Date: Thu, 25 Aug 2022 07:43:22 +0000
From: Leopold Boyce <leopold.boyce@protonmail.com>
Subject: Boys Love Sport

12yo Henry Wolcott, sentenced to a terminally boring Sunday, experiences
his first miracle.

Comments welcome:   leopold.boyce@protonmail.com

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------------------------

BOYS LOVE SPORT

by Leopold Boyce

How angry was I? Don't even think about it. When I rode past Mrs.
Henrickson's place, she was in her garden like always, and she called
out, "Hi, Henry!" and I just said "Yeah, whatever," or something like
that. And Mrs. Henrickson's a nice lady -- I like her, seriously!

I know it sounds rude, but get this: It was Sunday morning, it was
already THIRTY degrees, and EVERYONE was heading down the river -- Tom
texted, "When you getting here?" -- and I texted back, "HOW ABOUT
NEVER!!!!!! SUCKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

I mean, I'm glad Mum's happy with her new boyfriend, Brian, but all this
church stuff...sheesh. I'm almost thirteen, I told her, I should decide
if I want to go to Sunday School or not. I probably got a bit cheeky, to
be honest, yelling at Brian that it was 1979, you know, not the friggin'
stone ages! But it was true, too. That sort of thing makes Brian get all
very serious: Give me strength, Let us reflect, As the Lord once sayeth
to the meek and the pinheaded or whatever -- seriously, Brian's heavier
on the yawns than Mrs. Pendrick at Monday morning assembly.

Upshot was, no, I didn't have to go to Sunday School. But, as I was now
"old enough for a certain measure of independence", I was also "old
enough to take joint responsibility for the health and well-being of our
community."

Bucket, anyone? I'm not kidding. That's the sort chopped baloney Brian
speaks -- on a good day! I know I shouldn't say it, but I think I
preferred it when Mum was eating cheesecake and watching telly all day.
Least I had Sundays to myself.

So there I was, about ten o'clock in the morning, riding in the EXACT
opposite direction of the river. Place was, like, a thousand miles away
-- but, seriously, you don't even want to know where I was going. Try
these potatoes on for size: I was going to old Mrs. Codswallop's place to
polish her knockers or some crap.

She's old and so she needs help -- and she's too much of a cheapskate to
pay for it. So, everyone thinks -- why not make Henry Wolcott her slave?
Who cares about his life, anyway?

Anyway, I found her stupid house -- and get this: it's, like, two
stories, a real big old place. A bit rundown, but up the end of the
Miller Street, a huge old joint all on its own. SO WHY DOES SHE NEED A
SLAVE? She HAS to be rich. A house like that would be worth at least ten
thousand bucks, for sure. SHE should do volunteer work for ME! Go clean
up my room, ya old bag! Might stop Brian praying for deliveries every
five minutes.

That's the sort of thing I was thinking as I parked my bike and went to
the big crappy old front door, paint peeling off it, a big rusty knocker
in the middle. Ha! Maybe I WOULD have to polish her knockers -- and that
was just a joke!

The knocker wouldn't move, so I knocked on the door with my knuckles.
Probably not hard enough, so I did it again, pretty hard. And I waited,
and nobody answered, and I couldn't hear anything inside. Ha! Couldn't
help getting a bit excited..."Oh, but I tried to volunteer Brian, honest
to God as my witness!"

Maybe Mrs. Codswallop had died -- she's supposed to be very old...so what
else could I do but bow my head in dear departed silence and...swim?

I'd actually taken two steps back toward my bike when the door was flung
open. I turned with a sinking feeling and -- WHAT THE ACTUAL FRIG! There
at the door was Wesley Pace! No joke! THE Wesley Pace! Biggest footy star
in this town since some old dude called Brice McKenna who I never saw.
Maybe the best center-half-forward EVER. I mean, I've got his poster on
my wall! Bought it with my own money. The one where he's taking a speccie
that won Mark of the Year last year. Only last week Tom was boasting he
talked to Wesley Pace for, like, ten minutes at the footy clinic we went
to. I think he was just in a group of about ten boys he was giving a talk
to, but I was still jealous. I was stuck with Patrick DeGroote, doing
handball drills. DeGroote's alright, but he's not Wesley Pace.

And he's just standing there, like any normal dude, looking at me. I
think maybe I freaked a bit, cos the first thing he said to me was, "You
okay?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, sorry, good," I said, or squealed like a girl, more
like. Then I explained: "I just, um, rode my bike -- I didn't swim cos of
the volunteer -- so I'm here, now. I'm Henry Wolcott, sorry for that
other thing."

And, yeah, that is what I said, if you really want to know. I heard
myself saying it, and I thought, Who the frig is saying this crap -- it
can't be me! Thing is, when I get a bit stressed or freaked out or
whatever, I do sometimes babble on like an idiot, say a lot of stupid
crap. It was a lot worse when I was a little kid, but it still happens
sometimes.

But Wesley Pace just keeps sorta staring at me. He's tall, but not as big
and bulky as I would've thought from watching him on the telly. Super fit
looking, pretty muscly, in board shorts and T-shirt -- ha! Same as me!
Anyway, he said to me, "You're from the church?"

"Yes. I, um, I'm volunteering my thing -- on Sundays. Like today."

And then he said the weirdest thing, he said, "But you're not a girl."

"Well, no," I said, a bit confused. "I'm a boy. I was born on the
twenty-fourth of April."

Then he laughed -- a friendly sort of laugh -- I don't think he was
teasing. "Sorry, I was referring to the church volunteer service. I
thought Nan had arranged for a girl to visit on Sundays."

"Oh! But I'm not!"

"But maybe I'm being an old-fashioned bigot. Do you like sewing?"


"Sewing?" I really wanted to understand what he was saying and, you know,
talk to him, but what the hell was he on about? Why would I like sewing?
Didn't we just agree I wasn't a girl?

He said, "Nan organized with the church to have a young visitor who could
help her with her sewing -- she loves making dresses and stuff -- so I
was expecting a girl. But that's probably very sexist of me, and if you
--"

"But I don't! I never sewed nothing in my life! I'm like you -- I play
footy! I was at the clinic last week -- you were talking to my best
friend Tom, I swear!"

He gave a big smile now, laughing a bit. "I thought I recognized you.
Henry Wolcott. You were second in the handball comp."


"I...I..." I really was a bit stuck for words at that -- WESLEY PACE!
Talking about MY footy skills! Dammit, I could feel my stupid face going
as red as a beetroot. Maybe I SHOULD go and sew a dress!

He said, "I hope you're signing up for the Under 14's this year. I'm
supposed to be coaching -- be a struggle as always to get a team, I
suppose."

"I..I..." My mind was spinning like a mule. We'd been arguing about this
at home. Brian thought my joining the local footy team was not such a
good idea. He had me marked down for tennis and, get this, SOFTBALL with
the Church youth group. He'd told Mum that the Merriton Footy Club had a
bad reputation, was not a "wholesome" place for a young boy... Bucket,
anyone? Now do you believe me about Brian? If I could only convince Mum.
I finally managed to say, "I hope so, yeah, that'd be cool as -- so
you're, like, the coach of the Under 14's?"

