Date: Wed, 31 May 2000 22:31:31 GMT
From: Jo Vincent <joad123@hotmail.com>
Subject: "Easter Rugger Tours - Before and After" (Part 01) (t/t/t...) (HS)
(oral/anal)

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.  What follows is a
fictionalised account of what might have happened.....in several
instalments.......

              Easter Rugger Tours - Before and After   (-01)

                                By Joel

                    Chapter One: Before

In the early 60's when I was 16 I was chosen to go with the school's 1st XV
on their four-day Easter tour.  I'm James David Tanner and in those days
was a still growing 5'11'' and fairly hefty but I could also run fast.  But
before I get onto those adventures I had better give you a bit more of my
history.

I was born in January 1947, the result of my dad's return from the War.  My
two elder sisters were born before the War so I suppose I was what is known
as an afterthought.  Not that I wasn't wanted.  My parents obviously loved
and cherished me and my sisters, aged 11 and 13 when I was born, also
mothered and cared for me.  Dad had a successful business and mum worked
part-time for him so, once I went to school, I had lots of care and
attention from my sisters until they both went off when they reached the
age of eighteen to a Teacher's Training College in London.  They each
married soon after and moved out of my little world.

When I was six, our elderly neighbours next door moved and a younger couple
named Phillips, moved in.  Their son, Paul, was eight and we hit it off
straight away.  We went to the same Junior School and we played together
almost every day and on more than one occasion examined each other's
equipment when going for a pee behind the shed in my garden.  However, all
the playing together stopped once Paul won a scholarship to the local
Grammar School at eleven and I, aged nine, was bereft.  He had new friends
now he was more grown- up and not at Junior School any longer.  I did have
other friends, especially young Billy Hall who had shared many of my early
adventures, but I missed Paul very much.  He was still very affable and our
families always celebrated Christmas together and once did go on holiday
together, without my sisters, when I was ten and he was twelve.  Paul and I
shared a room and I did catch a few glimpses of his now slightly longer
cock and a few wisps of hair round the base.  Nothing more.  Nothing was
said.  We just explored and built sandcastles, ate and played cards,
undressed and slept.  I was very happy in his company and he seemed to like
me as well but all stopped once we were back at home and with our own
friends.

I was determined to go to the same school as Paul so I worked hard and was
entered for a scholarship as well.  I passed, very highly by all accounts,
and the next Autumn Term joined the school at the age of eleven.  Paul was
then thirteen.  As so often happens, two years difference at that age is
seen as enormous.  Thirteen-year-olds are beginning to get bigger and more
rowdier once they are in the third form and know the ropes.  First-years
are lesser-fry, to be harried and chased or ignored.  I never spoke to Paul
at school even though we might ride to school together or, even, if I could
manoeuvre it, ride home afterwards.  He was a distant idol, especially when
he was appointed captain of the Junior rugby XV when he was fifteen.  Paul
at fourteen had been well into his growth spurt and by fifteen was a good
5'10 and extremely well-built.  At thirteen I was still a shrimp, not even
five feet and skinny with it.

Then it happened.  My growth spurt began early when I was thirteen and a
half and in one year I put on more than six inches.  What pleased me even
more was that my cock and balls also grew in proportion and my spurts in
other ways also started in earnest.
  In fact, from the time I discovered how glorious wanking was my hand was
never very far from my engine of delight.  My only disappointment was that
I couldn't share my discovery with Paul and I spent many nights wondering
whether he also jacked off and found it all so enjoyable as I did.  That
summer I watched feverishly, from my bedroom window at the back of the
house, every movement of Paul in his back garden seeing him effortlessly
lifting paving stones and slabs when his father was relaying a patio.  He
was clad only in an old pair of rugger shorts and every movement he made
magnified the muscles building up in his back, arms and legs.  He rested
after his exertions by lying out languorously, just in his bathing trunks,
on a large towel right in my line of sight.  I beat off relentlessly with
these images of him in my mind's eye.

His dad and mine used to play golf together so I was assailed with the
tales of Paul's academic and athletic prowess.  He passed his `O-levels'
with high grades and entered the First Year Sixth at the age of sixteen as
one of the form's younger pupils.  I was determined to do as well and
really did swot - all without Paul or my own friends knowing.  My father
commented on the fact that Paul was in the First Fifteen in the Fifth Year
so I made the effort and was rewarded with a place on the wing in the
Junior Fifteen while still in the Fourth Year.  I found out Paul and I both
hated the same thing, cricket.  I loathed and detested the summer
afternoons wasted by running after a stupid little ball or sitting waiting
to knock the silly ball skywards.  I generally tried to sky the ball so I
would be `out, caught and bowled' early on.  I noticed that Paul used to
skive off and on Tuesday summer games afternoons would lie out in his back
garden in his swim trunks sunning himself.  I emulated him and did the same
on Thursdays and nobody seemed to miss me from the infernal cricket.  I
longed to find out more about Paul and must admit, while sunbathing on a
couple of afternoons when no-one was around, having a surreptitious wank,
shooting my cum up over my chest, thinking of him.

At parental insistence I joined the Scouts at age thirteen.  No, not
because Paul was in the Scouts but because my parents thought I should mix
with others than my schoolmates.  Mainly the `others' of my age turned out
to be five of my class but there were quite a few lads from the local
Secondary Modern School.  Once we were in our Scout shirts and shorts there
was little difference between us Grammar School `swots' and the Sec.
Mod. `oiks' and there was even less difference when our shorts and
underpants were lowered, which happened with increasing regularity as I got
to know my new-found friends.  The main mixture with us was the combined
spunk we shot during the circle-jerks at the summer camp that year.  I had
found out I could come just after I was thirteen and a half but a couple of
boys from my form in our circle came for the first time then.

After that there was no stopping them.  Both Tony Pearce and Gerald Simms
came home with very red, well-wanked dicks and I must admit I and the other
three in our tent weren't very far behind.  In fact Gerry and I became
great friends and ardent wank partners and tossed each other off, when
school resumed, at least three times a week behind the bike sheds or in the
wood-store.  There were always furtive couples behind the bike-sheds and
the wooden walls were coated with generations of cum preservative.  That
was, until some clots in one Third Year class decided to measure some kid's
dick and were almost apprehended by a beak who found the blubbing child.
The master apparently noticed the trodden down grass, must have put two and
two together and made seven and a fence was erected to prevent further
other erections on the hallowed spot.

Gerry lived very near the school so we moved our venue to the cellar of his
house where he had sole run because he had a very powerful and loud sound
system.  Our almost daily wank sessions would be conducted to the strains
of the latest pop single so we fisted each other's fleshy members to many
assorted rhythms which kept monotony at bay.  Quite often on Saturdays he
would come to tea and stay the evening as my parents were frequently out
gallivanting.  Actually, Dad was an important cog in the local Chamber of
Commerce and the Masons and had to attend all sorts of functions which Mum
went too, sometimes not too willingly.  At least it left me and Gerry with
more prime wank time.

