When I first noticed Paul, I could hardly have imagined that this unlikely small boy would have been such an enthusiastic participant in our later adventures and experiments, but I'm jumping ahead. Let me introduce myself; I was, at the time of our first encounter, in the second year of my respectable boys' school in a leafy suburb of London, to me sex was a matter of interested speculation rather than actual experience. My life was proscribed by the choices I had made, I sang in the choir, dabbled in the photography club and played an active part in the drama society, mostly as a member of the stage crew, and it was in the latter capacity that I first encountered Paul.
I remember he was a small, quite loud, and very nosey boy, who was desperate to be a part of everything. He always seemed slightly grubby, and the school year separating us was a much larger gulf than the couple of months that actually separated our ages. As the stage crew, we operated as a unit, and with the casual cruelty of the young, Paul was not going to be a part of it. His character, however, was not that of a quitter, and he compensated for his age by going for it, if there was a stupid dare or a risky task he was up for it, anything to impress, or to ingratiate.
It was not very long after our first meeting that I first laid a hand on him; we had succeeded in locking ourselves out of the lighting control room, and the keys, for some reason, had been taken home by one of the crew. The only other way into the room was through a small window, outside on the fire escape. This window was the skylight over the emergency exit, and as such was only about 9 inches deep. Whilst I was quite flexible and athletic, even at the age of fourteen I was stocky and broad shouldered, and probably not going to fit through the damn window. Paul, on the other hand, was ideal, so I volunteered to help him climb up to the window.
Had there been a witness, they wouldn't have seen a very edifying spectacle; it started well enough, dumping his school blazer and his shoes on the ground, Paul stepped into my linked hands and I boosted him up to the window. As I lifted him, his body pressed against my face, and for a moment I smelled his perfume, a not unappealing combination of illegal cigarette smoke and the mustiness of an active boy. Then it was done, he was halfway in through the window, and I was left with unfamiliar feelings which I didn't quite understand. It wasn't over though, Paul's thrashing legs and muffled squeaks heard through the fire door, indicated that we had a problem. A closer inspection revealed that his belt had hooked up on the window catch, "Stop wriggling," I shouted, "you're all caught up. Hold still, and I'll try and untangle you." More shouting, mercifully muted by the thickness of the door, indicated that I should hurry up. I pushed up on his hips, trying to lift him off the offending catch, I caught a socked foot in my face for my pains and I was made very conscious of the heat of his body, contained as it was in grey serge school trousers.
I wasn't doing very well, and Paul seemed to be in some discomfort, although the sight of his wriggling bottom stuck in the window was having an interesting effect on me. I shouted through the door at him again, "I'm going to have to undo your belt, then you should be able to drop down inside." I reached up to his waist again, the backs of my hands casually brushing his crotch, I wouldn't swear to it, but there seemed to be something stirring in his trousers, there certainly was in mine. I undid his belt, with a little difficulty, and he was able to struggle free, unfortunately for him, the belt did actually hold his trousers up, and that damn window catch played its final card, snagging on his waist band and neatly slipping them off. This left me outside the door, helpless with laughter, and in possession of a pair of warm grey serge school trousers, Paul on the inside, incoherent with rage and embarrassment.
"Open the door and I'll give you your trousers back," I called from under the window.
"You're not a poof are you?" came the curious response.
"No, `course not," I replied with more outward assurance than I actually felt. After a moment the door opened and I was inside, blinking in the gloom. Paul snatched his trousers from me, and leant back against the tabletop to pull them on. When he had slipped out of my sight, I had noticed that he was wearing the inevitable baggy white cotton Y-fronts that we all wore. As he pulled up his trousers I couldn't fail to miss an intriguing bulge, before he tucked it all away and did up the zipper.
That for the time being, was that, we became friends, and as all boys do, we hung around together and got into scrapes. My casual assurance about my sexuality was never questioned, and Paul was quite unselfconscious about his body; when we went round to his house after school, we would run up to his room and he would pull off his school uniform and change into jeans and a t-shirt. This was my first exposure to the erotic possibilities of underwear; despite the initial white cotton numbers, Paul's mum bought a great variety for him, and each time he stripped off the anticipation gave me a sexual frisson that kept me fantasising for days.
