Date: Thu, 09 Mar 2006 11:26:46 +0000 From: Jeffrey Fletcher <jeffyrks@hotmail.com> Subject: What might have been Part 1 This is a story that tells of sex between adult men. If you do not like, disapprove, or if it is illegal for you, then please move on. My thanks go to John and Hank who have proof read this chapter. Any remaining errors, mistakes etc are entirely mine. The work is copyrighted (c) by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written permission of the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author. There will be 5 Chapters or parts. Jeff at jeffyrks'hotmail.com WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN. 1 I am often asked if my stories are autobiographical. It is in some ways a difficult question to answer. In the strictest and fullest sense they are not; but into most of the stories there creep incidents and background details that are mine. It has been said that all fictional writing is a mixture of memory and imagination. If I try to describe some alien monster of my imagination I am forced to use language that will be within the experience of the reader in some way. We cannot describe shape, size, colour and everything else without using commonly accepted comparisons. So it is with my stories. I have described things that are totally outside my own experience, and hopefully I have got away with it, because it is based on what I have read, or what I have heard from another, whether it is fighting in Korea, or having sex with a man standing in front of Tane Mahuta in New Zealand! The story I am about to tell you starts with what happened to me long ago. I have often thought about it. I have often pleasurably fantasised over what might have happened if. So it starts one hundred percent autobiographical, and then moves into that area where other incidents from my own experience are brought in to serve in this story. Eventually it is completely non- autobiographical. But very soon there is a problem. It starts with a conversation and I cannot remember that conversation word for word after over fifty years. So is that opening conversation autobiographical or not? It is a mixture of memory and imagination. If you my reader, are not too distracted by the story I tell, you may like to detect where the various stages of my drift from autobiography to complete fiction begin and end. It was late one summer evening when I was seventeen or eighteen. It must have been late, because it was dark. It must have been summer, because it was warm and dry. I was walking the two or three miles home from where I had been visiting relations. I often walked home, because the buses were few and far between, and invariably if I went to catch one I would see it when I was too far off to run and catch it. I liked to walk because the roads, even the main roads, in 1950 were quiet at that time of the evening. I think even in those days I used to do a lot of thinking while walking. The street lights went out at 1.00am or thereabouts in those days. I was about three quarters of a mile from home. I had come down a side road to join a main road, one of the main arteries into London. There was a man, a few years older than myself, but at the most still in his mid twenties, walking along the pavement at the side of this main road. I think he was behind me and caught me up. We started talking. "It a nice evening to be out." "Yes." I replied. "Have you come far?" "Only from Wimbledon Park. Sometimes I catch a bus, but I prefer walking." "You at work?" "No, I'm still at school." "Oh! Where?" I gave the name of an all boys school one or two miles up the road. "What's it like there?" "It's all right!" "Do you like it?" "Yes. I certainly like it much better now I'm in the Sixth." [The top or senior class or grade in English schools at that time] "Do you wish there were girls there?" "No, not really." "Do many of the boys have girl friends?" "Some do." "Do you?" "No." "Must be quite interesting with a lot of boys all cooped up together." "I presume you went to a co-ed school?" "Yeah." He named another local school. We walked along a few paces in silence. "Boys of your age have a lot of sexual drive, where does it all go? I suppose you don't behave like a lot of monks." I laughed. "You don't then?" "No." "So some of the boys get up to things together?" "Yeah." "A lot of it? Tossing each other off and so on?" "Yeah." "Do you?" "A bit. Why? Did you?" "Oh, yes." "But not now?" "I didn't say that." He paused for a moment. "You like it then?" I muttered an affirmative reply. We then came to a decision time as to which way we should go. The main road went into a cutting to go under a railway. Each side of the cutting was a steep grassy slope. The obvious way was to walk along the pavement at the side of the road, and go under the bridge. But at the top of the bank there was a rough path. "Let's walk along the path at the top," he suggested. So we walked along the top of the bank, on the least frequented side of the road, looking down onto the main road which at that time of night in those far-off days had very little traffic. "Do you have one special friend at school, or several?" "Several." "Where do you go?" "Sometimes at one or another's home. But there are places at school for a quick session. Then there are the woods nearby. Quite a lot of holly bushes to get away in, and even big gorse bushes often have dead centres where there is room." "It's nice when you can be safely at home without any interruptions." "But that doesn't often happen." "It does with me. I live with my parents, and