"My coach has assigned me the job, yeah. Good for the club profile, or
something. Who knows, might be a few laughs."

"Oh, yeah -- footy's great." And, if that wasn't dorksville enough for
you, I added that footy was "the best, I reckon."

"You won't get any argument from me, bud. Does this Brian know that's
what you think?"

"What's a 'snare'?" I asked.

"I think it's like a trap or something."

"That's what Brian says the footy club is. A snare unto...idiots or
something. Adults are supposed to like kids playing sports."

"Mate, I've been an adult for about six years now -- still haven't met
one with his head pulled entirely out of his arse -- me included."

"Ha!" How cool was he?! Wesley Pace! And, you know, he's probably right
-- a lot of adults probably do put their heads in their arses, when you
think about it. Even Mum sometimes, and Brian all the time -- like, arse
city, Brian is -- ha!

Then he stepped back to make room. "Anyway, come on in, Henry. Come say
hi to Nan, see if you can help her with that dropped stitch she's been
moaning about all morning."

"Well, but, really, I don't..."

"I'm kidding, buddy!"

"Ha ha, yeah, cool, thanks. I kid Tom all the time at school, about
whatever, crazy crap sometimes."

And Wesley Pace kept on laughing -- not like a mean laugh -- seriously,
he was real cool, not up himself at all just because he's a star. And
then he said, "So are you coming in or what?"

"Oh, yeah, right, thanks!" And I went in.

* * *

His Nan was real old, that's for sure. One of the wrinkliest faces I've
ever seen and a big nose, too. And get this: she was sitting beside a
fireplace with huge fire burning! How hot was it in there? Boiling,
that's what!

And after Wesley Pace said who I was, she goes, "She looks a little
gamey...will she sew?"

Goddamn. She was looking right at me with her funny turtle eyes -- I'M
NOT A GIRL, I wanted to shout. And, just for the record, I DON'T look
like a girl -- leastways no one's ever said that before -- well, Terry,
in Year 10, he's a bully,  and he always pinches my butt and says I look
like the prettiest little girl in all the school and crap like that --
but no one serious thinks it.

Wesley explained that there'd been a mix up, that the church had sent a
boy, not a girl.

And do you know what she said, after staring at me for about a year. She
said, "Oh dear, maybe it's in the fridge, beside the possum...?"

I almost panicked a bit -- she was staring hard at me waiting for an
answer. Was WHAT in the fridge? Had I missed something? Trying to sound
polite, I said, "Ah, do you mean the sewing?"

She clapped her big-knuckled old hands together. "Oh, yes, let's have
some sewing! Excellent idea, Hettie! Have you seen my calico, Wesley?"

"Nan..." Wesley said, almost in a warning sort of way.

"And, um, it's Henry," I put in. "I'm Henry Wolcott, from the volunteer
thing." Trying not to sound too niggly, but, seriously!

She seemed to shift her lower jaw round a bit. "Might I see your needle,
my dear? Is it big enough for calico, do you think?"

I really had to try and keep my cool a bit. Couldn't she understand one
simple thing! I was about to inform her, pretty firmly, that I did NOT
have a needle, when Wesley said,

"Okay, Nan, reckon that'll do."

I looked at Wesley, then at Mrs Fitzclarence (that's her real name,
actually, sorry for the joke name), and she was relaxing back in her
chair, chuckling away to herself. She said, "You'll have to excuse my
sense of humor, Henry. It does seem to blacken with age."

And Wesley was laughing a bit, and he winked at me, but, well, to be
honest, I had no idea what they were on about.

Then Wesley indicated with his head for us to go off and we did. Went in
the kitchen and he said did I want a drink, so we both had a glass of
orange juice, sitting at the table. Ha! How cool? No one at school was
going to believe it -- just me and Wesley Pace, hanging out at his nan's
place, drinking OJ or whatever.

He said, "Well, seems someone stuffed up. If you've got anything else to
do today, Henry, reckon you should probably head off and do it. Not going
to force you make cocktail dresses all day."

Well, of course, I didn't want to make cockle dresses, but... "Huh, yeah
-- bet Brian would probably make me stay here anyway..."

"Who's Brian? You don't sound like a fan."

"He's not my dad. He's Mum's boyfriend -- I think they might get married
soon. He's...I mean, Mum's a lot better since she got with him, she
doesn't get sick as much, but he gets on my case a bit. I'm not a little
kid he can tell everything what to do."

"So what about your real dad? He around?"

"Um, he's actually a no-good, lying, lazy, two-timing son-of-a-bitch."

"Ha! He doesn't play back flank for Merriton, does he?"

"I never met him. That's what Mum says."

"Man who doesn't even know his own son -- big black mark against a guy's
name, I gotta say."

"But Mum's good. She always takes care of me. Just with Brian things seem
a bit weird sometimes."

"Like being forced to do volunteer work on Sunday instead of going down
the river."

I stared at him. "How did you know that?"

"I did grow up here. Where else would a kid your age be on a day like
today?"

"Well, yeah, Tom and all the guys are down there already."

He stood up, took the empty glasses to the sink. "Better get going then,
buddy -- don't worry, I'll let 'em know at the church what happened, that
I sent you off."

I guess it was cool, getting to go after all. "So, um, do you ever go
down the river or anything, on real hot days?"

He turned and leant against the sink. "I haven't been down the river for
years. These days, laps at the club is about all I do in the way of
swimming."

"You should come down! There's heaps of room to do serious swimming --
some of the older boys do. Is swimming good to be a footy player?"

"Coach seems to think so. I find it a bit boring, to be honest."

"Oh yeah, footy's way better, easy. We play kick-to-kick at school every
day, morning recess and lunch, but not afternoon recess -- the teachers
say we're not allowed to at afternoon recess, and we said, Why not? How
stupid is that?"

"You wait till I'm your coach -- I'll make your teachers look like
pushovers."

"Really?" I couldn't tell if he was being serious. "I hope I can play.
You should come down the river -- all the Year 7 kids'll be there -- bet
they'd all sign up for the team if you asked 'em."

He laughed at that. "Now you really are doing the devil's work, kiddo!
Bet Brian's got a few good one's about temptation."

"Huh?"

He sighed. "Unfortunately, bud, I've got a a ton of work to get through
here. I've promised Nan I'll help get this place ready to sell. I was a
bit like you as a kid -- it was Nan who took care of me the most -- I owe
her heaps."

"Oh, but then, I should do the volunteer -- to help you work -- it's for
the community, you know, everyone has to help everyone be independent and
stuff."

"What about the swimming?"

"Well, yeah, I like swimming, but it can be boring sometimes -- and I can
do that any time."

