Date: Mon, 12 May 2003 21:40:32 +0000
From: Jo Vincent <joad130@hotmail.com>
Subject: Aladdin's Awakening:  Part 43

Usual Disclaimer: If you are not of an age to read this because of the laws
of your country or district please desist.  If you are a bigot or
prod-nosed fundamentalist of any persuasion find your monkey-spanking
literature elsewhere and keep your predilections and opinions to
yourself. Everyone else welcome and comments more than welcome.

This is a very long tale.  It unfolds over a good number of years.  What is
true, is true: what is not is otherwise.  If you have trouble with the
English educational system let me know.


			    ALADDIN'S AWAKENING

				    By

				   Joel

				CHAPTER 26

				 Part One:

			 Wednesday April 26th 1944
			 First Day of Summer Term

Wednesday arrived wet and horrible just like the day before.  I'd promised
Tom I would help him with his paper-round on his first day alone.  I knew
Duncan had helped him on Monday and Tuesday because I'd passed them on my
usual run so he should know now which papers went where.  Anyway, I was out
of bed, on with running togs, no wash, and outside No. 22 at 7 a.m. on the
dot.  Surprise! Surprise!  Tom appeared immediately and cycled off to the
newsagent to collect his bag and I was admonished to be in Prentice Road to
meet him without delay.

     Cheeky bugger!  I set off and reached the appointed meeting place just
as he came round the corner.  Actually it wasn't too bad as the drizzle
stopped as we started.  I jogged off with three or four papers at a time
and the newsagent had kindly put the numbers at the top.  Most of Prentice
Road seemed to have either the Mirror or the Herald but I didn't have time
to peruse any of the contents.  We got back at eight so I had to rush to
get washed, changed and have my breakfast before haring off to first day
back at school for the Summer term.

     I arrived just as the bell went and was last in line to go into
Assembly.  The Head Beak was in a real mood and we were all lectured about
the coming examinations; Higher School Cert., Matric, School Cert., mocks,
etc. etc.  Even the younger ones came in for a blasting and were told that
no one would be allowed to be a slacker, especially with the war on and so
on.  He did say how pleased we should all be with the efforts of the school
team in beating Fensham and everyone concerned from youngest to most senior
was deserving of praise.  I nudged Matt who went his usual scarlet.

     He also said the school Cadets had had a very successful camp and then
we were instructed that there would be a very special Empire Day parade
when we all, repeat all, had to appear dressed in our appropriate uniforms
to be inspected by the old Colonel who was Chairman of the Governors.  The
Head Beak wanted a good show from all and sundry.  It didn't end there
because, as soon as we got to our form room, Huggy started on us again and
demanded homework books.  There were one or two glum faces but virtuous me
and equally virtuous Matt handed ours in with a nudge and a wink.  It got
steadily worse.

     After lunch it was Games afternoon and it was the dreaded cricket with
a still limping Rabbity.  Luckily there were sufficient flanneled fools who
liked the tediousness of it to make a team against the likewise of 4S so we
sensible ones were given the option of either being scorers and scoreboard
flunkies or to get ready for Sports Day by doing some athletics training.
First, Tom, Matt and I were set the task of sorting out hurdles, javelins,
discuses and balls of varying heaviness for the shot putt.  Naturally, Tom
wanted to know if Matt's balls were as big as either of the two he was
holding.  That was a bit dangerous as Matt was armed with a javelin and
threatened to stick it somewhere where it might hurt.

      When finished we were told we might as well go home so Tom and I
cycled off quick before anyone could call us back.  When we got into our
road Tom said why didn't I come in for a chat.  I shoved my bike into our
garage and wandered back to his house.

     He called me upstairs as I went in the back door and as I went through
the open door of his room he pounced on me and wrestled me to the ground.

     "Try to get out of that," he sneered into my face.

     I lay still.  If the silly ass wanted to play he should have asked.
He pressed down on my chest.

     "Come on, see if you can get me off.  I'm going to get Dunc down one
day and I need to practice," he said enthusiastically and thumped down on
my lower body with his heavier weight.

     "Ouch!" I said, rather testily, "Get off, I'm not playing around in my
school uniform.  If you want to practice we'll do it when we haven't got
these clothes on."

     Stupid me.  With that Tom bounced off me and stripped off his jersey,
shirt and trousers and, before I could get up, he had unbuttoned my flies
and was yanking off my trousers.

     "Come on," he said rather breathlessly, "No time like now!  Put your
feet up and when I've got these off just take your jacket off."

     I did as I was told and also took tie and shirt off so I was just in
pants and socks.  Swiftly he did the same and then launched himself at me.
I rolled aside and he crashed to the floor like the great lummox he was.  I
remembered my wrestling bouts with Mike and rolled back and pinioned him
with my legs tight against his thighs forcing his arms over his head.  I
was quite a bit lighter than he was but my agility was getting the better
of him.  I pressed down hard on his torso and put my head on his neck by
the side of his chin and pressed upwards.  He was stuck.  He wriggled
around but my weight on the top of his legs kept him down.  Ah well, might
as well have some fun, so I turned my head and began licking him under the
chin.  Whoops.  The effect was almost instantaneous.  I felt his hard-on
begin to press against me so I dipped my head and swept my tongue down and
over his nipple.

