First Appearance

FIRST APPEARANCE (Chapter 2) maverick's fourth story continued

Copyright (c) maverick 2003. All rights reserved.

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We continued walking throughout the afternoon following our brief sighting of the eclipse. The guys seemed subdued; Vaughan strode out ahead of us in silence.

I stayed near the back of the group, just a few paces ahead of Connell who was bringing up the rear. Josh was with me but he didn't say much.

Everyone seemed tense.

A thin, indistinct sliver of the moon's shadow had passed over us, rushing to meet us across the frozen tundra. And then, after just a few short miles, it had risen from the hard ground and swept upwards, back into space.

That was all that had happened and yet I found it impossible to shake my mind free of it.

I was fascinated by the idea that something so momentary and so innocuous could develop into something so incredible; by the incomprehensibility of the timescale involved; by the thought of the millions of people who, in the distant future, would look up and marvel at the spectacle that a handful of us had just fleetingly witnessed on its first brief graze across the planet's surface.

Eighteen years ago the shadow of an eclipse in the same family had skimmed the atmosphere somewhere north west of here. Nearly touching down for a few seconds, but not quite. Nearly born, but not quite.

Birds flying high over northern Greenland might have been caught up in the edge faint fuzzy shadow; clouds might have been imperceptibly darkened by it. Eighteen years before that it had missed the atmosphere by a few hundred miles.

I looked over at Palmer and Anderson.

Palmer was with Franklin, but not talking to him or anyone else.

Anderson was with Adams and Robson. He ignored Palmer and seemed unwilling even to look in his direction.

My mind returned to what had happened in the tent on the previous night after what Vaughan called the 'curfew'.

Anderson had his torch on, set to the lowest beam. Connell had already called over to us once when Anderson had had the torch on full power. If we were caught again we'd get chores to carrry out the following day.

We hoped the canvas of the tent was thick enough to conceal the dim sepia-coloured glow from the torch.

We chatted quietly for a while and then heard Connell shouting at the guys in the other tent to put their lights out. They'd be cooking breakfast for everyone in the morning. Anderson directed the weak beam from the torch down into his sleeping bag and we waited to see if Connell would come over and have a go at us.

When we heard him get back into the tent he and Vaughan were sharing, we grinned at each other like we'd achieved a major coup.

A whispered conversation had started up on the tedious topic of the type of car each of our parents owned and had then headed off into the realms of house sizes and holiday locations.

I was bored and slightly irritated.

It was only when that had subsided that Palmer told us, in conspiratorial tones, that someone in the next tent had been caught pretending to masturbate on the previous night.

Anderson asked, "Who?"

"Andrew Thompson's younger brother. What's he called... Michael?"

Josh asked, "Why would he do that?"

Palmer shrugged. "I guess some of the other guys were doing it so he thought he should join in. He was lying with his eyes closed, moaning and gasping like it was the best thing he'd ever done. His hand moving up and down inside his sleeping bag..."

Anderson shook his head. "That's bullshit. I mean, how would they know he was faking it?"

Palmer giggled. "He was using his torch, right. Instead of his knob. And he was so caught up in acting the part, he didn't realise he was switching the torch on and off with each stroke... his sleeping bag was lighting up and going dark like a fucking strobe light..."

We all chuckled. It was funny but rather implausible.

Josh asked, "But why would he fake it? Why not just join in if he wanted to be like everyone else?"

Palmer said, "Maybe he's still firing blanks."

I asked, "What do you mean, 'firing blanks'?"

Anderson explained. "You know... a guy tries to wank but he can't finish it off..."

I nodded. Obviously this was something normal and accepted. I said, "I do that."

Palmer grinned eagerly like I'd admitted something scandalous.

Josh shook his head and threw me a reprimanding look. "That's what little kids do, Stu... guys our age spunk up when we wank..."

I felt my face go a little pink. "Oh right... I didn't know what you meant... yeah I spunk up. 'Course I do..." I laughed lamely and Palmer's grin became more like a sneer.

Anderson shook his head. "Come on, Josh. Different guys start at different ages. I didn't wank when I was your age... I only vaguely knew what it was..."

Palmer laughed. "I was already a three-a-day man, me. By ten or eleven. Couldn't get enough of it..."