Life went on, time passed, and we were gradually growing up. As I've already said, Paul was a couple of months younger than me, he had been getting more and more interested in sex, and whilst I couldn't pretend that I was greatly experienced in matters of love, my inexpert fumblings and cautious experiments with various equally confused girls from the local convent school were streets ahead of Paul. The nearest he'd got to a woman was the inevitable damp kiss from an auntie at Christmas.
In those pre-internet days, the only sexual images accessible to a boy with a curious mind were in the clothing catalogues, or in the girly mags that were occasionally discovered, hidden away, or discarded in the park. Paul was very keen on girly mags, as you might imagine, and particularly keen on images that hinted of lesbianism. One day, whilst out exploring, I had found a bona fide lesbian magazine, which certainly did a lot for me, and I knew would blow Paul away. I had no plan, just thought I'd show him it and see what happened.
As usual, I had gone round to Paul's house after school; his parents both worked, and didn't come home for a couple of hours after he did. As usual, he impatiently pulled off his school uniform, and tossed it in a heap on the floor. I remember he was wearing red cotton briefs that were quite tight fitting. Before he could put on his jeans, I flashed the mag at him.
"Cop a load of that," I said; like a moth to a flame, he snatched the magazine from me and moved away nearer the light to scan it. To say I was aware of his excitement would be an understatement, his cock had sprung to life the second he laid eyes on the mag, and was pressing tightly against the material of his pants. He was so turned on that he was scarcely aware that I was there, unconsciously his hand moved down and slowly rubbed his cock, there was a small dark spot of pre-cum showing already, god, he was horny, in a matter of seconds something was going to happen. As all too often happens the moment passed, he suddenly realised where he was, and who he was with, and flushing prettily he put down the mag and quickly pulled his jeans on. I could still see the outline of his erection through the denim as he picked up the magazine again.
We flopped down onto the floor and started flipping through the pictures together, once again I was very conscious of the heat of his body next to mine, and that he was still very turned on. I was prepared to bet that the minute I left the house, his trousers would be down and that cock would be getting some action. Idly, to relieve some of the tension, I speculated aloud about the kind of person who would pose for a magazine, and how double jointed some of them would need to be.
"I know what you mean," Paul giggled, "I tried to get into some of those positions once, and practically ruptured myself."
"You probably had too many clothes on," I said sarcastically, "I think you would need to be nearly naked or you might do yourself some damage."
"I was naked," he said, grinning.
"What on earth for?" I asked, slightly confused.
"I was trying to take some pics of myself, thought I might be able to show them to a girl, let her know what she was getting."
"I didn't know you had a camera."
"I borrowed my dads Polaroid, and lifted some film from the chemists. They didn't come out very well."
"Can I see them?"
"I'm not sure, you won't jump on me or anything will you?"
"Don't be silly, I'm just curious, and might be able to help."
"Oh, all right then." He went to the wardrobe, and produced a dog-eared envelope from under the piles of old clothes, and tossed it down in front of me.
Feigning indifference, I opened the envelope, and tipped the contents out onto the bed. He was not wrong, the pictures were rubbish, his photographic efforts were hampered by the necessity to hold the camera at arms length. Although I had seen most of his body one way and another, this was the first time I had seen him completely naked and erect. His cock was long and had a curious curve in it, his pubic hair was very dark and bushy, and I found his uninhibited posing very stimulating.
"You're right, these aren't very good, and they're probably a bit too porno to show to a girl." I spoke with the unconscious ease of an expert in these matters, "You need to do something a bit more erotic, not just waving your cock at the camera, look at how they do it in the mags; the pictures all have a bit of a story to them. You know the sort of thing; girl out walking in the woods, giant rabbit surprises her, suddenly her clothes fall off, and they do what bunny rabbits do." I could always make Paul laugh, and he was laughing now.
"So what do you suggest?" he asked.
"I can lend you my camera and a long cable release, I'll show you how to develop and print the pics at the photo club. The rest is up to you; just don't give it away all at once." This seemed to satisfy him, and we left the subject, especially as we heard his kid brother coming in and hastily pushed the porn under the bed. When I got home later that evening I couldn't get the images of his naked body out of my mind, and wanked my way to the first of many absolutely phenomenal orgasms.