they are out a lot. They work at weekends, especially on a Saturday, so that is a good time." "So you do it a lot?" "Quite a lot, always wanting more." "What's your name, by the way?" "Frank. My real name is Francis, but everybody calls me Frank. What's your name?" "Jeff." By this time we had reached the railway line. We looked down on the road. "Let's sit down and talk. It's quite dry," said Frank. We sat down, with our legs out in front of us, and resting back on our elbows. "When did you start doing it with other boys?" "The first time I shot a load was in the old school air raid shelters. Another boy in my form tossed me off." "And you liked it?" "Yes. Wouldn't have done it again if I hadn't. But when was your first time?" "With another guy?" "Yeah." "When I was about fourteen" "About the same age as me." "It was with a cousin on holiday in the country. Similar to you, he tossed me off." Frank shuffled closer, and reached across and put a hand on my thigh. I was already half hard, but that completed my erection. "You like that, I can see." He nodded in the direction of my crotch, and I just grinned. He began to rub his hand up and down my thigh, getting further up with each stroke. "Be careful. I'll shoot my load." "Already?" I nodded. Frank pulled his hand away. "We mustn't do that too soon." There was a pause. "See, you're not the only one who's hard. You can feel me if you want." I rather tentatively reached across and put my hand straight on his crotch, and felt what seemed to me a colossal cock. It certainly felt far larger in length and thickness than any I had so far encountered in my limited experience. "It's huge." Frank laughed. "Have you only played with your school mates? Ever with someone older than yourself?" "No. You're the first who has not been at school with me, except for a boy from church. We did things three or four times." Frank reached across again, and this time on to my crotch. In those days, before zips, it was often possible to slip a finger between the trouser buttons of the flies, and feel with the tip of that finger what lay beyond. It so happened that his finger found the opening in my pants and I felt it touching my cock. "I can feel something warm and hard." He looked at me and grinned. He pulled his hand away and undid my fly buttons. He pulled out my hard cock. "You've got a nice one, Jeff. Any man would be proud of one that size, and it will probably get a bit bigger, given the right treatment." "What right treatment?" "This." With great gentleness he started to toss me off. I had been tossed off many times, by several different boys at school, but this was different. It was so gentle. But here I have a confession to make. He only went up and down three of four times before I lost control. I think I managed to get out the word, "Careful!" when my spunk shot out on to his hand and all over my pants and trousers. "Sorry!" I said as soon as I had recovered my breath. "What's there to be sorry about?" "I shot so quickly, and all over your hand." I immediately extracted a handkerchief and began mopping up operations. "Longer next time." "Next time?" I asked. "I would like there to be a next time, wouldn't you?" I thought for a fleeting moment. "Yes. But where?" "Yes, that could be a problem." He thought for a while. "How often are you out walking at this time of night?" "Not very often. Only this late when I visit relations and walk home; but I do sometimes go out for a cycle ride around 9.00 for an hour or so." "So we could meet up then?" "But I'd have my bike with me." "But we could meet down there under the bridge, and come back up here." "I suppose so." There was still some uncertainty in my mind. "When?" "I can't on Sunday, we are going out as a family. Monday I always have a lot of homework. Maybe Tuesday." "Tuesday then, sometime between 9.00 and 9.30." "What if it is raining?" He thought for a while. "If it's raining, then we put it off until Wednesday. The first fine evening after Tuesday?" "Till then. I must be going. My parents'll start worrying if I'm too late, and Dad will start asking awkward questions." "Okay, Tuesday, or soon after." We stood up, and then clambered down the grassy bank and went our separate ways. *** I was very thoughtful when I got to bed that night. For a long time I lay awake. It was the first time that I had done anything of that nature with a person older than myself, though I judged Frank only to be in his mid twenties, certainly less than ten years older than me. I didn't think it was his age which was causing me disquiet. It was that for the first time I had done things with someone I did not know, and who was outside my usual circle of school or church. I had crossed a boundary that I had not been aware of until I had stepped across it. Then came the thoughts about whether I should meet him again. I could easily fail to turn up. The likelihood of meeting him again was fairly remote. It was not as though we lived in a small community like a village or small town. The London suburb where we lived was big, and there were roads within a short distance of my home that I had never been along. Anyway, those close horizons of school and church would probably mean that our ways would not cross. If they did? I could always come up with some excuse: not well, forbidden to go out that evening, even the amount of homework could be raised as an excuse. I think I went to sleep that night resolved not to meet Frank on the following Tuesday evening. That resolve lasted well into Monday. I know that by Monday evening I was