Usual Disclaimer: If you are not of an age to read this because of the laws of your country or district please desist. If you are a bigot or prod-nosed fundamentalist of any persuasion find your monkey-spanking literature elsewhere and keep your predilections and opinions to yourself. Everyone else welcome and comments more than welcome.
This is a very long tale. It unfolds over a good number of years. What is true, is true: what is not is otherwise.
ALADDIN'S AWAKENING
By
Joel
CHAPTER 43
My First Sixth Form Year
September 1945 - August 1946
PART ONE
On arrival back at home on the first Saturday in September from my extended stay in Suffolk I found more changes. Both Tom and Matt had departed. I hadn't even had a chance to say cheerio to Matt before he went off to Dartmouth and the Naval College. I had sent him a card, wishing him well, from the visit to Felixstowe which I and the boys had made to see their great-aunt and her cat, Rajah, again. This time the cat ignored me other than staring fixedly and balefully at the three of us from its vantage point on top of the piano.
I had four days to get ready for school starting on Thursday the sixth.
There was a letter from the Head Beak congratulating me on getting the Matric Exemption, thanks for my part in the duet at the Prize Giving and finishing by saying I had been appointed a Prefect. Oh, Gosh! I was to be one of those exalted beings!
However, consternation reigned when Ma inspected me. As soon as I arrived home she eyed me up and down. I explained I had travelled in my now rather short shorts as my school trousers I'd taken with me were far to small for me now. True. Over the last three months I'd experienced another great spurt in growth. I was now six feet tall, long-legged and rather more hairy on my extremities. I had also checked, that Saturday evening, and confirmed what the boys the last week or so had been commenting on. My ruler told me that my erect cock was now six and a half inches long. Wow! Lachs and Flea had noted both the increase in my height and the lengthening of my rod. They were both pleased also as Flea had put on another inch in height with an increase in his own prick dimensions and Lachs' tool had thickened somewhat. I think we put those crucial increases down to the almost constant erections we sported and the use we'd made of our ever rampant members.
As far as clothing was concerned, luckily there was another pair of Chris's cast-offs, which, with a judicious bit of hem letting-down didn't look too bad. At least I would be presentable in my new Prefectural role! As I paraded before Ma so she could cast a critical eye over her handiwork I was sternly instructed not to grow any more until we had enough clothing coupons to get another pair of trousers for me and it was probably due to all the food I ate. Huh! Not my fault if my stomach rumbled three or four times a day - probably in tune with my need to wank so much!
Pa had grinned when he saw me: his tall, hairy-legged offspring, now with quite perceptible hirsute growth on it's face. I'd tidied myself up several times with the use of Lachs' razor but Pa must have been prepared because, later that evening, I found a small box on my bed containing a new safety razor and a packet of precious razor-blades. Ho, Ho, I was a real big boy now!
I cycled round to see if Tony was home on Monday morning. He was, and so was Kats. Both eyed me up and down the same as Ma! I was wearing an old rugger shirt and those tight shorts. I noticed Kats kept peeking down at my legs and my very noticeable tan.
Tony said he'd had a rotten summer. His old gran had been staying with them all the time and he and Kats had had to keep an eye on her as she tended to wander. Because of an increase in business, even though the war was only just over, Mrs Marcham had gone back to work for her husband in the Estate Agency and Roo had decided to leave school and was also now working for Tony's dad as he wanted to train as a surveyor and valuer. Tony breathed a sigh of relief as he said it meant his mother would be home now in future and would keep the old lady in check. He said he'd also got his Matric Exemption and had a letter from Dr Morris appointing him as a Prefect as well.
Kats was laughing when he said this and remarked that she never expected her big brother to be given any responsibility. She said, to my embarrassment, I was different. I was sitting next to her on the sofa and, as she said that, she put her hand on my leg above my knee. Wow! That did it! As her hand brushed my newly grown hair I felt a definite tingle in my groin. My newly lengthened cock was reacting, quite involuntarily. Luckily I could place the plate with the sandwich on it over my bulge and I willed it to subside. The more I willed, the more it grew! Mercifully, Kats was distracted and leapt up to get more food for us hungry boys. I cowered into the cushions of the sofa and my ever-ready prong softened. Oh my! If a touch like that had that effect, what else?
She hadn't finished, though. As she leant over me to pour another cup of tea she complimented me on my tan and a hand strayed onto my mahogany brown arm. Wow! The cycle repeated itself. Hardening, mental battle, softening. If this went on I would be shooting a load without any effort on my part - my part would do it by itself! I think Tony had an idea what was going on as he had that grin on his face that lads have when a fellow sufferer is going through some agony. Luckily, again, she was distracted and I was able to control myself.
Tony came to see me next morning. He said Kats never stopped talking about me from the moment I left. I grimaced and said I wondered why. He just grinned. He admitted that he was as horny as hell and all over the summer Kats had dogged his every footstep and the only time he had any peace was when he was in the privacy of his own bed at night. He hadn't met up with any of his friends and he let me into a piece of information - that Tom had been playing tennis every day with Betty Briggs - and he wondered if he was getting his end away. I didn't say I doubted it as Tom was, really, a very upright character. No, no, I didn't mean it in that way! I just laughed and said best of luck to him!
Tony remarked on how tall I'd got. I was at least four inches taller than him now. He grinned and said that Kats had said she admired my tan and why hadn't he got one. As he'd spent the whole summer in Kerslake, watching his gran and getting little sun, no wonder! He was most envious when I described the sailing and learning to swim, but he said, if we could skive off from school on Friday, we could go over to Ulvescott Manor, cycle there and come back Sunday late afternoon. As we then showed our joint horniness by helping each other to an orgasm what else could I do but agree. He also remarked on my new lengthiness but I commented that he was modest as he was still growing as well.
He said he hadn't been able to get to Ulvescott at all over the summer and was desperate to see the place. I said I was the same. I'd had a lovely time in Suffolk but I also wanted to see Ulvescott and to see Hans and Herr Vogel now the war was over.