He looked at me for a bit, then said, "Well, Henry, there's no way you're
doing volunteer work to help me and Nan sell this place. But, you know, I
could use some help. I could pay you -- not a lot, basic laboring wage or
something."

"Yeah! Cool! Are you serious? You mean, like a real job, getting paid?"

"You'll have to work for it."

"Sure!"

"Okay, just ring your mum to make sure it's okay, then we're good to
go."

No way I was gonna risk that. Mum would probably be fine, but Brian?
Walketh through the valley of bullcrap, and all that. "Well, I think
Mum's, um, not around, so I can just tell her when I get home. She won't
mind -- it's the same as I was coming here for anyway, just getting paid
instead."

"Yeah, I guess that's okay. But if you come back again, you'll definitely
need her okay."

I was stoked! Seriously, come back on other days? To hang out and work
with Wesley Pace? Geez, maybe Brian's church does do them miracle
things!

* * *

The first thing we did, out in the backyard -- man, they had a huge
backyard, but it was a bit messy and overgrown. And a big in-ground
swimming pool, but no water in it, and bunch of junk in it, and we had to
take it all out and put it in a big metal container for rubbish.

It was hard work, and it was getting pretty hot, but lucky I was there.
There was a lot of long planks and tin in the pool -- you needed two
people to carry them up to the rubbish bin. Wes -- he said to call him
Wes -- Wes even said, Lucky you're here, kiddo.

After we'd been working for a bit, Wes took his T-shirt off and chucked
it on the back veranda. Cos it was real hot, I thought I should probably
take mine off too, stop from getting too sweaty and stuff. But Wes goes,
"Geez, bud, you'll burn up, won't you?"

Wes was real tanned, like he was in the sun a lot -- and man, he had a
super fit muscly body. Not big huge muscles like a body-builder, but
super defined and strong. I was a little bit tanned, but not a lot. "I
usually wear sunscreen," I said, "so I never get real brown -- but it'll
be alright while we're working."

He said he should have some and went in the house and came back with a
bottle of 50+ sunscreen. I went to grab it from him but he pulled it back
out of my reach.

"As your employer," he said, "I'm responsible for your health and
well-being." He said it sorta joking, but he did put the sunscreen on
me.

He started by carefully putting it on my face, using one finger under my
eyes, on my nose, around my mouth. I couldn't help laughing -- dunno why
-- and I ended up with his finger in my mouth, getting a taste of
sunscreen -- chalky and yuk! "It got in my mouth!" I yelled.

"Might help if you stand still, bud," he laughed, putting it on my
forehead as well.

I remember seeing this one footy show, and they were talking about why
Wesley Pace was the best center-half-forward -- cos he is -- and one of
the guys said it helped that Pace had such big hands! I remember thinking
that was weird, that you could train as hard as you like, but just having
big hands was still real important.

Anyway, sheesh, his hands sure felt big when he started putting it all
over my body. And I'm, like, a bit ticklish -- not real bad, not like
Damien at school who screams like a girl if you even touch him (so we
do), but a bit. Especially when his big hands went up my sides all the
way to my underarms -- the sunscreen stuff felt real slippery and tickly
and I jerked around a fair bit, probably yelled too, making his job a bit
difficult, I guess. But at least he didn't get angry or anything -- he
seemed to find it funny more than anything. He said to make a game out of
it. He put his hands down on my waist, just above my boardies. He said to
see how long I could stay still, not move a muscle, as he put the
sunscreen all over me.

"Okay, no worries -- you're on!" I said, and I squeezed my eyes tight
shut, squeezed my hands into tight fists, kept my arms rigid, straight
down by my sides -- but he said, no, I had to hold my arms out a bit, so
he could rub over my ribcage and that...Geez, the worst part was holding
my arms out, just standing there waiting for him to put his hands on me
-- it was unbearable! Cos he seemed to take his sweet time before doing
it!

It started alright, he just rubbed on my tummy and back, and that felt
more nice than ticklish. But then he started moving across my ribs to my
sides and it started to get bad, but I was squeezing everything real hard
and not moving, I thought I'd be able to win. But then, when his hands
were moving up toward my underarms, he dug his fingers in a bit! I yelped
and nearly jumped in the pool!

"That's cheating, Wes!" I yelled, turning to look at him.

"What rule book are you playing from, bud?"

 "But...you deliberately tickled -- that's not putting sunscreen on!"

We were only mucking around, but he did nod at that. "No, that's a fair
call -- guilty as charged, your honor." Then he said, "Okay, we better
get back to work."

I had sorta hoped to try the sunscreen game a couple more times, see if I
could win no matter what he did, but we had to do real work -- no one's
gonna pay a 12yo boy to play tickle games all day.

But we got all the rubbish out of the swimming pool -- I thought maybe we
could fill it up, but it has to get repairs or something. After that I
got to use the ride-on lawn mower -- that was cool, although I couldn't
go very fast, the grass was real thick and overgrown. After that there
was big stack of old broken tiles against the side fence. Had to take
them in a wheelbarrow over to the big bin. First time I filled up the
wheelbarrow and it was way too heavy to even move, had to take half of
'em back out.

I was taking the second load over when something went CRASH into the
wheelbarrow -- a footy! Wes was over near the back door, he'd kicked the
ball over at me.

After I ran and grabbed it, I yelled, "Did you aim for the wheelbarrow?"

"'Course, buddy! Who do you think you're talking to here?"

"Ha! Cool." I lined it up to kick it to him -- but the stupid thing went
off the side of my boot. I think I shouted out F--- it! Cos he laughed
and yelled out, "Oi! Watch the language! You don't want to let Nan catch
you swearing like that!"

"Yeah, sorry -- it went totally off the side."

Wes fetched the ball, over near the pool, then turned to kick it to me.
Man, it hardly even looks like he kicks, just sorta glides off his foot
and then comes straight at me like a bullet. But I did have to go to my
left a bit and marked it solid on my chest in one grab. That was cool, he
said that wasn't bad. It was great -- we had real good kick to kick. He
was showing me a slightly different way to drop the ball onto my boot,
and stuff like that. Man, I am SO going to play footy this year, no
matter what Brian says.

At one stage, Wes said, "You've got the hand-eye basics, Henry, no doubt
about it. You start putting in and you could get somewhere. If you want
to."

"Yep. I do. Reckon I have to get taller, though."

"Shit, you're right, I hadn't noticed -- you're a midget."

"I mean compared to the boys my age -- I'm shorter, but Mum reckons that
might change when I start spurting."

"You, ah, well, ah..."

Don't know what he was going to say cos he cracked up laughing -- I mean
he's tall as, way over six foot, so I s'pose short boys seem funny to
him.

"I'm not that short!" I said, shoving him, his laughing was making me
laugh. Next to him I guess I did look pretty short.

When he finally stops he says, "Anyway, you don't have to be tall to be a
good footy player -- it's not basketball. And the way you handle the ball
on the ground -- we might get you in the pivot."

"I wanna play center half forward," I said.