Membership of Scouts also provided many other wank partners.  Every Monday
night and again on Friday evenings after our meetings there would be a
general pairing off and a retreat into the local wood where sometimes
twenty or so boys would spill their seed with reckless abandon, with the
rest, presumably, practising solitary sex in the privacy of their bedrooms.
I didn't experience any of the other more daring practices which were
whispered about although a sixteen-year-old Patrol Leader with very hairy
legs said I could suck his cock if I wanted.  I refused the offer when he
dropped his shorts as I didn't want the thick bush of hair which was
revealed surrounding his dong tickling my fourteen-year-old nose.  I just
brought him off to a really good squirting conclusion which he, quite
happily, reciprocated not only then but on numerous other occasions.  He
said he thought I had the best grip and rhythm in the Troop.  I didn't tell
him I thought that was due to the musically accompanied sessions with
Gerry.  So, by the time I became a Patrol Leader at the age of sixteen I
must have tossed off near enough forty willing lads, plus quite a few
others from my class and had felt an equal number of young fists round my
shaft.  But, all this time with all these, or, even more so during my
solitary wanks in bed, I still thought only of Paul and the great desire I
had for him.

I had a visitor during the Whitsun week holiday when I was fourteen and in
the Third Year.  Our school had a yearly exchange with French lads from a
school in Lyons.  The first time Jean-Pierre came over he, like me, was
fourteen and a bit.  He was then about five foot nothing, wiry,
black-haired and with a winning smile.  My mother adored him, especially
when he called her `maman'.  I discovered then that French boys were just
as enthusiastic wankers as we English were.  I found that out the first
night.  He was sharing my room and, naturally, my bed and we'd started off,
rather hesitantly, trying to increase our vocabulary.  My inventiveness
gave me the idea of naming body parts.  The first few were easy.  `Nose' -
`nez', `eyes' - `yeux', and so on as we travelled downwards.  It wasn't
long before `navel' - `nombril' was reached.  I then took the initiative
and shoved my hand in the open fly of his pyjamas and announced `balls' as
I grabbed his fairly pendulous knackers.  He giggled and said `oh, mes
couilles', grabbed my dick which was conveniently rigid and sticking out of
my pyjamas and began to wank me while whispering a whole list of French
words and expressions and only shut up when I proceeded to grab his equally
engorged prick and wank him as well.  I think we tossed each other off four
times that night and by the time his week with us was at an end I had
learned a lot of not very polite French and had also come even more times
than usual!

My visit to Lyons at the end of that Summer Term was spent mainly with his
dick in my hand and mine in his mouth.  The next year when he came over
he'd grown two inches to my five but his dick had increased more than mine.
And so had his insatiability.  I introduced him to Gerry who had a French
lad staying with him for the first time.  We discovered that Jean- Pierre
and Claude were also wank buddies so the afternoons that week in Gerry's
cellar were devoted to extending the Entente Cordiale with English flair
and Gallic enthusiasm.

I went into the Fifth Year in September at the age of fifteen and in the
January celebrated my sixteenth birthday.  The rite de passage for our
class was that the birthday boy had to buy cigarettes for everyone else and
be subjected to some form of torture in the showers after PE or games.  I
was now bigger than most of the class, except for Gerry, who had also
sprung up to around my height and weight.  So, it would take more than a
couple of them to hold me down and paint my balls blue as they had done to
Micky Nevens the week previously, or tickle my knob end with a feather as
Phil Mooney had experienced at the end of November.  That tickling had
produced a fine show of spurting cum much to the amusement of the
onlookers.  Like Tony Pearce, Georgie Phelps had also had half his bush
shaved off just before Christmas but Georgie nearly screamed the place down
when the wielder of the razor nicked the flesh at the root of his cock.  He
was only silenced by the heavy hand of Billy Hall over his mouth and he
would be sixteen the week after me.  I threatened Billy with hell fire if
my torture was painful.

I had also forgotten I would be dealt with after Rugger as I was sixteen
the day before and was a bit slow in going into the changing rooms.
Actually I was late because the master in charge of us that afternoon
called me over and informed me I was to Captain the Junior Rugger team for
the rest of the year. So, it was with a feeling of elation that I entered
the changing rooms.  My elation was quickly dampened by what happened next.

I was caught completely off-guard as about five of the class, egged on by
some twenty others, grabbed me, upended me, and swiftly removed my rugger
shirt, shorts and swim trunks and presented me belly upwards to a waiting
Billy Hall.  The sod had a row of little jars perched on the window sill
above the bench I was held down on.  Then I recognised the jars.  They were
different coloured bottles of nail varnish.  What the hell were they going
to do with that.  I didn't relish going home with my nails painted and I
didn't think that was their intention!  It certainly wasn't.  Billy
unscrewed the first - a violent pink colour and applied the brush to the
root of my cock.  Well, the immediate reaction on my cock's part to any
unfamiliar, or familiar, stroking was to begin to get stiff.  As Billy
lifted my cold, limp dick and circled it with the wet, pink-laden brush I
went gradually and gloriously rigid.  At least I wasn't ashamed of my cock.
It had been measured against those of most of the onlookers and either
matched or outdistanced the great majority.  But, what I wasn't used to was
the painting of rings of different colours, pink, brown, pillar-box red,
turquoise and a vile green around my stretched out prick.  Billy held it
aloft as he painted steadily a sequence of two or three millimetre rings
from the base right up until the tip of my foreskin was also ringed finally
with the brightest red possible.  There must have been close on fifty bands
of colour round my rigid six and a bit inches. A round of applause from the
watchers who had stayed greeted the ceremonial lifting of my prick away
from my belly by the pseudo-Picasso and the exhibition of his handiwork.

They let me up and my dick remained upright, bent back towards my belly, as
was its normal stance when in a state of excitement. The remaining
onlookers scattered to their own toilette, beaming happily as Gerry
magnanimously handed cigarettes all round from the couple of packets of
twenty I had stashed in my blazer pocket, and satisfied that another
schoolmate had reached the hallowed age of sixteen with a good show. What I
hadn't bargained for was that the nail varnish would dry pretty quickly,
especially with the heat emanating from my engorged dick.  Christ, I needed
a wank urgently but the varnish was like a second, unyielding skin.  I
didn't go into the showers even though I had very muddy knees and a dirt-
encrusted left arm from when I had slid over the ground tackling an elusive
Joe Weinberg.  I thought it more expedient to dress and take my filthy and
decorated body home and bathe there.  Gerry had scuttled off to the showers
and returned grinning.  I was pulling my underpants up as he came up beside
me.  My rigid dong felt as if it was set in concrete and there was no sign
of it softening naturally.  Gerry said the only stuff to use was acetone,
commonly known as nail varnish remover.  `Oh my Christ,' I thought, `Is
there any at home?', and then recalled that there was a large bottle in the
cupboard in one of my sisters' rooms.