Tony also said Mrs Crossley had 'phoned to say Bran had been mated with an Irish wolfhound bitch at the beginning of August. Wow, again, I hoped there would be a Bran Number two in residence at Ulvescott soon.
If I thought I'd grown over the summer when I saw Nobbo on Wednesday I was even more surprised. I had gone to school, summoned in that letter by the Head Beak, to learn of our duties to be as Prefects. Nobbo had also had the same letter and when I saw him I had to laugh. Nobbo was now more than six feet in height, taller than his brother had been, and he was skinny with it. It was odd. Somehow, over that summer so many of us had changed. I was now in the upper reaches of the school with those friends who hadn't left school for pastures new. I saw the inside of the Sixth Form Common Room for the first time. A hallowed sanctum which no lower being was ever allowed to enter. I made a surreptitious recce and saw the jutting piece of wall with the pencil marks. Pity Matt wasn't still with us, he could have measured himself against that almost eight inches mark of the lad who had died at the beginning of the war. I wondered if my growth spurt would be continued so I could make my mark there as well? I was certainly a true Thomson as I was rapidly approaching my cousins' sizes.
We were handed a list of our duties by the Head Boy. Tom Rankin had left and the new Head Boy was Chris Payne with Johnny Hobbs as his Deputy. I found that only seventeen of our combined Fifth Years were staying on into the Sixth Form. The rest had left for various reasons. I found that as well as Roo and Matt going, Ned Carter was now employed at the City Hall in the Treasurer's Department along with Dave Morgan in the Planning Department. Jim Masters and Pete Fry had gone to an accountant's office and a solicitor's as articled clerks respectively and Martin Bates had gone to work in his father's shop. The old 5S was even more depleted. Alan Foster told me the trio of Alan King, Chris Nelson and his brother Bernie had all joined the Merchant Navy and gone to the training school. So, with the eight surviving members of the new Second Year Sixth we were twenty- five in number.
Just as we were dispersing Van turned up and corralled the five of us down for French and handed out reading lists and translation exercises. As I was the only one doing German he landed me with translating the first chapter of a German novel by next Wednesday. Luckily I noticed from the Sixth Form time table he handed out, both Tony and I were free on Friday afternoons for private study. Ulvescott, here we come!
So, to the back-slapping welcome to the 'inner sanctum' we newbies went our ways to ready ourselves for our studies and duties starting the next day.
As luck would have it, I was placed on 'gate duty' my very first morning as a Prefect. As luck would have it, I was there on time, five minutes early, for once. What a difference. Me, the usually tardy one, now harrying the new bugs, frightened little First Years, into this new, unfamiliar environment for them. I thought back to my first day at the school and commiserated with them. I had survived five years so far, so would they. The more worldly- wise Second Years and upwards swung off their bikes as if they owned the place, the new Fifth Years looking all self-important. Oh! was I like that, even just last year?
So, school started with a bang, and a bit of a whimper. I spent the rest of Thursday getting the set books together from the Library and trying to pin Van down to say when my German tutorials would be. I also was introduced to Mr Phelps, a new master, invalided out of the Navy, who was to be our Maths tutor. He was short, had a stutter and looked very pale. He said we only needed two main books. Christ Almighty! As I turned the pages of an Introduction to Pure Mathematics I wondered what I had let myself in for. Pages and pages of seemingly incomprehensible formulae and screeds of horrible symbols with headings to chapters like Limits, or the Calculus of Finite Differences. At least I had Pa at home, who I admit wasn't much help when I showed him the book. He just laughed and said it gets worse as time goes on! At least the Principles of Applied Mathematics had a few graphs and diagrams!! Actually, he did say to ask him if I got stuck. If he could help Mike, bugger me, he could help me!!
After a session with Van on Friday morning for French, all in French, with Tony, Tim, Vince and Alan Foster, I felt a bit better. At least I could understand what he was saying. I then had a short session with him, in German this time, where he said I should work on translating as much as possible at first to get vocabulary and sentence construction. I was to make notes on this for every paragraph I read. I then found the book he'd given me was a detective novel, so, not too bad.
Tony grabbed me just as I was going towards the dining hall to join the lunch queue. He said we could have a bite to eat at his, collect my things and then cycle off to Ulvescott tout de suite! OK, OK, as long as I got enough to eat! He said his mum had promised him sandwiches so there should be enough for both of us. We rushed off before any Prefectural jobs could be found for us.
Tony's mum was as good as her word. We had time for a couple of good thick sandwiches and she gave us a couple of buns each to stave off the hunger pangs on our cycle ride. We gobbled the sandwiches down and then set off, calling in to my house to collect my clobber. I changed into my short shorts very quickly and poked my trousers with a clean shirt into my haversack. Then we were off.
Tony kept complaining my bike was so much better than his as I wanted to go at a faster pace. Truth was he wasn't as fit as I was. I said he should exercise his legs as much as he exercised his right arm and he might be able to go a bit faster. Silly sod then tried to run me down! He said I'd better watch it 'cause when he had his legs wrapped round me later I'd think he was a boa constrictor. Oh! What had he got planned already?
Actually, we made very good time and Ulvescott Manor gates hove into view with a patient Bran sitting by the small side entrance. He gave a couple of rather plaintive 'woofs' as if to say 'where have you two been?' but he was soon almost bounding along as we cycled up the drive to the house. I wondered if impending fatherhood put a spring into his step?
The ladies were finishing tea in the breakfast room and we were effusively welcomed. Miss P looked me up and down - an action by most people I met so I was getting used to it - and forbore from delivering the usual comment "Haven't you grown!" Tea was then produced. Tomato sandwiches. Yum, yum!
On the ride over Tony said his father was rather worried about what this new Labour Government might do. He was sure taxes would rise and thought that things such as land might be nationalised. Tony said his Aunt and Lady Bing were worried about the upkeep of their large houses now the war was ended. Both had benefited from the help from the POWs and the income from letting fields and, in Mrs Crossley's case, producing eggs from the wretched chickens. Apparently, Tony's father was exploring some scheme to transfer the title to the land to companies which could control their use. It all sounded rather complicated to me and as I wasn't doing Economics it was really double Dutch to me.