     "Oughh," he growled, so I did it again.

     "Oughhh," he grunted and pressed his body up against mine.

     Needless to say my rod was rigid by then.  I lifted my head and looked
at him.

     "All I wanted was a wrestle," he said almost plaintively.

     "All you've got is the usual stiff dick," I whispered back.

     He grinned and pressed up again.  I let go of his hands and slipped my
right hand between us and ran my fingers up his firm shank still in his
pants.

     "Oughhh," he went again, closing his eyes, "I want it quick!"

     I leaned back and slid down his legs a bit. I pulled his pants over
his hips and out popped his tool.  His was growing fast too.  It seemed
even thicker than on Sunday.
  Still, I musn't keep the lad and his lad waiting so I set off at a good
pace and he soon shot his load all up over his chest with a prolonged
"Oughhhh...!" issuing from his wide-open mouth.

     As he lay there I pushed my pants down a bit and lifted his hand to my
cock.  As I knelt across him, he slowly wanked me and I produced my usual
mighty fountain.  I leaned back so it arched up in the air and splashed
down to join his own spunk on his chest.  He let go of my still upright
dick and felt below it and held my balls which gradually loosened and
dropped.  He gave them a gentle squeeze, opened his eyes and smiled up at
me.

     "Och, who wants a wrestle when we can do this?" he said with a twinkle
in his eyes.

     "Wrestle you anytime," I replied, "And, I promise you, we'll get
Duncan sometime!"

     I stood up and pulled my pants over my now drooping cock. I felt the
stickiness of the last drop of spunk against the fabric.  I retrieved my
trousers, shirt and pullover and pulled them on as Tom lay there looking
down at himself.

     "I think I'm going to like athletics on Wednesday afternoons if it's
always like this," he said grinning and idly pulling back his foreskin to
inspect his knob.

     "Don't bet on it," I replied, "Once Rabbity starts hopping around
he'll have us running, throwing and jumping and you'll be too tired for any
of this."

     "Never too tired for this," he said languorously, gently stretching
his skin back until his knob stood out, fat, dark pink and shiny, "It'll
have to wait until tonight now though 'cos Dunc'll be home soon."

     Crumbs, what with Matt beating his meat at every opportunity and Pat
Halloran breaking all-comers' records it looks as if Tom wants to join the
race.

     "What's your score then?" I asked.

     "When I want and when I can!" was the terse reply, as he idly flipped
his skin forward to cover his knob.  He flourished his dick at me.
"Definitely tonight, nice and slow.  It'll be a relief after doing old
Campion's History homework."

     True, I expect I'll need another by then and I had no homework to do!
I finished dressing and said my farewells to the still recumbent figure on
the floor.

     Ma wasn't back from work so I practised my piano pieces until I heard
her in the kitchen.  I sauntered out to see if there was any food but all I
got was a torrent of French and questions about the continuation of the
French circle.  I said I would ask the others and said I expected it would
be useful as we had our exams starting in three weeks.  Anyway, we had a
good feed that evening and I finished off the day in bed thinking about Tom
and just had to have another most exquisite wank as my dick was
uncontrollable.

                                *

     The rest of the week went quickly enough but no helping hands at all.
Tom did come in on Saturday wanting help with his homework but as Ma was
around, no chance of the usual.  However, scores remained at a level two a
day.  Pa 'phoned to say he was being kept very busy and wouldn't be home
until at least next Wednesday.  I missed having him around and knew what my
friends must feel like with their dads away all the time.

     I'd helped Tom each morning with his paper round running on with a
bundle of papers and then going on to finish my proper run.  He'd paid me
the promised shilling on Saturday and then said he would do the lot himself
from Monday.  I think his Scottish canniness didn't allow him to part with
good money!  I didn't mind as I intended to continue going for a run each
morning anyway.


                              *
                    Monday May 1st 1944
     Monday evening at St John's Pat Halloran asked if Matt and I would
like to come to see him box on Friday evening at the local Church Hall.  We
said we would and he arranged with his dad that we could go as official St
John Ambulance attendants.  Matt did come home with me on Tuesday and we
did indulge before I helped him with his maths revision.  Though I say it
myself I am not unhappy with the recent increase in my size.
  Not only am I almost as tall as att but my tool has definitely spurted in
another way in the last few weeks.  His is just thick, heavy and long - and
well-used!  He said he did it five times on Sunday, because he had nothing
else to do, so my paltry twice that day seems little in comparison.
                                *
                    Wednesday May 3rd 1944
     I remembered to take my running kit on Wednesday as I was determined
not to be roped in to play cricket and had reminded Matt to bring his as
well.  We changed and were watching Tom and his cousin, Alan King, throwing
the discus.  It was odd in some ways, 'cos though Tom and Alan were cousins
and about the same age they never seemed to meet up out of school.  I would
have to find out why!

     Just then a couple of Fifth Years, Greg Hall and George Abbott, also
in shorts and vests joined us.  I gathered from their conversation that
they were fed up revising so some beak said they could go and practice on
the athletics field.

     "We're going for a run in a minute and you run, don't you?" George
said after watching for a while, "Coming with us?"

     I looked at Matt who nodded and the four of us set off around the
perimeter of the playing field at a steady pace.  On the far side was a
five-barred gate and a track leading off into a wood.  We'd been through
there on the Run last term so we climbed over the gate and set off along
the track.

