Date: Thu, 26 May 2016 14:05:12 +0100 (BST)
From: "rampage938@btinternet.com" <rampage938@btinternet.com>
Subject: "IT'S ALRIGHT, SON" - 1

Hi, guys. I have managed to find a few hours in a very busy schedule to
cobble together this tale, which I trust you will all enjoy. Just a quick
reminder to keep up your donations to Nifty, they are very much
appreciated. Hope this one meets with your approval.

I had begun to fill out my lanky frame with a more developed upper torso
after regular visits to the local swimming pool and a new weight lifting
regime I had started during my final year at college. I still had a smooth,
hairless chest except for a few hairs sprouting around my nipples.
Nevertheless, I considered my extremely hairy legs and tight, neat butt my
best assets. I had been running long distance track all through school and
college and as a consequence my thighs and calves had developed very
nicely, thank you.

After experiencing several frustratingly unsuccessful attempts at fucking
some of the more forthcoming females in our year, my very best
school/college buddy Wanker (real name Juan Kerr) had persuaded me -
without too much difficulty it has to be said - that both of us ought to
give gay sex a try. We experimented between ourselves at first and found we
both liked it a lot and soon began branching out, finding it much easier
getting our hands inside a guy's undies than fumbling around with bras and
panties and all that crap. There was also the question of enduring
considerable embarrassment when we lost our hard-ons at the crucial
moment. Somehow, when push came to shove, we found the idea of putting our
dicks into that sloppy slit was a real turn off. Curiously, that did not
happen when a guy bent over, gagging for a big hard cock to be inserted
into his anal orifice and proceeded to have his brains almost fucked out by
two over-sexed eighteen-year-olds!

The inevitable result of these activities was that we both enjoyed an
abundance of male-on-male sexual encounters during our final school
year. Don't get me wrong, sex with guys around your own age is great but I
rapidly developed an unabashed lust for dirty sex, the dirtier the better,
with older, more experienced partners. A number of encounters being cruised
by mature men in the local parks or the cinema appeared to have spoilt me
for anything else. I was also influenced by the fact they seemed honestly
appreciative of my willingness to participate in whatever games they had in
mind and were eager to meet me again, and again, and again - purely to
further my education in sexual matters, you understand.

Once Wanker and I walked away from school for the last time, I decided I
would try for a summer job to earn some extra cash. I set off with high
hopes and was not too fussy about being a 'washer-upper' in the local fast
food outlets, or a shelf filler at the local Sainsbury's or Morrison's. I
had seen plenty of guys about my age doing such menial jobs to earn money
while they were sorting out a career and was amazed when I found myself
still unemployed and loafing around town a fortnight later. Finding
employment for the summer months while waiting to start my fresher year at
university was going to be a challenge and was not willing to be defeated
(and in desperation) I accepted an invitation to spend time with a long
standing acquaintance of the family.  He was an unmarried sergeant in the
Royal Air Force who occupied a bachelor apartment in a three-storey 'U'
shaped complex close to where he was based. Two things persuaded me to give
it a go (no, I did not tell my folks my reasons for accepting his invite.)
First, I would be close to a huge RAF base where hundreds of hunky - and
hopefully horny - guys would be around day and night. Second, the base was
located not far from the coast with access to a superb surfing beach used
occasionally for international competitions. As far as I was concerned, the
competition for my favours would be between surfers and airmen!

After some hesitation, Dad persuaded Mum that I was about to leave home
soon anyway, a taste of having to fend for myself could only be a good
thing for me. They saw me off at the local coach station - my initial
experience of student life: forget the train, it's too expensive - and I
settled back for the ride. I picked up a magazine at random at the coach
station trusting it was one of those so-called soft porn mags, all tits and
bums. I pulled it out of my bag and nearly crapped myself. Instead of what
I'd hoped I'd grabbed, this one turned out to be a serious, intellectual
publication. However, the headline on the front cover grabbed me by the
gonads. It read: MILITARY PUNISHMENT THROUGH THE AGES.