Although the war was now officially over, Victory over Japan had also been declared after those two new bombs had been dropped on Japanese cities, Tony said he was sure things wouldn't get better for some time even though people wanted change. I thought about Captain Harrison's statement. He was sure great changes would be made for the better. Time would tell.
Supper that evening was, as usual, delicious. Tony was congratulated on reaching the ripe old age of sixteen and I was complimented on my healthy looks! We had been despatched down to the cellar to fetch up bottles of wine for tonight and Saturday. We ended up toasting Tony's birthday, the end of the war, Uncle Edward's election, Lizzie Tilson's engagement (poor man!), our move into the Sixth Form, and anything else we could think of. The seven of us at supper that night polished off three bottles of wine between us so an early night for all was decreed.
Although Tony really preferred the Horsebox we had decided to sleep in Piers' old room. When we got up to the bedroom Tony just looked at me and smiled. I was as horny as hell, three and a bit glasses of good wine had sparked off an extra level of randiness. I was stripped, washed and in bed long before he emerged from the bathroom still with that smile on his face. Tony was in a really playful mood. As soon as he got into his side of the bed he rolled straight over on top of me and started to lick and nip at my chin and neck. If there was anything designed to set me off even more it was a tongue on my neck. I was ultra sensitive there and Tony had seen my reactions before. I was truly, truly, rampant. I squirmed and wriggled under his weight and with a heave rolled him over so I was now on top of him. His legs were round my lower back immediately and I felt the power in his muscles. He did have some power! This move on both our parts meant my dick was there, probing his pucker, straightaway.
"Wait, Jacko," he panted, retracting his tongue from its work under my chin. "Wait, I want you so badly but slow down." He licked me again. "There's some stuff under the pillow."
Crafty sod! No wonder he had a smile on his face earlier. He must have secreted this new jar of Vaseline I found there sometime during the pre-supper cleaning up we'd done of ourselves. It was then a matter of seconds to unscrew the lid, coat my fingers and anoint his rosebud. He was panting even more as I did this and I gave him the same treatment of licking him under the chin and feathering his nipples with my tongue. I pushed and a finger entered. I wriggled it. He moaned softly and shook his head from side to side as I licked him more and pushed my finger in further. I pressed a second finger in and scissored them. His hips began to jerk and I moved my face up so I could tongue his lips and ears. I clamped my mouth over his to stop him moving his head about so much and we panted into each other's open mouths. As I pressed my fingers in and out so we tongue-fucked at the same time and I knew that if I didn't get inside him properly very soon I would be depositing a massive load all over him.
He was ready. I guided the tip of my dick to the entrance of his well-lubricated hole. He grunted and the first inch or so, my fat knob-end, went in. His legs tightened round me and he bucked his hips towards me and as his buttocks came up so the whole of my newly lengthened cock, all six and a half inches, was deep in him. I didn't last.
He thrust at me and I bumped my pubic bone against him and shot. I squirted that first load of the day much deeper into him than I had ever achieved before.
I was almost delirious with the feelings. With Lachs and Flea over the summer we had kept our encounters to tossing off and sucking. Our true friendship for each other had been sealed irrevocably by those final fucks we'd had before and we didn't need to pursue those goals again. The memories of the awesome, intense affection built up at those times powered our comradeship, our brotherliness, our feelings of an unique oneness with each other which were too hard to describe, all these could only be felt. Those acts were not the same as tonight's. Tonight was sheer, unbridled lust on both our parts. Tony and I were friends, good friends, best friends, but what we needed here and now was the pure unadulterated release of our teenage sexual urges. This was fucking, pure and simple! Tony confirmed this.
"Oh, Jacko, I felt that!. You came heaps, didn't you? I want it again! Come on!" He was panting even harder now as he spoke, his voice cracking with the urgency of his pleas. "Fuck me again, fuck me, come on, fuck me!" His speech was getting almost garbled in the speed he was trying to get the words out. "I want it so bad!"
I'd collapsed onto him after that tremendous orgasm of mine so his voice sounded unnaturally loud in my ear next to his mouth. This must have galvanised me into action again. My prick was still rigid, still deep in him. If he wanted it again, he was going to get it, come what may! I wanted more too! I just wanted to fuck him and fuck him and fuck him!
My basic instincts took over. I matched his thrusts upwards with the most powerful downward plunges I could muster. He moaned and panted and groaned and I was rasping the breath in and out of my open mouth as I rammed in and out of his now slick and slippery hole. We increased the rate of our joint movements until I felt I was ready to unload again. We must have fucked like two demented beings for about ten minutes before Tony started to cry out, an act I quickly stifled by fixing my open mouth over his. I felt his warm boycream spatter over my chest as I arched over him. With six or so even quicker thrusts I was ready for my own climax. It was as if we sang into each other's mouths with our cries. I forced my arms round the back of his shoulders and clung to him, rocking and crooning as my outburst subsided. I didn't want my cock to leave him and he clenched his buttocks to tell me he had the same desire. I had banged my pubes against his butt so hard in those last few thrusts I swear I must have forced another inch of cock into him and I knew a second torrent had been added to that first which was coating his insides.
We clung together, sweating, cum-soaked, wheezing and gulping air, clutching each other tightly. Our breathing less laboured and Tony sighed and feathered my lips with his tongue.
"Oh, fuck," he murmured and burbled, "fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," at an ever increasing speed and in an ever decreasing whisper. His arms were round me and he tightened his clasp. "Phew," he breathed out, "If only I could be fucked like that every day! Hunh, oh, thanks, thanks, thanks!" he forced out emphatically. His breath was still laboured. "I've wanted you to do that ever since we set out to get here.... Phow.... I want it tomorrow again, please!"