     Greg was running alongside me with George and Matt just behind.  As we
negotiated a rather muddy bit of the track he slowed down, putting his feet
down carefully.

     "Watch it," he said, "It's very slippery along here.  We were out here
on Monday night with the Cadets."

     I looked down and could see the imprint of numerous boots in the mud.

     "You in anything?" he asked.

     "St Johns," I replied rather breathlessly.

     He nodded and was silent for a bit.  I could hear a murmur of
conversation from behind.

     "My dad works at the lab where your dad is boss," Greg informed me,
"And I'm taking the Civil Service exam this summer so I can go and work at
the lab myself after I've done Higher School Cert."

     Before I had time to answer we reached a gate leading into a field
across which the track carried on into the distance.  Greg stopped and
leaned on the gate.  Matt and George joined us.

     "I didn't know your dad worked there.  What does he do?" I asked.

     Greg put his finger against the side of his nose.  "I don't know.  But
I will if I get a job there.  He says I can work there during the Summer
hols."

     Matt was listening and immediately said "He's in charge of the group
dealing with special metals for submarines."  Then he blushed violently.

     "How do you know?" we both asked simultaneously.  "Who told you?" I
added sternly.  Once again Matt knew more than he should.

     "Julia's been doing some typing for his dad and she brought some home
to finish on her typewriter.  I saw it in her room."  He blushed again.
Greg and I looked at each other.

     "He needs to be taught a lesson," I said, "Nosey little bugger.  He
could be a German spy!"

     Matt looked aghast.  "I'm not!  Julia didn't tell me anything.  I just
saw his name on the top sheet."

     "You wait Matt," I said, "I'll deal with you later."

     "Good job I'm only going to work for my father in his shop," said
George, laughing.  "Come on, you two can fight your battles later."

     He vaulted the gate nimbly and set off without us.

     "Don't worry, Greg," I said, "I'll sort him out."

     Matt looked very contrite as we three climbed the gate and set off in
silence in pursuit of George.  I thought it best to change the subject.

     "What shop has George's dad got?" I asked Greg before I was too out of
breath.

     "Oh, the ironmonger's down the road by the cathedral.  George says
they aren't doing much trade at the moment but it's sure to pick up after
the war."

     I knew the shop.  A double-fronted place with big windows and lots of
different tools in it.  Then I remembered the last time I'd seen it the
windows were criss-crossed with tape and there were sand-bags half-way up
them as well.

     We did a complete circle and arrived back at the side entrance to the
school and ran down into the changing rooms.  George was already there.

     "No good," he said complainingly, "There's no bloody hot water in the
showers."

     Silently we parted and Matt and I went to our bit of the room and
changed into our school uniforms.  By the time we'd finished Greg and
George had gone.  Matt was in a conciliatory mood.

     "Come home with me and you can have a bath there.  Mum and Julia won't
be in for ages."

     Good, I would use the nosey tyke's hot water and I'd make sure he
suffered.

     We cycled off long before school had officially ended and went
immediately to Matt's.  We stripped off in his bedroom and made our way to
the bathroom.  My moment had come.

     Matt turned the taps on and turned to face me.  I eyed his lengthy
dong.

     "Crumbs, Matt," I said, all concern in my voice, "What's wrong with
your cock.  It's got much shorter hasn't it."

     Matt's face was a picture.  Of course, his cock was exactly the same,
it wasn't cold so there was no shrinkage.

     "What do you mean?"  He looked down on it.  "It hasn't, has it?"

     "Definitely," I asserted, "It's much shorter and stubbier than it was
last week.  What have you been doing to it?"

     Matt was twisting and turning his head to try and get a better view.
There was no handy low mirror.

     "Mine's much bigger now, isn't it?" I said confidently.  It was too,
it had a slight swell on it.  "Yours is definitely much smaller than it
was."

     Poor Matt was really worried.  I swear that his cock seemed to shrink
a bit.  Perhaps I should try a little more.

     I dropped to my knees so I could peer more closely at the article in
question.

     "Your skin's getting very wrinkled and it's not so fat," I stated,
enjoying every moment.

     Well, well, well!  Before my very eyes it did seem to deflate even
more.  Matt was getting very agitated.

     "What's wrong?" he almost wailed, "Am I doing it too much?  Will it
get long again?"

     "Come on," I said in a friendly voice, "Let's have a bath and see how
it is then."

     Very graciously he let me get in first, then he followed and stared at
his cock flopping against his thigh.

     We washed ourselves down and got out and dried ourselves on the towels
very conveniently laid over a chair.  Mine smelt of face powder.  Obviously
Julia's.  I had great satisfaction drying my prick in the middle of it just
where I guessed she would be pressing her face in the morning.  Matt was
drying his cock very carefully just using the edge of his towel.

     "Is it longer now?" he asked, turning to face me fully.

     "I don't think so," I said, lying through my teeth.  The hot water had
had lengthening effects on both of us.  I reached out and lifted his prick
and pulled the skin back.

     "It gets bigger when I do this," I said.  It certainly did.  It
gradually rose until it was it's usual full length.  "I don't think it goes
up your belly as far as it did."  My mendacity was improving every minute.
"Try mine," I instructed him.