Anderson nodded. "Yeah yeah yeah. And your balls dropped when you were three. Whatever."

Palmer was about to respond when we all heard the gasps of someone in another tent reaching his orgasm. Then a couple of other people sniggering.

Josh giggled, "That was Vaughan!"

Palmer shook his head. "Naah... it came from the wrong direction... it was Adams or Franklin..."

Anderson nodded, grinning.

Josh was adamant. "It was Vaughan."

Anderson shook his head. "You heard what Vaughan said last night. He likes to be discrete. That was Adams. Trying to make up with a few fake gasps what he lacks in style..."

We chuckled, hearing someone else's masturbatory rhythm take over from where Adams' - or whoever's - had left off.

Then, abruptly, Anderson turned the torch off and said, "And now - if you guys will excuse me - I'd like to produce a few gasps of my own."

We all settled into our sleeping bags in the semi-darkness of the Arctic twilight.

I waited to hear sounds of Anderson masturbating but the four of us remained silent. Noises of other boys and, perhaps, of Vaughan or Connell, attending to themselves were obvious, but no-one from our tent seemed to want to join them.

Eventually Palmer whispered, "Come on then, big dick. Show us what you've got..."

Josh and I chuckled.

Anderson laughed a little nervously. "Well I feel kind of embarrassed. You guys are all listening out for me now."

Palmer seemed impatient. "Come on, Rob. I'm hard as hell. If you start up I'll join in..."

Anderson remained coy. "I dunno. You guys are all waiting to listen to me wank. It's freaking me out. I don't think I could even get a stiffy, actually." He laughed again. "Many hopes have been raised but not the one between my legs."

"For Fuck's sake," Palmer barked. "I always wank before I go to sleep. If I start it off, will you... you know?"

"Yeah I'll join in with you, mate..."

Someone in another tent grunted gently in pleasure. It sounded like Connell, but the direction was unclear.

Palmer needed reassurance. "Everyone else is doing it..."

"If you wanna wank, just fuckin' wank," Anderson snapped. His voice, although a whisper, was so loud that everyone awake must have heard it. I could imagine Vaughan grinning with his eyes closed.

A gentle rhythm started up from inside Palmer's sleeping bag. He sighed, obviously enjoying the feeling of his hand on his cock after so much anticipation.

Anderson whispered, "I can't believe you're masturbating in the presence of two innocents, Palmer..."

Palmer said, "Fuck off."

The light beating noises from Palmer's sleeping bag continued. His breathing was becoming slightly, almost imperceptibly, faster.

Eventually, Anderson whispered, "What are you thinking of?"

Palmer repeated, "Fuck off!"

Anderson chuckled. "Come on, mate. If you want me to join in..."

Palmer snapped, "I'm thinking of my dick fucking your arse. That get you going?"

Anderson laughed. "You're thinking of Sophie Crooke. Aren't you?"

Palmer didn't miss beat. "No. Actually."

Anderson chuckled. "In that case... could it possibly be one of those nymphos from the fifth form...?"

Palmer kept wanking, his rhythm becoming faster. "Getting warmer...."

Anderson kept at it, the sound of his voice making his grin obvious. "Pamela Craddock or that French girl Maria...?"

It became obvious that there were two independent rhythms inside our tent. Palmer's hand was obviously moving faster than Anderson's but he'd had a head start.

They continued chatting, both becoming more breathless, enjoying exchanging names and scenarios as their hands worked at their cocks.

Hearing them talking while they masturbated excited me a lot. I wondered if Josh was going to join in and if he did whether I ought to try to follow suit.

My cock was hard in my boxer shorts and I gently and quietly eased it out through the fly. It felt good in my hand; warm and thick. I slid the foreskin back from the head and that felt good too. My cock throbbed in my fingers, becoming longer and harder than before.

I was afraid to do anything else in case they heard me. I didn't want them to make a big deal of it after what I'd said earlier; I could imagine Palmer shouting, "Whoa! Stu's playing with his little pecker. Come on, Stu, fire some blanks for us!" And the whole thing getting agonisingly embarrassing.

So I just lay there listening to them, holding my aching dick in my hand.

