Date: Sat, 12 Mar 2016 13:10:56 -0600
From: jason.kason@manlymail.net
Subject: Rules of Masturbation Part 2

RULES OF MASTURBATION
by Jason Kason

jason.kason@manlymail.net
dirty-shorts.tumblr.com

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RULE NUMBER TWO

In the politically correct world we now live in, a boys' boarding school
issuing its pupils with a list of 'Rules of Masturbation' might seem at
best archaic and at worst offensive, but back when I was learning how to
knot my school tie and reciting my sevens-times-tables, it seemed perfectly
reasonable for there to be rules about such things.

After all, we had rules about what food we could have in our bedroom
lockers, how much money we could keep and how often we had to polish our
shoes, so I took it for granted that we were also told how much time we
should spend exercising our wrists.

Some twenty-odd years having passed since my schoolboy days, I was standing
in my kitchen with the sheet of paper we'd called the 'hand book', now
yellowed and faded, lying on the table.  I put the kettle on to make a cup
of tea, and read rule number two while I waited for it to boil:

2. Boys must not spend an excessive amount of time masturbating.  Ten
minutes of brisk exertion applied once per week is more than adequate for
most normal young men.

That rule had caused a huge amount of amusement across the school.

First of all, there was the word 'exertion'.  Whenever a teacher in class
would call out, "More exertion, boy!" it became a sort of school tradition
that as soon as the teacher's back was turned, the same boy would thump his
fist up and down against the front of his trousers.  It always caused
widespread merriment and so just about everyone who was told that they
weren't exerting enough would give his crotch a good bashing like he would
if he was wanking off.

It even got a name - it was referred to as giving the 'five-figure salute'.

I did it a few times myself when I was caught slacking off, making my wrist
go at it a few times against my trouser zipper, much to my classmates'
eager amusement.

Early on at the school, I heard some boys laughing about this little guy
called Mousey, saying that after an 'exertion' quip from a teacher, he'd
done the five-finger salute in an unfortunate way.  He'd inadvertently
revealed to the whole class of grinning lads what a tiny little prick he
must be packing away in the gusset of his standard school-issue white
briefs.  As soon as the teacher's attention had been diverted, he'd grinned
at his mates and pretended to give his todger a few tugs.  Only he'd done
it using just his pinched together forefinger and thumb and had rubbed them
up and down a length that was barely an inch in size.

"He must have a little kiddie-dick," one boy was chuckling to the others.
"He must need tweezers to wank himself off and a microscope to find his
pecker when it's gone soft in his bush!"

They'd all guffawed with laughter and I'd thought, "That's worth knowing!"
Like Mousey evidently did, I used just my finger and thumb to pull my
foreskin back and forth when I played with my dick most nights, but at
least my up and down movement was already a good five or six inches.

>From then on, whenever my exertion was publicly criticised and the class
turned to watch me give the five-finger salute, I'd make sure I used my
whole hand for the jerk-off motion and that my grip was stretched wide
enough to hold onto the trunk of a young tree.  I even swung my wrist up
and down across and upward nine or ten inch curve so it looked like I was
used to wanking some great colossal rod of meat every night.

My classmates would suppress not only giggles but surprise too, marvelling
that my innocuous school trousers were concealing such a sleeping giant.
They must have thought my little pecker must grow to be the biggest cock in
the room, including whatever the teacher had stashed away down the front of
in his big bulging Y-fronts.

I actually found I loved making my friends and classmates laugh by
pretending to have a good bash on a monster manhood arching upwards from my
trouser fly.  I was quite a little lad - by no means the smallest in the
class - and my short height and slight build must have made it so funny
that I would grow this big brutish hard-on I could hardly get my hand
around.

Funny, and maybe a bit horny too.

I noticed that a minute or so after my over-exaggerated display, some boys
would be adjusting their own dicks through their trousers and others would
be giving themselves a sly grope by pretending to fish for something in
their pockets.  I don't think it was a homosexual thing as such, but more
that in a school crammed full of boys and men the air was saturated with
testosterone and the place was on a knife-edge of sexual tension.

I guess what I'm saying is, pretty much everyone was horny pretty much all
of the time.

That's why rule number two was almost universally ignored.  If the 'hand
book' had recommended ten minutes once a day, some boys might have taken it
at least slightly seriously.  But ten minutes once a week - who the hell
were they trying to kid?!