Gerry volunteered to come home with me and I finished dressing and we set
off.  Riding a bike with a hardon is not very easy for an easily
embarrassed boy who was newly sixteen.  Mine, to me, must have been visible
to all the pedestrians we passed.  I kept my school satchel balanced on the
handlebars to hide the evidence while Gerry kept up a continuous outpouring
of inane chatter, sotto voce, designed to keep me even more embarrassed in
case the said pedestrians heard what he was saying.  I was determined to
get my own back especially when he told me that the garish pink varnish was
pinched from his mother's dressing-table!  I, at last, managed to tell him
my good news about the Captaincy and I will say he looked very pleased for
me and congratulated me warmly.  This didn't stop the chatter and I was
glad there was no one in when we arrived at my house.

I raced up the stairs, leaving Gerry to make some tea, shed my clothes,
rushed into Jenny's room, found the bottle of remover and ran the bath.
God, I used up half a pack of tissues and my dong was still blemished.  No
longer in neat circles of colour but a murky, brownish hue.  And my dick
stung like buggery.  At least I hadn't experienced that first-hand so far
but it was a common saying!  I got in the bath and was soaping my muddy
self when Gerry entered bearing a tray with mugs of steaming brew.  He took
one look at me in the bath, shucked off all his clothes and lowered himself
into the foaming water at the tap end.  We drank the tea luxuriating in the
heat of the bath and he laughed as I waved my discoloured dick at him.

I had drunk my tea first and had already put my mug on the floor.  My
opportunity for revenge came as he leaned over to put his mug down.  As he
was off-guard I grabbed his legs and pulled him towards me.  His head went
under the soapy water and he spluttered.  I raised myself and knelt between
his legs with him struggling to keep his head above water.  My dong was
rigid again and as I lay over him I pulled the plug and, simultaneously,
aimed my dick end at the crack of his arse.  He was all wet and soapy and I
felt my knob connect with his puckered ring.  I pushed quite hard and with
a grunt from him my foreskin was pushed back as my knob entered him.  The
look on his face was indescribable.  Surprise, then a huge grin.

"Oh my God, Jamie, I thought you'd never do it, -- shove it in harder," was
his hoarsely whispered response.

Surprise was writ on my face as well, then I grinned and shoved.  My shaft
disappeared up his tunnel only meeting token resistence somewhere along the
way.  I don't know what he'd been doing to himself to make it so easy
because when I had experimented with one finger against my own ring, even
with plenty of spit on it, I found it very tight to enter myself.

"Go on, fuck me!" he whispered.

I did, but, because I was randy as hell to start with and his ring and
inner muscles tightened around my shaft, I managed only about six thrusts
before I shot an enormous load somewhere deep inside him.  I more or less
collapsed onto him and I felt his rigid dong press into me.  All the water
had drained away by now but, luckily, there was a rubber bath mat under
Gerry.  I leaned up and grabbed his shaft and jacked him very fiercely.
After about twenty or so strokes he let out a groan and fired his wad up,
over his chest, splashing on the end of the bath above his head.  He put
his arms round me and hugged me tight.  I was stuck to his chest by the
warm spunk he'd shot, my still hard prick still inside him.

"I've wanted you to do that for ages," he whispered in my ear.  "I didn't
dare ask.  Was it good?"

I could only nod.  It was bloody marvellous!

Without the water in the bath I was getting a bit chilly.  I withdrew my
still quite firm cock which was even more colourful now coated with the
remains of the nail varnish, his shit and my cum.  He looked up and
remarked it was the wrong colour for me as it looked more like Kishen's.
He was an Indian lad in our class, known universally as Kish, whose darker
skinned, whippy young rod had been eagerly held by most of us at some time.
  I stuck my tongue out at him and climbed out of the bath.  I washed my
chest and then my dick at the sink and then Gerry washed his front and
straddled the sink backwards and cleansed his arse.

I asked him why he was so easy to enter.

He grinned and coloured up a bit.  "If I tell you, it's our secret, eh?"

He then described how he'd found a discarded vibrator which a rude friend
had presented to his mother sometime and had been practising shoving it up
each night to accompany his goodnight wank.  Crafty sod, so he was having
probably two or more wanks a day.  He confirmed this and then I had to
admit I was coming the same, even without the aid of a vibrating artificial
cock.  I thought I must have a look at that implement next time I'm round
at his house!

We got dressed and went to my room and did our homework in record time. Mum
came home, sniffed a bit and I had to excuse the smell of acetone by saying
I'd got some paint on my hands which I'd had to clean off.  Consummate
liar!  Gerry stood behind her simpering and screwing his face up to try and
make me laugh but he didn't succeed but Mum did say Gerry could stay for
supper.  He left about nine o'clock whispering sotto voce that he'd better
be off as he still had some more unfinished homework to complete.  So had
I,
  I would also be having another wank but, before that, another attempt to
clean the sodding remnants of the nail varnish off my cock.

School next day started off with several of my classmates and other
interested bodies asking if my dick was still decorated.  I purposely went
for a pee and brandished my now almost cleaned-up prong at a small
audience, including Kish.  I said I'd cleaned the muck off with nail
varnish remover and my cock resembled his after the first attempt.  He very
sportingly exhibited his slim member and we compared colours and he said
mine didn't look as suntanned as his, just redder.  Several of the others
waved their very white English dicks and Kish said they wouldn't last a
minute in the Indian sun.

Gerry slapped Kish on the back, "You're wrong there, me lad, it's mad dongs
on Englishmen go out in the midday sun."

My admiration for Gerry went up even more notches, I liked his wit.

That was Friday and on Saturday morning we had the first match, for which I
was captain of our Junior XV, away at this other grammar school.  Luckily
we won, Kish scored a tremendous try early in the first half and I
converted it.  The other school was shit and we managed to score two more
tries in the second half and Gerry kicked one over beautifully but missed
the other one.  However, they did know some dirty songs which they sang,
much to our amusement, in the showers.  That was, until their games master,
an irascible Welshman, stormed in and shut them up.  One of their side told
me he was an absolute hypocrite as his brother played in the same team as
the master and he always led the singing in the bath afterwards.  I learned
two things that afternoon, the words of three verses of four and twenty
virgins came down from Inverness and that in senior Rugby clubs they didn't
have showers but had communal baths instead!  I shared this knowledge with
Gerry when we got back home to his cellar after lunch at our house.  His
first response was "Rub a dub, Rub a dub, Thirty men in a tub, How
unhygienic!" but our minds boggled at all the antics we could think up
which could happen with thirty in a bath together!  Our antics that
afternoon included my first experience of the stimulating effects of the
vibrator.