I thought again about Josh. His breathing was deep and I wondered if he was masturbating already. Holding his sleeping bag up above his cock so as not to make it obvious.

But then he snored slightly and I realised he was asleep.

I was amazed that he could have gone to sleep while all this was going on. Perhaps, because he himself was already masturbating, it wasn't such a big deal to him as it was to me. Perhaps it just didn't interest him. Perhaps when I was masturbating regularly it wouldn't be so interesting to me. Just like hearing guys taking a piss wasn't interesting to me since I could watch myself doing it just about as often as I liked.

Anderson was saying, his voice barely comprehensible through his heavy breathing, "I guess I just go for... thinking of her undressing... or showering... that kind of stuff..."

Palmer was also breathless. "Tits or pussy...?"

"Both. And her arse. And her legs..."

Their rhythms were now equally fast and their fists made thumping sounds against the material of their sleeping bags. I wondered if they were deliberately keeping pace with each other or whether they were running an unspoken race in which they were currently neck-and-neck.

Palmer said, his voice breaking as if he was about to sob, "I need to think of her... you know... doing something with me..."

"You fucking her...?"

"Yeah... or her sucking... my dick...."

Anderson's rhythm became a little faster, his fist coasting ahead of Palmer's for the first time since they started. He said, "Yeah... I like that too... thinking of her mouth sliding down my pole..."

"Red lipstick making... streaks on your dick..."

Anderson gasped, "Oh yeah." His fist was a frenzy, pounding roughly and frantically inside his sleeping bag at such a rapid rate I couldn't understand how he wasn't hurting himself. It was a like an over-powered turbine; a steam train pelting down the track way beyond top speed.

Palmer hammered the image home. "... her chin slamming into your balls..."

Anderson whimpered and I thought for a second that what Palmer had said had upset him somehow.

But then he started gasping, to the same rhythm as his fist, "Yeah... yeah... aaah... fuck..." And I realised he was cumming.

I wondered if I would ever experience that. It sounded like it felt good -- maybe even fantastic, although it was impossible to tell how much of guys' reactions to it was exaggeration -- but also a little scary. Like venturing into something unknown.

Anderson's orgasm lasted longer than Josh's had when I'd unknowingly watched him masturbating that morning. Maybe Anderson was more experienced or something, but it went on for twenty or thirty seconds. His hand kept pounding at his dick and he kept gasping like he'd just been sprinting.

Palmer was loving it. He was saying, his grin obvious from the tone of his voice, "Yeah... milk it, Rob... think of her mouth... eating your knob..." His own hand was still working at his own cock, whacking at it noisily inside his sleeping bag.

When Anderson's orgasm had subsided, he lay quietly recovering his breath for a few seconds and then, abruptly, started moving around. I realised he was pulling off his underwear and cleaning himself up with them. Masturbation seemed to have an unpleasant aftermath. I wondered if it was really worth all the mess it seemed to produce.

Palmer kept at it, his rhythm steady and his breathing deep and regular, and Anderson complained, "See what you did? What a fuckin' mess you caused...?"

Palmer giggled, "No but I can smell it."

I could too. That same smell that I'd noticed that morning after Josh had finished wanking. A thick, slightly cloying smell; heavy in the air but not unpleasant.

Anderson had spunked up. That was the expression he'd used about Josh and I and now he'd done it himself. The smell was his spunk, the same pearly white liquid that Josh had had smeared on his hands, his dick and his teeshirt that morning.

I'd kind of known about these things biologically -- known that guys produce a liquid containing sperm during sex -- but the theory was cold and scientific and I'd never been able to directly connect it with talk of spunk' and cumming'.

Hearing Anderson orgasm had been a bit of a revelation!

Anderson said, "At the end of this trip, all three tents are gonna have the same smell..."

"Yeah but none as disgusting as ours... Christ, Rob, it reeks..."

Anderson sounded pissed off by that. He called out, "Well if it's so fucking bad maybe you should try tasting it..."

There was a scuffle and Palmer yelled. I realised Anderson had pushed his sticky boxer briefs into Palmer's face.

Palmer shouted, "You fucking bastard... it's in my fucking mouth..." and Anderson guffawed.

