Year to Remember
Chapter One, January
It's 7.15 am. It's Monday morning. I wake with a start at the clock radio suddenly blaring into life. It's still dark. How I hate January. Christmas gone and forgotten. My birthday (on the 4th of January) also gone and another 11 long months without an excuse for presents.
I groan and flip over onto my back, stretching out my long, slim arms above my head, arching my back, lifting my hairy little bum off the lumpy mattress and flop back down again, distinctly unimpressed with the thought of getting up on such a cold and dull winter day. Reaching down under the duvet to scratch my balls, giving my dick a quick squeeze on the way down I find the pink and white striped cotton boxers my Nan bought me last year stiff and crisp around the button-less fly. I really should throw them away. They're pretty much too small for me now, especially as I seem to have unwittingly taken some sort of growth hormone over the summer. My arms and legs have grown long and almost gangly, just a shame the rest of me hasn't caught up...
I reach down and give my cock another yank, just to help it catch the rest of me up. Still, I like the boxers. They make my bum look pert from the rear, being that much too small, and my insubstantial package more prominent from the front. Not that there's anyone to see. My dick twitches at the unceremonious attention. I really couldn't be bothered creeping around last night after I'd wanked to clean up – hence the crispy fly. I really should get up. Still another few minutes won't hurt. It'll still be dark and dreary January after yet more of my spunk gets spilled on these favourite pants.
Forcing my hand through the fly hole I pull the warm, fleshy skin of my dick back to expose my helmet to the chilly air in my bedroom and it immediately begins to tingle. I shiver involuntarily at the almost inevitable climax just a few minutes away. Or is just it's so flipping cold? Anyway, I give my foreskin another couple of tugs, willing my cock to expand so I can jack off properly. It seems to be working. My dick stiffens enough for me to start a steady rhythm, my hand working up and down,my fingers occasionally cupping my nuts every few strokes. It doesn't take long before I feel that familiar tensing of my tummy muscles, and then a sudden, urgent shout startles me enough to pull the duvet back over my engorged cock as quickly as I can.
"Adam! Get up! It's a quarter to eight!" The command shrieked up the stairs nearly gives me a heart attack. Fuck!
My mother is a worrier. She worries that I won't wake up. She worries I won't get up if I am awake. She worries I take too long in the shower. She worries.
I yank the duvet back down in defiance, my dick springs out and I shout back that I'm getting up, spit on my hand and rub my cock-head, making myself gasp in the process at my own roughness. I like my lube, so I spit into my fist again and smear it all over my already shining helmet, using the fleshy part of my palm to rub over the sensitive sides of my head. Another tummy tensing moment and then it happens. I cum all over the front of the already cum-stained boxers. I let go of the breath I was holding and relaxed. My sticky gunk drips down and through my fingers, soaking the flimsy fabric, yet again.
I flop out of bed and pad across the wasteland of detritus that is my bedroom floor and into the bathroom. Get into the shower and do what's necessary. Luckily I'm not one of those lads that as soon as they hit puberty, stink like a rugby team changing room – that overwhelming mixture of feet, spunk and hairy armpits that assaults you as you walk in. My testosterone seems pretty sweet smelling thankfully. So I don't spend long in the freezing bathroom, darting, ferret like across the landing, naked back into my slightly warmer bedroom. I shrug on some clothes, well lots of them actually as it does seem pretty cold out there today, and amble downstairs.
As usual my mum is flapping about. Getting ready for work, getting my breakfast, getting my sisters breakfast, flapping.
'Oh, you decided to grace us with your presence then, Adam.' Her sarcasm doesn't even register on my radar today. I just can't be arsed. On a day like today I'd happily stay in my room, crawl back under the duvet and tug my dick every couple of hours until it was dinner time. What self-respecting teenage lad wouldn't want to do that? Unfortunately it is not an option today, real life has a way of making you see sense eventually.
The doorbell rings and brings my back to my senses. Just in time to stop my ever-demanding dick swelling enough to tent the front my grey school trousers. I'm in the 5th form, but we still have to wear the ridiculous uniform; black blazer, white shirt, black and red striped tie and grey trousers. Ugh, I will be glad to get into the sixth form, no uniform. Anyway, as usual, my younger sister bounds for the front door, eager to open it. What is is with little sisters and the front door? It's hardly going to be someone for her at 7.45 in the morning. So, she opens the door and there are two police officers standing on the doorstep. Now this is something of a surprise to me. But not to my mum, who standing in the kitchen doorway nearly collapses at the sight of the two expressionless people on her doorstep.