The next day, I took my camera to school, and after a bit of instruction handed it over to Paul, and awaited developments with interest. A few days later he came up to me, smiled and waved a film canister at me, I booked the dark room and that evening we stayed after school to process the film.
You may imagine my sexual excitement, squeezed into a small dark room, developing porno pictures of the person I was in such close proximity to. The sense of anticipation, when we finally got the film out from rinsing, was palpable, imagine our disappointment when it became clear that whilst there were images, they were very shadowy and indistinct. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't produce any worthwhile prints. "You're going to have to try again, and try to get the exposure right this time."
"I don't seem to have the knack," he said sheepishly, "you're going to have to show me again." I went through it all again with him, and left him to get on with it. A couple of days later, on the weekend, he rang me at home, and said; "I've forgotten what to do with the camera, can you come round and explain it to me again?" Rather irritated, I jumped on my bike, and cycled round to Paul's house. He answered the door, dressed in his jeans and a deplorable t-shirt; "come in, everybody's gone out to the shops, and I've got an idea. How about you take the pictures for me?"
"What, now?" I blurted, there I was, all set to have an argument, and the object of my fantasies was offering to strip off in front of me.
"Yeah, why not," he replied, "you're a much better photographer than me, and you've seen it all already, lets go upstairs."
We went up to Paul's bedroom, and he handed me my camera and a roll of film, and said, "Right then, what shall we do?"
I managed to cover my slight confusion by loading the film into the camera, and whilst I was doing that I tried to think of a scenario; "Let's keep the story simple, you've found a sexy mag, you lie on your bed to read it, after a while you can't keep your hands to yourself any more, and you gradually strip off. That sound OK to you?"
"Yeah, I think I can manage that," he replied, grinning cheerfully.
"What sort of pants do you have on?" I asked.
"You'll have to wait and see," he said cheekily.
There began my first photo shoot with Paul, he lay on the bed, reading a porno mag with what I think he imagined was a erotic expression on his face, gradually he slipped his hand into his jeans and began to stroke himself. This was all very fine, and I know that I had said he shouldn't just take his clothes off and wave his cock around, but I couldn't see anything, his jeans were too baggy. "Right," I said, "you need to show me a bit more, undo your zip and show me what you are doing in there." When he obeyed my instructions I nearly came, he was wearing purple nylon mesh briefs, which did nothing to conceal his erection.
"What do you think? Are these sexy?" he asked.
"I'm sure they are, you'll be making someone very happy." I replied, dry mouthed. Our session was brought to a premature end by the sound of a key turning in the front door and the return of his family from their shopping expedition. Paul hastily zipped himself up again, and we agreed to finish the session at my place in half an hour. I cycled back over to my house with a raging stiffy and raced up to my bedroom to set up. When Paul arrived later on, he was wearing a different t-shirt.
"My mum made me change before I came out, said the old one was disgusting."
"Oh well, it's not as though you'll be keeping it on for long," I said. We got straight down to it; picking up from where we had left off, Paul threw himself around on my bed with great enthusiasm, gradually stripping off his clothes until eventually he lay there; his cock large and erect in his hand. As this is a true story, the film ran out just as he was completely naked and before he could come. I was too turned on to be disappointed, and so I think was he.
When we developed the film, later the following week, the pictures were sharp and clear and we were both very pleased with the result. I wanked myself silly looking at them for the next few days, and assumed that that was that. It was that time of year where exams are taken, and despite my fantasies about Paul, I had to concentrate on my studies. When I eventually emerged from under the dark cloud that had been filling my life it was summer, and I had nothing to do but wait for my results. Paul, of course, had all that to come, and had been witnessing our suffering with the complacency of someone who never bothered to look more than a week ahead at a time.
A couple of weeks from the end of term, I was bumming around back stage, not achieving much when I heard Paul's voice hailing me; "what're you up to?"
"Not a lot, just wasting time."
"Remember taking those pics?"
"Course I do, why?"
"I enjoyed posing for them, d'you think you could take some more for me?"
