It grew to a nice six-inch dick, so I had nothing to complain about in that department. I guess being such a late bloomer, I was never the most well-endowed guy in high school, but at three-inches flaccid I didn’t mind.
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Then, after checking for any other signs of other life, I slid my thumbs under the waistband of my shorts and peeled them from my sweaty skin releasing the uncut member between my legs. Hopping along I quickly pulled off my shoes, and tossed them onto the bank. Finally, after what felt like hours, I heard the babbling of its waters. I walked along the trail looking out for familiar landmarks that told me I was nearing a cooling creek that ran through the forest. As the heat of midday beats down on me, sweat poured off my young body. I had decided to only wear shorts and runners (no socks) as it was one of those balmy Alabama days. I guess I was a late bloomer, as I never grew pubic hair until I was eighteen, didn’t need to shave until I was twenty-five.Īnyway, this particular hike something happened that one would call a major event in a young lad’s life.
Something that plagued me for a long time, as it wasn’t until I was in my late twenties that people stopped asking me for ID to get into clubs, or buy alcohol in bars. My mom always joked I still looked fourteen, given how short and skinny I was.
Back then I was a lean, scrawny nineteen-year-old, with a messy straw-blond head of hair. I found it peaceful, walking the miles and miles of game trails is a good way to keep in shape. Growing up in rural Alabama, I found myself alone in the woods often.