines, boxes, and paper bags, stacked high all the way to the back of the trailer. It was almost overload to our young and horny brains. We each started combing, pulling apart the string tied bundles looking for our booty. We must have been in that trailer for nearly three hours, finding everything you could imagine; copies of old Look, Life and Ladies Home Journals, old comic books (which we just had to stop and look at), everything except what we were looking for, when I finally opened a box full of magazines and immediately realized I'd found what we'd come to find.

"MARK! Mark! I got it! I got it!" I called out excitedly.

"Shhhh!" Mark replied, as if our hours of rummaging were suddenly going to be discovered.

I pulled out a magazine from the box and opened it slowly, stopping at the first image of heaven.

"Whoa..." Mark whispered over my shoulder, staring intently as I was at the images of the woman, naked as a jay bird. Mark reached down into the box to grab another, then another magazine as I stood looking mesmerizingly at mine.

After a minute or two, I heard Mark mumble out, "Holy shit..."

I dropped the magazine I'd been holding and leaned over to see what Mark had found, when his words were repeated from my own mouth, "Holy shit..."

Pay dirt. Mark had found the golden vein of our adolescent dreams, an honest to god, true blue, explicit porno magazine. Scarcely noticing that none of the writing was in english, he began to flip the pages, revealing ever more delightful and exhilarating photos with each turn. It was filled with women exposing every millimeter of the tantalizing
feminine secrets to our young and excited eyes, women together kissing and touching each other, and finally... a man and a woman... DOING IT! My knees were literally trembling, my hands sweating profusely as I reached into the box to reveal another and then another magazine, each more suggestive than the next.

It was at the pinnacle of our triumph that disaster would nearly strike, as we heard the alarming sound of a car approaching the trailer. Mark and I were jolted by the crunching sounds of the tires on the gravel strewn field coming to a halt and the car door slamming closed, our hearts pounding out of our chests with near panic, as we stared at each other in indecision.

"Hide!" Mark yelped excitedly, as we dove toward the rear of the trailer, covering ourselves with scattered newspapers. I held tightly to the magazine in my hand, already having decided they'd have to pry it from my fingers before I would let go, and held my breath. We listened with bat like intensity to the agonizingly slow ritual of the person emptying the contents of their trunk, tossing their bundled waste into the trailer.

We remained cautiously concealed under the musty smell of old newspapers long after the car pulled away, not daring to push our luck, before deciding the coast was clear.

"I think we better go." I whispered to Mark, hidden from my eyes just a few feet away.

"Yeah, let's get outta here." He replied anxiously.

We climbed out from beneath our lairs, unzipping our backpacks, and began to scoop magazines blindly from the box, stuffing our packs until they could barely close. Their weight seemed to make no difference, as we dashed across the field to our trusty rides, feeling heavy and yet light as air at the same time.

I remember the look and feel of unbridled excitement and joy on our faces, as we pedaled as fast as we could back to the treehouse, with expectations of discovery on our minds. I would receive a scolding from my parents that night, having spent the rest of that summer afternoon till the purplish colors of dusk set in, mesmerized by our newfound treasure. It would also be, as I lay awake in my bed that night, thinking of all I'd seen, that I would discover the equally exciting magic of masturbation.

Mark and I spent the following morning scrambling around our garages for scraps, grabbing hammers and nails, and an all important used combination lock, before heading out to the treehouse. We had decided, before anything, that we had better find a way of hiding what we'd found, it's value even greater than gold, or so it seemed at the time. We managed to fashion a rather crude, but functional trunk from old pieces of plywood and lumber we were able to find, even finding hinges and an old and rusted gate lock that we could secure it with. We'd finished by noon, and made our way back to my house for lunch, sitting silently at the dinner table as my mother scuttled about the kitchen. In anticipation of returning to our new prize, I think I managed only a few bites of my sandwich before asking if we could go back outside to 'play'. My mother gave the two of us a suspicious look, knowing we were up to something, but laughingly let us go after we swore our innocence. I'm sure she never believed a word of it, but then again I'm also sure she had no idea what we were up to.