"Well, yeah, that's where the true champs play, that's for sure. Do you
know how tall your dad was -- is?"

"No, dunno."

"What, you've never even seen a picture?"

"Don't think Mum has any. How tall were you at my age?"

He thought about it and then smacked the ball in his hands. "I know what
to do. Come with me."

We went in through the living room area -- Mrs. Fitzclarence was still
sitting by fire, a book on her lap, but I think she was asleep.

Down a passage, must have been at the back of the house, I think, or the
far side -- it was a bit of a confusing place -- anyway, we went into
this big old room that was almost empty except for some gym stuff. A
couple of benches and heaps of weights and barbells and stuff. It all
looked pretty old and dusty.

Wes led me over to a door down the back which led into a bathroom area.
But Wes stopped and pointed at the door jamb.

He said, "Cool, you can still read it. See, I used to measure my height
here, every three months."

There was a bunch of horizontal lines representing Wes's height and what
age he was.

"So you were born in April, weren't you -- what day was it?" he asked.

"How did you know that?" I asked.

"It was one of the first things you said when I opened the door -- April
twenty-fourth, wasn't it?"

"Yes! That's right -- that's my birthday!"

"Okay," he said, as he searched on the door jamb, "so twelve and nine
months would be closest." He found one and marked it out with his
thumbnail. "This is it -- that's how tall I was at your age. Now, stand
here."

I got under his thumb and he told me to stand straight and still -- then
just as he's going to make my mark, cos we're just in our boardies, he
sorta grabs and twists me on the nipple -- bloody frig! -- talk about
jump!

"Not so much yellin', buddy -- you'll wake Nan up, then you'll be for
it."

"Maybe you would, too!" I said, and reached up to grab HIS nipple, see if
he liked it, and I did, and twisted it like he did, but he didn't really
get ticklish, maybe cos he's older. Actually, I felt a bit funny, doing
that, sorta like I shouldn't or something, but he didn't seem to mind,
only said that I'd have to do better than that.

Anyway, I made him promise not to do it again, and got back in place
wondering if he would do it again. But he didn't and I got straight
against the door jamb and he made a mark at the top of my head. Of
course, he was taller than me, but not by a whole lot, maybe one-and-half
or two inches.

Wes said, "So, I was three inches taller, that's not so --"

"That's not three inches!"

"Yeah, you're right, it's closer to four -- I was trying to be nice."

"Ha! Bullcrap! Where's -- have you got a ruler?"

In his wallet he had this card which had ruler measurements on one side.
He put it to measure the two height marks. It was actually over two and
half inches...to be totally honest, not far off three inches.

"Well, I knew it wasn't four inches, anyway!" I said.

As he put the card away, he winked at me. "Can't blame a bloke for trying
to pump it up a bit. You know what they say about why girls are so bad at
maths."

"No -- why?"

"Cos blokes are always lying to 'em about how long six inches is."

"Ha ha." I think I got it, although I reckon he might have told it wrong.
"So how tall are you?"

"Six, four."

"So does that mean I'll be six, one?"

"I wouldn't think it's that simple, but I don't know to be honest. Six,
one would be alright."

"Not for center half forward."

"There's more to it than height, bud. You need the upper body strength,
too. And I reckon you're going alright in that area."

"Really?" Cos, I mean, how puny did I look beside him!

"You've got a good natural shape. Shoulders, chest -- a good solid
foundation -- reckon you'll fill out quick over the next few years -- if
you want to work at."

"I do!"

He'd put a hand on my shoulder, sorta turned me to look at my chest and
shoulders, which was, well, cool in a funny sort of way, sort of like
butterflies in my stomach or something -- I know that probably sounds
weird, but you gotta remember, this was Wesley Pace. That still freaked
me out a bit. So I did try to, you know, puff up my chest a bit, but not
too obvious, ha ha. I know, compared to Tom, I've got a bit more muscles
-- not big or anything -- you can't really see 'em very well unless I
flex 'em and make 'em stand out -- but Tom's pretty skinny and reckons
he'd like to build up.

Wes took his hand off my shoulder to indicate the whole room. "I was
about your age when I first started gym training -- right here. Nan
helped me set it up."

"This was your gym? Cool. What stuff did you do?"

"You haven't done any gym training at all?"

"No. School doesn't have a gym. We throw these stupid medicine balls
around sometimes, and do push-ups and sit-ups, like, twice a year. But
that's it. Over near the arboretum, there's a bar thing -- at recess we
sometimes do competitions, see who can do the most chin-ups -- man,
they're hard!"

"How far away do you live?"

"Oh, real close, just, like, a couple of minutes on the bike. Twenty-four
Raglan Street, that's where I live with Mum and Brian."

He laughed. "A bit more than a couple of minutes, maybe."

I shrugged. "I ride pretty fast. But, so why -- why'd you want to know?"

"I'm going to be here all the time for the next few of months -- at least
until the season starts, so I thought we could organize a training
program for you, right here, if you were interested. I can fix the place
up a bit -- might even do some training here  myself -- make a nice
change from living at the damn clubrooms."

It was pretty unbelievable. In fact, all I kept saying was, "Are you
serious? Is this a joke? I'd LOVE it!"

"Alright, cool. It should work out well, I might get you to run a few
errands for Nan, pick stuff up on your way here or whatever."

"Sure, yeah, I'd love to -- I really like Mrs. Cods -- Fitzclarence!"

"What did you call her?" he asked with a look.

"Mrs. Fitzclarence -- isn't that her name?"

"Yeah, right," he said, swiping his hand at the top of my head, but
barely touching. "Don't mess with Nan, that's my only advice to you on
that one, slugger."

"Ha, sure, right. She seems nice."

"Nan's a great old gal, but I wouldn't call her nice."

So we wandered back down the other end of the room, where most of the
benches and weights were. It was a bit weird, cos the end we were walking
toward, the whole wall was one big mirror, so we watched me and Wes
walking up there, just in our boardies. Pretty silly to say I have any
sort of good body beside him -- although he did say it. But I did look a
bit of a shrimp!

"How old are you, Wes?" I asked him.

"Twenty-four."

So, like, double my age. Twelve years...in twelve years, could I get big
and built up with muscles like Wes? Seemed a bit hard to believe,
actually. But then, also, twelve years ago I was a little speck of
nothing, so which is better?

"Okay, let's check you out," he said. "Drop and give me ten push-ups."

I did -- and did 'em easy, although maybe not fully the right way. I felt
Wes's foot on my butt at one stage, telling me to keep the right form.