I suppose a minority of boys probably tried to stick to the rule.  Some of
the specky nerds who only wanted to study and a few of the boring ones who
wouldn't question authority.  I can imagine lads like that 'briskly
exerting' themselves for ten minutes each week over a toilet bowl, perhaps
on Saturday evenings after our social with the neighbouring girls' school.

The prefects certainly didn't stick the rule.  One of the prefect perks -
unwritten as far as I know - was that they were allowed to "disburden"
themselves, as one of our form masters once delicately put it, in the
single rooms they were granted instead of having to queue up in the
bathroom like the rest of the plebs.

All the prefects I ever knew exploited that perk to the absolute max.
Whenever their bedroom doors were closed you could hear them going at it,
perhaps letting us mere mortals know that they had the luxury of cranking
one off whenever they liked.  And whenever I'd had to visit a prefect for
whatever reason, there'd always be a sharp cock stink in their room like
they'd just been giving their bell-end a good airing.  Sometimes there'd be
a spunky odour too from the bin overflowing with scrunched-up sticky
tissues.

So rule number two was rubbish and everybody knew it.  You only had to go
into any of the bathrooms after lights-out and you'd see how utterly
unrealistic it was.  There were four cubicles in the bathroom nearest my
dorm and they'd always be engaged for at least an hour after bedtime.  The
gentle thumping and quickening breathing coming from inside them made it
obvious to the queue of boys waiting their turn that nobody was in there to
take a dump.

It was kind of funny that, actually: before breakfast there'd be a queue of
boys waiting outside the four locked cubicles and the noises coming from
inside them would be farts, plops and splashes.  At bedtime a different set
of boys would be waiting by the same cubicles, but this time from behind
the locked doors there'd be the steady, persistent rhythm of four wrists
bashing against four pyjama fronts.

A boy would emerge, red-faced and still recovering his breath, and the next
one would file in to take over his place.  Sometimes the next lad in the
queue would hopefully mutter, "Ten minute rule, buddy!" but once inside,
the boys would take full advantage of their brief moments of solitude and
some would stay there with his hand pumping away in welcome oblivion long
after the rest of the queue had given up and gone to bed.

I say 'solitude' but sometimes boys would go into a cubicle in pairs.
Again, it wasn't a gay thing - at least usually it wasn't - it was just a
way of speeding things up for those who didn't mind sharing and had a
friend in the queue.

I was lucky that I was put in a dorm where wanking off before sleeping was
as much a part of our nightly routine as getting undressed and brushing our
teeth.  But sometimes, like when we had an especially fastidious prefect or
when there was a bed swap and we ended up with some fun-sponge who believed
in following the rule book, I'd have to take my place among the queues in
one of the bathrooms on my corridor.

I did a deal with a boy called Peter Cruddis who I used to sit next to in
French and whose dorm was on the same corridor as mine.  We agreed that if
I was in the queue behind him, he'd let me into the cubicle with him and
that I'd do the same when he was behind me.  Obviously this only applied
last thing at night; in the morning when the toilets were being put to
their intended us, the two of us would very much do our own thing!

I don't know how masturbatory etiquette arises but there were clear and
concrete rules governing shared use of a cubicle by two boys needing to
'disburden' themselves.  Perhaps there was a second page to the 'hand book'
that I'd never received a copy of, or perhaps it was taught in a biology
lesson from which I'd been absent.

In any case, the rule was that you stood back to back and did your own
thing with as much isolation as you could.  You didn't face each other
which would mean you looked at each other's cocks while you were both
wanking off, and you sure as hell didn't stand one behind the other so that
one of you got to look at your companion's arse.  It's a pity it was never
done that way because I think I'd have rather liked it.  I've always
thought arses look a bit like tits and I think I'd have enjoyed wanking off
looking at Cruddis' fat little bum, imagining my cock sliding up and down
between the two pudgy mounds.

But it was never done that way and I wouldn't even have dared suggest it.
When boys went into cubicles together, other smart-aleks used to look over
the tops of the cubicle partitions to see if they could catch them
cock-sucking.  If I'd been seen standing behind Cruddis, jerking my dick
off as it poked towards his dumpy butt-cheeks, I'd have been the talk of
the assembly hall the very next morning.