Mark and I sat on the floor at opposite sides of the small treehouse, each of us glued to our own magazine, silently staring and gawking at the amazing pictures to be found. I was a comfortable enough distance from Mark, that I felt that I could fidgitingly adjust the swelling in my jeans, which had become increasingly uncomfortable from it's confinement. And as I sat there, staring at photo after photo of naked women pleasing and being pleased, imagining myself to be the object of the woman in the picture's talents and desires, I began to think of nothing else but pulling out my dick and stroking it as I had the night before. After a while, I'm not sure exactly how long but for what seemed like hours, the tension in my groin had grown to the point where I had to close the magazine, or explode. And as I gently closed the pages, again shuffling my legs to ease the tension in my pants, I looked over the the top edge of my magazine at Mark. He had his magazine held in one hand, holding it close enough to his face to see every minute detail, but with the other was slowly stroking his cock through his jeans. I could see the shape of his his hard on as it pressed tightly against the fabric of his pants, his fingers gently massaging along it's length. I felt a strange sense of relief, knowing that my best friend was experiencing the same feelings I had, that I wasn't the only one that had ever felt the urge. I sat silently a minute, just watching him rub himself, and wanting to do the same but still lacking the courage to do it, when Mark whispered out from behind his magazine, "This is great, huh?"

"Yeah." I replied, nervously.

"God, I think if I don't jerk off soon, I'm gonna die." Mark said a little louder. Now I had heard the words 'jerk off' before, but until the night before had never really known exactly what they'd meant. And now, to hear them from Mark, and knowing he knew as well exactly what it meant, caught me by suprise. And before I realized what I'd said, "Yeah, me too." had spilled from my mouth.

I suppose I had said it partially out of a nervous effort to 'fit in' or not feel out of place, but it was also the truth. I wanted to cum so bad it hurt. I nervously opened back up my magazine, pressing it to my face like Mark when I saw his fingers stop their massaging. A heavy silence descended over the treehouse before Mark spoke again.

"Do you wanna?" I heard him say.

"Wanna what?" I asked, pretending to appear naive.

"You know...?" He said after a long pause.

My heart was pounding hard in my chest at the idea, fraught with both apprehension and sexual excitement. I kept my magazine up to my face, my eyes open but not seeing a thing on it's glossy pages.

"I don't know, do you?" I finally said, my voice feeling as though it would crack at any moment. My heart continued to race with nervous anticipation of my dare.

Mark finally replied, "I will if you will." I closed the pages of the magazine that I held, looking over to see Mark doing the same. We sat for a minute, looking apprehensively in each others eyes, neither of us wanting to be the weaker to chicken out, but yet both of us unsure if we had the balls to be the first to make a move. And like close friends often do, at that moment we both began to tip off our thoughts with a wry smile, and then a laugh. Mark went for his belt buckle as I did the same, each of us unfastening, unzipping and opening our jeans with giddy excitement, until we each reached into our underwear and pulled out our eager young hard on's.

Not a word was said as we silently examined each others equipment from afar. I remember, the first thing I noticed was that although Mark's dick was not much bigger than my own, as I would later come to realize, the very light color of his blond pubic hair made it appear to be nearly bald, and so much bigger than it really was. Neither of us thought too much of it, Mark innocently eyeing me as well, and when he reached down and retrieved the magazine he'd been reading, I did the same. We both leaned back against the wall, gently stroking our cocks in one hand while staring at the pictures held in the other, giggling at the excitement of it all. It didn't take long for the laughing to go away, replaced as the sensation of the pumping of our cocks and looking at the pornography was bringing us both quickly to orgasm. No sooner had I begun to feel the tight, tingling sensation in my little balls, than my dick erupted with a geyser of blissful cum, shooting high up onto my shirt, again and again as I continued to pump it excitedly. Without looking, I could hear as Mark reached his orgasm as well, grunting softly as he emptied his load as I had. We both sat for a while, slowly stroking our still hard cocks and breathing hard and deep, when again we both began to laugh.

"That was cool!" Mark said breathlessly.

"Yeah!" I agreed, still stroking my dick softly. And it was, it was about as an exciting thing I'd ever done or felt in my young life, and I knew for sure that I wanted to do it again. I looked over at Mark and saw that he'd laid his magazine down at his side, but was still holding his dick in his hand, gently tugging on it.

"Jesus, look at all the stuff on your shirt!" I said to him, suprised by the amount of semen that stood out against his dark blue T-shirt.

"Oh man, you too!" He replied looking at me and laughing.

We both relinquished our grips on ourselves and quickly stripped off our shirts, using them to wipe off the now sticky remnants from our fingers and softening members. We nervously concocted a plan to explain our soiled shirts, deciding we would rub them in the dirt before heading home and claim that we were playing football at the park.