"If you really want me to," I said, pretending not to be interested, even though I was getting stiff just thinking about it, "when can we do it?"
"I could bunk off school and come round to your place tomorrow, if there's nobody in."
"That's fine, I'll get plenty of film this time, we should have done a come shot. I hope you've not been playing with yourself too much recently?"
"What do you reckon," he said, giggling, "don't worry, I'll have plenty of juice for the pictures."
"When you come round tomorrow, bring some alternative clothes with you, we might be able to do more than one set."
"Will do, see ya tomorrow then."
That night I could hardly sleep for excitement, and my erection was stiff and firm in my pants. I sleep in my underwear, and rubbed my cock through the cotton, stopping only when I was about to come. I thought I would wait until after our photo session, before I came again, and eventually drifted off to sleep, my mind full of images of Paul's body.
The next day eventually arrived, and I waited impatiently for Paul to arrive, when he did turn up, I was a bit disappointed, he was wearing a ghastly jacket, and a horrible white roll
neck sweater, he was, however, carrying a bag with some other clothes in it.
"Ok, here's the story," I said impatiently, "you find some porno mags in your brothers drawer, reading them turns you on, and you copy some of the poses, eventually getting down and dirty and coming all over the place."
"Sounds good to me," he answered, "can we do a few close-ups too?"
Paul pretended to find some mags in my desk drawer, and flicked through them, rubbing his crotch in anticipation. I was full of excitement, I couldn't believe that he was here again, and getting his kit off in front of me. I was also very conscious of my erection, and couldn't believe that he wasn't aware of it. The moment when he unzipped his trousers and his cock was able to push free in his pants was glorious. His pants were patterned cotton y-fronts, with a dark waistband, and his erection pushed the front out in a curve, its tip just lurking below the waistband. Before he got down to some serious wanking, Paul posed for a few close ups, pushing his cotton clad penis closer and closer to my face as I knelt on the floor in front of him. I was getting hotter and hotter, even though I was only wearing a thin t-shirt and a pair of light cord trousers. It was with a sense of relief mixed with disappointment, that Paul settled back on the bed, and pulled his pants to one side, showing his lovely curved cock to me again. He posed in a variety of positions, keeping his cock in his hand, and giving it a few strokes very now and again, more out of pleasure than need, as there was no sign of his erection fading. Eventually, he pulled his pants right off and got down to it, giving his long hard erection a firm rubbing. When I had a few shots of this enticing vision, I got him to sit up, so I could get some close-ups of his hand action. He pointed his cock at me, inches from my face and I clicked away, capturing an image of the little drop of pre-cum on its tip. "Ok," I said breathlessly, "we should go for the come shot"
"We?" he said quizzically, "I'm the one doing all the work here."
"True, but I'm the one who's sweating."
We'd decided that he should come into a tissue; after all, we were not doing our own laundry, and giving your mother clothes dripping with spunk was likely to cause more than a raised eyebrow. So Paul worked on his cock with the ease of long practise and as his face reddened and a light sweat came up on his body he grunted to me; "here it comes." He pulled back on his cock, the foreskin fully retracted and a spray of spunk came out of his glans into the tissue in his waiting hand. I was very excited, although I noted that his come was thinner and not as copious as mine was. I took the tissue from him, and handed him a few more to wipe himself down.
"Did you get it?" he asked, "cause I'm not doing that again for a few minutes."
"Yeah, I think I got it, want a beer?"
Paul pulled his pants back on, his penis still stiff and red, and I took a few more pics as he wandered round my room sucking on a beer. He was still stiff when he had finished and grinning wickedly at me, he pulled his cock out again and tried to stick it into the wide neck of the stubby beer bottle, he couldn't get it very far in. I still have that beer bottle and use it to
put my small change in, gives me cause to smile every time is see it.
I had used most of my film up on this adventure, so we only had an opportunity to do a small series of pictures of Paul wearing some stripy nylon briefs.
I could hardly wait for Paul to leave before I tore off my clothes and let my cock out from its confinement, I held the image of his coming in my head as I wanked, and I came with a vicious spurt into the same tissue that he had used earlier. I was so sexually charged by this experience, that I could hardly stand up afterwards, little did I realise how much more there was to come.