Easter Rugger Tours

(oral/anal)

Usual Disclaimer: If you are not of an age to read this because of the laws of your country or district please desist. If you are a bigot or prod-nosed fundamentalist of any persuasion find your monkey-spanking literature elsewhere and keep your predilections and opinions to yourself. Everyone else welcome and comments more than welcome. What follows is a fictionalised account of what might have happened.....in several instalments.......

Easter Rugger Tours - Before and After (-01)

By Joel

Chapter One: Before

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

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

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

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

Then it happened. My growth spurt began early when I was thirteen and a half and in one year I put on more than six inches. What pleased me even more was that my cock and balls also grew in proportion and my spurts in other ways also started in earnest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Go on, fuck me!" he whispered.

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

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

I could only nod. It was bloody marvellous!

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

I stuck my tongue out at him and climbed out of the bath. I washed my chest and then my dick at the sink and then Gerry washed his front and straddled the sink backwards and cleansed his arse.

I asked him why he was so easy to enter.

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

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

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

I would also be having another wank but, before that, another attempt to clean the sodding remnants of the nail varnish off my cock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 2: Tour Number One:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I had shot a lot. I usually did. My friends had remarked on it many times.

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

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

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

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

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

"Together," they said simultaneously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

End of conversation. He was obviously the silent partner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Never seen that before," whispered Gareth.

"Bloody marvellous," was Llew's comment.

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

"Bloody marvellous," repeated Llew.

For once, both boys were lost for other words.

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

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

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