Anderson settled back down and Palmer wiped his face with Anderson's underwear. He said, "Jesus, Rob. Your kegs smell of your knob... of your fuckin' dick sweat...." He moved them around, trying to find a clean area. "Christ that must be the back... I can smell your arse on them, you dirty sod..."

Anderson chuckled. "That's the way the ladies like `em."

Palmer threw the boxer briefs to one side and, after half a minute or so, he started masturbating again. Despite his noisy protests, he was obviously fairly unruffled by getting Anderson's underwear pushed into his face.

After a couple of seconds, Palmer said, "Your spunk tastes like lukewarm porridge."

Anderson laughed. He asked, "Salty porridge or sweet porridge?"

Palmer considered this for a couple of seconds. Then he replied, his fist still beating at his cock inside his sleeping bag, "Kind of halfway between..."

Anderson giggled again. "You're sick..." Then after a couple of seconds, "And your mother has a bizarre recipe for porridge..."

Palmer laughed quite loudly.

Just then the velcro strips on the door were torn open and a torch was shone into the tent. Behind the glaring beam, Vaughan whispered, "Can you guys settled down... it's past one o'clock..."

Palmer stopped masturbating but his fist remained on his dick making a large mound in his sleeping bag at crotch level.

He said, "Just finishing off, sir," and the mound rose and fell a couple of times, making his meaning unnecessarily obvious. Anderson sniggered.

Vaughan didn't sound amused. He said, "Well can you be a bit more discrete, Stephen?" He paused. Then he asked, "And what have you got around your mouth... what have you guys been doing in here?"

Palmer was quick to protest. "Hey -- it's not what it looks like, sir. That was Rob..."

Vaughan said, "Evidently." He sounded like he was smiling now.

Palmer said, "No... I mean... it was Rob messing around..."

Anderson said, in a low conspiratorial voice, "He was very well-practised at it, sir... very sensual..."

Vaughan chuckled. "Look you guys. It's time to knock it off now. Nice to see you've been enjoying yourselves but no more of it. Time to sleep..."

He and his torch withdrew from the front of the tent.

Palmer whispered, "What did you fucking say that for? Now he thinks I'm a fucking cock sucker..."

Anderson tittered. "Naah... he's smart enough to know the truth... that you're a spunk eater..."

"I'm not a fuckin' spunk eater..."

"You said it tasted like porridge..."

They went on for a few minutes, their voices growing gradually louder, until Vaughan called over from his tent, "I mean it, you guys. Knock it off... if I have to come over there again you're in it deep tomorrow..."

And then they knocked it off.

Palmer didn't masturbate that night. I could sense him lying in his sleeping bag, staring up into the Arctic twilight seeping through the canvas of the tent, seething at the joke Anderson had played on him. After a couple of minutes, Anderson's breathing became deep and heavy and it was obvious he was soundly asleep.

My cock was still hard and aching. I still held it in my hand, feeling the head of it gently throbbing against my thumb. I really wanted to try to do something with it. After all, just about every other guy in our camp seemed to have played with their dicks that night.

Anderson was asleep; Josh was asleep; and Palmer? Well, even if Palmer heard me he wasn't likely to risk getting into serious trouble with Vaughan by waking Anderson up. And if I held my sleeping bag upward so that my hand didn't make a sound against it...

I pretended to shift position, groaning quietly as I did so, and made a tent in the sleeping bag above my crotch.

Then I waited a few seconds.

I could tell Palmer was wide awake. He was still livid but, from his slower breathing, gradually calming down.

I made an O with my finger and thumb and gripped the top of my foreskin inside it. Then I worked my foreskin forwards over the head of my cock. I couldn't help but gasp slightly from the mixture of pleasure and pain: the tip of my cock was just too sensitive.

I pulled my foreskin back and swept it forwards again. Again, it felt good but hurt at the same time. I did it again and again and began to develop a rhythm. The pain seemed to diminish but the pleasure remained. It started to actually feel really good; even better than when I'd humped my pillow in my bed at home, and better than when I'd played tennis with my cock against my palm.

I realised I was making a sound; a regular swishing noise as my fingers brushed against the material of my boxer shorts which was covering the paired mounds of my balls.