There would be time for that later, we silently agreed, and were soon back to looking at the magazines, but not before we'd decided to swap, seeing for ourselves what the other had seen. And, as it is with young and hormonally charged boys, it was only a matter of minutes before we both once again had raging hard ons. This time, however, there was no hesitation in grabbing them and beginning the adolescent five finger dance. Flipping through Mark's magazine, I came upon a picture that I hadn't seen in mine; a woman with long blond hair and massive mammaries, kneeling between the legs of a naked man who looked down at her face with excited eyes. Turning the page, the next image was of the same woman, still kneeling before the man, but this time she held his erect penis in her hand and had her tongue laid along it's length. Just below it was another picture, this time the woman had the man's penis all the way in her mouth, appearing to suck on it like a giant candy lollipop.

My mouth went dry as I stared wide eyed at the picture, my hand increasing the pace of my stroking as my dick lurched at the picture as well. My mind reeled at the thought that a woman would do such a thing, and as I continued to examine the photo it became quite apparent to me that she was enjoying herself as much as the man in the photo was. He had his head tilted back and his eyes shut, straining his face not out of pain but of pleasure, and I could distinctly see the slightly upturned smile on the lips of the woman that knelt before him, engulfing his cock with her ruby red lipsticked mouth. My hand nearly trembled at the thought; my mind instinctively imagining the warm and moist sensations the man was receiving. It was then, as I lay reclined against the wall, my hand still stroking away on my cock, that I heard Mark begin to grunt again. Out of curiosity, I dropped my magazine just enough to see over the top of the page, to see Mark feverishly jerking himself to another orgasm, his dick squirting out his cum up onto his now shirtless stomach, again and then again. It was too much for me, and closing my eyes, I blew my load for the second time. It would be different from the first; not quite as intense but because of the increased effort the second time around, more physical, more draining and yet equally satisfying. At that moment, I felt like I could just lay there doing this over and over again for the rest of my life.

But like all good things, it had to end. And as we both lay exhausted and drained, gently mopping the mess from our bellies and finally zipping back up our pants, realizing that it was getting late and not wanting to get into trouble for staying out too late again, we collected up the magazines and cautiously locked them away in our newly made safe. And as we rubbed our shirts in the dirt below the treehouse, stamping on them with nervous delight, I thought silently to myself of figuring out a way to sneak one of magazines home, to occupy myself at night. I'm sure that Mark was thinking the same, but for now, it would have to wait.

Mark and I spent the remainder of that week, as well as the next, doing pretty much the same thing; sneaking away every available minute we could to our hideaway and enjoying the thrills of looking at the collection of magazines. And along with our fascination at looking at every new picture, we also became less and less reserved about the subject of sex, as well as masturbation, eventually finding no hesitation in whipping down our shorts when the time seemed right. It was almost becoming ritual, to the point where we openly watched each other in a sort of game, who could come faster, who could last the longest, even standing side by side as we stroked to see who could shoot the farthest. It was such an innocent time of sexual exploration, and although both of us unspokenly knew not to mention it to anyone, neither of us felt any guilt in what we were doing. Each of us would 'borrow' one of the magazines to take home at night, finding plenty of time to 'perfect our technique' so to speak, and even finding fun in pointing out anytime we found something new in one of the magazines.

I lamented the idea of having to go to camp, which was quickly approaching, not wanting to leave the behind the incredible fun I was having. Every year, from the time I was in the third grade, my mother and father shipped my kid sister and I to a christian summer camp for two weeks. The camp was in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania, only half a days drive, and sat on the edge of a big lake. It had the usual camp ensemble of activities; swimming at the lake, boating classes, nature hikes, and the ever popular 'bug juice' at meals. And apart from the terminally boring sermons the camp director would force us through each morning, I had a good time. But this year, for obvious reasons, I found it very difficult to get excited about going. And to compound the problem, I couldn't exactly explain to my parents that the reason I didn't want to go to camp was that I'd rather be up in the treehouse spanking the monkey with my best friend. So instead, I decided just to deal with it, and to carefully stash away a few magazines for entertainment purposes should the opportunity arise.