     Rather reluctantly, for him, he held my dick between thumb and two
fingers.  I was determined to get the maximum length out of it.  I squeezed
my buttocks in rhythm as he drew my skin up and down.  My shaft thickened
and lengthened admirably.  I tried to pump it up as much as I could.  My
erection exceeded all expectation.  Matt let go and I stood leaning back
slightly to show it off as fully as possible.

     "Yours isn't much bigger than mine, now," I said.  Gosh, what I hadn't
realised was that it wasn't.  What had been at least two and a half inches
longer and a good bit thicker a few weeks earlier was now no more than two
inches longer but still fatter.

     Poor Matt, he looked back and forth, or rather, down and across.

     "Yours is bigger," he conceded, "But what about mine?"

     "Definitely not so big as usual," I said.  "And your knob's not so
fat," I added for good measure.  "Come on, let's see if it still works."  I
got behind him and grabbed his tool and began jerking him off.

     That really did it.  I must have rubbed him up and down for about five
minutes and he was panting away, his buttocks twitching against me but he
didn't come.  I let go of his dick and whispered.

     "You'd better do it to me."

     He was a bit slow in responding so I grabbed his hand and put it on my
cock.  I only needed about twenty strokes before I shot my usual load fully
across the bath, splashing the tiles on the wall the other side.

     Matt was breathing fast and jerkily.

     "Oh, please, Jacko, what's gone wrong?" he quavered, his voice rising
at least an octave.  "My dick's shorter and I can't make stuff, what's the
matter with me?"

     I thought I'd better let him down slowly, or at least finish wanking
him slowly.  Another surprise.  His dick had drooped in the short time he
was tossing me off and now really did look shrivelled.  I thought I'd
better continue `just a wee bitty more', as Mrs Buchanan would say.

     "Yeah, Matt," I said, looking down at his less than elephantine trunk,
"You've got a problem there.  Let's see if I can cure it."

     I only knew one way of curing Matt so I dropped to my knees again and
touched his foreskin capped end with the tip of my tongue.  I put out a
hand and drew his skin back a bit and licked the end of his rather sticky
knob as he had produced the usual drop of lubrication.  Nothing ventured,
nothing gained.  I opened my mouth and, pushing his skin back over the
swelling object, began to suck it.  It had the desired effect.  The mighty
shaft thickened and tried to rise but I had it fast in my mouth.  I sucked
at it for about a minute before Matt put both hands on the sides of my
head, opened his mouth and produced a long `Aaaaagh' and shot his load.

     He held my head for some time as I swallowed down his sweetish come.
"Thanks, Jacko," he breathed out at last and let go.

     I got to my feet and he reached down and held my still rather stiff
dick.

     "Do you want it again?"

     All I could do was nod.  He wanked me quite slowly but it wasn't long
before I shot a second load, just hitting the wall tiles this time but with
most falling into the bath water.

     "I don't want it again, yet," a rather disconsolate Matt said huskily,
"I'll wait until this evening and see then."

     My nasty side continued.  "You'd better measure it tonight and make a
note and do the same every time it's stiff, then you'll know how much it's
shrinking."

     Matt produced a feeble smile. "Yeah, I'd better.  That's a good idea.
Then I can show you, can't I?"

     I murmured some pleasantries and looked round for my clothes.  While
pulling on my shirt I was amused to see Matt using Julia's towel to clean
up the spunk splodged tiles.  As well as wiping her face on the place where
my dick had been there would also be a patch of spunk stained fabric on
which to dry her hands.

     Matt was rather too preoccupied with the possible fate of his
appendage to carry on with any conversation so after tying my shoelaces I
said I would see him at school in the morning.

     When I got home I was still giggling to myself and thinking serve him
right for letting on something I suspected was a real secret.  I then
wondered if Julia should have had stuff like that at home anyway.  There
was no way I could say anything to Pa who arrived back from London just
before supper, but I would warn Matt again to keep his trap shut!

     Bed that night was most enjoyable as I thought of Matt measuring
himself and making notes and wondering if he made himself come just like
me, quite easily.

                                *
     Matt was very quiet in class next day and hardly said a word to me, or
anybody else.  Still, I wasn't going to let him off the hook yet.  Cleggy
got us all in trouble because Campion said he was a cheeky boy and as
someone else laughed when he said it we all got a hundred lines.  Cleggy
was chased round the playing field at afternoon break and though I could
have caught him easily I wasn't going to get myself mucky giving him a
rugby tackle.  Last I saw of him he was in the cloakroom after school
surrounded by several of our class who were demanding he did all their
lines, or else.  I rode home with Tom who wanted to know what all the fuss
was about.  He said would I like to come in for five minutes.  Of course,
we both came within five minutes after I'd told him about Matt and his
worries about his shrinking dick. Ours certainly weren't!

     That evening I tied two pencils together and got through the lines in
record time - 'qui facit per alium facit per se'.  What a waste of paper!
Anyway, in bed I thought of poor old Matt measuring his dong with one hand
and writing out Campion's impot with the other while I used both hands,
slowly... Aaaaagh.

                                *
                         Friday May 5th 1944
     I was up and out for my run by seven o'clock.  I thought that if I did
most of it I could help Tom with the last part of his paper round.  As it
happened, he was a bit late so I helped him do at least half and still got
home by eight o'clock.