Holding my cock steady in my right hand, I tried to release my balls from my shorts with my left. But there weren't any buttons lower than the one I'd already opened and my balls were way too big to slip out through the tiny gap in the fly below my cock. I opened my legs a little, trying to ease my balls downward but they remained stubbornly aloft. Like a couple of ripe plums pressing upward against the material of my boxers.

"Jesus, why do I have such big bollocks?" I silently cursed.

I eased the sleeping bag back into a tent above my cock.

Palmer's breathing was even slower. Maybe he was asleep. I don't know why -- after all the sounds of other guys wanking that I'd heard that night -- but I really didn't want him to hear me.

I guess it was because it was my first time; I didn't want an audience.

I started masturbating again, gently working my foreskin back and forth across the head of my cock as I had been. Now there was little pain: it felt, quite simply, amazing!

I couldn't help but smile, aware that my breathing was coming out as short, sharp pants.

I squeezed a little more tightly with my finger and thumb and the pleasure swept over me like a warm, gentle wave. My cock seemed to be growing longer and thicker on every stroke: it swelled to an unimagined size as if in gratification for the attention I was giving it. It seemed to want more; to want to thicken and lengthen to offer as much of itself as it could to my hand.

I knew that the swishing noise I was making was getting louder. I was making longer, faster and firmer strokes and my fingers were sliding across more and more of my balls. My elbow was making gentle thumping noises against the sleeping bag.

But Palmer was asleep; he must be.

I wrapped my other fingers around the stem of my cock, again marvelling at how thick and long it felt.

I was thinking, "Fuck, Stu! You're wanking. You're actually fucking wanking!"

And Christ, did it feel good!

In those few minutes, feelings from my cock seemed to take over those from the rest of my body. My cock became everything to me; the rest of my body was insignificant in comparison with the sensations from that one part.

I'm sure, in retrospect, that my cock had only swelled a little as I masturbated it, but to me it felt like it was a meter long and as thick as a drainpipe. I loved it. I thought about how big Anderson's cock had looked when I'd seen his morning woodie first thing. Mine was surely longer than that now; an inch longer, maybe two. And I thought about how thick my dad's cock had looked when he got out of the shower. Mine felt like it could put even his to shame.

My rhythm was getting really fast and I realised I was panting like a dog and whimpering gently. My forehead, my cheeks and my chest were wet with my sweat. My arse crack felt as hot as a skillet.

My left hand gripped my balls, making the sleeping bag fall against the pounding of my right. The noise I was making was now unmistakable, but I no longer cared.

I was thinking, "I've got the biggest dick in the school and I'm wanking it. And I love it... I don't care who knows it..."

Even if Vaughan could hear me, I didn't care right then. The feelings from my cock were all that mattered.

I squeezed my balls and felt a new wave of pleasure wash over me. I dimly thought, "Maybe having big balls isn't such a bad thing."

Then Palmer whispered hoarsely across at me. "Fucking keep it down, Stu. I'm trying to fucking sleep, you tosser..."

And I stopped. Just lay there panting to recover my breath and feeling the sweat on my face grow cold.

I said, "Sorry." I regretted that as soon as I said it. My voice sounded like a girl's; I seemed to have lost the ability to judge how my voice-box worked.

He spat, "Can't you fucking wait 'til tomorrow? If you're firing blanks you'll probably go on all night..."

That thing about 'firing blanks' again. I wasn't sure whether what he said was true, but it made sense. Maybe I wouldn't cum like Anderson had done; maybe I'd still be lying there at six in the morning, pulling myself off until I was red and sore with nothing at the end of it.

I felt embarrassed, like I'd been trying to copy things the older guys were doing without really knowing what I was doing.

I said, again, "Sorry." This time my voice sounded more normal.

He whispered, "Just be more fucking quiet." Then he rolled over, away from me, and was still again.

My cock felt soft in my fingers now.

Back to its normal size.

I'd hoped it would stay as big as it had become even after it had gone limp, so that my soft cock might be as big as Josh's had seemed that morning. That maybe bigger limp dicks were a 'wanker' thing; until you first masturbated your dick looked small and immature.

But it had gone back to its normal small, shrivelled state.