This turned out to be an eight inch simulation of a cock with an end that
buzzed about when you pressed a button on its base.  My initial experience
of its insertion caused an almost immediate ejaculation with no manual
stimulation whatsoever of my cock.  I told him I much preferred the real
live Gerry's insertion that followed shortly which caused a second
outflowing of my precious seed with just a little help from his hand.  He
said the same but was of the opinion that when there wasn't a James in
attendance then he had to rely on his surrogate partner.  The excitement of
winning the Rugger match must have stimulated our sexual output as we both
came easily three times that afternoon.

Sunday morning there was a ring on our doorbell.  I went to open it and
there was Paul with a great grin on his face.  Mum and dad had gone out for
the day and I must say I went a bit red before inviting him in.  I went red
because I had been contemplating having a midmorning wank and had been
thinking of him as I had the night before when I'd had my fourth wank of
the day.  And here was my idol on the doorstep!  Anyway, he said he
wouldn't come in as he had to go off somewhere with his dad but, with a
further grin, said he'd heard of my ordeal.  I blushed even more.  He then
said he really wanted to congratulate me on my Captaincy and had a present
for me.

He handed over a plastic bag from Marks and Spencers and added `Sorry it's
not new, but I think it'll fit OK.  Old one of mine.'

With that he gave a cheery wave and disappeared down the drive.

Puzzled, I took the bag up to my room.  It rustled a bit so I was very
curious.  I tipped it out on my bed.  The rustling was caused by layers of
tissue paper which I unfolded carefully.  Inside was a jockstrap.  I didn't
have one.  Only a couple of other lads in our team had them, passed on by
elder brothers.  The rest of us generally wore underpants, or in my case
and one or two others, swim trunks.  What a gift!  Paul's jockstrap!!  My
dick went rigid just looking at it.  Think of it, his prick and balls had
nestled and sweated in it.  I stripped off, had a wank, spilled my spunk
into the heap of tissue paper and wore the jockstrap the rest of the day.
How could I thank him?  I was too embarrassed to confront him personally.
So, I wrote a very careful thank you note and slipped it into their
letterbox. Oh, Paul, if only you could have stayed, I mused that night as I
clutched the jockstrap in one hand and wanked myself to climax with the
other, what might we have done together?

I didn't see anything of Paul the next week, he either went to school
earlier than me or had other engagements after school.  It certainly wasn't
the done thing for a mere Fifth Former to approach a Second Year Sixth
Former unless sent by a beak!  So, it wasn't until the weekend that we
bumped into each other as we were both leaving on Saturday morning to go to
two different schools to play in Rugger matches.

"Hi Jamie!", he said very affably, then with the grin, "Hope you have
plenty of support for your match today."

He rode off on his bike so quickly before I could think up a suitable reply
other than a mumbled thanks.  By the look on his face he obviously guessed
I was already wearing his present.

Our team was doing well, we won that match and the one the next Saturday,
both with me proudly wearing Paul's gift.  Winning matches was quite
unheard of as our Junior XV had been the pits for about three years
previously.  Team mates scored five tries in the two matches and I kicked
all the conversions and didn't miss one, perhaps the magic jockstrap
helped.  The team got special commendations from the Head and we got let
off lessons in the week after to play a hastily arranged match on the
Wednesday afternoon against a very fancied junior side from a minor Public
School at the edge of the town.  Jubilation, we won again.  Kish scored two
tries this time, I converted both and Gerry and I invited him for a
celebratory tea at my house.  I knew mum had left a good deal of food in
the fridge as she and dad were out that evening so we three polished it all
off and then went to my bedroom where we showed Kish the joys of having his
circumcised dick sucked.  Kish is now a great friend, fascinated with
Gerry's and my foreskins and can't wait for more enlightenment as I let on
about Gerry's vibrator.

The next Thursday was games afternoon again and also the celebration of
Billy Hall's sixteenth birthday.  I'd forgotten, Billy's father was the
local greengrocer, and obviously my classmates thought Billy had got a
taste for the esoteric.

Again I was delayed by our games master wanting to prime me about our next
match so I missed the beginning of Billy's ordeal.  When I went into the
changing room Billy was being held spreadeagled, as I had been, over a
couple of benches, but this time with his legs held up in the air.  Kish
was rubbing something rather gooey and sticky in the crack of his arse.
Then his legs were pulled apart a bit and more of the goo was liberally
rubbed onto his ring.  There was a hush of expectancy, I deemed it prudent
not to get closer and watched as Billy wisely kept his mouth closed and
looked relaxed until something very hard and rather large in diameter was
pushed squarely against his pucker.  He reacted by twitching the cheeks of
his arse which, somehow, on the rebound made his ring open and the object
slid in.  Not far, but it was in.  It stopped a moment then there was
another thrust and much more entered.

"Oh my God that hurt", he mouthed almost silently, but, being stoical as
Billy usually was, even when falling beneath a mound of opposing players,
he just took a deep breath and thought of England.  (That's what he told me
afterwards.)

The object was then moved back and forth and his buttocks twitched in
sympathy.  I could see that the end of the object must have hit something
inside his passage and I remembered the same thing had happened to me with
Gerry's implement and that had then set off a great wave of vibrations deep
below my cock.  Someone nudged me and whispered, "Christ, look at the size
of his cock!".  It was a hefty shaft and was now rigid up his belly.
Because he was bent over a bit his knob end was further up than his
navel. I bet he had a hardon to beat all his previous hardons.  The object
was slid back and forth quite slowly and wave after wave of combined pain
and ecstasy must have hit him solidly behind the balls because he suddenly
let loose the mightiest load of spunk he must have shot in his short
wanking life.  As his head was bent over and held by someone's arm around
his neck that arm received the full force of his wad.

"Shit!" said a very aggrieved voice.  I recognised it as one of my fellow
Scouts, the unkind sod.  "He's shot his fucking load all over my sleeve."

There was a hoot of laughter and Billy was let go as Tony Evans waved his
sperm-soaked sleeve in the air.  Billy grabbed Tony's shirt and pulled it
out of his shorts and used what he got hold of to wipe the gobs of come
which had missed Tony and had hit Billy under the chin.  I was still
mesmerised by Billy's reactions so hadn't discovered what the object was
still stuck inside Billy.  Billy must have felt a sharp tug down below and
a sense of great loss as the object was swiftly removed from his fundament.
I looked and realised that a grinning Davy Carter was brandishing the
longest and thickest carrot I had ever seen.  In fact, the bastard had
carved the end to look like a knob end.  Billy went to grab it then
realised it was liberally coated with some sort of grease and his shit.  He
said in no uncertain terms that he would shove the thing down Davy's rotten
throat if he got hold of it.  But Davy, also in the Scouts, just laughed
and said he'd been that morning and bought it specially from Billy's dad's
shop.  We were all in fits and Billy had to admit it was the biggest and
best wad he'd ever shot.