     Ma reminded me I was on duty at the boxing match that evening.  My
first time in public!  So don't be late home from school!

     Matt still seemed to be in a fairly silent mood.  As usual, I got to
school just as everyone was lining up but he did manage to grimace at me as
I joined the end with prefects barking at the late-comers.  As soon as we
got to the form room I reminded him about being on duty at the
boxing-match.  He said, rather haughtily, he hadn't forgotten and he had
something to tell me at break.  Huggy swept in so I couldn't enquire
further.

     At break I found Matt chatting to Tony and Roo in the playground.
Tony said they were having a week's Scout Camp at Ulvescott at half term.
Matt was even more downcast as Tony was saying he and I could stay at the
Manor while they and the rest of the Scouts would be camping somewhere in
the grounds.  Matt was explaining that he and his mother were going up to
Scotland to see his dad that week so he couldn't come.

     Tony asked if I still wanted to go to Ulvescott and I said I did.
Then I asked whether Tom could come with me if Matt couldn't.  Tony thought
it would be OK and he would get his mum to ring Aunt Mary.  I went off to
find Tom who was talking to Phil Crowe.  I told him he would probably be
able to come to Ulvescott with me at half-term.  His face lit up and he
said he would like to very much.  Phil said he was going there with the
Scouts and there were ten of them going.

     By that time break was over and I still hadn't heard Matt's news.
However, he grabbed me as we left the classroom at the end of the morning.

     "Want a word with you," he said menacingly, "You really got me into
trouble this morning with Julia."

     "Oh yeah", I said, all innocence.

     "Yeah, she stormed into my room before I was up and she was in a real
mood and she pulled me right out of bed," he said, all in one breath.

     I did the wrong thing, I grinned.

     "Don't grin at me, it's all your fault," he said, his voice rising in
loudness and in pitch.  "She was waving her towel at me and said she didn't
want me using it for my dirty habits and I nearly said it was your dirty
habits, and then she swiped me with it and said if she found me using her
things again she'd tell mum.  She flung it down on my bed and rushed out."

     "Was it mucky?  And why didn't she notice it yesterday?" I asked,
suppressing a gust of laughter.

     "It certainly was mucky and she had noticed it but I'd gone off to
school before she was up yesterday and she was out late!" he said fiercely,
"It still had your stuff on it all in the middle and all caked up."

     I thought it couldn't have been too bad, but then, I did shoot a lot
in the two goes.

     "But she thought it was yours," I said, "You should be proud there was
so much to make her notice it."

     This was lost on Matt.  He looked even more fierce.

     "But it was your bloody stuff!" he almost shouted, then realised there
were a couple of interested Second Years looking and listening.  "Piss off,
you two!" he said, directing his venom at them.  They scuttled off, in the
same way I had in my first year to the same injunction from Big Jim's pal.

     I thought it would be best to cool him down.

     "Hey, Matt, why don't you come round before the match tonight 'cause
it's at the Catholic Parish hall and you'd have to pass our road.  Anyway,
Ma and Pa are going out so you can tell me all about it then."

     He calmed down immediately and agreed and we spent the rest of the
dinner hour quite amicably.  I didn't raise the question of the possible
decrease in the size of his prick but I certainly would tonight!

     Ma and Pa were ready to go by six o'clock and left me with the
injunction to clear up, wash up and make myself smart for the evening.

     Matt arrived just after they went and he did look smart.  I, of course
hadn't even started getting ready.  A large amount of Brylcream had been
applied to his mop of black hair and his forage cap was perched
precariously on the crest of the waves.  His grey St John's shirt had been
beautifully pressed and his white belt was immaculate.  I must say he
seemed more relaxed and once we got to my bedroom he was chatting along as
if his spat with Julia was well in the past. My uniform was laid out on my
bed so I proceeded to strip off my school clothes.  Matt's uniform came off
at the same time and we were holding each others rampant cocks in seconds.

     "I'll do it to you first," he said, breathlessly, "All over your
towel."

     I spread my towel on the floor and soon deposited my load on it.  We
changed places and a second load very shortly joined mine.

     He bent down and picked up the towel.  He looked at me and said in a
dead-pan voice.

     "And Julia swiped me round the ear with all your stuff on her towel."

     He made as if to swipe me but I ducked and moved to the other side of
my bed.

     "Come on, Matt, don't play about or we'll be late, let me get
dressed."

     He put the towel over the rail and turned, his long cock now deflated.

     "What about that?" I asked, pointing at the floppy object, "Is it
smaller?"

     "It's been the same each time I've measured it since you said about
it," he answered confidently.

     "What's that?" I asked.

     "Just over seven and a half," he replied with a hint of pride, "I
think it's OK now."

     Oh, God, mine wasn't even six and Tom's was even shorter.

     "Are you sure it wasn't longer than that at Easter?" I asked
innocently.

     "Couldn't care less, as long at it stays like it is now.  Anyway, it's
a lot bigger than yours!"  he said pointedly.

     Oh crumbs, I'll have the bugger.

     "But you don't make as much stuff as I do, and you don't shoot as
far!"  I responded tartly.

     Couldn't care less," he reiterated, "My cock's the biggest in the
class and it's bigger than most of the Sixth so Tom Rankin says."

