Boy Becomes Man
Marleyman314
Published
07/24/2010
Boy Becomes Man
( A young boys journey into manhood while on a camping trip )
By Kyle Hoffman
Men fart too much. They do it a lot. They laugh and joke about it and even admit with great pride their best accomplishment. I am confident tonight in my slumbering sleep that the silence of the dark forest will be broken by the thundering roar of the men's evening dinner.
The dawn harkens the call of anal artillery. Each pungent bouquet is accompanied by a booming report. And when the rectal siren's song ceases to echo of the distant canyon walls, the evidence remains in the men's gravy stained shorts. As my eyes water from the acrid clouds of digestive emissions, I find that I am filled with envy. The thought of sharing in the majestic poot pageantry makes my rectum tingle with delight.
As the sun rises, I slowly feel the tingling sensation of my sphincter screaming for a joyous bowel movement. Knowing the brewing log can be mined for methane, I see my opportunity to freshen the air.
The pleasant, painful pressure swells within my gut. I see in the faint distance the cedar sided shack, and as life often does, I am faced with a crossroad decision. My alimentary earnestness beckons me. Shall I deposit a corn studded butt bone in that fly infested hole of fuming human compost? Or shall I retain possession until such time as I can spray foul air in a glorious reverberation of the pine boards on which I sit.
My decision becomes crystal clear as one of the men lifts his left cheek and carves off a generous slice of roast booty beef. Manhood is just around the corner. I summon my great reserve of abdominal energy and push out my bunger like there is no tomorrow.
My straining is instantly rewarded. A large bubble of intestinal gas blows its way through my southerly canal. As it exits, an ensuing vacuum pulls my buttocks back together with a deafening clap.
As the men in the camp, their ears ringing, look around for the agent of their sensory discomfort, I can only try to hide my shame in filling my pants with a syrupy warmth. But shame gives way to pride, for I can see in the nodding, approving glances of the others that I have become a man.
( A young boys journey into manhood while on a camping trip )
By Kyle Hoffman
Men fart too much. They do it a lot. They laugh and joke about it and even admit with great pride their best accomplishment. I am confident tonight in my slumbering sleep that the silence of the dark forest will be broken by the thundering roar of the men's evening dinner.
The dawn harkens the call of anal artillery. Each pungent bouquet is accompanied by a booming report. And when the rectal siren's song ceases to echo of the distant canyon walls, the evidence remains in the men's gravy stained shorts. As my eyes water from the acrid clouds of digestive emissions, I find that I am filled with envy. The thought of sharing in the majestic poot pageantry makes my rectum tingle with delight.
As the sun rises, I slowly feel the tingling sensation of my sphincter screaming for a joyous bowel movement. Knowing the brewing log can be mined for methane, I see my opportunity to freshen the air.
The pleasant, painful pressure swells within my gut. I see in the faint distance the cedar sided shack, and as life often does, I am faced with a crossroad decision. My alimentary earnestness beckons me. Shall I deposit a corn studded butt bone in that fly infested hole of fuming human compost? Or shall I retain possession until such time as I can spray foul air in a glorious reverberation of the pine boards on which I sit.
My decision becomes crystal clear as one of the men lifts his left cheek and carves off a generous slice of roast booty beef. Manhood is just around the corner. I summon my great reserve of abdominal energy and push out my bunger like there is no tomorrow.
My straining is instantly rewarded. A large bubble of intestinal gas blows its way through my southerly canal. As it exits, an ensuing vacuum pulls my buttocks back together with a deafening clap.
As the men in the camp, their ears ringing, look around for the agent of their sensory discomfort, I can only try to hide my shame in filling my pants with a syrupy warmth. But shame gives way to pride, for I can see in the nodding, approving glances of the others that I have become a man.
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