I rode home with Billy after that episode and told him about Gerry's
vibrator so on Saturday afternoon, after winning our next match, Kish,
Billy, Gerry and I celebrated by taking it in turns to experience the
delights of that awesome instrument down in Gerry's cellar.

There was one thing which I have to admit time and time again.  As much as
I enjoyed all my encounters with my school friends, or my mates at Scouts,
I still, every night, when I had my lonely last wank of the day in bed,
thought of Paul next door, hoping he was tossing himself off at the same
time and wishing I could be with him.  I pined for Paul, I wanted Paul, I
craved for Paul, I needed Paul, ahhhhhhh, I came for Paul!



                         Chapter 2: Tour Number One:

The end of term was nearly upon us when the Rugger master, who was a
fearsome creature who played for Harlequins in their pack, put up a notice
outlining the Easter Rugby Tour and the participants.  Oh my God, there was
I among the eighteen lads named!  There were three Fifth Years, myself and
Billy Hall and a lad, Monty Williams, in the parallel Form who was quite
massive and played at lock in our Junior XV.  The rest were First, Second
and Third Year Sixth Formers who generally made up the First XV.  Among
them, of course, was Paul who was marked as Captain.  I was in my seventh
heaven.  Although only down as reserve and touch judge with my two other
age groupers this was a singular honour and we might be called on as
substitutes!  Dad was so proud he even bought me a First XV shirt on his
way home from work the next day.  I hid that away as I didn't want my luck
to change.

The arrangements were that we would play three matches.  Two against
Grammar School sides in different towns somewhere up north and the third at
a Catholic Public School where our Rugger master had been at school.  As
these schools were some hundred and fifty miles away we would be travelling
by coach on the Monday afternoon to the first town, staying over that night
with someone from their team, playing a game the next day and remaining
there overnight again.  The next day we would travel about an hour in the
morning to the next venue, play in the afternoon and be put up that night
there.  We would then travel on the next morning to the Public School, play
them in the afternoon and stay until the next morning, Good Friday, when we
would return home.

The eighteen of us were paired off differently for the first two stays.  I
was down to be paired with Llewellyn Johns for the first two nights in the
same place.  He was in the First Year Sixth and was smaller than me and was
the First XV scrum half.  He was Welsh like the irascible Rugger master at
the other school and nearly half of our much more amenable teachers.  They
always said that the Welsh exported coal and teachers and our school had
more than its fair share of the second.  I didn't know Llewellyn at all as
he hadn't been in the Junior XV when he was in the Fifth Year but in the
First XV so I was a bit apprehensive.  The third night I was to be in the
company of Greg Taylor.  I knew him slightly as I had been in the same
class at Junior School as one of his younger sisters.  He was in the Second
Year Sixth, same as Paul.  He was the same height as me, but stockier and
played at number fifteen, the full-back position.  The final night there
were no pairings.  The simple reason being that as it was a boarding school
we would be bedding down in a dormitory.

The last week of term passed in a whirl.  We three young'uns, as the Rugger
master called us, were issued with First XV shirts.  I didn't dare say I
already had one.  School term finished on Friday. Then disaster struck.
The Rugger master broke his ankle, or leg, or something, playing on
Saturday.  There were hurried conferences as he was supposed to accompany
us and chaperone us.  However, Paul was summoned by the Head on Sunday and
asked if he would take responsibility, with the vice-captain, a Third Year
Sixth Former named Brian Masters, for the tour.  The Head said he had every
faith in Paul and Brian and wished them well.  We heard all this when we
met up on Monday at two o'clock in the school hall.  Paul said in very
measured tones that he expected everyone to take part and to enjoy
themselves but we all had him and Brian to answer to.  As Paul was now a
good six foot and Brian was six foot three and the biggest in the team I
don't think anyone had any inclination to misbehave!

Our journey started promptly at half past two and the driver of the coach
set off at a good lick up the M1 northwards.  We reached our first
destination just before six o'clock and were quickly apportioned out to our
waiting hosts.  Llew and I found ourselves in the company of one of their
First Year Sixths, who also happened to be Welsh like Llew.  He was a
small, compact, black-haired lad, just like Llew and, guess what, he was
also their scrum-half.  I felt like a walking bean-pole, towering and
towing along behind them as they chatted animatedly about things rugby and
Welsh and combinations of the two.  Before we reached his house we had
learned that Gareth's dad had been a coal-miner and had been killed in a
pit accident when Gareth was ten.  His mother was a nurse and had decided
to move away from the mining valley so they had settled in this quite
different environment.  His elder sister, like my sisters, had already left
home, to become a nurse like his mother.  His mother was a good cook, he
said, and was on duty that night so he was to look after us, etc., etc.
What with Llew filling in all the details about us - what he knew about me
was quite incredible as I knew nothing about him, I learned a lot - there
was no let up in the continuous stream of chatter.

After a fairly long walk we ended up at a row of largish terraced houses.
Gareth lived in the first of the row.  He ushered us in and the first thing
that struck me was the heavenly smell of cooking.  His mother had left a
great casserole in the oven with a note saying we were to enjoy ourselves,
keep Gareth in order, not to let him talk the hind leg off a donkey and she
would be off duty at eight in the morning.  Gareth shook his head as if
this was an everyday occurrence and then showed us up to our room.  This
was a large room at the back of the house.  There was a double bed in it
and he asked if we minded sharing.  I refrained from saying only as long as
Llew didn't snore as much as he talked.  Llew and I looked at each other
and shrugged and said "No" simultaneously.  Gareth explained it was really
his room and he would be in his sister's old room next to it.  Well, before
we got downstairs for food they found at least six other shared interests
from stamp-collecting through to History which both were doing for
A-levels.  Luckily hunger struck them both and we were soon seated, then
sated, at the dining-table.  The flow of talk continued nonstop while we
consumed the very tasty casserole and apple crumble to follow.

Gareth decided we'd better have an early night so we were upstairs again by
half past nine.  I wasn't used to going to bed so early so was rather
pleased when the other two decided to do a bit of arm wrestling.  They
stripped off their shirts and sat either side of Gareth's desk and began
the tedious male chore of seeing who was stronger, or more crafty.  After
the first session which Gareth won easily they both decided they would be
more comfortable in their underpants.  All this time I was slowly
undressing as I usually did.  I was always very tidy and folded up my
things as I took them off.  As it happened I always slept in the nude at
home but mum had thoughtfully put pyjamas out for me to pack.  Without
thinking I had slipped my underpants off and was searching in my bag for my
pyjamas when Llew looked up.

"Look at that, Gareth," he announced, "Young Jamie's got his usual stiffy!"