beginning to waver in my resolve. Had I not enjoyed my time with him? The promise of renewed encounter, and possibly fresh experiences, were attractive. Frank obviously had done that sort of thing a number of times, possibly many times. He could teach me much. I woke on Tuesday morning with my earlier resolve gone. I was now looking forward to meeting Frank that evening. Several times during that day, when my mind wandered in a chemistry lesson, I felt the familiar stirring down below. My cock was certainly looking forward to a renewed encounter - if that part of our body does have a mind of its own. I finished my homework by 8.45 on that Tuesday evening. I made my way through to the room where my parents were listening to the radio. We had no television in those far-off days. "I'm going out for a ride before going to bed," I announced. "Careful how you go," was my father's response. In 1950 cycling on main roads at any time was not the dangerous activity it was to become fifty, and less years later. By 9.00 even the main roads were comparatively quiet. I used to cycle to school along that main road leading into London, and think nothing of it. I would be terrified today! I got my bicycle out of the garden shed, and made my way to the railway bridge. I must admit to mixed feelings as I went to meet Frank. Yes, I was looking forward to it, but there was still an element of apprehension, and various thoughts that can be described as `What ifs....' were going through my mind. It took very few minutes to get to the bridge, and Frank was there. He was leaning on his bicycle. "Good to see you, Jeff. I had wondered if you would turn up." "I said I would, if I could." I was not going to share my reservations at that stage. "Shall we go up where we were the other day? There's been no rain so it will be very dry." "Where can we leave our bikes?" "I hadn't thought about that. Let's go up the road, and leave the bikes at the top, where the bank is not so high. Then we can walk back along to where we were." We hopped on our bikes and rode the two or three hundred yards to where the road cutting began. We hid our bikes out of sight from the road and walked along the top of the bank, as we had done those few days before. Frank got down on the ground, and I followed. He wriggled across to get closer to me. "I've been looking forward to this." "So have I." His hand came across and rested midway up my thigh. "How have the last few days been?" "Fine. School, family and plenty of homework as per usual." "How's this fella been?" His hand moved up and rested over my cock. "Fine. Getting hard whenever I thought about meeting you tonight." "That's what I like to hear." He undid my fly buttons and pulled out my cock. "Have you been tossing yourself off at all?" "Every night, before going to sleep." "That's what I like to hear." He took my hand and placed it on his cock. I felt the large hardness within his trousers. "Go on. He hasn't got teeth, he'll not bite. Get him out." I undid his trouser fly buttons, and with some negotiation of his pants, pulled out his cock. It seemed huge to me. It was certainly the biggest I had encountered up till then. In the dim light thrown up by the street lamps I could see that he was not circumcised. Now in those far off days, most of the boys at my school were circumcised. It was the done thing for the majority of, if I may so put it, my class and generation. One or two boys in my form at school were uncut, but I had only been briefly with one of them. So the uncut cock in my hand was almost something new. Frank's cock was hard but he had an ample foreskin so that even when his cock was erect only half the head was exposed to sight. I must have been staring at it. "What's wrong? Don't you like it?" "Most of the boys at school are circumcised, I'm not very used to one like yours." "Does it worry you, or put you off?" "No. I am just not used to it." He undid the belt that held his trousers up, and then undid all his fly buttons. He pushed his trousers down so that his balls as well as his cock were visible. They appeared huge and very hairy to me. "It's so big!" "If the truth be told I doubt if it is more than quarter of an inch, half at the most, longer than yours. But I grant you it is thicker." "Your balls as well." "Good spunk producers they are. Go on play with it." I moved my hand back and cupped his balls. "That's nice. I like that." I continued to feel all round his balls and cock. There were murmurs of appreciation from Frank. He moved even closer and opened his legs encouraging me to feel, what I now know to be, his perineum. "Toss me off, Jeff. Then I'll attend to you." He lay back, but I didn't start tossing him off at once. I let my finger tips lightly touch all over his genital area. The sounds he made showed he was obviously enjoying it. Eventually I put my hand round his thick cock and began to toss him off. The loose outer skin slid easily up and down the hard inner shaft of his cock. I did not have to do it for long. My hand had not even begun to ache, when I felt that wonderful pulse within his cock and the first jet of spunk shot out. It did not go particularly far, about six inches into the air. Most of it fell back hot and sticky on to my hand. It may not have shot far, but there was certainly a lot of it. He continued to lie back and just kept muttering, "Thank you, thank you. That was wonderful. I needed that." I wiped my hand on a nearby tuft of grass, and looked down at him. His eyes were shut, and there was a contented grin all over his face. He opened his