So this is how it worked.  We'd all be stood there in the bathroom,
listening to other boys forearms going at it from behind the four locked
doors, and then one of them would gasp - finally - and we'd know that a
place was about to become free.  After some wiping and flushing, the
wank-off merchant would emerge tying his dressing gown up and, as he went
off to bed, the next in line would file into the cubicle and close the
door.  Then his rhythm would join the thump-thump-thuming of the other
three hands and we'd wait silently, trying to figure out from the depth of
the panting and any changes in pacing which of the four cubicles would be
vacated next.

When it was my turn or Cruddis' turn, we'd head into the cubicle and
gesture for the other to follow us in.  Some of the boys would likely make
jokes about us making sure to wipe our mouths before going to bed but that
was pretty standard - the joke was always that two boys going into one
cubicle must be about to suck each other's cocks.  It's odd that there was
hardly any mention of boys doing it up each other's bums and if that sort
of thing did go on - well I say 'if' but I know full well it did - it was
kept deliberately well under the radar.

So we'd get into the cubicle, lock the door and whoever was nearest the
toilet would pass the other a wodge of loo roll.  We'd take off our
dressing gowns and hang them up and then turn our backs to each other so we
didn't have to see each other's brisk exertions.

I suppose we regarded it as a bodily function, a bit like going for a crap.
You didn't want to see your mate doing that so it stood to reason that you
didn't want to see each other jerking off.  Except with Peter Cruddis, I
kind of did.  I used to want to see if he did it the same way I did or
whether all these years I'd been getting it totally wrong.  I never gave
into the temptation to take a peak, though.  The unspoken rule was that you
faced away from each other and that was very much the way the two of us
always did it.

We'd both start beating off, trying not to let our arses touch together too
much.  Sometimes our bum cheeks did rub together and, do you know
something, I actually quite liked it when they did!  But mostly we stood
far enough part to do our thing on our own, matching each other's rhythm on
our dicks and wondering which of us would be the first to shoot.

I preferred wanking off in bed but doing it in the bathroom had a certain
appeal too.  The sound of all the other boys' hands slapping away at their
cocks was amplified by the tiled walls of the bathroom and it was fun to be
part of that - contributing to the noisy rhythm that those in the queue
were listening to.

Mostly there'd be three other dicks to listen to having their foreskins
tugged, but if there was a lot of doubling up on a particular night, you
could get eight stiff knobs being jerked off all together.  That would kick
out a hell of racket and a prefect walking past the bathroom after
lights-out would hear, even through the door, the unmistakable thumping of
eight of us frantically disburdening at once.

Another thing I liked about a bathroom wank-off was that everyone's dicks
were up at full-mast, apart from the odd boy coming in for a pee or a
latecomer at the sink brushing his teeth.  Certainly all the boys standing
in the queue had boners otherwise they wouldn't be here, and those of us in
the cubicles were merrily rubbing away at our bonk-ons.  All being grouped
together like that, all hard and horny, was a fun part of jerking off among
the other boys on my corridor and gave the bathroom an exciting, sexy
ambiance.

That atmosphere of male arousal was intensified by the gathering smell of
so many foreskins sliding back and forth across shiny helmets and so much
spunk squirting out from all our different shaped slits.  By the time the
last boys staggered off to bed at around midnight, the whole room stunk
like the inside of a pair of briefs which had been worn for a week, night
and day.

Whichever of me or Cruddis shot our load first, we'd wipe up with tissue
and let ourselves out so the other could finish off in private.  There was
an etiquette here too: if the one facing the door spunked first, he'd put
the sticky tissue in his dressing gown pocket and let himself out so the
other could re-lock the door.  You didn't put the tissue in the toilet
because you might get a glimpse of the boy wanking off and that was
something that had to be avoided at all costs.  If the boy facing the
toilet came first, he'd throw the goopy paper into the bowl but leave it
unflushed so as not to suggest to the queue that the cubicle was about to
be freed up.  Then the two of you would do a weird back-to-back rotation,
switching places so that the one with the empty bollocks would be facing
the door.  Again, the aim was to avoid a dreaded glance at the
masturbator's prick - ironic, really, since we'd just listened to each
other beating off at full crank.

As I poured the milk into my tea and took a first sip of it, I smiled at
how ridiculous rule number two had been.  I reckon even the housemaster
would have been playing with his prick more often than the 'hand book'
stipulated and so all of us teenaged boys stood no chance whatsoever.

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jason.kason@manlymail.net
dirty-shorts.tumblr.com

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