Oh crumbs, taking off my underpants was the routine signal for my unruly,
disobedient cock to make its nightly stand.  And, how the hell did Llew
know about my usual habits?  My cock was slowly rising under the intense
gaze of two black-browed Welsh boyos.  I couldn't do anything about it so
they did.  Without any collusion they both downed their own underpants,
cast them off and grabbed me in a tight grip and backed me over the bed.

"What shall we do with the beastie?" asked Llew across my recumbent body.

"Not so little that beastie," said Gareth, "Let's see it fully grown."

With that he ringed my cock with what could only have been a very
experienced set of fingers and dragged my foreskin down over my knob.

"Good God!" he said admiringly, "You say he's only sixteen?  Bugger's got a
dong like a young donkey!"

I couldn't see what equipment they had but mine was now fully proud,
jutting up above my belly.

"Shall we see what he's made of?" asked Gareth.

Llew sniggered.  "He's got plenty of juice in those bollocks so I hear."

So Llew had heard about me.  He wasn't a Scout but there were plenty of
others who had seen my usual spurting amount.  Curious.  While I cogitated
on that Gareth began a slow tug on my ever-willing meat.

"You can let me go," I said quietly.

The restraining hands left me and Gareth continued to wank me slowly.  I
lay back and let the wondrous feelings take over.  It didn't take long
before the usual subterranean throbbing started.  I opened my mouth, took a
few deeps breaths and shot my load.

"Fuck me!" said Llew, "He is a juicy bastard.  Beats me, I don't make half
that much on a fine day."

I had shot a lot.  I usually did.  My friends had remarked on it many
times.
  Actually, Kish had pinched some test-tubes from the lab only a fortnight
ago and he, Billy, Gerry and I had deposited, with some difficulty in
catching it, our supply of cum from that afternoon's wank so that we could
compare our productions.  There had been a slight difference in colour and
texture but the biggest difference was that their amounts were just about
equal whereas mine was nearly double.

Gareth pulled out the bottom drawer of his desk and drew out an old piece
of towel.  "Always keep that handy for the sudden urge," he said with a
grin and chucked it over the sticky splodges on my belly and chest.

"Same here," said Llew, "I have my trusty towel at the ready all the time."

Crumbs, I was with a couple of serious wankers, just like me.  I wiped
myself rather sketchily leaving quite a bit still on my chest and sat up.
What caught my eye were two hefty erections.  These Welsh boyos matched,
not long but thick.  Two shorter dicks than mine, but almost matching each
other in length, breadth, darkness and rigidness, were on either side of
me.  I put out both hands and grasped one in each.

"Together or one at a time?" I asked.

"Together," they said simultaneously.

I pride myself on my ambidexterity.  Many's the time, when Gerry had
demanded a third wank and was proving a bit tardy in producing his juice,
I'd change hands without missing a beat and with no loss of power.  I
gripped both dongs firmly and set a fair pace.  The two valiant Welsh lads
grinned at each other as the pumping started.  They also matched, as I went
on, in the way they both leaned back.  Their muscled bodies became quite
taut.  I peered at their thickly haired legs and how the muscles of their
thighs stood out as if straining to force their imminent cumming to be
massive.  They were like twin statues.  Gareth began to pant before Llew
and Gareth shot first.  Several spurts of pearly cum flew across my legs
and hit Llew directly above his navel.  Then Llew fired.  His salvo of
shots matched Gareth's.  Both now had trickling streams of the other's
spunk dribbling down their bellies.  Both grabbed my hands to stop me
pumping.

"Gosh," I said, quite amazed, "You two could be twins."

They looked at each other and reached down to scoop up some of the other's
come in their fingers.  They turned to me and mixed all three sets of cum
on my chest.  Gareth held out a finger dipped in the mixture and placed it
against my lips.  I sucked his finger greedily.  I was always intrigued by
the strange saltiness and sweetness of my wank-partners creamy outpourings
as I always endeavoured to taste what had been deposited in my hand or
whatever remained on my fingers.  Gerry and I had tasted ours many times
from the first time when we'd sucked each other off and had compared each
other almost like a tasting session.  I dipped the first two fingers of
each hand into the pool and held them out to the two boys.  They also
sucked every drop off.

"Best way to get your vitamins," said Gareth.

He was obviously well-versed in the art of joint enjoyment.

The towel was brought into play properly this time and Llew commented on
its crustiness.

"Only a fortnight since it was washed," said Gareth.

"Bugger me," said Llew, "You must draw off several times a day, eh?"

Gareth said he usually managed three and both Llew and I said we did the
same.  They eyed me rather suspiciously, I think, wondering if my mammoth
outpouring was the result of a week's hoarding of sperm.  I guessed what
they were thinking and said I'd had my usual Sunday three the day before.
They laughed and said so had they.  Anyway, Llew and Gareth hadn't finished
their discussions so I suggested that Gareth joined us for the night in the
double-bed and he could crawl out early in the morning and finish up in his
own bed before his Mam came home.

"Good thinking, lad," said Llew, "Just what me and my cousin Trevor do when
I visit him."

So said we spread two towels in the bed, as Gareth said "In case" and
Gareth got in between Llew and me.  At eleven o'clock we all decide we
needed more relief.  I had a hardon which ached but I waited until Llew had
tossed Gareth off, then Gareth pulled Llew's pudding and finally my
absolutely rigid dong responded very quickly to Llew's also expert grip.

Next thing I knew was a movement of bodies and a "Oh shit, I've got to
hurry!" from Gareth as he slipped out of bed and disappeared posthaste
through the door.  I then heard the key in the front-door and the rattle of
the lock and his Mam was home.  Soon there was the smell of more heavenly
food.  A full cooked breakfast.  I hadn't started to shave every day but
black- visaged Welsh boys needed to so Llew and Gareth were closeted in the
bathroom for ages.  Luckily I had reached the bathroom first so I was
dressed and downstairs long before the pair of them emerged.  Gareth's Mam
wanted to know if we had got on OK.  I said we had, not, of course,
divulging the antics we'd been up to.  I said Llew and Gareth were so much
alike.

"Talk a lot, did they?" she asked with a smile.

I nodded.

"Thought so.  Does Gareth good to get things off his chest.  Now his
sister's gone for training it's only me to talk to and he is a grown boy
now."

He was certainly grown.  I noted his outpouring was not much less than mine
and those legs!  I wished mine were as hairy!

After breakfast Gareth and Llew continued their duologue and I went out to
explore a bit of the town.  We were near the outskirts.  The school and the
hospital were in sight when I walked up the main road which was more like a
hill.  I didn't see anything of interest so wandered back and sat in the
kitchen and chatted to Gareth's Mam who wanted to know all about me.  I
told her all that was decent and said how I enjoyed school.  Mrs Davies
said that Gareth wanted to do History at University and was a very hard
worker.  She was obviously very proud of her son.  At long last after
elevenses we put our rugger togs and towels in plastic bags and went off to
the school.