eyes, and smiled. "Now your turn. Lie back, and let me toss you off. Pull down your trousers." I pulled my trousers and pants down till they were like his, half way down my thighs. I lay back, and he started fondling my cock and balls. He was so gentle with his touch. None of the boys at school were as gentle as this. I was ramrod hard, so it did not take him long. All too soon I was shooting my load all over my belly and his hand. Much to my surprise he did not wipe his hand on some grass as I had, or on a handkerchief from his pocket. He licked it. I must have looked surprised. "Haven't you ever done that?" "No." "Not even your own?" "No." He looked down at me. "You've got a lot to learn, Jeff." "Have I?" "I think you have, a great deal. I hope you'll let me teach you. Or perhaps I should say, initiate you." He lay back again and pulled me closer and slightly on top of him. He gave me a kiss, and I gave him one back. We both laughed. "You're a lovely young man, Jeff. I like being with you." "Same here." "I like doing what we've just done. For me it was better than the first time." "You didn't shoot your load the first time," I said with a laugh. "I think you enjoyed it more. Am I right?" "Yes. I think I was more relaxed." "You didn't shoot so quickly." "Quick enough." "You'd have liked to have taken even longer?" "Oh yes. I like your hand at work." "Want to do it together again?" "Yes." "When?" "Can we make it next Tuesday evening, weather permitting?" "Fine by me." "If I make it any sooner I think my Dad will started asking questions. He always seems to know if I am trying to hide something." "You said, when we first met, that you first shot your load with a lad in the old air raid shelters." "Yes, that's right." "Was that a one-off?" "No. We've been together several times. Though he's left school now." "Expelled?" "No, he didn't go on into the Sixth." "What was he like?" "He developed slightly sooner than most of us. He had a thicker patch of hair down below when mine was just like a small toothbrush in extent. He had hair on his chest earlier as well." "What sort of cock?" "Slightly bigger than mine, though not as big as yours." "Was he circumcised?" "Yes. Most of the boys in my form are." "How did it start with him?" "We used to talk a lot about things. One after another boys in my class were discovering the delights of masturbation. This boy was one of the first. One day he asked me `Have you shot your load yet?' `No' I replied. `I bet you're ready for it. I expect I could make you shoot your load.' `You think so.' I replied. `Yeah. Come down the shelters after school and we'll have a go.' "And you went down into the shelters? This was after the war, and they were sort of out of bounds, but it was fun to go down there. "One of the shelters had about six inches of water or so in it. So we went down and stood on some benches. A little light came in through the door way. We would see and hear anyone coming in after us, so we would have sufficient time to put things away." Frank laughed at the way I put that. "We went in, and he got out his cock. It was a lovely one. I had admired it often when we were changing for gym." "Had you done anything with him before?" "No. But I knew boys who had. `Come on get yours out,' he said. So I undid my flies. He undid my belt and pushed all of my trousers and pants a little way down. He did the same to himself. He came up behind me, and pressed his cock into my right buttock. It felt great. Then with his right hand he reached round and started tossing off my cock." "And what happened?" "In a little while this strange feeling crept all over me. It seemed all over, in my legs, in my head, in my breathing, and especially in my cock. Then it climaxed and I had this most wonderful feeling. I felt the spunk pouring out of my cock." "Did it shoot far?" "I don't know. I was not watching my cock. I think at the actual moment I had my eyes shut. I know it all shot down onto the floor. I could see it floating in the water. Then he asked me to do the same to him. It didn't take long for him to shoot off. I was delighted! I had arrived! I had done it! I was no longer a boy I was a man!" "How soon before you did it again?" "I think I tossed myself off in bed a night or two later." "Cor, you're a horny lad, Jeff." I laughed. I don't think we talked much more that evening. "I must be going. I must not be too late, or Dad'll be asking questions." "Want to meet again?" "Yes." "Good. When." "Can we make it same time, or with the same arrangements next week? I don't think questions will be asked if we leave it till then." "Okay. Fine by me." We walked back along the top of the bank to our bikes. We chatted for a few moments before going our separate ways. I spent the next week looking forward to Tuesday evening. I wondered what Frank meant when he spoke about me having a lot to learn. I wondered what the next lesson might involve. The following Tuesday was wet. I don't think we saw the sun once the whole day. The rain eased off in the late afternoon, but everywhere was very damp and bushes were laden with drops of water. But it was not raining at 9.00, and the clouds were beginning to break. It would not seem preposterous to my parents for me to go out on my bicycle. I only hoped that Frank would also be there. It was just after 9.00 that I got my cycle out of the garden shed, and wheeled down the garden path, and out by the side gate. It only took a few minutes to get to the meeting place. We arrived at the same time. "Couldn't have been better timed," I said. "Yes, but