Date: Thu, 26 Sep 2002 20:51:28 +1000
From: Mortie <mortie@boy-cock.net>
Subject: Surf Lifesaving Club

Surf Lifesaving Club
by Mortie

copyright expressly waived

This is a true story. Well, okay, some of the details have been exaggerated
to improve the story a bit. But it's mainly true.

------------------------------------------------

The setting for these events is a Surf Lifesaving Club ("SLSC") situated
somewhere on the East Coast of Australia. To protect the Club and its
reputation, I won't say where exactly. People familiar with Australia's
major SLSCs will probably recognize it anyway.

The SLSC is set on a rocky promontory, jutting out into the Pacific Ocean.
Below the clubhouse, to one side, is a sheltered bay. On the other side,
the surf beach stretches miles/kilometers into the distance. It is a
popular beach with surfers but, being a bit secluded, only attracts crowds
during the (Australian) Summer school holidays - especially December and
January. The beach becomes very quiet in late January and February, when
younger kids have gone back to school, and only the University students can
enjoy an extended break.

These events occurred several years ago. Again, I won't say exactly when,
to protect the reputations of those involved. I was a University student at
the time.

The SLSC was hosting a group of young lifesavers from Germany - or, to be
more precise, West Germany, as it then was. They were experienced still
water lifesavers, having practised in swimming pools, lakes, dams and
rivers, and the calm beaches of Germany's Baltic coast. Some had
experienced real surf lifesaving conditions on holidays in other parts of
the world. But for most, it was there first experience of genuine surf
lifesaving.

They stayed at my SLSC for a week, arriving just before the Australia Day
long weekend (around 26 January), which is traditionally the end of the
Australian summer holidays. The beach was packed for all three days of the
weekend; then the crowds disappeared, leaving me and two younger guys to
supervise this team of 15 German youths.

They were an extremely fine looking crew ... tall, blond and blue-eyed,
fit, healthy, with those instant sun-tans which Northern Europeans seem to
get the moment they take off their shirts and expose their lily-white flesh
to the Sun's rays.

The German lads had been in Australia since before Christmas, participating
in various lifesaving carnivals and other events in 3 States. Their last
few days were intended to be "rest and recreation", before boarding their
planes back to the cold Northern Hemisphere winter.

We organized various activities to keep them amused ... surfing and
fishing, hikes and picnics in the immediate vicinity, football and
volleyball games on the beach, and the like. In those days, the legal
drinking age in Australia was 21. At night, some of the older boys (the 21
to 24 year olds) were allowed to go to the local hotel, whilst the younger
guys (18 to 20) had to make do with pizzas from the take-away, and any
alcohol that their older friends could smuggle back to the clubhouse.

The last night - a Thursday, as they were due to fly out on Friday morning
- we organized a traditional Auzzie barbecue. There was plenty of beer and
wine for the older boys, and Coke and other soft drinks for the youngsters.
Strangely, though, by the end of the night, most of the beer and wine had
gone, and the soft drinks hadn't been touched.

Getting on for around 10.30 pm, after my two Australian co-hosts had gone
home for the night, some of the Germans decided they wanted a last swim in
the Pacific Ocean before returning to Europe. Acting responsibly, I
reminded them that they had already packed their bags for the trip home,
and they wouldn't want to be carrying wet bathers on an aircraft. "No
problem", announced one of the German boys. "We Europeans don't need
bathers to swim in the ocean !"

Almost at once, the entire company began to strip. First the shirts came
off, exposing the range of chests which I had already become familiar with,
varying from mature and well-developed pecs with a light covering of curly
blond hair, to young lads with only a few wisps of downy fluff in their
arm-pits and beginning to form a "snail trail" from their belly buttons
down to the tops of their underwear.

I had, of course, caught the occasional glimpse of more when they were in
the showers or visited the urinals. But nothing which I had seen prepared
me for the smorgasbord of euro-cock which was now offered for my eyes to
feast upon.

In those days, uncut dicks were something of a rarity in Australia ... the
"roundheads" outnumbered the "cavaliers" in most Auzzie schools by a ratio
of about 9 to 1. But as one after another peeled off their skimpy
underwear, each revealed butts of virginal whiteness, contrasting with the
brown tans above the line of their bathers, and flashes of golden pubic
hair heralded the revelation of plump and meaty "anteater" cocks.

The group proceeded down to the cove beside the clubhouse, splashed about
in the surf for a while, and then played volleyball in the nude. Of course,
I volunteered to be umpire. Standing at the net, on a bright moon-lit
night, I could focus on this array of young cocks and balls bouncing up and
down as boys scrambled across the sand court to reach the volleyball.

