American Birds

A short story by Kavan Cleary

When I was a young boy, I used to love the sound of the birds singing in the morning. The call of the cuckoo, the cock-a-doodle-doo of the rooster, the laugh of the swan and so many more. My parents wouldn’t allow me to listen to music till I turned twenty, so growing up the birds were my Beatles, my Michael Jackson and my Beyonce. My Elvis was a dove. My Bach was a woodpecker which would just not shut up. Oh how I got to know all the different birds so well! And I had no need for human friends when I had so many good bird friends.

My parents never really explained the birds and the bees to me. Mother was too busy with her doll making business and Papa was a general in the military. Of course, I was a young man with two hands, so I figured out touching myself felt good. And one day I did it — I jerked off. After I came I looked out the window and noticed that there were several hummingbirds floating outside the window. They must have seen the whole performance.

Ever since then, whenever I jerked off there would always be birds watching. If the windows were closed they would be outside looking in. If the window was open they would come and look as closely as possible. I would be touching myself and there would be a stork one inch from my dick. Once I had the windows closed and the blinds drawn and a flock of seagulls flew into my window repeatedly till they broke through the glass and watched me cum. There was another time when I was completely alone at the Grand Canyon and I decided to jerk it off the edge into the Colorado River. When I started there wasn’t a bird in the sky, but right as I was coming an eagle swooped down and my cum struck him in his eye and he careened into the ground and then fell off into the river and drowned.

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