I must admit that second time had been a most intense fuck. He'd been a most willing and very accommodating receptacle for my seed. As far as I was concerned that was what I wanted and that was what he'd got. I was more than willing also to fuck him again. If he wanted to be fucked, I was his man. His man? At almost sixteen I was big, strong, shaving now, a veritable spunk-producing machine with a good-sized cock and urges and needs which had to be satisfied very frequently. I had already performed twice that night. If Tony wanted more now or later I would provide!
Needless to say it wasn't long before my cock, as rigid as ever, was making waves in the accumulated liquid already in him. This time it was a much slower fuck.
Tony was so far gone he could only make low moaning noises as my prick explored every inch from his hole to the point where my deepest thrust took me. Each time I travelled that path he moaned and he twitched. I was striking something within him which was giving him indescribable pleasure. I remembered those last times when Lachs and Flea had fucked me and the mounting excitement I had as their pricks sort and pleasured that sacred spot. I forced my cock into Tony as far as I could go on each downward plunge. His eyes were closed and he was savouring every moment. His insides were now so slippery I wondered if things would work, but my end was so, so, sensitive I almost had to grit my teeth as, after almost forty-five minutes of that slow rhythm, he tensed up, his buttocks clenched and he shot another load between us. I carried on, getting more and worked up and must have just passed out as I unloaded a third offering of my semen into him.
I must have frightened Tony as he was whispering urgently in my ear as I lay, quite out of this world, across his torso. "Jacko, are you OK?" I heard amid a whole jumble of thoughts and such intense feelings all over me, just as if I'd been laid low by a tremendous electric shock.
I breathed in deeply and expelled a lung-full of air. "Phooow!" I couldn't speak for a moment as I felt his muscles still twitching around my impaled cock. "Oh God," I murmured at last, "You wanted to be fucked and I wanted it too!" I also wanted praise. "Was that what you wanted, eh?"
He clasped me tight again, bonding us with that sticky mass of cum between us. "What I wanted! What I needed!" he breathed out huskily.
Groggily, I made my way to the bathroom, peed and washed my sticky, now flaccid shaft. I sponged my torso, dried myself and returned to bed. Tony was drowsy but I tucked my towel up under his crack as I knew he'd had a substantial fill of my boy-cream. He murmured something or other and snuggled up close to me. We slept like two babes that night. An old simile but it was a sleep of quiet gratification and contentment. I was exhausted, for once, and Tony was truly satiated. I dreamed strange dreams of a river, of happiness, of a smiling face looking down on me, of two golden-haired boys, of sweetness, of light.
It was that bright light which woke me. I realised it was morning and the rising sun was shining straight into the room. No blackout curtains now the war was over. My spirits lifted even further as I thought of that and the wonderful release of all my frustrations, needs, anger even during those intense bouts of the night before. I looked at Tony lying there, breathing softly and evenly, his hair tousled over a still damp forehead. I stretched out a hand and smoothed it back. He opened an eye, smiled and went back to sleep.
I slid out of bed as I needed to pee urgently. I examined my cock as I pulled back my foreskin preparatory to gushing forth. I grinned to myself. It was rather red and my foreskin seemed even looser, but no problems, just a delightful sort of ache.
I ran the bath and quietly luxuriated in its warmth. I thought of Piers and Miles in whose room we had coupled so energetically just as I hoped they had done all those years ago. I remembered the smiling face of my dream. It was certainly Piers. Watching approvingly I was sure. I knew he and Miles had fucked, like me and the two boys, not through lust, but through an abiding love. Tony and I were different. We knew we were friends and could satisfy each others needs. That was all. If he wanted to be fucked again tonight I would be most responsive and be a more than willing partner, but it would not be with that feeling of everlasting oneness. I was clearly aware now of this great and powerful distinction. Some day I supposed I would have to make a commitment. To whom, I did not know. There were confusions still to be resolved I knew.
I was drying myself when Tony emerged from the comfortable cocoon of the bed. He had a beatific smile on his face. Tony was handsome. He had those sort of features which set some boys apart. But this morning he was spattered with dried cum, scratching at his backside where my spunk was waiting to be expelled fully, his hair in a tangle and sweaty. He was stinking as he leaned over me as I peered at myself in the bathroom mirror and grinned, fully aware of the great satisfaction he'd had.
"You'd better clean yourself up," he said, with no reference to his own dishevelled, smelly self. "Bet you need to after what you did last night." He playfully slapped my bare bum. "Got to do something about myself, I suppose" he said, having seen in the mirror the wreck of the Hesperus standing by me. "Ow, can't wait, got to get to the lav!" He rushed off and shut the door quickly but not before I heard him sit down rapidly and heard, I assumed, an expulsion of last night's gifts.
I was dressed and waiting, looking at the photos displayed on the wall again. The room seemed brighter, cleaner, and I realised the panelled walls had been brushed, waxed and polished. It was probably now back to the state that Piers had known. The photos must have been taken down in the process and replaced, but not quite in the order they had been in before. In fact, two of them I saw were new. They were two of those given to Mrs Crossley earlier in the year, two of those showing Piers in teams. Then I spotted a third. I hadn't realised there was a second one of Piers and Miles. I had been given one but here was another copy placed very prominently. I suspect it was one which Mrs Crossley already had which I hadn't spotted amongst the loose ones in the box in the cupboard. There must have been a realisation that the relationship between Piers and Miles was something special. I knew there was and I think the look on their faces in that beginning to fade photo told it all. They had been together in life as they were now in death. When I had told Mrs Crossley the night before of that act of homage on my part at the school she had nodded and thanked me, but it was Miss P who wiped her eyes. Mrs Crossley was proud of her son and his companion and I felt that she was sure he was happy now and had come to terms with his passing all those years ago. Somehow I also felt I had some part to play in the future.
My reverie was shattered by Tony coming into the bedroom from the bathroom, still in the nude, and an urgent thumping on the door by Bran. Tony let him in and he surveyed us in turn. Dressed and undressed. I swear the dog summed us up. "Typical!" He flopped to the floor and also waited as Tony, slowly and deliberately got dressed. We were ready for an early breakfast. Gosh, I was hungry. My efforts last night had expended enough energy to boil two kettles and I needed my boiler stoked!