When I stood back up, he said, "Good," then got behind me, both of us
facing the mirror.  "Nothing like a few push-ups to pump up a guy's
pecs," he said, one of his big hands sorta running across my chest. "See?
Nice bit of shape starting up here, bud." He was sorta lightly touching
my pecs -- and he was right, about the push-ups, the color of my skin was
a little bit pink and my pecs looked maybe a bit bigger -- not a lot, but
Wes traced the outline of 'em and told me to flex 'em, show 'em off and I
did, laughing a bit, but I made 'em stand out and Wes said, Yeah, sweet,
and he was, like, touching, and also his thumb kept going right across
my nipples -- not like before, but, shit, it was totally tickly, so I was
sorta leaning back on him, trying not to twist around too much, cos, to
be honest, I didn't want to make him stop like with sunscreen, and it was
like leaning back on a brick wall, only I could feel his warm soft skin
on my shoulders and back as well...and maybe cos of...I'm not sure,
but...but the actual truth is, right about then, I started getting a
boner. Well, a totally full-on boner, to be honest.

I watched in the mirror, and pushed it sideways -- when Wes wasn't
looking -- so you couldn't notice it too bad in my boardies. I don't
think Wes noticed, cos he kept touching me with his hands. Checked out
all my muscles -- I bulged my biceps up and he was gentle to feel all the
shape of 'em -- he called 'em my "guns" -- but he said the shape of my
shoulders was my best bit...which I think is good.

But, sheesh, cos of his hands...I mean, he touches real nice, sort
sliding all over, sometimes down over my tummy -- and his fingers would
go a bit under the waistband of my boardies -- and I sort of bent forward
a bit -- to try and make the boner go away -- I kept looking in the
mirror -- was it obvious? It felt SO obvious, but maybe not -- could he
see it? Bending over hopefully helped a bit, except he kept gently
standing me back up straight.

"It's almost like I can feel your six pack waiting to make itself known,"
he said, still feeling my tummy. "Tense your gut muscles."

Well, heck, I was already pretty damn tense! But I did specifically what
he said, with my tummy, and he kept gently feeling and said, yep, a bit
of work and I'd get a sex-pack no worries -- SIX-pack, I mean! I liked
it, his hands felt real nice, but I COULDN'T stop the boner and I was
real worried he'd see it and then what? The whole gym thing might get
ruined. He'd probably think...

And then he just put his hands under my arms and picks me up to stand on
one of the weights benches nearby. Wow, ha!, it was like he was picking
up a knapsack or something. Wesley Pace is seriously strong, you must've
seen him. Center half forwards have to be the strongest, more than full
forwards or rucks or anything.

Standing on the bench, I was about the same height as Wes. I said, "You
do your muscles, Wes." And he put his arms out and bulged his biceps up
-- man, how big? -- I felt 'em, he didn't mind, hard as rock, no
exaggeration -- I tried to dig my fingers in a bit, but couldn't,
seriously, not one bit.

And his pecs. He put his arms down and curved them to make his pecs stand
out -- just as rock hard! And bigger than you'd think, just looking at
him outside when he's walking around without his T-shirt on. Like massive
big curved plates, but also sorta smooth and soft to touch -- and Wes has
some hair on his chest, a light amount all across his chest and it felt
ticklish and nice, just to run my hand across it. I think I sorta vagued
out a bit or something, and the hair on his chest, it goes down in a
line, right down over his tummy into his boardies, and I sorta just kept
running my hand across it -- across the hard muscles, the skin soft and
warm, the hairs all ticklish --  it's almost like I forgot Wes was even
there, if that makes any sense, and the hair down under his belly-button,
I followed it down and started pushing my hand in under the waistband of
his shorts! Wes had kept one hand on my hip, and now he put the other on
my other hip and sorta cleared his throat -- and I suddenly jumped,
snatched my hand away, and looked up at him and said, "Oh, shit, sorry, I
was just..."

He narrowed his eyes a bit with this funny sort of smile and he said.
"You kidding me, buddy? I'm only sorry you stopped."

"Oh, ha ha, yeah, just, you know..." I know I was going beet red again.
Sorry I stopped...? Was he joking around? Probably. Stopped what,
exactly?

Then he said, "Okay, let's do legs." And he started undoing my boardies
-- which was total panic stations! You think my boner had gone down yet?
NO! Not one bit! I grabbed at my shorts, trying to stop them going down,
and he said,

"I hope you're not one of them boys who only works out on his upper body
-- leaves his legs skinny little sticks."

"I haven't worked out on anything, yet," I said, holding the loosened
shorts in place.

"Ha! Okay, I'll pay that one. But, come on, get 'em off. If we're going
to be gym buddies, can't have any of this shy nonsense."

So I let go. I had to, when he said that. I thought, oh well, my boner
was just going to stick out and he'd see it easy and then I'd just go
home or whatever, who cares, totally ruined everything, just go back to
Sunday School until I was, like, a hundred.

As soon as my shorts fell down around my ankles, he goes, "Are you
kidding me, Henry -- you were going to hide this away?" And you can
believe this or not, but it's true, he touched my boner through my
undies. It was sticking off to one side, and he used his fingers to sorta
trace along it. He said to me, "Four inches?"

"Huh?"

Then he took my undies down. I mean, I was literally standing in the
middle of the room, up on the bench, totally in the raw! With a boner!
With Wesley Pace! Every time I opened my eyes, I could see it all in the
mirror! I was so...I dunno what, really, but it was so rude to be doing
that, which meant it was SO embarrassing but very exciting too because,
well, look at my boner! Could it stick out any harder! And I knew -- cos,
like, Wes is right there, taking my pants off, and he's looking right at
me, and I knew Wes liked doing this, liked looking at my dick and
everything -- I could just tell -- which was too freaky to believe, and
only made everything ruder! When he was carefully helping me step right
out of my shorts and undies, I couldn't help secretly wondering -- would
he touch my dick again?

He did! Straight away! But, holy crap, his fingers on my dick, just
lightly holding and playing with it a bit -- I got a bit weird and
shivery, it felt too strong, I bent over, grabbing at his hand and he let
go and said,

"Sorry, bud -- did that hurt? Does your foreskin slide back alright?"

My foreskin? Sure, it slid back alright. But, so what -- was he wanting
to wash my dick or something? How? There was no soap or water here. I
looked down at my dick while still holding the wrist of Wes's hand. "It
just got too strong," I told him.

"Too strong?" After a pause, he suddenly said, "Hey, have you jerked off
before?"

"Ah, you mean getting boners and stuff?"

"But do you rub your boner up and down, till the feeling is suddenly
REALLY strong -- an orgasm. Do you do that?"

"Not...I don't think so," I said.

"Damn," he muttered, laughing. "I just assumed. Shit, Henry, your overall
body development -- I thought for sure you'd be a practiced salami
slapper by now, so --"

"A what?"

"We'll get to that. But I guess you don't have pubic hair yet, and that's
--"

"I do so! I've got hair down there!" I only recently discovered them so I
was a bit narky he was trying to say they weren't there!

"Er, don't mean to split hairs on such a grave matter, but...where?"

"Here!" I pushed my dick forward so he could see. Sometimes it's like --
it can be tricky to see 'em if the light isn't right. "See? There," I
said, pointing to the hairs just above my dick. They're pretty small and
soft and light colored, and the skin's very white so it's hard to see
much. "Feel 'em," I said. And he did, rubbing his fingers over the area.