The match was at two o'clock and lunch was scheduled in the school hall at
twelve thirty.  >From the conversation I was able to have with Billy he'd
also had an interesting night which he said he'd tell me about later.  I
joined Gareth and Llew and another of their team at the table.  He raised
his eyebrows as soon as Gareth and Llew gabbled on.

"He's always the same," he explained, "Never shut's up.  Best friend I've
got though."

End of conversation.  He was obviously the silent partner.

We all got changed as soon as we'd finished eating and I put on the old
First XV shirt I'd been issued with.  I had only tried it on once at home.
I'd put on Paul's old jockstrap this morning when I got dressed so it
didn't take me long to get my shorts on with my socks and rugger boots to
finish my ensemble.  Monty and I were to be touch judges today and Billy
was reserve in case anyone came off, hurt or otherwise.  The ref was one of
their masters and he asked if we knew the Rules.  We both nodded and dead
on two o'clock they kicked off.  Their team was good.  There were some
quite hefty players and Gareth as scrum half was everywhere.  But, our lot
were equally good and in the end we drew, nine all.  Billy went on for the
last twenty minutes when one of the wings twisted his ankle.  He wasn't
badly hurt but limped a bit as he went in to have an early shower.

The shower!  That was my first experience of seeing so many older boys all
together.  Both teams used the same showers and I was undressed and
underneath the spray before most of the others.  I remained under for as
long as possible so I could check out as many as I could see.  It was
rather amusing as the cold and the exertion had caused everyone to shrink.
There were more wrinkles than inches evident all around.  However, as in my
own case, the warmth of the water and also, perhaps, the sight of so many
cocks, caused a general lengthening and thickening, back to normal I
assumed, pretty quickly.

I was joined under the shower by one of the Second Year Sixth Formers I
didn't know other than seeing him around at school.  He was a big lad, as
tall as I was, but had enough hair round the root of his cock and under his
arms to stuff a cushion.  I was glad to see that I was just as well endowed
as him even though he was a couple of years or so older.  In fact, what
really surprised me was that although boys are always saying about the
length of their cocks, or the size of others, the actual hanging length of
almost all the thirty or so I looked at that day was very similar and no
more than mine.  I saw only two which made me look again, one was a real
whopper, the other lad 's just peeped out of his bush.  They both belonged
to members of the other team.  What did differ most were two things,
general hairiness and the size of bollocks.  A general rule seemed to be
that the older the lad the more hair he had around and above his cock.
Hairiness of legs was individual.  One of our team was very blond and had
the hairiest legs out.  Thick golden curls were all over his thighs and
spread down his shins.  What surprised me was that even the couple of
blonds I spotted, him included, had quite dark bushes above their cocks.

Bollocks came in all shapes and sizes and swingingness.  Compared with my,
to me, quite normal walnut sized in their sac, which nestled quite close to
the root of my cock, there was much variation.  I had already noted this in
my mutual feeling of my fellow wankers' balls as we compared each other's
equipment after school or after Scouts.  Joe Platt, one of my Scout patrol
Secondary Modern School co-wankers, had the biggest pair of bollocks I'd
ever seen or felt.  Two small-orange-sized monsters.  However, they didn't
do much for him as he only came in dribbles although he loved every moment
of a good wank.  He said his balls had swollen up like that when he had
mumps at the age of eleven and had never gone down.  Around me now there
were large ones, small ones, pendulous pairs and some so tight up against
their accompanying cocks you could hardly see them, but none as big as
Joe's.

I had also spotted Paul early on.  He was under a shower with the captain
of the other team in earnest conversation.  I saw his cock for the first
time since we'd been together on holiday as youngsters.  He was a bit
distant, but, again, he didn't seem to be any bigger than me or anyone
else.  I had always imagined that as you got older and, if you were bigger
and taller than others were, then your cock would also be huge.  However,
he did sport a nice big pair of balls which swung very convincingly as he
moved under the shower spray and, of course, he had a really dense bush now
rather than the sparse scattering of six years ago.  My reverie was
interrupted by the Sixth Former, - I remembered his name, Dave Cartwright,
- poking me in the back and asking if I would soap his back.  I did and
then he soaped me.  I glanced down surreptitiously and noted that it'd had
the same effect on both of us.  Our dicks were thickening slightly.  But,
we were soon out of the shower after that and drying off.  He was also
rubbing in embrocation into his knee which he said he'd twisted in tackling
some poxy fucker in the other team. No masters appeared so one of their lot
started off a song.  The first one sounded like a hymn tune but the words
were about an artificial cock and the chorus went something like `in and
out went the fucking great wheel, in and out went the prick of steel' and
so on.  I caught Billy's eye and he was laughing mightily as the singing
went on and then it changed to another about all the nice girls and their
love of candles.  The singing gradually died away soon after as I think
they ran out of words or breath!

Billy and I sat together as we got dressed and I congratulated him on
playing his first time in the First XV but he seemed more interested to
know how I'd got on the previous night.  I said it had been fine.  He
nodded down indicating if it was that kind of fine.  I said it had been
very fine, twice each.  He grinned and said it had been the same.  He said
his host was the lad over there.  I looked.  The lad was just combing his
hair, he was one of the two I'd noticed earlier, the one with the long
cock.  Billy leaned towards me.

"Massive tool.  Beats you," he whispered, "Tell you more later."

The singing had stopped and I noticed that the Sixth Formers were all much
slower than us Fifth Formers in getting dressed.  I realised they were all
liberally rubbing in liniment on their real or imaginary sore muscles.  The
place soon stank of wintergreen.  Billy and I sat and watched in silence
until Gareth came over with Llew.

"You're with Doug, aren't you?" Gareth quizzed Billy.

Billy stammered a bit and said "Y-yes".

"Good lad he is.  And is Jamie here your pal?" he continued.

"Oh, yes," said Billy and I got the compliment, "He's a good lad too."

"Yes, we know that," was the rejoinder with a wink to me.

Doug then came over and beamed at all of us.  He was shorter than me but
looked very wiry and strong.  I wanted to know Billy's first-hand account
of what had happened and I'd tell him also all about me and my two
encounters.  But I wasn't able to get him on his own then as we went off as
a group into the school hall where we had a slap-up tea which, at least,
took my mind off other things.  From the camaraderie I think everyone was
pleased it had been a draw.

After tea we all went off with our hosts back to their houses.  Llew and
Gareth were still at it, hammer and tongs, gassing on about every subject
under the sun.  I trailed along carrying not only my damp kit and towel in
my plastic bag but they'd dumped their bags on me as well.  I was a general
dogsbody.  "Ran the line well" was the only compliment I got from Llew on
the way home.