Three scrambled eggs and plenty of toast later would keep the internal fire burning. I thought of that comment - perhaps I needed one egg for each expenditure of a load. Three for three, we'd see!
Anyway, Bran was impatient. He nudged me as I stood up having finished a third cup of tea as well. Tony grinned and said something about time to make a move. Dora had put a covered plate on the table and said it was something for that boy, meaning Hans. Whoops, perhaps Flea was right and she did have the hots for him. Too bad. She must have been, I don't know, old, in her thirties, or fifties, twenty-five? I couldn't tell.
At fifteen, rising sixteen, anyone over seventeen is ancient! Even Hans was twenty-two or even twenty three now. But Dora? I didn't know.
The meeting with Hans was quite emotional. Herr Vogel wasn't there as he was now working all the time for Lady Bing at Ashburn House. Hans was so pleased to see us. I translated for Tony as he poured out all his pleasure that the war was now over and saved his venom for that Trochenwichser Hosenscheisser Hitler who was dead and gone, Herr Jesu! He wept openly when I hugged him and said I hoped he could go home soon to his family. Tony was very touched and said he was sure all would be well. I found he had written home but hadn't had a reply yet through the Red Cross. He said how happy we had all made him even though he was German and he hoped that whatever happened we would remember each other. From what I knew I said I was sure his part of Germany was in American and English hands and not where the Russians were.
We complimented him on the way all the things had been done to Ulvescott Manor over the summer. Mrs Crossley had said she'd had so much help and I'd noticed other things than the refurbished bedroom had also been done. Hans went through a list of things. Painting, staining, polishing, new window frames, and all sorts of other repairs that needed urgent attention. The main work had been done by another POW who had been a wood carver. He had worked with his father in a small village in Bavaria and was overjoyed when Mrs Crossley said she had visited the place when she had holidayed in the area in the early 1930's. Hans grinned and said the Manor should be watertight now as he and another POW had scrambled all over the roof replacing tiles and mending gutters, pipes and lead flashing.
Although I felt very happy and relaxed at Ulvescott I was also aware of other changes in me which seemed to be coincident with the rapid body changes over this last summer. I realised I was experiencing changes of mood and seemed to get angry for no apparent reason. A couple of times at Pin Mill I had to bite my tongue and contain my rising temper over quite trivial incidents with Flea in particular, who teased me unmercifully anyway. All right, it was harmless fun, but once or twice he seemed to touch a raw nerve and it was all I could do not to flare up, snap at him and give him a whack - not in play but in real anger! I was sufficiently in control of myself to contain the rising tide but I did think how did Lachs cope with the little bastard? Of course, as soon as I had these thoughts I was contrite but this only served to make me bottle up my feelings.
I knew I was becoming more aggressive. This showed itself in last night's activities with Tony. I needed to release my spunk and I needed to release it more violently than before. Tony's own height of acceptance aided this almost brutal outburst of mine. Not once, but definitely the first two times. Fucking Tony like that was the ultimate release. I fucked him hard with an unaccustomed fierceness. He did remark as we were going down the stairs to breakfast that he was rather sore and asked if I was! OK, my dick felt warm and well-used but I could put up with that if I had release like that! I knew that night the whole process could be repeated and if Tony wasn't willing, who knows what I would do to him to make him comply with my needs! I had to stop and contemplate that. If Tony was unwilling it would be like rape. Like the thugs and that poor kid. I didn't want that but I had this feeling I had to do it on my own terms and make sure I was fully satisfied.
That evening I fucked Tony again three times. Tony was more than willing, he begged me to be rough. I complied. I pounded his arse as hard as I could. I stifled his screams as he came. I bayed at the moon as I shot a torrent into his bowels that first time and I was almost as vocal the second time. I collapsed, exhausted again, the third time and we clung together, sweating, cum-soaked, fixed together by my still inserted prick and fell asleep. I woke about four o'clock, erect again and inside him. We must have rolled apart and I had ended up behind him at some time. He had accepted me then although we were too far gone to realise and remember it. I fucked him slowly again as I lay spooned against him, thrusting deep. We moaned together as he came in my hand as I wanked him at the same time as I was pressing myself as far as possible inside him. My climax was intense and I was relaxed again.
He did remark as we rolled out of bed together just before seven o'clock that he was surprised he could walk and that Roo wasn't so rough with him! I asked him, rather curtly, if he was complaining. He laughed and said he wasn't and took back what he'd said the previous night. I bristled but he said Jacko's roughness he could cope with, perhaps, twice a week. He did admit the feelings he'd had were so intense as I'd been hitting on that secret spot in him. But, it was too much of a good thing to be able to cope with it like that every night of the week. I thought, thank you matey, get yourself fucked in future by winkle prick Roo if that's what you want. But be assured if you want a good hard fuck that's how I want it and I'll deliver the goods my way!
Over the next few weeks I was more and more aware of these almost constant mood swings. I got angry, or felt frustrated, over the most insignificant, unimportant things. I took it out on myself. My morning run became a punishing ritual, especially after the lad who had taken on the paper round from Tom had declined my help the first morning I saw him. He was only a kid of thirteen, at the Elementary School, and probably thought, the big, hairy Grammar School boy in his short shorts and singlet was going to cart him off into the park and rape him, or, at least rob him of his earnings. Poor kid! He didn't know his quite polite refusal of my help sparked off a feeling of anger at being rejected.
My run each morning got longer. I was awake and up by six each morning and steadily I got up to at least five or six miles a day. I wasn't finished then. As soon as I got back to my bedroom, hot, sweaty, exhilarated, I stripped off and had my first wank of the day. These were also a no holds barred affair. My favourite stance was in full view of my wardrobe mirror. Rampant cock in hand, foreskin well back and flailing away until, bending back, I felt the full rush of my spunk ready to leave. I stared at myself, my face contorted, with teeth bared and clenched in a rictus of excruciating terribleness, as my cum jetted free from its storehouse within me.