"We might have to bring in the Hubble Telescope, bud -- get a second
opinion."

Then he started feeling my dick again, and straight away it got too
strong and I bent forward a bit and squeezed my eyes shut but Wes said,
"Watch what I'm doing, buddy. We're just having a wank -- believe me,
there's no downside -- it'll hurt me more than it'll hurt you."

I did look. Like what he said before, the foreskin went right back, then
forward, he was pulling it like that between his two fingers and thumb --
his hand looked so big playing with my dick, but, oh geez, he did it so
soft and gentle and tickly and then doing it quicker, and a bit harder,
rubbing it all the way up and down -- I got a bad butterfly thing in my
chest and tummy and I was gonna say, no, better stop, Wes, it's too
strong, but he had his arm around my waist pulling me close into his side
so I had to stand there and take all the shivering he made me feel -- I
just squeezed my knees together a bit, and my eyes, couldn't help it --
cos all of a sudden it got REAL bad, sorta totally intensely focussed in
the knob of my dick, which I could see flashing in and out of the rubbing
foreskin, all shiny pink and like it was swelled up too much and
something might hurt or bust and then it just went fully ballistic --
couldn't even stand and Wes held me up, sorta, cos I think I was grabbing
to hold onto his shoulders -- but later I saw I scratched him, but he
never said anything. But, seriously, don't even ask about what happened.
Could I have blacked out a bit? I asked Wes later and he laughed and
said, well, yeah, it can be like that. That was the orgasm that happened,
when it went ballistic. It's totally what every boy does when they wank
off. It was my first wank -- and I had it with Wesley Pace! How cool is
that! But, don't reckon I'll do too many more -- it's a bit much, really
-- I mean, what would happen if it got MORE intense? Maybe I'll do it now
and again, if Wes wants to or something.

Anyway, when I could stand up on the bench again -- it wasn't too long, I
didn't go properly unconscious or anything, I don't think -- Wes was
still holding my dick, but not rubbing it. He put his thumb right on the
tip, and when he pulled it away, there was a little string stretching
across -- sort of like a string of spit; it was clear, but it broke
pretty quick.

"See that, bud?" he asked.

"What is it?"

"Just a teaser for the main attraction. Spurts out when you have an
orgasm. You'll gradually spurt more and more and then it'll turn white
which means you'll be able to make babies if you have sex with a girl."
He was watching me as he said that, then asked, "So, do you know about
this stuff?"

"Oh, yeah, a bit -- making babies, sure. A boy puts it in the girl's
thing... Not the spurting stuff, though...that's all true?"

"I wouldn't bullshit you about that, buddy. About anything else, I
probably would, but not about that. Don't much like the ignorance most
people want kids to live in. It's getting better, but not so much in
towns like this."

"How did you learn everything?"

He grinned. "You have a nan like mine, you're not going to escape the
facts of life, no matter how much you might want to. She writes books
about the history of sex."

"Ha! Weird. How could you even write that?"

"With a sharp eye and a very steady pen, is my guess."

Whatever that meant.

Then he put his hands on my shoulders and said, "So, as your wank
instructor, I reckon I'd be falling down on the job if I didn't complete
the session -- what do you reckon?"

"How do you mean?" I was almost a bit worried -- surely there couldn't be
anything more he could do to me, like with sex stuff?

"I mean, bud, I pretty badly need to do what you did."

"Ha!" How hilarious was that! I mean, him a full grown-up man and all
that. "Do you wank?" I asked. I thought from what he was saying that it
was something little kids did.

"Of course! Not as much as I'd like -- I have a girlfriend who has a
controlling stockholder interest -- but with a buddy like you,
absolutely! As often as possible."

And as he was moving his hands to his shorts, I looked down and yelped --
"You've got a boner!" I cracked up laughing -- don't know why, but it
seemed very funny.

He held my chin with one of his big hands and said, "Bud, I've had that
boner pretty much from the time you got here."

"Really?" Would he mean that? It's not always easy to know when he's
joking around. But, I have to say, I was real curious to see his dick. He
was about to pull his pants down, but said, wait a minute, and walked off
to the bathroom. So maybe he didn't want to show it? I stood on the
bench, looking at my totally nude body. You know, I still had a full on
boner, but I wasn't so embarrassed by it now -- I thought about hopping
down from the bench and putting my pants back on, but I didn't. I thought
maybe if I got dressed, then Wes for sure wouldn't show his. And I wanted
to see it -- I wanted us to have boners together, how cool would that be?
And I just sorta liked all this rude stuff -- Wes made it pretty cool --
and I didn't want it to end yet.

He came back soon enough, carrying some tube of something. He got back in
front of me, and laughed and said, "Shit, bud. I'm going to have my work
cut out -- that boner of yours ever go down?"

"What about yours?" It was hilarious to see it sticking in his shorts.

"Ha! Damn right. And I'm starting to feel way overdressed for the
occasion."

"Are you gonna take everything off?" Because it still seemed impossible
Wesley Pace would strip off right here in front of me.

But about half a second later he did -- got totally in the raw -- and
FRIGGIN' HELL -- it was HUGE! His dick, I mean. I even said, "Wow, it's
HUGE!"

"Ha! Thanks, buddy. Forget about being working for me as a laborer, I
want you as my publicist."

He told me that it wasn't really huge, compared to other men -- that he
was a bit above the average size, but not a lot. Wow. I wouldn't have
imagined anyone's dick would get so big. He reckoned mine could easily
get as big within about five or six years -- imagine that -- look out
below, ha!

So we both sat on the bench, straddling it with a leg either side and
facing each other. Man, it was freaky -- we both sat there totally in the
raw with boners, knees touching.

I think Wes didn't mind, but...I vagued out a bit. I couldn't stop
staring at his dick. Well, it was right there in front of me. Not just
bigger but it looked different to mine. It looked sorta powerful and, I
probably imagined it, but it was like I could feel some heat on my
cheeks, coming off of his dick. It wasn't like I was blushing, but my
cheeks felt warm like they did when I was in front of the open fire at
Auntie Pat's. Nice and warm and fuzzy... And it was probably a bit rude,
cos I didn't ask, but I just reached forward with one hand to feel it.
And it was hard and warm to touch, with soft skin that moved. And the big
swelled up head that was so different to mine, a different sort of dark
red and smooth and dry to touch. I could run my fingers and the palm of
my hand over it and it was warm and smooth. I think -- ha, well, I was
feeling it with both hands, I think, when Wes moved a bit on the bench,
and I suddenly jumped and realized I'd been grabbing his dick all over.
"Oh! Sorry! So, is it okay to...?"

"Yeah, bud, reckon I'll put up with it."

