Rate this story The next morning, I woke up with a woody. This, of course, wasn’t really unusual. After all, I was 13 years old. Any morning following any night that I didn’t have a wet dream — and even some when I did — I could count on having a rager in my underwear as I rolled out of bed. The usual result of this was that I’d have to stand over the toilet for at least five minutes, waiting for my erection to die down, so that I could take my first leak of the day. It...