I wanted to continue masturbating -- I'd been enjoying it so much -- but I didn't want Palmer to hear me. I hadn't cared when I'd been in full swing but his voice has sobered me up. Brought me back to reality.

I really didn't want an audience.

I lay there, listening for changes in his breathing. My fingers were still around my foreskin: I didn't want to move them in case I couldn't regain the pleasurable technique I'd found for the first time.

But Palmer didn't seem to want to drop off. He kept moving and turning over. Maybe he was still pissed off with Anderson; maybe he was now feeling guilty for having put an end to my pleasure.

I drifted off to sleep, my hand still around my dick, waiting for Palmer to do the same.

Then, abruptly, I woke up and it was morning. I squinted in the brightness of the sunlight and saw some guy's naked back and arse a couple of feet away from me. He was squatting on Anderson's discarded sleeping bag, rummaging to find something in his rucksack.

I looked up at the back of his head and saw that it was Josh. Palmer and Anderson had obviously awoken before us and already gone out.

I looked back down to Josh's arse which looked pale alongside the slight tan of his back and thighs. I noticed that his balls hung downward between his thighs, swinging gently inside his scrotum as he pulled something from his rucksack.

The door was ripped open and Connell looked inside at us.

Josh didn't attempt to cover himself; we were all getting used to being comfortable in situations which we would normally have found awkward.

Connell said, "Hurry up you guys." He looked at me. "Hey, Stuart, you should be helping us make some breakfast not lying dozing in bed..."

I croaked, surprised at how deep my voice sounded, "Yes sir. I'll get up in a minute..."

Connell looked angry. "No Stu. Not in a minute. Now. Come on, get out of bed. Right now."

He stared at me and I realised he wasn't going to leave us until he'd seen me get out of my sleeping bag.

Josh started pulling on a clean pair of briefs. They were dark blue. He turned to look over at me and I saw his cock, limp but fat, poking out from the bush of hair around it.

Connell said, "Now, Stuart."

I struggled out of my sleeping bag. I was aware that my own cock was as hard as a board and still poking out through the fly my shorts from the night before. I fumbled to tuck it in as I climbed out from my bedding.

I knelt on the floor, reaching for my watch. My cock poked upward inside the front of my boxers, making a thick and obvious rod pressing against the dark green material. The fly was still unbuttoned and part of my erection was visible inside it alongside the thick black bush of my pubic hair.

Connell looked at it and then back up to my face. He said, "Okay, Stu. Sorry to have disturbed your fun."

He smiled and I thought, "He thinks I was wanking when he came in."

He added, "It's late, though. You better get dressed."

Then he grinned more broadly and turned to Josh, who was bending to pull his briefs over each knee. "And I wouldn't bend over with a thing like that so close to me... wouldn't want any accidents..." He laughed and withdrew from the door.

Josh grunted, apparently not understanding Connell's joke.

After Connell had gone, Josh moved forward to refasten the Velcro strips on the door, preventing the icy drafts getting into the tent while he got dressed. I saw a small pink circle nestling between the almost hairless cheeks of his arse as he did so. I didn't want to see it: it was unavoidable.

I thought of Connell's joke and of my cock accidently slipping out from my boxers and poking into Josh's pink little ring. In my state of arousal, the thought was not as unpleasant as I'd expected it to be. I quickly dismissed it from my mind.

Josh straightened up to pull his briefs up his thighs. The dark blue material clung tightly to his bum cheeks and, as he turned to look over at me, I saw the medium sized bulge his cock and balls made in the front of them.

He muttered, "You seem pretty tired this morning..."

I pulled off my vest. It smelt strongly of my sweat and I hoped Josh wouldn't be aware of it.

"Yeah. I didn't get to sleep 'til late. Anderson and Palmer were kind of noisy..."

He nodded. "I was glad I was knackered enough to sleep through it. Did they actually wank off together or were they just arsing about..."

"They did the dirty deed... well, Anderson did but then he pissed Palmer off by pushing his wet kegs into his face..."

Josh said, "Freaky. I'm glad I slept through it."

I pulled off my shorts, exposing my cock. I wasn't too bothered if Josh saw my morning woodie. We were friends: it didn't matter.

I smiled. "Actually, it was kind of interesting..."

Josh didn't smile back. He looked at me with tired eyes. "How d'you mean?"