the ground is very wet. There can't be any sitting down, even a seat would be damp, and the ground is very wet." "What can we do?" Frank thought for a moment. "Let's do what we are supposed to be doing, and going for a cycle ride. We can at least talk." Remember in those days around 1950 there was very little traffic on the roads. Frank suggested that we went along a certain road that was very quiet at that time of night. I went along it again a few years ago and there were cars parked on both sides of the road; but there were none then. We were able to cycle side by side, so we were able to talk. But somehow cycling along an even deserted road late in the evening is not conducive to talking about the reason why we had met again that evening. I suppose we must have cycled in a leisurely fashion some two or three miles. "I am finding this all very frustrating", said Frank. "I just want to get your cock out and play with it." I grinned across at him. "Same here. But there's not much we can do about it." We rode on for two or three hundred yards in silence. "Why don't we go into Wimbledon Park. There'll be no one around there at this time of night." "But isn't it locked?" "Yes, probably. But we could climb over. Come on!" Frank rode off ahead of me. There was a purpose now in our riding, and we were soon at the park. We had no problems getting into it. "Where can we go?" "The seats will still be sodden. And it wouldn't do for you to go home with a wet bum!" I laughed. "It will have to be standing up tonight." There were some large trees with some bushes around them. Frank led the way. "This will have to do." We were under an oak and it was well hidden and quite dark. "Come here, Jeff." I stepped closer and immediately he put one hand round my neck to pull me into an embrace and a kiss, and with his other hand he was feeling my crotch. Needless to say my cock was almost immediately erect. "Horny, Jeff, as per usual?" I felt him. "Who's talking. You've been riding with a hard cock ever since we met." He pushed me back against the trunk of the tree, and undid my belt, opened my flies, and pushed my trousers down. I did the same to him. He pushed his cock against mine. Now I had done this a lot of time with my friends at school. But this was different. Frank was still someone more exciting. His cock was that bit bigger, and there was certainly more hair down there. We stood there under the tree thrusting our cocks together, and rubbing them against each other. "I wish we could lie down, with no clothes on, so I could really explore all of your body," said Frank. "It's too damp to do that tonight." "And the nights are drawing in. It will soon be getting much colder, as well as wetter. What shall we do then?" "It's very rare for me to have the house to myself for more than a short while. I have a brother and a sister, they're often around. And when I'm alone I usually don't know exactly when one or another will be getting home." "Are you free at all over a weekend?" "Never on a Sunday? Why?" "Are you at all on a Saturday?" "I have school on a Saturday morning, but most Saturday afternoons I am free." "Good. My parents are always out of the house until sometime between 6.00 and 7.00." "I would need to be home well before then, unless I made up a good story that could withstand paternal questioning." "Well then! How about you come round to my place on Saturday afternoon. It would be much easier for both of us than meeting out in the open on Tuesday evenings. We could guarantee no interruptions, no dependence on the weather and a big plus - a much greater degree of comfort: - my bed!" Frank eyes sparkled, and even in the gloom under the oak tree I was able to see that. "Fine then. I could be with you sometime between 2.00 and 2.30pm. So where do you live?" Frank gave me his address. It was less than a ten minute ride from where I lived. I would be able to get there easily, or what was more relevant I could get home from there very quickly, as I had already decided that I would go round to Frank's straight after lunch. Our playing with each other had been rather distracted by our conversation, so having made those plans for Saturday we returned to the work in hand. It was indeed work in hand that evening. I was still pushed again the tree trunk, and our cocks were thrust together. Any lessening in hardness during our talking was soon reversed. "I can't wait for Saturday, Jeff, when we can do exactly what we like." "And what will you want to do?" I asked, with a mixture of teasing and genuine enquiry. "To begin with I'll want to take every stitch of clothing off you, so I can see all of you, and get my hands on every part of you. That will be how I will start." "Sounds exciting to me." Our hands were by now at each other's cock. We pulled at each other, and if I remember corrected I wasn't long before I had to turn slightly so I shot my spunk out onto the ground, and not on to our clothes. Frank was not long in following me. We turned back into a warm embrace. "I'm glad you like cuddling together, Jeff." "Why? "Some men don't. They regard kissing and cuddling as sissy." "Do they? I think it's nice. I hope we can do a lot of it on Saturday." "We will. I'll make sure of that." We both got handkerchiefs out of our pockets and did a final wiping of our cocks, pulling up pants and trousers and fastening of fly buttons. We made our way back to our cycles, and made our way home. *** I have never been to Wimbledon Park, though the actual events did take place in a London suburb. Jeff at jeffyrks@hotmail.com