I always seemed to need to squirt my spunk fast and hard. If I was home from school in the afternoon, or quite often as soon as I arrived back, I would be stripped off, facing the mirror, prick in hand, pounding my pud with the fervour I had pounded the streets of Kerslake earlier in the day. Even a hard wank then most often than not didn't really satisfy me. My nightly wanks, one or two depending on their intensity and whether I'd jacked off in the afternoon, were of the same order of ferocity. Even lying down in bed I gripped my poor cock tightly, revelling in the pain of a tautly pulled back foreskin, urging my orgasm forward with a show of great strength, clenching my buttocks, squeezing my balls, or rubbing my nipples, with my free hand, both of which actions I found to be so erotically arousing. My poor balls quite ached often after I'd come as I'd rather overdone the gripping hand and I made my left nipple bleed one night in my frenzy. Not to worry. If it was so enjoyable at the time I could put up with that!
My overwrought wanks during the day were quick affairs. I often timed them. Thirty seconds was good and fast, forty seconds meant I got plenty of feelings and a whole minute was so slow, but overwhelming it its climax. At night I tried to slow down but, even then, four or five minutes of slow pummelling at my prick was often enough to send me over the edge. Quite often I was so desperate I couldn't contain myself and thrashed my poor rod harder and faster, until, sweating profusely, an even bigger, throbbing, pulsating orgasm, spunk coating my face, chin and chest, would send me reeling. I needed it. I wanted it. I got it!
As well the energy expended in the running and the wanking I was also lifting the weights Mike had given me. Even after an afternoon wank I would take myself to new limits by hefting the weights, now at least a hundred times a session. My upper torso was developing fast. My shoulders were broadening and my chest was getting more defined. I did my Charles Atlas routine, posing in front of the mirror, flexing my biceps and liking what I saw. When I got bored with studying I would lift the weights until my blood was flowing again and I could get down to reading a bit more of La Rabouilleuse or tackle another of Mr Phelps' nasty problems.
On my sixteenth birthday at the end of September I took a good look at my body. As I had noted, the summer had wrought many changes. My prick hairs and my leg hairs were now quite dense, showing up because of the general blackness of my hair in any case. I could flex my quite muscular thighs, built up by my constant running, and my calf muscles were large and meaty. However, my dick was my pride. It jutted out and down at rest and stood straight up my belly when at attention. Flea had nicknamed it my little soldier and said Lachs would be proud if all his squad stood at attention like that! Not only that, I was sure there was still growth in that area to come. There was also no doubt my balls were in full production. They were now like two balanced plums in their wrinkled, saggy sac. I guessed I fondled those treasures fifty times a day. Perhaps a few times less, but I never tired of exploring the whole of my tackle which gave me such pleasure so readily and absolutely. All in all I wasn't displeased with what I saw. My face was fairly clear of the dreaded spots, a few pustules appeared and I tried hard not to squeeze the goodness, or badness, out of them. I did, though, have the makings of a crop of the little bastards across my shoulders. Flea had remarked on these too. He said I probably had the pox and I pointed out if I had, I had most certainly either caught it off him, or had given it to him, and said I hoped his mangy cock would shrivel and rot and drop off. I effected a cure for him, though, which he willingly reciprocated and got Lachs to join in as he would no doubt have the pox too as he was old and decrepit, by taking his sweet young length into my mouth and drawing out any poison in him. His protests that his creamy boyspunk was certainly not poisonous only set off further explorations to gauge its toxicity.
My growing body had been noticed elsewhere, too. Dick Collins, who was now Captain of the First XV, persuaded me to play in the team, cajoling me by reference to my size and strength, as Rabbity and Van had contrived to arrange a number of matches with schools in neighbouring towns now the war was over. I hadn't minded running the line or even playing in House matches but this was different. Actually I was secretly glad he had asked me. I wanted another outlet for my pent up feelings of anger and frustration and what better way than getting stuck into rucks and mauls on the field. I was assigned to be a second row forward in the scrum. Height and strength dictated this. I would also be useful in the lineouts as well. Flattery persuaded me. A bit. Bloody hell, was my thought, I had a duty to scatter the massed ranks of the opposing side.
The first game, against a moderate side from the Grammar School of a town about twenty miles away provided me with plenty of opportunity. I kept up with the game very well. I shoved hard in the scrums and leapt high in the lineouts. I tackled a couple of the opposing side and ended up, hot, breathing hard and feeling much better. This was good. I rushed home afterwards, muddy, sweaty, unshowered and wanked myself almost raw, watching my nude body, tensing my muscle groups, until I shot a most generous load of that precious boyseed of mine.
About three weeks later we played another school, this time on their pitch. I also had a most interesting occurrence. Their team was much more practised than the other one. I think we were better too as we'd had a couple of strenuous practices the previous two weeks. Rabbity was a good coach but had to shout instructions from the touchline mainly as his ankle was still giving him problems. Anyway, I was away as soon as the first whistle went. I was there, up with the ball, trying to tackle any other-side player who got near it. Scrums were my joy. I pushed and swore with the best them. We managed to get the ball back a good bit of the time. Then, some way well into the second half, a scrum was awarded against the other side. We shoved and the ball was heeled back under me. I didn't hesitate. I left the scrum as it began to break up, some of the others still pushing away, grabbed the ball and hared off down the field. I was going like the merry clappers and outpaced a couple of the other side who immediately tried to tackle me. I evaded their backs and their full-back and landed up straight between the posts scoring a try. In fact, my first try ever!