"Well. I didn't really know much about wanking and stuff until this trip. I didn't know that just about everyone does it. I mean, everyone except me."

Josh pulled a teeshirt out from his rucksack. He looked at my cock, arching upward to maybe six inches. "Looks like you need to do it soon, Stu. That thing's gonna explode."

Now he smiled and I didn't.

He muttered, "No wonder you've got such big bollocks..."

"What do you mean?"

"You know... all the spunk that's inside them that you're not letting out. They'll explode..."

I guess I looked horrified.

He chuckled. "It's a joke, Stu..."

"Yeah but it might happen..."

He laughed a little more. "Your face! 'Course it can't happen..."

"But it might... I mean, if I'm firing blanks like Anderson said..."

Josh smiled and shook his head. "You're not, Stu..."

"How do you know?"

"Look at your dick! Look at your balls! I mean, I'm no expert, but you look like you're ready to wank as soon as you want to. It's just up to you..."

"But maybe I can wank but I can't cum..."

Josh became more serious. He looked at me, perhaps working out a little of what had happened on the previous evening. Why I looked so tired.

"This isn't really the right time or place, mate. You can't exactly relax with three other guys lying next to you. Wait 'til you get home... you'd better have a bucket ready, though..."

I must have still looked utterly shocked.

He laughed again. "And I'm joking about the bucket..."

He pulled on his teeshirt and I fished a clean pair of boxers from my rucksack. They were a dark blue checked colour.

I asked, "Does wanking make your dick bigger?"

He reached for his padded shirt. "I dunno. Never really thought about it. Why?"

"I just thought... you know... the exercise..."

He laughed, pushing his right arm into the sleeve of the shirt. "Maybe. I dunno."

I pulled my boxers over my feet, my erection swinging around in front of me, pointing upwards.

He glanced at my cock, and said, "If it does, then you're gonna have a monster down there in a couple of months, Stu..."

I laughed, pulling my boxers up my legs.

He added, "You better buy some bigger shorts..."

I pulled them over my balls and then tucked my hard cock into the front of them. "Yeah. They're getting a little tight even now..."

He grabbed the dark green pair I'd discarded from the previous night and pretended to look at the label.

"Just as I thought," he grinned. "It says dick size five inches... you're gonna have to upgrade, man..."

I chuckled, a little uncomfortable that he was holding my dirty shorts.

Then his eye caught something on the front of them and he turned them over to take a look.

My first thought was, "Oh shit, he's seen a skid mark or something," and I tried to grab them from him.

But he willingly gave them to me and smiled. He said, "Looks like you were really close last night..."

I stuffed the shorts into my rucksack and he buttoned up his shirt. I asked, "Close?"

"Yeah. The marks on the front."

I didn't know what he meant and, after seeing that he wasn't about to take the piss out of me or make some corny joke, I got the shorts back out of my rucksack. There were dried trails on the front of them like a slug would make on a carpet.

I was intrigued. "Is this... spunk?"

Maybe I had cum without realising it. Maybe it had happened while I was asleep.

He shook his head and reached for his trousers. "No. It's what comes out of your dick just before you spunk up. It means... well... there's no way you're firing blanks, Stu..."

It felt surprisingly good to hear him say that. I mean, I knew that he was only slightly more knowledgeable about this kind of thing than I was and that what he said might be total bullshit, but it felt good nonetheless.

I had been close!

He grinned. "You nearly had touch down, mate..."

We didn't say much else as I pulled my vest and shirt on and Josh did his boots up. I felt pleased at what Josh had said but was, at the same time, unpleasantly aware that I was having to be taught so explicitly about a habit that most guys seemed to pick up on their own.

Eventually, as he grabbed his stuff and made to leave the tent, I said, "Palmer disturbed me... he said I was too noisy..."

Josh grinned. "Like I said, Stu. This isn't really the ideal place..."

And then he crawled out through the doorway.

I started pulling my socks on and noticed Anderson's discarded grey boxer briefs lying near Palmer's pillow. The ones he'd wiped himself with after he'd finished masturbating.

I wanted to ignore them but I couldn't. The urge to look at them and see what Anderson's spunk looked like was too strong.