Around midnight, the guys started to wander back up the narrow path to the
clubhouse. But, on the last night of their Australian adventure, they were
still too excited to go to bed. So they sat around on armchairs, on stools,
even on the floor, chatting and laughing - every one of them still buck naked.

There was one guy, in particular - I will call him Georg (not his real
name, of course) - about 20, over 6 feet tall, a delicate yet handsome
face, blond hair which any surfie would be proud of, a chest which was not
yet fully developed but broad and masculine, and a dick as thick as a
salami. He was sitting on the floor, talking to two other guys on lounge
chairs. His eyes were at the level of their dicks. And I noticed that the
salami was getting larger, longer and firmer. He didn't seem to notice. At
any rate, he wasn't embarrassed.

Then one of the younger lads noticed Georg's budding erection, pointed it
out, and joked at him. He replied (in German) to the effect that his dick
was still limp, and that when he did get an erection they would know about
it. They laughed at him, and he said -  "Okay, I'll prove it to you", and
started beating his meat.

This began to arouse one or two other dicks around the room, and soon
Georg's dick wasn't the only one being man-handled.

At this stage, I intervened, suggesting that we play a well-known Auzzie
surfie game, known as "Soggy Biscuit". There are variants on this game in
many parts of the world, and the German guys caught on fairly quickly. You
place a biscuit (cookie) on a stool in the middle of the room, and everyone
jerks off and ejaculates onto the biscuit - the last one to cum has to eat
the biscuit.

Naturally, I volunteered for the job of referee. I had to stand beside the
biscuit, watching 15 German boy-gods pounding their manhoods, keeping a
close eye on them to see who came first.

All different styles and techniques were in use. Some grasped their tools
from above, with their palms on top, letting their fingers do the walking;
others grasped themselves from below and let Mrs Palmer do the work. Some
spat on their hands for added lubrication. Some used their foreskins to
work back and forward across the heads of their dicks. A few played with
their own balls with one hand whilst spanking the monkey with the other.
One had his left hand halfway up his own arse.

The contortions were extraordinary ... guys bent over in all the strangest
shapes as they coaxed and encouraged the man-juices from their youthful
scrotums. And then, as they neared climax, the most amazing bellows, howls,
screams and bodily convulsions, as - one after another - they pumped fresh
cream onto the biscuit.

I will admit that I got so excited that I lost track of who came first, who
came last, and everything in between. It just seemed like a cyclone of hot
sweet-smelling juices flying from every direction. So when I was asked to
announce who the winner (or loser ?) was, I couldn't say.

"That's okay", says Georg. "We can just do it again." Some of the guys
protested, but Georg said that if anyone was having trouble  reaching
another climax, he - Georg - would help.

"What do you mean, Georg ?" asked one of the younger, and more naive, lads.

"Let me show you," said Georg ... and promptly walked over to the young
innocent, clasped his lips around the boy's limp cock, and started to work
on him.

"You're not going to suck the entire group ?" I asked Georg in my bad
German. George looked around, and looked at me - my dick then pointing due
North. "Not if you're prepared to help out!" was his reply.

"Well," said I, "You can't suck your own, Georg, so it looks like I will
have to help you."

"Actually, I can suck my own," said Georg, with a smile; then added, "But
be my guest".

At this stage, Georg was kneeling in front of a stool, sucking the guy who
was sitting on it. I gently eased his legs apart, and was surprised (but
delighted) to find his tool totally limp, so I could have my first ever
taste of foreskin.

Soon after, Georg announced, "We will miss our flight if you and I have to
service everyone. Let's form a circle." And, sure enough, the whole crew
lay in a circle, not head to toe, but mouth to cock.

The second time around, the gyrations, palpitation and convolutions were
even more extreme. Every minute or two, you would hear a groan, a shout, or
a shudder, and then the sweet aroma of boy-cum would again fill the air.
Like a row of dominos, one after another dropped, until the entire group
were lying in their original positions, each one covered with a fresh dose
of his own cum, and a quantity of his next-door neighbor's.

Nothing was discussed the following morning. The boys ate breakfast
quietly, boarded the bus to the airport, and said their good-byes. I
corresponded with Georg for a while; he became an architect, married, and
now has 3 daughters.

Recently, I got an email from Georg. He is now president of his local
lifesaving club, and wants to bring a group of  lads to Australia ... and
wondered if I would be able to arrange the same kind of hospitality as he
and his friends enjoyed on his last trip to Australia.

Any volunteers ?