     I thought hard, who's Tom Rankin?  I know, he's in the Sixth Form but
how does Matt know him?

     "Who?" I asked.

     "Tom Rankin, I went round his on Saturday with a message from Mum for
his mother.  She wasn't in so we got talking and he wanted to know what I
thought about the Fensham match so I told him and said about me being in
disgrace with Duncan."

     "You told him all that?" I said incredulously, "What did he say?"

     "Oh, he knew about the others 'cause he said he'd heard about lights
out and the scramble and, anyway, Andy Symes had told him about me."

     "Sooo.., did you?"

     "Yeah, and then that's when he told me mine was bigger than all his
pals, except for Andy and that Donald Duck.  Mine was bigger than his,
too!"

     Another little secret of Matt's.  First he'd let on he'd been jacking
off another Sixth Former!  Three so far!

     "He told me Andy Symes calls him Rank the Wank, but I wasn't to tell
anyone else.  He's rather proud of that 'cause he said he feels it's up to
his eyebrows most of the day.  So you see, I couldn't care less as long as
it stays like it is now!"

     I had nothing more to say.  I couldn't deflate Matt any more than his
cock was deflated at the moment so, I suppose, I should let it rest.  I
liked Matt too much to let any little feud rankle between us.  I finished
dressing in silence and although I didn't use any Brylcream on my hair we
did look a very smart pair as Ma had pressed my uniform beautifully as
well.  I did consign to my memory more confirmation that even much older
boys such as Tom Rankin were just as horny as us fourteen-year-olds.  Thank
God it carried on!  Mike, Billy, Duncan..., who else? Tom Rankin of course,
Andy Symes, all those others who were at Fensham for the game...  The list
seemed endless.


     We got to the Parish Hall well on time and were ushered to seats
almost by the ringside with a rather portly oldish gentleman in St John's
uniform.

     "First time, eh?" he asked.  We nodded.  "Don't worry, when the little
buggers bleed just press some wadding on and hold it there.  I'll deal with
them if they knock each other out."

      He gave us a small rectangular bag which we explored while he sat
back and puffed on his pipe.  In the bag were several packs of wadding and
some bandages and not much else.  Still we looked efficient even if we
didn't feel it.

     The room steadily filled up with a motley assortment of men and boys.
There were a couple of groups of girls who giggled together.  I saw Mike
and two or three other older boys come in together.  He spotted me and gave
a thumbs-up.  There were also a few of our Fifth Year sitting together
across the other side of the ring.  The portly man passed me a sheet of
paper.  A rather badly typed list of the bouts was on it giving the list of
names of the contestants and their fighting weights.  The portly man
pointed all this out in a throaty whisper.  I noticed that as well as Pat
Halloran being on the list there were also the Prosser brothers and another
Sixth-Former, Jim McDonald.  Both the Prossers were down as heavy-weights
in their age groups and Jim McDonald was down as a light-weight.  Pat was
against some lad from Troutbridge Boys' Club and they were fly-weights.  I
didn't know what all this meant but I knew I wouldn't want either of the
Prossers sitting on me!

     One of the Brothers got into the ring and said he hoped we would have
an exciting evening as he knew the boys were raring to go and the first
referee for the evening would be Mr Joe Halloran.

     The first match was between Johnnie Prosser in our Fifth Year against
some equally large lad from the Catholic Boys' Club.  They slogged away
bashing each other until Johnnie caught the other lad square on the nose
and the blood began to flow.  Mr Halloran beckoned to us and att took it
upon himself to take the bag, got into the ring and pressed some wadding on
the boy's nose as he sat on the floor.  Or canvas, as I learned later.  In
the end Mr Halloran signalled that the match was over and the lad, attached
to Matt and his lump of wadding, climbed out of the ring and disappeared.
I looked at the portly man and he winked and puffed on his pipe again.

     The Brother stood up and announced in rather an aggrieved tone that
John Prosser of the Kerslake Boys' Boxing Club had won.  So the evening
went on.  There was a short break half way then another man took over as
referee.  Matt did not reappear so when another lad began to bleed the
portly man nodded towards the ring and I had to climb into the ring to
administer wadding to a cut eye.  Then, a bit later, there was another
bloody nose to be dealt with as Matt still hadn't reappeared.  The portly
man sat and puffed his pipe throughout.  Pat's match was the last but one
and, my, didn't he scrap.  He belted the other lad mightily until his legs
gave way in the last round and he sank none too gracefully to the ground, I
mean, canvas.  Pat had won, on a knockout.  I prodded the portly man who
had dropped off to sleep.  He awoke immediately and lumbered into the ring,
gathered up the recumbent figure in his arms, climbed out again and also
disappeared.  I was on my own.

     The last match was big Chris Prosser who looked mountainous until I
focussed on his opponent who was hu..u...ge!  Chris began by circling the
other lad who flailed around missing him by feet. They got closer and both
landed a few hefty punches on each other until the other lad got up very
close, jabbed at Chris with his right hand and landed him one straight in
the goolies with the other.  Chris sunk to the ground gloves between his
legs his face contorted in agony.  The referee hadn't seen what had
happened but everyone my side had and there were quite a few from our
school who proceeded to stand up and shouted and howled `Foul, Foul, Foul'.
The referee started to count Chris out then realised something had happened
and waved his arms and declared that the fight was over with Chris's
opponent disqualified.