Then he got that tube and squeezed out a whole lot of clear gooey sort of
stuff -- right on his dick. I asked him what it was and he explained he
grew up without a foreskin -- or, no, he got it cut off -- ouch! So
anyway he uses this slippery stuff to wank. He told me to rub it all over
and it did feel real slippery and he showed me how to wank him properly
-- which was pretty cool. To do it properly -- I'm telling you, he wanted
me to do it really hard -- man, his dick was so hard and thick and big
and it was a real hot friction rubbing up and down with the slippery
stuff on it. I think I did it better when I knelt up on the bench, just
one foot on the floor, so I could really grab it with both hands and do
it hard like he liked.

"Fuck, buddy, that's fucking it..." he said, and he was leaning back, his
hands behind him, and he was making his six-pack stand out and for a
moment I worried it was getting bad or painful or something, cos he
frowned like it was hurting so I let go a bit and he said, "Jesus, bud,
don't stop -- keep going -- harder than ever, okay..." He seemed to
really mean it, so I leaned back in and did it hard again and he lifted
up off the bench a bit -- man, he had big balls -- and he seemed to
strain all his legs and stomach, all his muscles showing, and his dick in
my hands -- it seemed to jump forward and bulge a bit and, shit, you
wouldn't believe the big blob of white stuff that spurted out! I think I
shouted something -- can't remember what, just holy crap or bloody hell
or something. But plenty more of his stuff came out. I sort of forgot
what I was doing, holding his dick but almost letting go, and he put his
hand on mine and we kept pulling up and down a bit as all his white stuff
came out, all over his chest and stomach.

"Was that alright, Wes?" I asked him. "Are you okay?" Cos he'd lied down,
right back on the bench, one arm over his eyes, showing the hair in his
armpit, his big muscly chest and shoulders.

But pretty quickly he sat back up like doing a sit-up, "Hup!", a big
smile on his face, which was good. He said, "That, buddy, was fucken
spectacular. Come here." He got me sitting back on the bench, opposite
him and close, and he leaned forward, his arms sorta around me and he, ha
ha, kissed my nose. Then my forehead. Then kissed my nose again and then
kissed on my lips. I haven't ever kissed on the lips before -- well, we
played a kissing game round at Emma's not long ago, but they weren't
really like real kisses, everyone being pretty funny and freaky about it.
I was amazed how sorta soft Wes's lips were, kissing on mine. We didn't
do it long, but it was pretty nice. He smelled -- no, tasted -- or both
maybe, not sure, but it was definitely Wes and it was pretty nice.

The he sat back a bit, hands still on my shoulders, and looked down my
front. "Boner still humming along at full throttle, bud?"

Ha! I wasn't real embarrassed about my boner now -- a bit, but, actually,
I kinda liked Wes looking at it. But I WAS wondering... "Why doesn't it
go down?"

"Well, I'm not a qualified doctor or anything, but it could be you need a
wank."

"Ha! Yeah, right, like before -- we already done that!"

"As your coach, I'll be expecting you to wank at least three or four
times a day."

"Every day?! That's just joking, right?"

"I'm dead serious. Three or four while you're still getting the hang of
it, and then you really should up it to five or six."

"Everyday - ha! And, so, I do 'em all with you?"

"Wow, wouldn't that be cool. But, together, reckon we'd be looking at
double figures."

He was scooping some of his white stuff -- semen, it is -- off his tummy
and then he moved it straight towards my boner. I was a bit surprised,
but, sorta by accident moved my dick up toward his hand, and he touched
it, held it, started rubbing his semen over it. Damn, when Wes touched my
dick...and now with his slippery semen...

"One thing Nan taught me," he said. "In the old days, plenty of tribes
used to believe a boy becomes a bigger, stronger man if he rubs a man's
semen on him. And, you know, footy's a very tribal sort of game."

"Is it true? Does it?" I asked, watching Wes getting more of his white
stuff -- my legs were spread apart, sitting on bench, and he sorta wiped
all around, on my ball bag and across where my small pubic hairs are...
it seemed totally true. Watching and feeling Wes wiping his semen on me
made it seem totally obvious, as though I already knew it was true before
he told me. I lifted my butt up off the bench, made my legs wide apart,
so he could rub it real easy all over my dick and everything. And, crap,
it was getting real tingly again. All slippery with his semen and then he
started doing it again, with his two fingers and thumb, rubbing right on
my dick, right where it gets so strong, when the foreskin goes up and
down, and slippery now -- crap, crap -- I shoved my dick up toward him,
trying to make it bigger and stiffer and shove it right up hard while he
rubbed it faster -- till it got too strong and I moved my butt back,
leaning forward with a stupid sort of groan, saying it was too strong.

And Wes took his fingers off me before I had another one of them argasms.
Which was good, but...I looked at him, not sure, almost a bit angry. So,
like, what now?

He stood up and got right off the bench -- reached his hand out for me to
do the same. So I did. Man, did I have one super hard full on stiffy
sticking out! I looked at it in the mirror, at my face which was a bit
red, and Wes, whose dick was curving down a bit now -- still a damn big
dick hanging down -- way bigger than mine -- but no longer fully boned
up.

"Okay, bud, as your gym coach, reckon we need a little handball type
drill."

"Huh? Really?" He wanted to play footy now? Well, sure, that'd probably
make my boner go away, but, to be honest, I think I was a bit
disappointed. I shouldn't have got all scared and bent over my boner on
the bench, dammit.

"Come over here." We went right up to the mirror. I noticed that Wes's
semen had started to go dry on my skin in a few patches, on my thighs and
above my dick. Touching it, it looked like it must be absorbing into my
skin -- at least I hoped so. That's probably the way it makes boys bigger
and stronger.

Wes got the tube again, and squirted a whole heap of goo into the palm of
one hand. Even watching it started the tingling again, cos I couldn't
help thinking, is he going to rub it on me? On my dick?

"Okay, so this exercise is to help you start taking control of your fuck
heat."

"My what?"

"Fuck heat. We've done two wanks today -- well, one and a half -- and
both times you get all worried your sexual excitement is going to hurt
you in some way. Gotta get past that, bud."

"By doing more wanking?"

"Well, yeah, I'll grant you that's a perfectly good game plan. But I got
a more fancy idea. Now, stand here, and lean forward with your hands up
here..."

He got me so I was facing the mirror, and standing sorta like I was about
to be frisked by the police -- or frisked by Wes, more like it!  But I
was standing far enough back so I leant forward on my toes and supported
my weight with my hands on the mirror at about head-height. I didn't say
anything, but what the hell was I doing this for? Totally weird. I was
watching  myself in the mirror, and Wes beside me, still wondering if he
was going to touch my dick.

"Right, let's go," he said, standing close beside me and moving a hand
under me, right near my dick. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for his
tingly touch, but nothing happened. "Okay, bud," he said. "Now fuck it."

"Huh?"

I opened my eyes. He had made his big hand into a big fist, with the
thumb-end just in front of the end of my dick.

"My fist," he said, "is going to stay right there, not move at all, and I
want you to fuck it, show me your moves, show me what you've got."

"But that's..." I couldn't help laughing. Did he mean it?