I thought, "No I can't do that. What if someone came back into the tent?"

But then it occurred to me that it was a reasonable thing to do. That it would prepare me for seeing my own cum. That I would know what to expect and what was normal. I would know what it should look like; the colour; the texture.

I'd seen Josh's but that was a fleeting glimpse.

This time I'd have the luxury of getting a long, close look.

Again I wondered what I'd do if someone came in and my mind replied, "Just throw them back onto Palmer's pillow as soon as you hear the Velcro strips being opened. And carry on getting dressed like nothing was happening..."

I reached for the underwear and brought them over to look at them. I turned them the right way round and looked at the front. The gusset bulged outward, stretched into a pouch by Anderson's hefty cock and balls. But there were no marks on the front; they seemed fairly clean.

I turned them over and looked at the back. Again, the material had been stretched and had loosened into paired cups by Anderson's large round buttocks.

Again I thought of Connell's joke and the image of my cock pressing into the back of Anderson's boxer briefs while he was wearing them sprung into my mind. Shit. Why couldn't I shake off this idea?

But there were no marks on the back either.

I turned them inside out and immediately found what I was looking for. The inside of the gusset was streaked with dried gobs of Anderson's spunk where he had roughly cleaned himself up with them.

There seemed to be loads of it: it had been spread from the waistband, right across the crotch, down to the bottom of the left leg of the boxer briefs. The grey material was smeared and splattered with it.

Maybe Josh was right about the bucket.

I lifted the front of briefs to my nose to sniff Anderson's cum. I thought, "If I get caught now I'm never gonna live this down..." But I was too interested in finding out what it smelt like.

Palmer had been right: Anderson's boxers did smell strongly of his cock. Sweaty and with a slight but sharp hint of piss. The cum had dried and was hardly discernible through the stronger odours of Anderson's crotch.

Even the spunk smeared across the material around the leg had little odour. The sweat from the tops of Anderson's hairy thighs masked everything.

I turned the boxer briefs over and saw smears of cum on the material on the back of them. I realised these had been made when Palmer had wiped his mouth. Faint lines running up the arsecrack of the boxers explained why Palmer had been so revolted by the smell of the back of them.

A picture of Anderson's naked arse, its cleft thick with dark brown hair, flashed into my mind and was immediately followed by thoughts of my cock pressing in between his cheeks. Jesus Christ. What was wrong with me today?

I suddenly realised why guys said masturbation was a form of relief. The state I was in, Connell's joke just wouldn't lie down and take a rest.

A fist banged on the top of the tent and I threw the boxers back onto Palmer's pillow. Vaughan's voice called down, "Come on Stu... you're gonna miss breakfast..."

I called out, "Just a minute, sir," and I started pulling on my trousers.

Then I noticed Josh's discarded briefs lying on his sleeping bag. Still pulling my trousers on with one hand, I reached over for them.

They were made of white cotton, with thin dark blue stripes running upward across the flimsy material.

They felt wet.

I brought them over to look at them and saw that the front of them was covered in a thick, white gelatinous liquid. Josh's spunk. He must have masturbated just before I awoke.

Some of it got onto my fingers and felt like cold gravy. Thick and with semi-solid lumps in it.

I could smell it even before I brought the briefs up to my nose. It was a heavy, musky and slightly pungent aroma.

Another whack on the top of the tent. Vaughan's voice. "Last chance, Stu. If you're not out of there in thirty seconds, your sausages and muffins are going to the lemmings."

I threw Josh's briefs back onto his sleeping bag and pulled my trousers on quickly.

Then, with my boots untied and my fleece half-way on, I staggered out of the door.

I still had an erection and I still couldn't stop thinking about sex.

Even the sausages and muffins made me think of cocks and buttocks.

We packed up and were able to set off by about nine o'clock.

We walked in small scattered groups -- singly or in pairs -- across the barren frozen plain.

Palmer remained silent; Anderson went off with his other mates and I kept thinking about sex. Josh walked alongside me but he didn't say anything.

It was only at about eleven o'clock, when Palmer had called out, "Hey, look at that. It's like a piece fell off the sun," that I managed to shake my thoughts completely free -- for a short while, at least -- of what had happened in the tent.

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To be concluded

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