     As Chris was still writhing on the canvas I climbed into the ring
accompanied by much shouting and whistling.  The other lad and the referee
hoisted Chris up and helped him out of the ring, still with him clutching
his goolies, and I followed them all to the dressing-room.  This was filled
with the previous pairs of boxers who on hearing what had happened to Chris
started a real rumpus.  There were three others from the big lad's club and
two of them soon found themselves stretched out on the floor.  The big lad
fended off several blows and caught one of the Kerslake boys a real
cruncher which flattened him.  The new referee was joined by Mr Halloran
and the portly man who separated the warring parties and told them to get
changed and to go out into the hall.

     This took a few minutes and in the end I was left alone with Chris who
was still grimacing and pressing his gloves against his lower parts and the
now recovered knocked-out lad who was sitting on a bench some distance
away.  Neither Pat nor the portly man were in evidence.

     "Get me gloves off, lad," he instructed me, thrusting up a colossal
brown fist.  It was much bigger than the wank-preventers we had found at
Ulvescott. I undid the tape that bound it and pulled it off his hand.  The
other one was a bit more difficult as the knots were peculiar but, at last,
both hands were free.  He stood up and pulled his singlet up and his shorts
down.  He then lowered his jockstrap and his cock and balls tumbled out.
He lifted his large thick prick and his wrinkled left ball was very red and
looked quite swollen.

     "Sod caught me full on the left one and I wasn't wearing a box," he
exclaimed, "What can you see?"

     I peered more closely.

     "Looks rather red and swollen to me," I said, with a professional air.
"I don't have anything to put on that kind of injury," I added.  "Probably
a cold water compress would be best," I said remembering Mike's tale of
swollen balls.

     Chris looked grateful for that piece of advice and acting on my
statement I fished out a folded bandage from my bag and went and dunked it
under the tap in the scullery.  On return I held it against his left
bollock while he pulled up his jockstrap and adjusted the even bigger bulge
in it.

     "Ta, that feels better already," he said quite gratefully.  "I'll kill
that sod when I see him again.  I'll ram his balls up his arsehole for
him!"  He moved over to where his trousers were hanging on a peg.  He
wriggled out of his shorts and sat on the bench and proceeded to take off
his plimsolls.

     "Seen my brother, eh?" he asked, "He went off earlier to the hospital
with that lad whose nose he broke.  Is he back yet?"

     I said I hadn't seen him since he got out of the ring after his fight.
  But that explained Matt's absence.  He must have gone to the hospital
with them.  How did they get there?  Chris answered that thought.

     "Me uncle went off with them and that other St John's boy in his car,"
he explained.  "He's in 4K with you isn't he?"

     I said he was and that it was our first outing as First Aiders.  I
added I hadn't had to deal with cuts and blood before.

     "Nor with sore balls either, eh!" he said, laughing for the first time
since his painful thump, "You've had a real baptism tonight."

     By this time he'd got fully dressed and several others had filtered
back into the room.

     "You OK now?" I asked as he stuffed his kit into a haversack.

     "Yeah, thanks," he said, "You did a good job.  It only throbs now."

     "Hope he hasn't damaged anything," I said without really thinking.

     Chris guffawed.  "I'll find that out all in good time, won't I?" he
said, giving me a wink and thumping me on the back.

     If that was a friendly thump I wouldn't want to be on the receiving
end of one of his real punches!  The portly man and Mr Halloran came
through the door just as we reached it.

     "You and the other lad have done a good job tonight, eh Joe?" he said,
addressing this last to Mr Halloran and wiping his moustache with a large,
very white handkerchief.  "Had a quick pint with Joe just then," he
explained.  "Where's the chap young Patrick walloped?"

     Chris went off through the door with Mr Halloran and I returned with
the portly man to where the boy was sitting.

     "Are you OK now?" he said.

     The lad looked up and nodded.

     "Can you stand?"

     The boy got up rather unsteadily and I put out a hand to steady him.

     "Need a bit of fresh air now so go outside with young Thomson here and
take a few deep breaths," he instructed.

     I held his arm and led him out.  So the portly man knew my name but
who was he?  He said he would be off now and he'd let the Superintendent
know we'd done well.  He disappeared into the darkness.

     The lad and I stood outside for a minute or two until he said he was
feeling much better so we went back inside and he started to get changed.
I asked him where he was from and he said Thorncombe, which was the next
town.  He said he'd left school and had an apprenticeship in a factory
there and had been boxing with the Troutbridge Club since he was fourteen
and so far hadn't lost a fight.  He said Pat was much too good for him but
he wasn't going to give up because of being knocked out.  During his
conversation he'd removed his shorts and I noticed he hadn't been wearing
anything underneath.  It didn't matter because his prick and balls were
very small, really just like mine were a couple of years ago.  A scrawny
snail-like dick just curled out of a bush of dark hair and, although they
swung about, his bollocks were about the size of small acorns.  He'd
stopped talking and reached up to unhook his trousers from the peg and
caught me staring at his equipment.

     "My brother's just the same," he said in explanation, "And he's
nineteen!"