The treehouse felt strangely silent, as I sat alone for the first time in nearly two weeks. I would be heading off to camp the next morning and wanted to have one more opportunity to look through the magazines and decide which one I was going to take with me. There were so many to choose from, it was difficult to decide which one I liked the best. Some of the magazines had already made themselves into a stack that Mark and I rarely even looked at any more; the 'pin up' magazines with pretty women but on the whole fairly boring, a couple of magazines with women dressed up in costumes that looked like they were from a Vincent Price horror movie doing things that didn't look like they were having any fun at all, even a black and white magazine that had only pictures of men in it. I sat going through the 'good' stack, having fun as I rubbed my boner through my shorts as I tried to decide, when I heard the sound of Marks bicycle approaching down the pine needle covered trail. Just to be sure though, I loaded back up the trunk and closed the lid, before peeking out the small window. It was indeed Mark, but much to my suprise, there was someone with him, the new kid Paul. The two of them stashed their bicycles and headed for the ladder, climbing up cautiously as they had see my bicycle.

"Hey... David?" I heard Mark call up.

"Yeah, Mark. Come on up." I replied.

" I... um, told Paul he could come." He said, half asking.

"I kinda spilled the beans about the magazines." He whispered in my ear, as Paul sat meekly across the treehouse. "Sorry about that, it was kind of an accident. He asked me to come over this morning to his house, and when he showed me another one of his magazines, I kinda let it slip out about you and I finding all of ours. I made him swear not to tell anyone, or we'd beat him up." It wasn't like Mark to say those kinds of things, I'd never so much as seen him ever raise a fist to anyone for anything before, but this was different. And although I knew we'd probably never actually beat him up, he looked like he was about half our size, I put on a serious face to support the illusion.

"You swear?" Mark said to Paul, wanting him to swear it in front of me.

He simply nodded his head, and sat looking nervous. Mark looked at me, and after giving him the nod, opened the trunk and pulled out a magazine, handing it to the anxious youth as he sat across from us. With a mixture of fascination and amusement, Mark and I fought from laughing as we watched Paul's eyes open wide and his jaw begin to slack open.

"Whoa.." His voice crackled out.

"I told you." Mark stated triumphantly.

Paul had no reply, in fact I'm not sure he heard Mark at all, or anything else for that matter. He had checked out completely, lost to his own fascination held in his hands. And after a few minutes, Mark and I both realized it would be a while before he would be coming up for air.

"So, you're leaving tomorrow?" Mark asked, as he sat down beside me, resting his back on the wall and sitting on the other side of the magazine chest..

"Yeah, early tomorrow morning." I replied, my voice revealing the disappointment of the idea.

"How long will you be gone?" Mark asked, picking up a magazine and flipping open the pages.

"Two whole weeks." I said, doing the same.

"Man... that sucks..." Mark said softly, his voice trailing off as his attention was beginning to turn toward the flesh colored images of the magazine he held.

And as if drawn into the same spiraling eddy, I softly replied, "Yeah..."

Angelina. Long and straight black hair, skinnier that the usual women in the magazines but equally as exciting; I felt an unusual attraction to her look. She was standing next to two men, who leered at her body with hungry eyes. I suppose my look was the same, and like the two lucky ones in the pictures, I was starting to feel the familiar tingle of lust between my legs. Turning the page, my minds eye soaked in the entanglement of flesh and limbs as the three naked bodies intertwined on the sheets of what I imagined to be Angelina's bed. Alternating the projection of myself as, first one of the men, then the other, each being satisfied by this vision of smoothness and pleasure... and then I turned the page. Like a child seeing something for the first time, I was frozen with both puzzlement and excited curiosity with what I saw. One of the men was lying on is back with the beautiful Angelina straddling his hips, his pecker buried deep inside of her; an envious position. But my mind struggled in bewilderment at the sight of the other man, and what he was doing. With his feet planted on the bed, he was straddling the other man like Angelina was, but he stood squatting behind her with his hands resting on each side of her waist. But the object of my fascination was the fact that he had his dick sticking inside of her as well, ...but not in the same place as the other man. A fraction of a second? A minute, an hour? How long that moment lasted I couldn't tell you, as it would be so powerfully overshadowed by the realization of exactly where the squatting man's penis was. I gawked in motionless amazement, but not all of me was still. My own pecker leapt at the realization, rocketing to blue steel stiffness in seconds. Whatever inkling of rational or moral hesitation might have existed in my brain never would have stood a chance against the pounding of my heart and the deafening roar of blood rushing in my ears. It was the moment I fully understood the meaning of the word erotic; the jury was instantly out and long gone on which magazine I'd be taking with me to camp.