As I landed, my hands pushed the ball onto the ground as I touched down. I felt a great sense of exhilaration but, as I placed the ball, I realised something else had occurred. I had shot a load! I had got so excited, weaving my way past all those grasping hands, and somehow those feelings of power had connected with sexual release. As I lay there panting, I had a vivid feeling and memory of how my cock felt deep inside Tony squirting in the throes of a tremendous climax. Oh, dear God, I staggered up, still clutching the ball, but with a warm, damp feeling between my legs. I booted the ball down the field and realised I had a jockstrap filled with cum. Cum still oozing from my rapidly deflating prick. What was I to do? If all was well, the cotton pouch would mop up the bulk of the outburst. What I didn't want was a wet patch on the front of my white shorts, nor did I want drips of stringy spunk emerging from the legs of my shorts, either. As usual it wasn't a meagre amount. In fact, in deference to my intended role in the game and wanting to conserve a little strength, I hadn't succumbed to a greatly desired wank that morning. So, there was plenty. Nobbo and Cleggy would have been pleased if I'd added that batch to my data! However, not to worry. I was pretty sweaty anyway after the exertions, plus that run, so any liquid evidence could be assigned to that cause. The smell of newly expended spunk was another matter. But again, by this time all the scrum were pretty sweaty and the smell of hot youth masked my secondary odour.
After the game ended and I was congratulated all round for that superb run culminating in a try which Johnny Hobbs was able to convert easily I rushed into the changing room to get my shorts and jockstrap off before anyone saw any evidence. I mopped myself with my damp shirt, rolled my wet garments in it and scuttled under the first shower saying I was muscle sore and needed plenty of hot water. The sluicing water washed away any remaining spunk and rid me of any smell. Somehow, I didn't want my fellow players to know what had happened to me. Actually, I was rather confused. Was this a usual occurrence? I'd never heard of it before and I'd seen plenty of other boys score tries. As I showered I grinned. Was every try accompanied by a load of cum? I shook my head. If that was so, everyone would know about it.
The need to vent my unnecessary frustrations and other feelings of aggravation and annoyance were pretty constant. I was able to assuage these in various ways. Because of Rabbity's ankle troubling him he got the Head Beak to allow Sixth Formers not having afternoon tutorials to help out with games afternoons with the lower forms. I was assigned, with three others, to help with the Fourth Formers' rugby on Tuesday afternoons. As several were in, or aspirants for, the Junior XV, there were groups who needed special coaching. Although I was a forward in the First XV I was also fairly speedy and could have been on the wing so I took half a dozen or so of the Fourth Years for ball passing practice, tackling and also for place kicking.
One particular afternoon I was feeling quite aggressive with myself over some piece of work I wasn't too pleased with. To crown it, two of the little buggers in the group weren't paying too much attention and, in my opinion, not putting their backs into the set pieces and moves I was coaching them on. I exploded silently and vented my feelings on the little sods and their, no doubt, wank-happy companions. I set them all off passing the ball, up and down the field. I harried the little, and not so little, fuckers, running with them, catching the ball and passing it along and giving any who dropped the ball a hearty smack on their generally pert young bums encased in their tight white shorts. A couple slowed down a bit. That did it. They got a real stinger of a wallop apiece and for the next twenty or so minutes they all were hounded back and forth, passing the ball until, woe betide anyone who dropped it, I was satisfied with their progress. In truth, until I had worked off my irritations. In fact with the constant pressure they got better and were passing the ball quite competently at the end. So there was satisfaction on their part as well.
I told them to get to the changing rooms before I changed my mind. Gratefully they almost sped off the field well before any of the other players had finished whatever they were doing. They were all hot, sweaty, red-faced and panting from their exertions and all were badly in need of a cleansing shower. I was, too. I went into the Sixth Form changing room, separated from the one they used by a substantial partition which didn't quite reach the ceiling. I sat on the bench leaning against the partition, unlacing my boots and I could hear them clearly in the adjoining room.
"Fuck it!" came a rather high-pitched adolescent voice which carried clearly across the divide, "That Thomson's made me sweat!"
There was a general murmur of assent and the sound of boots being dropped on the ground. I felt a nice twinge. I'd made the little buggers move! There was general chitchat which I couldn't quite make out then a second clear voice. This time, alto to tenor in pitch.
"Hey, Fishie, your backside's all red where that big cunt walloped you."
Big cunt! Me! Wait till I identified that one. He'd wish he'd been born with a cunt after I'd pulled his half-grown knackers off!
There was a general silence next door. I suppose while Fishie's bum was inspected
"And so's his, even more so, have a look at it!" came a deeper voice. I had smacked almost all of them at least once to waken their ideas up but I knew a couple had been on the receiving end of several stingers each as they had fumbled much more. Whether through nervousness with me shouting at them or being general butterfingers I didn't know, or really care. At least, by the end they were all getting much more proficient. The voice continued. "You want to watch it. He probably fancies your arse, Collins, he kept following you and Fishie and he's after his as well. Huh, he was up and down the field behind the pair of you all the time giving you little slaps!" The voice went up an octave. "Please sir, I dropped my ball, give me a slap! I like it" The pitch dropped. "You loved it, smack my arse, please! Eh, Fishie?"
A rather aggrieved voice came, it was the first boy, the treble, I assumed was Fishie. "Shut up, Beckett, I can't help it if I dropped the ball!"
There was a throaty laugh from the deeper voiced Beckett. "What you mean is you can't help it 'cause your balls ain't dropped."
A deep insult. Beckett's own balls were on the line if I got my hands on him. You don't mention your fellow class-mates's sexual growth deficiencies or differences. You notice them, praising the Supreme Being that your cock is a tenth of an inch longer, or you have five hairs above said now-wankable object while your best buddy, or otherwise, has a mere three. Watch, notice but do not mention, as laddo over there has a man-sized prick a- dangling and yours is just unfolding from being the snail you were born with, and, what's more, he's a whole month younger than you. Ow!
Another voice, intermediate in pitch, rather strident, but authoritative in tone, took over. "Shut up, Beckett, you keep your mouth shut. We did well to keep up.
I may have got whacked but I did my best. Anyway, we all know what you lot do up at that club."
"Shut up yourself, Collins," came Beckett's loud protestation, "It's nothing to do with you, so shut your row!"
Another voice joined in, another deeper voice. "Yeah, Collins. You keep your mouth shut or you'll get it shut!"
"You shut up, Clowes," Collins voice was raised in volume now, "My brother knows all about you and he's not the only one."