I instantly turned to the article and spent the next two hours engrossed in
no holds barred descriptions of the savage punishments meted out to errant
soldiers and sailors over two centuries. The article was lavishly
illustrated with reproductions of early engravings and drawings of boys and
young men being thrashed within an inch of their lives with the cat o' nine
tails or an evil looking instrument called "a tawse", just for some minor
infringement of naval or army discipline. The originals of these
illustrations had mostly been done from life as the poor sods were being
chastised. These had been submitted to the War Office or Admiralty as proof
the sentence had been carried out. Naturally, with typical military
thoroughness, they had been stored away in the archives to await discovery
by a researcher impatiently looking for suitably detailed material for his
magnum opus. I arrived at my destination with a raging hard-on and a cock
threatening to flood my underpants with sticky pre-seminal fluid. Was
somebody up there trying to warn me about something? I had great difficulty
getting off that coach without embarrassing everyone - including myself -
by the state of the tented frontage of my jeans! I hastily buried the
publication at the bottom of my bag.

Quickly settling in with my host, I spent the first few days resuming my
search for a summer job. I had hoped that being close to the air base and
the coast it should prove somewhat easier to find something than it had
been back home. As soon as I became familiar with the locality, however, my
enthusiasm took a sharp nose-dive. There were so many hunky men around the
place I was jerking off three or four times a day, then cruising the town
and getting laid two or three times a night. I found the whole process very
tiring! Not only was my host becoming fed up with a randy teenager loafing
about hardly contributing so much as washing up the breakfast dishes but
also one who had lately taken to wandering around his apartment in his
skimpy briefs with what appeared to be a permanent erection! He was getting
suspicious of what exactly I was up to during the day, when I was
supposedly looking for work. He was not gay himself and I think my presence
was starting to cramp his style with the ladies!

The holiday, of course, could not last and one evening, when it was pouring
down with rain and neither of us felt inclined to venture outside, he
plumped a can of ice cold lager down in front of me. As usual, I was
watching TV and thinking about the latest in a growing line of guys from
the base who were all experts at giving decent blowjobs. My host grabbed
the remote, switched off the set and growled.

"OK, sonny, I'm getting' just a mite fed up with you doing fuck all but
pull your plonker all day and splattering stuff all over my bathroom. I've
got a new lady friend I want to bring back here for a long, quiet weekend
soon, so here's what's gonna happen first thing tomorrow."

He went on to tell me, without mincing his words, that he thought I was "a
fucking lazy idle good-for-nothing layabout with nothing on his filthy
little mind but his cock. The time has come, my lad, when you either shape
up or get out. You've got to get yourself work of some kind, so long as its
legal. I have arranged with Sanjeev down at the newsagents to stick a
postcard in his window for me, advertising your services to the local
community as a char, cleaning apartments a couple of days a week for a
modest sum. Evenings or weekends to be charged at double rates."

I reacted badly at first, but then I figures that I would not get too many
responses. After all, who in their right mind would want to trust an
unknown teenager with the run of their expensively furnished apartment?
Then I reconsidered: if I could earn extra cash that way, it would be more
than welcome, so I agreed to give it a try and went along with the
idea. Within the first week of that card appearing, I had five apartments
to clean!

Maintaining someone else's home struck me as being a bit sleazy at first
and it certainly was not very exciting. However, there is something
intrinsically voyeuristic about doing someone else's laundry, scrubbing out
their bathroom and generally picking up after them. It is amazing what you
can learn from a carelessly discarded bit of paper, an old envelope or
other day-to-day unconsidered detritus. For example, I found out one
officer was cheating on his wife with another man in his section; a wife
was deeply involved in a lesbian affair with a Squadron Commander's
daughter! Shit, none of that was my business, but it made great reading and
provided me with ample wanking material late at night in the privacy of my
bedroom!

All the tenants I worked for were either enlisted personnel at the base or
civilians who worked there. Four of my clients were married with kids away
at boarding school; their apartments were the easiest to clean. The fifth
client, Sergeant Keith Haskell, was a bachelor instructor who took groups
of young cadets or recruits out on to the surrounding moorland and gave
them a very hard time on what he euphemistically termed "a survival
course." Although he was out on manoeuvres most of the time, his apartment
always looked as if a cyclone had passed through it whenever he spent any
amount of time there. My arrangements were to clean each unit when the
occupants were not at home. With Sergeant Haskell it was a little more
difficult because his schedule was extremely erratic but most of the time
he was not there. When I first met Haskell I was taken with his sturdy,
muscular build, particularly with the clearly defined swelling in his
combats. He must have been in his late thirties with copper coloured hair
and piercing green eyes. He also possessed an attitude that was all
business, in that uniquely military way all long-serving soldiers seem to
acquire. I have to say he gave me a major ache in my balls and a more or
less permanent hard-on.

To be continued....