"It's a perfectly good training drill, buddy. You improve your handball
and kicking with similar drills. Fucking's a pretty important skill for a
boy to master as well."

"So then I can fuck girls and everything?" I think I was trying to shock
him a bit.

"Absolutely. 'Fuck girls and everything' -- bud, that's beautifully put.
A boys' own credo." Totally weird, but he seemed serious, and he said,
"So, the rules. You can use one hand to get your cock into this nice
tight fuckable fist, but after you're in, two hands on the mirror, and
fuck like a man, okay?"

Now I was feeling tingly all down my front. Standing there all stretched
out, totally in the raw with a full-on stiffy, Wes right beside me so I
could feel his heat sorta or his smell, with his big fist right there
with all the slippery goo on it. And he was serious so I wanted to try
it, anyway, and I kept leaning on the mirror with one hand while with the
other I carefully held my dick just with a finger and thumb and tilted it
so it was touching on the start of his fist, where the goo was.

"Shift your feet a bit wider apart, bud," he said. "About the width of
your shoulders."

I did that, although leaning on the mirror with one hand meant I almost
stumbled a bit, but I got my dick lined up so it was pushing into the
start of his fist, right where his first finger curled round, then put
both hands up on the mirror and pushed my hips forward to push my dick
in.

"Uh, um, Wes, your fist's too tight to fit," I said, cos he'd made it so
I couldn't get it in.

"You gotta give it a decent fuck, buddy, bust it open. Feels at the
moment like you're trying to do a finger painting or something."

"Ha!" I brought one hand back down and tried to squash it in a bit, but
it wasn't working.

Then suddenly he put his other hand right on my butt -- Oh! -- his big
hand flat on it, sliding around, and even squeezed a butt cheek -- "Ah,
shit, Wes!" And I jumped a bit and my dick slipped off to the side of his
fist.

He said, "You gotta access your fuck energy in these tight little hips of
yours, bud. You're fit, you got it, you just got to let it rip."

"Yeah, well, you squeezed my butt!" I told him -- although I guess he
knew that -- and I used one hand to put my dick back at the start of his
fist, then moved both hands up and got ready again.

I sorta got used to his hand moving around on my butt, but when he
squeezed it, and then, like, his fingers went down in my crack a bit --
I'm not joking, he really did, and almost sorta, well, you know, touching
everything there, which was, wow, I thought, he can't touch there -- I
got a bit more on tip-toes and almost sort of like a panic feeling, so I
did it real hard, squeezed my butt cheeks together and shoved my dick
forward real hard -- and it went tight sliding right into his fist! All
the way in! Looking in the mirror, you could only see Wes's fist where my
dick was.

Then he gave my butt a slap and moved his hand off it and said,
"Beautiful. Now go to work, Henry. Show me what a hot fucking stud you
are."

And, shit, it did feel amazing. I started sorta moving my dick, rubbing
it around in is big fingers, with all the slippery goo squelching -- man,
I started getting that strong tingling right in my knob.

He said, "Nice, real sweet, bud. But now try some proper fuck strokes."

"Huh?"

"With your hips. Move your cock right back, till it's almost out, then
slam it in all the way."

"Okay."  I watched in the mirror as I almost pulled my dick right out and
then pushed it all the way in, across all his fingers -- felt real nice
and shivery. "Uh...like that?"

"Yes. Beautiful. But concentrate on using your hips and really slam it in
-- try and bust my fist apart with your hard stud cock."

My hard stud cock...I wanted to do that, I really wanted to do it with a
hard stud cock. So the next one I did, I tensed up more, pulled right
back, and shoved into his fist real hard and felt his fist hit against
me, above my dick and even squashing my ballbag a bit. I felt sorta hot
and almost angry-like and I had to grind my teeth so I could do it again
even harder, try and stick my dick in his fist so hard that maybe I could
fuck his fist apart.

Wes said, "Oh, yeah -- that's it, buddy! Now keep going, over and over,
as hard and fast as you can, wreck the whole fuckin' thing."

I didn't worry about how I was standing and leaning now. I just moved my
hands and shifted my feet so I got in the right position to fuck my dick
in his fist as hard as possible. I reckon I even made his fist bump
around a bit, although Wes is real strong, so not much. But it was so...I
felt sorta hot and dizzy -- I know I was getting real red in the face and
I heard myself making these embarrassing kind of grunting noises -- I
couldn't help it and I didn't care anyway cos the tingly feeling kept
getting stronger which meant I had to try and fuck my dick in harder to
make it...stop? get more tingly? Not sure which but it didn't matter cos
I only cared about fucking my dick in, trying to make it harder and who
cared if it hurt.

I think Wes's other hand was on my back for a bit before I even noticed,
sliding across and down, around my waist, on my hip. He was saying, "Fuck
heat, buddy -- you're lit -- you're the man -- fuck it." Which I think
made me whine a bit, cos it made me want to do more harder fucking, but
it was getting real strong. And when Wes starting feeling my butt again
-- Jesus -- sorta bumpy like, cos I was shoving my dick in and out real
fast, so he shouldn't...the side of his hand, then his fingers again in
my butt-crack a bit, which was way too strong and I think I yelled
something -- I think just shit fuck or something -- cos I could totally
feel it, one of Wes's fingers rubbed and bumped right on my butthole,
almost like poked in a bit -- I know that's totally gross but I couldn't
stop anything and it was almost like I wanted him to do it even dirtier.
But it didn't matter cos all my too-strong fucking went totally ballistic
-- right in the knob of my dick but way more, inside, everywhere. I
almost sorta cried out and was trying to step forward as I shoved my dick
in so hard and didn't pull it back but just kept shoving it in harder.
And I think Wes moved and bunched his fist and the tip of my cock was at
the end of his fist and my eyes were scrunched shut so I didn't see but
Wes reckons as I did a panic cry, cos it was too strong to live, like
stuff was getting ripped apart inside me, like my muscles melted so I
couldn't stand almost -- and Wes reckons I made a little bit of my stuff
squirt out the end of my dick, but I couldn't see and my knob was doing
that swelling throb thing that hurt and it did it a thousand times, kept
doing it and making me flinch and bend over -- too strong, like it could
never stop and I'd just have to melt into a cripple or die or whatever.

So when it did stop -- ten hours later or whatever -- it was all a bit,
well, ha, what the hell was that? We actually sat down on the floor, on
some floor mats, leaning against the mirror, and Wes got me to sort of
lean in against him under his arm, which was real nice. He talked about a
lot of the stuff we just did, and heaps of other sex stuff. Not sure I
even listened to a lot of it, sort of feeling all warm and woozy leaning
on his chest. But I loved that Wes seemed real happy. He said that I
knocked it out of the park, said that only  a boy with serious sporting
talent could fuck like that. He said that he was gonna sign me up for the
Under 14's no matter what anyone said -- Mum, Brian or God himself. Ha!
Hope he's right.

THE END

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