Collins, Collins? I wondered if this was Dick Collins' young brother? My meditation was interrupted by the sound of a minor scuffle next door. From the argument which then started it sounded as if young Collins was giving as good as he was getting.
There had been a muffled "Ow" which sounded as if from Beckett after the sound of a towel being whipped at vulnerable parts of anatomy. I hoped it was his balls not his bum which received the stinger! Unfortunately Collins had been too kind, it had probably been his bum but he was suitably incensed.
"Ouch, you little fucker," he yelled out this time after a second whip crack was heard. "Give me that fucking towel. I'll fucking have you!"
A voice, not heard before, sniggered then yodelled out, "Fuck me, said the Duchess..."
A final, deeper, gravelly voice completed the age-old schoolboy refrain. "...and forty thousand courtiers were killed in the rush!"
There was an immediate outburst of laughter which seemed to defuse the situation. But Beckett was still fulminating against Collins, who obviously still had the whip hand with the towel. He must have been an accurate shot because a chorus of "Red bum Beckett, red bum Beckett" started up. He was getting his comeuppance good and proper.
I was ready for my shower. In fact I had stripped completely some time before but stood listening, intrigued by the interplay. Crumbs, when I was in the Fourth Form did anyone swear as much? And what was this club being mentioned?
Anyway if I didn't hurry up the others would be with the rest of the horde and the hot water would quickly go. I showered feeling a bit more content, but hell's bells, I needed a wank! No good here. Imagine my fellow Sixth Formers seeing me indulging openly in that delightful habit. Notwithstanding everyone likely to shower in this room had willingly wanked me or been wanked by me sometime in the past.
I was towelling myself as the other three Sixth Formers clattered into the changing room and the hubbub next door came over the partition in noisy waves as the rest of the Fourth Formers streamed in.
"Used up all the hot water, Jacko," asked Danny Ross, stripping off his shirt and showing off quite a muscular torso on someone who would be seventeen in a few week's time. I knew he went to the Mayor's gym club and I wondered if this was what those kids had argued about. I said I hadn't but he'd better get under it quick as the little sods next door would be using it all up soon.
As he stripped off completely, showing a now well-developed cock as well, I said I'd come in early as I felt shagged out chasing the little buggers up and down the field. Danny said he'd noticed and he bet the little buggers were shagged out too.. "Keep them busy like that, stop the little bastards shagging each other, no doubt," he said with a laugh and slapped me on the back. However, the spirited defence of two of the little buggers for each other after the accusations whetted my curiosity.
I thought about this as I cycled home and had visions of young Collins being comprehensively fucked by a big-dicked Beckett - visions I had no first hand information to confirm - but what the hell! I pounded myself to a tremendous climax picturing the pair of them in my bedroom minutes after I arrived home. Wow!!
My mood swings, coupled with all these nagging feelings of agitation, came out in other ways, too. I had one particular release, other than my serial wanks, and that was my piano playing. I could lose myself in the intricacies of scales and exercises. I was pitting myself against myself so whatever I did had to be perfection. Just as I punished myself in my runs and weight-lifting so I made it a principle that I wouldn't give up until I had satisfied myself I was note perfect. I also reduced feelings by pounding away, especially at the Beethoven Sonata I was so fond of. There was something about those ominous passages, those sudden runs, those dramatic pauses and final bunches of wild chords which stirred all sorts of primal urges in me and I gratified them by my really over-enthusiastic performances. Pa did remark, which annoyed me somewhat, that he knew Beethoven had been deaf and he bet he didn't need his ear-trumpet to hear my renditions. I was in a real surly mood. For the first time I swore in the house. I said the old bugger's dead so I'll play as I want. There was a silence. Pa said nothing.
This was sometime just before an incident where I'd got stuck on a maths problem. I'd gone downstairs fully expecting Pa to be ready and waiting to pander to my every whim, ready to solve any problem for his dear son. I burst into the study without any ceremony. Pa was at his desk immersed in a pile of papers with the smoke from the pipe clenched between his teeth wreathing a blue haze above his head. Without waiting for his attention I thrust the text book in front of him.
"What the hell does this mean?" I asked brusquely, pointing at a formula I hadn't been able to untangle.
Pa looked rather harassed in any case. He was busy and I'd interrupted him quite rudely. He was quiet but firm.
"Jacko, I'm very busy. I'll look at it later."
Bloody hell! Rejecting his son. If he could spend so many fucking hours giving Mike the benefit of his mathematical knowledge why the screaming fuck couldn't he deal with a simple problem for me? I grabbed up the book and strode out without another word. If truth were told it looked more as if I flounced out in a real girlish pet! Fuck it! I thought. If he was like that I'd interrupt him more. I was about to go into the front room, where the piano was, to knock merry hell out of poor old Beethoven again, when I thought, why the hell should I give him the satisfaction of knowing I was annoyed? I stamped off up to my room in a real temper. Not helped by looking at the page of the text again and seeing, immediately, that I hadn't taken into account a suffix to one of the terms. So, I was annoyed even more. I managed not to speak to Pa for the next three days to punish him for his dismissal of his son. I also wanked myself so savagely that night in bed I lay awake for ages trying to calm down. When blessed sleep came I had wild dreams which didn't help and had to get up before six in the morning for an even longer run.
A bit later I was very surly and complied with his request with ill-grace when he wanted help with some work in the garden. The garden and the huge vegetable patch was his pride and joy. I was the willing recipient of his labours in terms of the vegetables he grew but why the fuck should I be party to the digging, hoeing, weeding or any of the other myriad tasks which occupied his little spare time? I did as asked but in silence, grunting rather than replying with any civility to his questions or statements. All this was keeping me from gratifying my urges for a good wank and the relief that would bring. I did feel some satisfaction in hefting the bags of spuds and other weighty items as it did give me an opportunity to try out my burgeoning muscles. Still, I needed a good set of biceps, especially in my right arm, to raise me to those heights of passion and climax at regular intervals! My cock, wanking, and coming, were getting to be almost constant thoughts. Fuck everything else, including Tony whenever!
To be continued:....