Gareth's mum was at home when we got there.  She told us to put our kit in
the washer and Gareth would see to it.  She also said that she had been
asked to go on duty again that evening so, if we didn't mind looking after
ourselves again until the morning, she would be off at eight o'clock.  Llew
said he thought he could keep Gareth in order.  Mrs Davies said he would be
the first one.  Anyway at seven she dished up a homemade meat pie followed
by a delicious treacle tart.  At quarter to eight she disappeared off,
saying to Gareth to see that our kit was dry for the next day, leaving us
to contemplate the rest of the evening and the night.

We were upstairs at nine o'clock.  Llew and Gareth had another bout of arm
wrestling until Llew decided he needed more embrocation rubbed into his
back.  I thought I would try it as well so offered to anoint Llew if he
would rub some into my thigh muscles.  It was quite hilarious as Gareth
joined in and there were three almost nude lads merrily massaging each
other's various groups of muscles.  The general injunction was not to let
the stuff near your cock, or even more importantly, your's or anyone else's
balls.  I was a bit puzzled about this until Gareth, I hoped accidently,
caressed my left bollock with an embrocation doused hand.  I nearly hit the
ceiling.  Christ, it was hot!  The other two laughed and said it would act
as a warning.  There were tales told then of the payment back of old
enmities by the application of a dose of liniment to the offender's balls
or a finger rubbed up the crack of their arse.  Gareth said he'd had the
treatment in the Fourth Year when he'd made enemies with a nasty piece of
work who'd finally been kicked out of the school.  He'd been held down by
the villain and two of his pals while they applied the liquid to his balls.
He said they swelled up and ached for several days after that but he'd
attributed the increase in size of the said objects after that to the
treatment.  I had noted the night before that Gareth's balls were his pride
and joy in the way he held and displayed them.  They were quite large and
swung low below his dick with the left hanging some way below the right.
Bigger and better than mine or Llew's.  He said he'd got the better of the
fucker who instigated the assault by bashing him in the balls, accidently
of course, ha ha, when tackling him in a house match.  He had to retire
hurt.

"What is known in Rugby circles as a groin injury," added Llew
knowledgeably.

I told them then about the Scout who'd had mumps when he was eleven and who
had huge balls.  Both said they remembered having mumps when they were much
younger and I said I had as well.  Gareth told us you didn't want to have
mumps when you were older and making sperm as you could get sterile.  He'd
read that in one of his mother's medical books.  I wondered if that was why
Chas only produced a dribble but Gareth said he would still be able to make
spunk but the sperms in it wouldn't be alive.  That shut even Llew up for a
moment as we sat and contemplated that bit of information and Gareth
reassured us you only caught mumps once.  Gareth then said he'd also read
in the book that each time we shot a load there were enough sperms in it to
repopulate India.  I laughed and said my pal Kish, who was Indian,
repopulated India two or three times a day.  Llew thumped me on the back
and said I could probably repopulate China with the amount of spunk I shot
in one go.

"Yeah, that's right," said Gareth, "As long as he doesn't get Peking and
Wanking mixed up!"

Very good, I must pass that one on to Gerry!

The issue of whether wanking should take place the night before a match was
discussed.  None of us felt that a couple of wanks had ever had any effect
on our stamina.

"In fact," I said, "I generally feel like a good wank the night before as
I'm usually a bit tensed up."

They agreed and Gareth added, "So speaks the wisdom of youth."

Gareth said as he wasn't playing the next day he could come as many times
as he liked that night and suggested we started with a competition to see
who fired the furthest.  I guessed he suggested it as he'd had experience
of winning that type of competition before.  Llew agreed a bit
half-heartedly.  Perhaps his shot of about two feet across my legs the
night before was stretching his limits.  I knew from past experience that
wasn't my limit.

Anyway we decided our first effort would be three solos in order of
descending age.  Llew was two months older than Gareth so, having all
stripped off completely after the arm wrestling and Gareth throwing down
the crusty, sorry, trusty towel a fair distance away, Llew began.  He
favoured a full-hand wank with his fingers under and up over his cock.  His
foreskin slipped back easily and it wasn't long before he was in an easy
rhythm.  I glanced over at Gareth and his dick was rising steadily just
like mine.  Then with a groan and a moan Llew produced about four short
squirts of come which landed about two feet away from him slap bang in the
middle of the towel.  It was Gareth's turn next.  He used an overhand
method with his thumb rubbing along the under ridge of his shaft with three
fingers on top but when he was working up to his climax to changed to the
full-hand used by Llew.  He gave more of an open-throated cry as he pulled
down hard on his engorged cock.  Five substantial streams of cream flew
from his knob-end.  The first landed near the further edge of the towel at
least four feet from him.  Llew patted him on the back, I think fully
expecting him to be the winner.

As youngest I was the final competitor.  I had found from my nearly three
year's wanking experience that thumb on top and two fingers below with
foreskin pulled right back produced the best results when competing for
distance in circle-jerks, or even in my practice sessions in front of my
wardrobe mirror.  I was my usual rigid self before I even started having
watched with intense interest the other two lads bring themselves to
fulfilment.  I gripped my dick firmly between my thumb and fingers and
yanked my foreskin back.  My knob end stood out, bulbous and dark red.  I
set off at a cracking pace knowing the sooner I came the further it would
go.  I was more than ready, I soon felt the familiar pounding under my
prick, then I let fly.  The first three spurts missed the further edge of
the towel.  They went over it hitting the chest of drawers beyond it, a
massive six feet at least.  The three jets that followed splashed down just
in front of Gareth's effort.  A final dribble dangled down from my still
erect shaft.

"Never seen that before," whispered Gareth.

"Bloody marvellous," was Llew's comment.

With one movement I was enveloped in two mighty bear hugs.

"Bloody marvellous," repeated Llew.

For once, both boys were lost for other words.

Well, after that we ended up in bed as the night before.  My prowess was
discussed and I was rewarded with being tossed off by both lads before we
settled down for the night.  Llew would only have one more ejaculation.  He
said in case his stamina was affected, so Gareth obliged while I watched.
Gareth, of course, couldn't have cared less about his stamina so we both
had to deal with him.  And in the morning at six I was awoken with his dick
being placed in my hot little hand with the whispered injunction, "I need
it again".  I tossed him off slowly to much sighing and panting while Llew
snored on.  After he came all over my leg Gareth felt my rampant young cock
but I said I hadn't better in case I was needed to play so he just smeared
his come on my lips as he slipped out of bed to retreat to his room to be
there when his mother came home.  I licked my lips and dozed off again.
Just like the day before I awoke properly to the smell of breakfast
cooking.  Gareth came in, still in the nude, poked us both in the side and
said it was time to get up.  Llew was still pretty sleepy but I hauled him
out of bed and we three hugged each other and professed lifetime friendship
for the happy two nights we'd spent together.

Chapter Two will be continued..........

Comments appreciated.  If you want a previous story see `Spying on My
Brothers' in the Nifty Archive.