     What could I say because at that moment in came Matt, big-dicked and
big-bollocked, and there was this older lad with minute tackle and a
brother who apparently matched.  Matt must have also caught sight of the
display and, though he didn't say anything, his lips pursed up.  I turned
to him.

     "Where have you been?" I asked rather tetchily, "I've had to deal with
all the other wounded except for..."

      The lad said, "I'm Ted."

      "...Ted here who got knocked out by Pat...."

     "I know, I know, I'm sorry," Matt said, interrupting, "But I had to go
to the hospital with Eugene as I had to keep stopping the blood from his
nose.  He's still there and I said I would collect his clothes and take
them up there.  Johnnie's still there and I said I would cycle back with
Eugene's things.  Would you come with me?"

     Eugene?  Then I remembered he belonged to the Catholic Boxing Club so
it must be a saint's name, or something.  I said I would, picked up the
equipment bag and followed Matt who had Eugene's clothing under his arm.

     When we got to the hospital the Sister on duty was Nobbo's mum.  She
explained that Eugene had a broken nose and had needed it packed but he was
OK now and he was sitting in one of the side rooms and Johnnie Prosser had
gone off with his uncle.

     I thought I'd seen Eugene before when he got into the ring.  Thinking
about it I realised he was one of the boys in Mike's photo of the Catholic
Rugger team.  So, he was good bit older than Johnnie Prosser who was just
over fifteen.

     He was holding a new piece of wadding against his nose so we helped
him put on his shirt over his rather bloody singlet.  As one hand was
engaged he tried to get his shorts down with one hand but I had to assist
him.  His pants also came down and I was confronted with my third set of
equipment of the evening.  Eugene was black Irish!  He had a mat of jet
black curly hair round his well-formed cock.  His hair was also growing
quite thickly up his belly toward his navel as well.  Oddly, he had white,
hairless legs.  He grabbed his pants as he wriggled to get his shorts down
completely and his cock flopped from side to side showing off his quite
unevenly sized bollocks.  His left one was much bigger and hung much lower
than the right.  I hoped Matt was taking note!

     As soon as he was dressed we went along the corridor and said
goodnight to Mrs Clarke who wanted to know how Eugene was going to get
home.  He said he would walk so we rode along the road a bit with him.  In
the end he said he was OK and would take a short cut and we rode off.
Before parting we agreed it had been a most interesting evening.

                                *

     Nothing much happened over the weekend.  I really wanted to discuss
the sizes I'd seen with Matt, or perhaps Tony, but I contented myself by
retrieving the photos from my hidey-hole and scrutinising the equipment on
show in them.  I think mine will stand up to examination, to coin a phrase,
when I'm as old the ones in the photos.  However, I kept up my run once a
day and my other score twice daily and practised the piano as well.

      On Monday at St Johns Mr Halloran thanked Matt and me for what we'd
done on Friday night and Benno told us he'd had a good time at the football
match as he'd got his brothers in free.  Pat Halloran was very chipper and
kept giving me playful taps on the arm and said I should take up boxing
... `a fine feller like you would look well in the ring'.  Some hopes, I
don't mind assisting the wounded but I don't want to be one myself!

                              *
                         Tuesday May 9th 1944
     I hadn't been home long on Tuesday afternoon before there was a ring
on the back doorbell.  It was Mike.  I hadn't realised Pa had arranged to
give him some more maths lessons before he took his end of year exams.
While I put the kettle on to make some tea he wanted to know what I'd
thought of the boxing on Friday.  I said I could think of things less
painful to do to pass the time.  Then I told him about the fracas in the
dressing room after Prosser got whacked in the nuts.  He laughed and said
it served them all right and he'd only gone to see how Pat got on and he
was very glad he'd won.  I recounted my trip to the hospital to take
Eugene's clothes to him.  Mike laughed and said he looked a real sight on
Sunday up at the altar serving with a plaster over his nose and a black
eye.
  I said he wasn't very sympathetic and how would he like a smashed nose
and painful goolies.

     "Not much!" he said, laughing again, "But they obviously like getting
beaten up and they do it voluntarily, at least, some of them do but some of
ours are made to do it by Brother McNally."

     "Why's that?" I asked, rather puzzled.

     "Oh, quite simple, if anyone `steps out of line too far', as he puts
it, they're given the option of a caning or joining the boxing.  If they
transgress more than once they have to join the boxing team and his word's
law as he's our Master of Discipline!"

     'Master of Discipline', what a title.  I didn't pursue it but asked,
"What about Pat?"

     "He just likes scrapping - he's just over-active!"

     I knew that to be true, given what he'd told me about his score on
other things.

     "I like Pat," I said, "He's a nice bloke."

     Mike agreed and said he'd been round the evening before so Mike could
help him with his homework.  I would have liked Mike to help me with
something urgent right now.  Luckily we were sitting at opposite sides of
the kitchen table as I had a hard-on up to my eyebrows.  But, just as I was
going to suggest on some pretext that Mike came up to my bedroom I heard Pa
coming into the back porch.  Nothing like a little shock like that to
deflate one's ego - if that's a good term for it.  They disappeared off to
the study and I retired to my bedroom and had a lonely, quick wank over the
sink to relieve the tension. Needless to say I had a second in bed thinking
of Mike and imagining his hand on my shaft.


To be Continued: