This story contains descriptions of sexual acts involving a man, a teenager and two MINOR boys. Such descriptions are an integral part of the story. While the story may appeal to prurient interests, it is intended to have serious literary value. As a friend once said: "Everyone has the right to fantasy. No one has the right to censor an imagination, or dreams."
With that in mind, know that this story is not true, although it is based on fact and some real events! Further, it is not intended to promote illegal acts against minors, but to demonstrate that men and boys can love each other despite the prevalent attitudes of western society. It is my goal to help readers appreciate that love. The sexual acts described in the story are the result of my imagination. I have not performed these acts, and I do not encourage others to perform them with minors. If the subject of man/boy love offends you, if this material is illegal in your place of residence, or if you are under the legal age for such material, do not read further!
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The story is copyrighted under my pseudonym, Ganymede. A copy has been placed in the Nifty archives for your enjoyment. The story cannot be used to derive monetary gain. The story cannot be placed in archives that require payment for access, or printed and distributed in any form that requires payment either directly or indirectly.
Any similarity to individuals, living or dead, is entirely accidental. Reference is also made in context to movies, characters, and actors that have become part of modern western culture. No other implication about the true sexuality of the people mentioned or their private lives is intended.
Now that the preliminaries are out of the way.....
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Until that first day at McIntyre Beach, I had never thought I would be exhausted from surfing. However, when we finally called it quits for the day, it was all that I could do to carry my surfboard back to the side of the shack. Every muscle in my eleven-year-old body ached like never before. I felt as if all of the energy had been drained out of me, even more so than spending from dawn to dusk mustering sheep at Brindajari. I was sore from head to toe. My skin was ruddy from being exposed to the sun for so long. I collapsed into one of the decaying chairs on the deck. It wobbled under my 80 pounds, clearly on its last legs so to speak. With nothing in mind except how incredibly happy I was, I gazed dreamily out over the still-hot sand at the long lines of Pacific breakers that swept ashore in endless succession.
By that afternoon, with a lot of help from Byron and Bruce, I was well along in learning how to read the waves. Some waves were perfectly formed. Others looked good at the outset, yet they weren’t going to last, or they would break up in a way that made surfing next to impossible. The trick was being able to decide which one was worth catching before it was too late to get on.
After a few minutes, Blaine came out to join me. We hadn’t spoken more than a few words since the incident on the beach. I wanted to talk about it, even if it was only to reassure myself that what I had witnessed had really happened. He moved a chair next to mine and flopped down. He was supposed to be helping Byron prepare dinner. His legs were spread wide, showing off his blue balls to anyone who cared to look.
“I’m bloody buggered,” he announced. “I’m taking a breather for a while.”
“Some of those last waves were beaut,” I said. “It’s a pity we had to stop, Blainey.”
“Yeah, they were good. But I’m still buggered,” Blaine said tiredly. He gave me a nudge. “You did great today, man.”
“Everyone. Bruce’s talking to By about you right now, you know Allie?” Blaine smirked. “He’s saying you’re the bee’s knees on a board.”
“He’s got this idea you’re the next world champ.”
I snorted derisively. “Wacker!” (a crazy but amusing person)
“Snot. Well, maybe I’m wacky, but so are you,” Blaine laughed. “No shit, Allie. He thinks you’re the cat’s whiskers.”
“Yeah, right. Thick as a brick, more likely.”
Blaine stretched and yawned. “Man, I’m sleeping tonight no matter what. Byron can root his fist as far as I’m concerned.”
He yawned again and finished with a sleepy sigh of enjoyment. Then, deliberately, he moved his hand up and down. “He can wank if he has to get off,” he added for extra clarification. He smiled slightly, obviously thinking of something else. “Well,… maybe not…”
I studied him in the brief silence that followed. He was always content with the world. ‘No worries, mate’, that was Blaine McIntyre to a ‘t’, although he had never used the expression more than once or twice in my presence. He was the only boy I knew who went through life without a care. Blaine was lucky in that respect. He was also very good-looking, I decided for the umpteenth time. I was glad he was my best friend.
“So how ‘s it going with Bruce?” he asked suddenly.
“Bruce? You know, my boring brother?” he added contemptuously.
I smiled. Bruce was anything but boring. “Okay.”
“Don’t get pissed at me, okay Allie.” Blaine paused, waiting for an acknowledgement that I would forgive whatever he said next. I shrugged. “I know I said he likes you, but I was wrong.”
I looked at him. I wanted Bruce to like me, and now Blaine was implying something to the effect that his older brother didn’t like me. Indeed, after spending most of the day together, we were quickly become friends at least as much as our ages allowed.
“Actually, I think he has a crush on you.” He ended with a giggle.
“Go bite your bum, Blaine. That’s bull-dust and you know it.”
“Don’t get pissed.”
“I’m not!” I countered. Blaine’s expression was condescending. He hadn’t told me everything. “Okay. What?”
Suddenly, he smirked. “He’s not the only one with a crush,” he said brashly.
It was obvious that he was talking about me. As I thought about it, I feasted my eyes on his body, taking in the smoothness of his glorious evenly tanned skin. A long time ago I had realised that he was beautiful to look at. It was one of the special pleasures of being his best friend. Unlike me, he had already divested his board shorts, however, with his legs close together, I could see nothing of interest. Finally, I looked away, hoping that Blaine wasn’t aware that I had been staring at him. Did he know how I felt about him? Did I know how I felt about him? Did I have a crush on my best friend?
“What’s that supposed to mean, man?” I asked uncertainly.
Blaine rolled his eyes upward. “You’re pretty cluey, Allie. Figure it out for yourself.”
I avoided the issue, since that was the safest course. “You’re batty, Blaine.”
“Am I? You’ve got the hots for someone and we both know it.”
I breathed a silent sigh of relief. He was talking about Bruce. “You dingbat! Stop trying to make me up-chuck.”
I scowled at him, realising that even as I did so, that I should have been laughing it off. There was no surer way of giving credence to it than by being angry. To make matters worse, the fact was that Blaine was making me angry because there was more than a grain of truth behind his statement. Every time, I looked at him, or we talked, there was a trembling trill that ran through me. Just being near him caused me to become nervous that I would say or do something to arouse his contempt. I wasn’t sure when it had happened, sometime during the day, perhaps the night before when we were on the beach together, even sometime before we left Sydney. My ears burned. How could Blaine possibly know what was hidden inside my head?
Blaine laughed. “You know something else? My brother knows you do, too.”
“I do not!” I exclaimed. “I’m not some dumb poof.”
“I didn’t say you were.” Blaine regarded me. He smiled.
“What’s so funny?” I demanded.
“Nothing. It’s not really funny,… well it is in a way,… you’re funny, Allie. I don’t know what you’re so scared about.”
“I’m not scared,” I said moodily.
“Then why do you stutter every time you talk with him, Allie?”
“Don’t!” I almost shouted.
“You do too. B-B-Bruce,…B-B-Brucce.” Blaine teased.
He made Bruce’s name sound silly and very unlike him, yet I had to wonder whether that was how Bruce heard me. Did I really sound like a girl?
“I don’t! Don’t do that, Blaine!”
Blaine giggled. He pretended to kiss, puckering his lips and offering them to an invisible person. I shook my head, denying that what he did had any basis in fact, yet knowing otherwise. Up to that point, I didn’t want to kiss Bruce. Indeed, the thought had never entered my mind, but once Blaine had planted the seed, I feel an incredible surge of excitement at the same time as I felt the crushing weight of truth bear down on me.
“Hey Blainey,” Bruce said as he walked across the deck.
He had already removed his board shorts. I quickly averted my gaze, but by then I had seen what I wanted to see. Part of me was fascinated by the thick hair-covered organ that hung down between his thighs. The rest of me didn’t care one way or the other. I wondered why, finally reasoning that I was becoming used to seeing him naked. Yet, instinctively I appreciated that there could never be the same interest that boy’s bodies held for me, and especially not when Blaine was naked and sitting beside me.
Bruce jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “You’re wanted by the master, Blainey.”
He plunked a bottle of beer onto the table in front of him and dropped down into the chair that Blaine swiftly vacated. Together, we watched Blaine hurry back into the shack. The fly-screen door banged shut after him.
“That was one long fucking day wasn’t it?” Bruce said quietly. “I bet you’re tired as drover’s dog.”
“Yeah.” I kept watching the waves pounding one after the other, wondering where all the water came from, observing how they rolled along the beach to create a diagonal line of white that seemed to point away from the headland.
“Current’s moving back out when they do that,” Bruce observed.
I nodded. “So the w-waves will be b-bigger tomorrow?”
“Most likely. You got some sun today, huh?”
I nodded again. I lifted my head weakly. It was less because I was tired than from what Blaine had said before he departed to help Byron.
“You look really hot,…,” Bruce said unassumingly.
His voice caught me by surprise and I glanced at him, thinking that he was going to tease me. Instead, he held out the stubby (bottle of beer) for me to take. The cap was already removed.
“Yeah, right,” I said dryly. “Not b-bloody likely.”
Bruce grinned. “Who’s to know, Allan?” he said conspiratorially. He made a point of turning around, scanning the hills behind us, the broad ocean before us.
“You’re j-joking right?”
“Nope. You want it or not?”
“I’ve never had b-beer b-before,” I admitted awkwardly.
“So? There’s a first time for everything, mate. Like catching your first ultimate wave or losing your virginity. Hell, even drinking your first Toohey’s,” Bruce teased. “I plan to be there for every one them.”
He laughed and I smiled in turn. I liked his laugh.
“Go on, take it you drongo. It’s not everyday that someone offers you a beer,” he added, holding the bottle out to me again.
It would have been rude to refuse so I took it. It was cold. I thought how angry my grandmother would be if she knew I was holding a bottle of beer, let alone thinking about drinking it. With that foremost in my mind, I did what any Australian boy my age would have done in the same situation. I lifted it to my lips. I took two gulps before I realised that I was actually drinking it. The taste was strong, unlike anything I had ever tasted, and it was bitter. I felt my throat tighten, fighting back an involuntary gag reflex and not realising that I had swallowed it too quickly. Immediately, I wanted to spit it out, anything to get the unpleasant taste of it out of my mouth, but I swallowed again and again until the worst of it was gone
“Yeah, that’s my boy,” Bruce laughed. “You’re a gutsy little fella, aren’t you?”
“It’s g-good,” I croaked. I hated the taste that lingered in my mouth. At least it wasn’t as bad as castor oil, my grandmother’s remedy for any sickness that I happened to get. I sucked against my cheeks, trying my best not to make a wry face.
Bruce reached over and ruffled my hair with his right hand before he took the beer back again. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, mate, including drinking beer. If you want to do it, you do it, and no one cares. That’s the only rule around here.”
“And d-don’t tell,” I added pointedly.
“Yeah, that too. So,… what do you reckon, Bunny?”
“Hm,... How about the meaning of life for starters,” Bruce answered with mocking sincerity.
Bruce laughed. “Forget it. I reckon we both had a great day. How about it, mate? You having a good time yet?”
“I had fun,… and I learned a lot t-too,” I added honestly. I formed the thought and carefully put it into words so I wouldn’t stutter. “Thanks Bruce.”
“You know something, that goes for me too, Bun. You’re a funny kid, you know.”
He hesitated, looking into the bottle before lifting it to his lips. He didn’t bother to wipe the top. He drank slowly, savouring the taste. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
“You did great today, Bun. Man, I was sure that one wave that dumped you was going to iron you out for the rest of the day. But you got right back on your board and went out for another one.”
I smiled uncertainly. There was a sand scrape on my thigh from when I had been pushed under the wave. It still hurt. I hadn’t mentioned it to anyone and no one had noticed it until then
He took a deep breath. “A lot of guys your age would have given up right then. Hell, even I'd be pissed if I came down that hard, but not you. You're one special kid.”
I wondered if he was talking about surfing, or something else.
“We’re mates, right?” Bruce asked after a moment. He held out the bottle again.
“Um, yeah, I g-guess,” I ventured, taking what he offered so freely. I hadn’t expected more than one mouthful. Without thinking, I used my hand to wipe the top of the bottle before I sipped some more of the beer. Already the bottle was half empty.
“You know, Allan, mates can tell each other things. Things they wouldn’t tell another living soul.”
“Stuff,… like, well you know, stuff that no one else has a right to know about.”
“Yeah.” I didn’t understand what he was talking about, but I wasn’t going to admit that to him.
“You’re probably going to think I’m a bit of a droob or something.”
I shook my head. ‘Droob’ could apply to a lot of people, but not to Bruce.
“I,.. um,… see,… the thing is, well,… I like you, Allan.” He smiled uneasily. “You know what I mean, don’t you?” he added, even more nervously.
I shrugged. I handed the bottle back to him.
“See,… well it’s like this,….I think you’re,…” He stopped.
“Fucking hell!” He laughed at himself. “Man! I didn’t think it would be this hard. And By says I should just come out here and tell you how I feel. Like it’s easy or something.”
“T-tell me w-what?”
He sighed. “How I feel.” He sighed again. “Fuck!” He took a deep breath. “Look, Allan, this is really hard to say,… see, I like you, okay?”
“Okay.” I hummed, trying to think through what he was saying. ‘Like’? Like we were mates, or ‘like’ the way that Blaine was talking about earlier in the day?
“I think,…” He stopped and shook his head. “Man! I’m kind of dropping a real clanger here, aren’t I?” He didn’t wait for my answer. “You must think I’m pretty drippy.”
I quickly shook my head.
“I was really proud of you when we were in the butcher’s shop yesterday,” he said out of the blue. “You told him where to put it.” He laughed. “The thing is,… see,… that’s when I really noticed it.”
“Don’t get mad, okay? You didn’t stutter, Bun. You should have been nervous, hell you were nervous, but it came out clear as a bell.”
“You stutter all the time when you’re with me.”
“I-I-I,…” I shook my head, wondering why both Blaine and Bruce were suddenly interested in how I spoke. It didn’t make any sense. “So?”
“I make you nervous, don’t I? Only it's a different kind of nervous.”
I shrugged ambivalently. “K-kind of.”
“That’s what Blainey said inside. Why?”
“Search me,” I said bravely. “C-can we t-talk about s-something else?”
Bruce grinned and shook his head. “Don’t get upset, okay, but I think I know what the problem is.”
I ignored him.
“It’s me, isn’t it?” he asked humbly.
I glanced at him, catching his eyes for a moment before I looked away again. I tried to shake my head and deny it. I tried to say something but it came out as an incoherent mumble. I fumbled with the bottle of beer, rubbing the dark brown glass as I did my best to marshal my thoughts. I wanted another drink and it wasn’t because I was thirsty. Drinking beer was part of growing up. I wanted Bruce to think of me as an equal, not as a child who'd just turned eleven years old.
“You know something? You’re really sexy, Allan,” Bruce said hoarsely.
I shook my head. I didn’t want to hear anything he had to say, especially that. I wasn’t a ‘poofter’. I wanted to get up and run away, run along the beach like we had done the night before. However, I stayed there, barely breathing, feeling my heart pounding, all but trembling with excitement. There was no explanation for any of it. Having him sitting close to me, talking quietly, saying things that he shouldn’t have said, sent a powerful thrill through me.
“You know something else?” he paused.
“Yeah? W-what is it?” I replied moodily.
“You know as well as I do that you’re supposed to be naked when you’re not surfing, mate,” he answered with a smirk.
“So?” I demanded heatedly.
“So take them off,” he said abruptly, gesturing at my board shorts. “That’s the rule, Bun,” he added, softening his tone, yet still saying it as if I’d forgotten the ‘bare bum’ rule rather than deliberately left them on.
I shook my head in frustration, but I still put my beer-bottle on the table and stood up. I would do just about anything that Bruce wanted me to do, and it was very apparent that he wanted me undressed.
“Let me do it,” Bruce asserted.
“I’ll just undo them, okay? You can take them off yourself if you don’t want me to, Allan.”
I don’t know what got into me, but instead of saying ‘no’, I turned to face Bruce. I watched as his hands moved to my waist, as his fingers fumbled to untie the wet knotted cord that kept my board shorts from falling all the way down. He picked at it for several seconds before he managed to extract enough of the cord to get the knot apart. For those few seconds, I was consumed by guilty exhilaration, by a strange sense of anticipating what would happen next. Inside my head, there was no uncertainty. I knew what he would do when the knot was unfastened. My penis began to expand, quickly bulging out into the wet nylon, so much so that it was obvious what was happening to me. Bruce stopped just short of pulling the knot completely apart. By then, the bulge in my shorts was very noticeable because the damp material clung to my body. He glanced up at me and smiled.
“You sure?” he muttered. He licked his lips.
What was he asking me? Was it okay for him to take my shorts off? I nodded imperceptibly. His fingers tugged on the cords slowly, pulling the loops apart, opening the front of my shorts. I stood still, waiting. With surprising calmness, he took off my board shorts and draped them over the railing. We both looked down. Not for the first time that day, I inspected my groin. With my penis pointing up to my belly button, we could see everything. The blue dye that covered my scrotum had faded noticeably, no longer so dark that it was almost black, but closer to the colour of the wave that decorated my surfboard, closer to the waves beyond the channel.
“Man, you’re as stiff as a fucking board,” Bruce observed bluntly.
“So?” I said. I pointed at his crotch. I hadn’t noticed his erection until then.
“Yeah, I know,…” Bruce took a deep breath. He stared right at me. “Well, I said you were sexy, didn’t I? I meant it.”
“You’re w-weird,” I replied uncomfortably.
His hand was disturbingly close to my penis. All he had to do was reach out for a few more inches. I shivered with the thought that he might touch me.
“Yeah, I know. The problem is, see, I can’t fucking help it, mate. You turn me on like you wouldn’t believe.”
I jerked back in shock. Not believing. Not daring to believe. I could not have heard him correctly, yet I was not mistaken. My ears burned.
“Well you do, Allan,” Bruce said flatly. He waited until I settled down slightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, okay.”
Bruce brushed his fingertips against his lips thoughtfully as he continued to gaze down. I thought he wanted to say something but didn’t want to hurt my feelings.
“Nothing. Not really,” Bruce replied quietly. He held my bottle up for me to take a drink. “Here. You’d better guzzle this before it gets hot.”
He stood up. Face to chest, because he towered above me. There was a patch of dark hair right before my eyes. His nipples were huge compared to mine, darker and encircled by hairs that looked like the hair on his groin.
“W-what’s wrong?” I asked again.
I wanted him to like me. Yes, even if it mean liking me the way that Blaine said he did. So what if it meant that he had a crush on me. Maybe I was just jumping to conclusions that way that my mother said I did when I wanted to hear something. The last thing I wanted to do was to upset Bruce now that we were friends.
“Is it s-something I did, Bruce?” I asked guardedly.
“No mate.” Bruce breathed out slowly. “It’s not something you did. You can’t help being you, that’s all.” He sounded miserable.
“What’s that s-supposed to mean?” I muttered, almost to myself.
Bruce winced. “It’s not you, okay. It’s me, if you must know. I know you think we’re friends but it’s more than that, for me any way.”
“Fuck, Allan. Don’t you get it?” He shook his head in despair. “I think I’m in love with you. Damn! I thought,…. Fuck!”
He turned away from me. He walked a few steps until he came to the railing where my board shorts were draped. He stood with his broad brown back to me.
“I d-don’t understand, B-Bruce,” I insisted. Yet, I did understand all that was important for me to know. Bruce was in love with me. “It’s okay,… I d-don’t mind,” I murmured.
“You’re right. You don’t understand,” Bruce said almost inaudibly.” You don’t know how much I want to,… Fuck! I can’t help it, Allan. Maybe I’m a poofter or something.”
“You’re n-not,” I said, categorically rejecting the possibility. “You h-have a g-girlfriend and, and, and everything.”
“Yeah right.” Bruce’s shoulders slumped. “Man! I didn’t want this. You’re such a great kid,… Why did it have to be you who I fell in love with?” he asked sadly.
“I d-don’t know. Maybe,…b-because you’re B-Blaine’s brother and I’m h-his b-best friend,” I answered brightly.
“So it’s all Blaine’s fault?” Bruce laughed weakly.
“No, I d-didn’t mean it like that. I m-mean,…”
“I know what you mean,” Bruce interjected. “I’m sorry, Allan. I’m really sorry.”
“Why are you s-sorry?”
“Because you don’t deserve this shit.” He turned around and leaned back against the railing. “You’re so fucking cute.” He shook his head slowly and sighed. “Man, I can’t believe I’m telling a kid he’s drop dead gorgeous,…but you are,… Even my mum says,…”
“Yeah, I know,” I grimaced. “B-Blainey told m-me.”
“What else did he tell you?”
“H-he said you l-liked me.”
“It’s true. What else?”
“And um,… y-you have a c-crush on m-me,” I added.
“He’s not wrong, Bun,” Bruce admitted feebly. “Only it’s more than a fucking crush. See, I think I love you.” He lifted his eyes from the sun-bleached decking. “No, that’s wrong. I know I love you.”
“So? It’s not your fault you’re too young,…” He pushed his hands through his hair and shook his head, disturbing a shower of fine sand.
“I told you I don’t m-mind,” I said with growing confidence.
Perhaps it was the beer, but I honestly felt as if I wasn’t a child any more. For some reason I couldn’t begin to understand, I found myself liking Bruce even better. He had opened his heart to me, exposing a part of himself that I could have ridiculed.
“What don’t you mind?”
“If you love me,” I replied evenly. “Look, I know we’re b-both guys and all but it doesn’t mean it’s b-bad.”
“Doesn’t it?” Bruce said sarcastically. He smiled slightly. “Allan,… You’re a cool kid, you know. Really cool.”
“You’re so fucking sexy,” Bruce breathed. He gazed at me for a few moments and then he sighed. “Man, I would give anything if I could,… If Julie looked like you,…”
“Julie’s your girlfriend?” I asked, emboldened.
Bruce snorted in derision. “Hardly, mate. She might think she is, but we’ve never done anything. Nothing worth talking about, that’s for sure!”
“Haven’t you kissed her?” I asked boldly.
“Just the once,” Bruce admitted sullenly.
“Didn’t you like it?”
Bruce didn’t answer.
“What’s it like?” I asked curiously.
“Okay, I guess. She wasn’t into it. Neither was I, I suppose. You know something? I even tried to French her, but she wouldn’t let me.”
“What’s French mean?”
Bruce grinned. “Basically, my boy, it’s when you swap spit with someone. You stick your tongue into the other person’s mouth,” he elaborated.
“I've never been kissed like that,” I declared, thinking of the quick pecks on the cheek that I received from my mother and grandmother. “It sounds gross.”
“Well, it was pretty awful with Julie, I must say,” Bruce laughed. “But, trust me mate, it isn’t usually like that.”
“Have you ever done it with someone else?”
“Yep. If you must know, quite a lot actually,” Bruce smirked knowingly. “You want me to show you what it’s like?” he offered playfully.
“Show me?” I asked apprehensively. “But w-we’re guys.”
“Now, don’t go getting nervous on me,” Bruce said reassuringly.
“You haven’t stammered for a while now,” he explained.
I hadn’t realised it, but he was right. I had not stammered since Bruce’s admission. I did appreciate that the last minute or so had been different. It seemed to me that I was more confident. I was also aware that I was energised in the same way that I was whenever I was close to Blaine. For good reason, Blaine and I never kissed each other, yet we had occasionally been on the very edge of doing so.
“You’re curious about it though, aren’t you?” Bruce asked soothingly.
“About what it’s like to be French-kissed,” he clarified. “It’s really nice when it’s done right.”
I licked my lips instinctively. The thrill was almost overpowering. I swallowed hard. “Yeah?” I exhaled.
“You want to try it?”
I should have said ‘no’. “With you?”
“I would, if you wanted to?”
Finally, I managed to shake my head. There was no accounting for the intense excitement I felt, or the fear, for that matter. It was like everything was racing ahead of me, as if my thoughts were out of my control.
“Just one little kiss,” he suggested. “You don’t have to use your tongue if you don’t want to.”
Naively, I fell for it, or at least that was what I tried to tell myself when I began to give in. I was doing it to make Bruce happy. It was nothing more than that. But it was.
“Just one,” I muttered tensely. My entire body seemed to become hot, almost trembling with the thrill of what I was about to do.
“Uh huh. Just one.” Bruce held my gaze and walked closer slowly, only a pace or two, but enough to bring us nearly together. “You sure?”
I wasn’t sure of anything. My heart surged, riding an adrenaline wave. “I guess.”
Bruce’s hand touched my chin, cautiously lifting my head up until our eyes met. He was going to kiss me. I could see it in his eyes. His nostrils flared.
“Don’t tell them,” I whispered.
Bruce nodded, and in doing so brought his face that much closer to mine. I felt the warmth of his breath on my forehead. I stretched up, lifting on the tips of my toes. My heart hammered inside my chest with an urgency that I had known only a few times in my life, when Blaine and I had first touched each other’s penis, when I had taken his penis into my mouth, and now, as I readied myself to kiss Bruce. I felt myself tremble, and then shiver from the momentary shock when our lips converged, joined, pressed up against each other. I barely felt the touch of his hands on my bare back, guiding me, holding me, pulling me closer. I panicked. Still holding my breath, my trembling changing to the shakes, awed by the sensations that flooded through me, unable to do anything except offer myself to the lanky teenager before me. His lips felt soft as they gently moved back and forth against mine. I had never experienced anything like it. I felt as if I was weightless, floating in his secure embrace, as if my entire being was concentrated in my lips. And despite my panic there was the strange familiarity of it all, an awareness that part of me was passing into Bruce, that part of him was flowing into me, and that I wanted to keep doing it. The warm pressure between us increased, and I responded to the irresistible urge to push harder against him. The heat seemed greater in front of me, stretching from my belly to right above my chest, a soft firmness that I melted into.
We didn’t swap any spit during that first kiss. Indeed, it was rather chaste, even tentative for both of us, but it was nonetheless very special. Intuitively, I accepted that it was something that I would never forget. My very first real kiss and it was over in a matter of seconds. We both exhaled with a whoosh when the kiss ended and the awkward seal between our lips was broken. I felt drained. Bruce smiled serenely down at me.
“That wasn’t so bad, now was it mate?” he asked cheerfully.
“Huh?” I was breathless. I could taste the beer he’d been drinking. My lips were itching to try it again, only longer.
“Next time, try breathing through your nose you drongo.”
I managed to laugh. “Who said there’s going to be a next time?” I asked mischievously.
“You liked it,” he stated assertively. He had a way of doing that, a manner not unlike Byron’s that said, ‘do it’ or ‘agree with me’.
I tried to ignore him. To do otherwise would have been to admit something that I wasn’t prepared to accept.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it, Allan. I know you did. Your cock liked it, that’s for sure.”
He nodded between us. My penis was stiff, every bit as stiff as his was. It hadn’t been my imagination. I wondered what had happened to make it become erect. It hadn’t been hard before we kissed. It wasn’t hard to figure out.
“So,… Do you want to do it again?” Bruce asked confidently.
I regarded him guardedly. Despite my soaring happiness, I was scared. Scared because of the way my heart was pounding frantically, because there was always a chance that he was teasing me, or worse, scared because my penis was so hard that it might snap off, and scared because I wasn’t sure that I would survive another kiss. I backed away, thinking of what Blaine would say if he knew that I had just kissed his brother. Everyone would make fun of me even if they didn’t call me a poofter. Yet, even with all that, the desire to repeat the experience was more than I could stand.
“Don’t tell them, promise?” I insisted.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Bruce said. “Besides, even if they see us, they won’t care.”
“Okay, I promise I won’t tell. Now, how about it?”
I thought about it. I really did. I wanted to kiss him again so badly that my heart ached. I wanted him to hold me tight against his powerful body. He had awoken something inside me, the need that everyone has to be close to someone else.
Of course, I knew that my mother and grandmother loved me, they just didn’t show affection, at least not beyond the increasingly infrequent peck on my virtuous cheek. They very seldom hugged me. It wasn’t because they were disdainful of my gender. Indeed, Germaine Greer’s ‘”Female Eunuch” had yet to have much of an impact in the Harding home, not that my mother or grandmother were dominated by a male. They were neither powerless nor ineffective. The lack of affection I experienced was largely because I was a boy who was expected to grow into a station ‘boss’. In 1960s’ Australia it wasn’t that unusual for boys to be raised with strong sexist attitudes. It accounted for the contempt of homosexuals even as boys willingly engaged in sexual exploration with their friends.
Bruce grinned at me. I had the right to say ‘no’, but he wasn’t about to take no for an answer. He reached down beside me to pick up the bottle of beer from the table. He swilled it around. There was only a mouthful or two left. He kept grinning while I wondered what was so amusing.
“Hey Allan, you know, if you want some more of this, you know what you have to do?”
“You have to give me a kiss. Only this time it has to be a real kiss. So mate, how about it? I'll give you a drink of beer for another?” he demanded boldly.
Of course, he was kidding, wasn’t he? Yet even as I struggled to deal with my deep-seated inhibitions about kissing another male, I realised that it really didn’t matter what I did because no one else would know about it. Just Bruce and me, and even if he told Byron and Blaine, that was as far as it would go. Bruce was the first person in my life who was interested in demonstrating how much he loved me. There, on that almost desolate beach, I was swept along by the sheer wonder of it, buoyed by strange sensations and emotions that kept getting stronger and stronger until I gave in and nodded. The expression on Bruce’s face was nothing short of victory. There was a moment or two that I resented his triumph over me. Then, I toyed with the idea that I was going to kiss him for the sole reason of making him happy, but I knew otherwise. I was going to kiss him to make me happy. He put the beer bottle back on the table.
Instinctively, I took the initiative and lifted up onto the tips of my toes again, straining higher so that I would seem taller, more eager than innocent, more like his equal than the anxious child who stood before him. His arms came from behind me, clasping me with his hands under my armpits, swooping me up into the air with the same endless force that launches a surfboard out of a breaking wave. He held me high against the sky, both of his robust arms extended, like a prize being offered to the god whose surf roared behind us. Our eyes met and then I laughed, giving voice to my happiness with a shriek, beaming from the utter joy of being the boy who Bruce McIntyre loved.
I came back to earth in a rush, still laughing, shrieking, and then without warning, he slapped his lips against mine and I felt the air being sucked from my lungs. It would be wrong to say that I swooned. That sort of thing only happens in gothic romances, but my knees weakened until all that held me up was Bruce’s firm grasp. He clutched my body to his, one hand around my back, the other under my bottom, pulling us together so that his penis ground into my chest and belly and mine was forced hard against his muscular thigh. And we kissed. We kissed and kissed, long and hard, and with an urgency that didn’t diminish. For the first time, his tongue pushed past my lips, between my teeth, swabbing out the insides of my cheeks until I became brave enough to reciprocate. Then, our tongues took turns, darting in and out. He waited until my tongue entered his mouth one time too many and then his lips closed around it, sucking on it so much that I worried he might pull it right out of my mouth. A moment later, he released it, only to plunge his tongue back into my mouth. I tried to suck it as hard as he had done to mine. Even though I had remembered to breath through my mouth at least part of the time, I was still breathless when we stopped kissing, but then so was Bruce.
“Oh man,” was all that Bruce could say.
We gazed at each other, still lingering in the bliss of the moment, barely realising what we had done although both of us appreciated that it was far more than just kissing. Bruce’s lips were wet with saliva. My lips felt sore, yet I wanted to do it again and again. I heaved every time I breathed, slowly comprehending that I was gasping, shaking, longing to be held again. And it was all because of the insistent, demanding thrill that surged through me, a thrill that was no different to the way I felt after riding a wave. I felt as if I was really alive. I didn’t know what to say or do so I stood there dumbly, shocked by the clamour of a thousand conflicting thoughts.
Bruce released me reluctantly. Perhaps he thought that I was upset. Absently, he picked up the beer bottle and handed it to me again.
“I figure you earned the rest of it, mate,” he acknowledged.
I grinned at him and accepted my reward. I was beginning to enjoy the taste that had been denied to me for eleven years. It was fruity, not nearly as bitter as I first thought, almost pleasant, and refreshing. I left a mouthful in the bottle and handed it back to him. He polished it off in a single gulp.
“That was some kiss. I didn’t expect you to do that,” he said almost apologetically.
I shrugged ambivalently although my thoughts were anything but ambivalent. ‘Some kiss’? It was more than ‘some kiss’. I swallowed, wondering why I could still taste Bruce more than the beer. I imagined that the kiss had not ended, that I could feel his tongue probing and wrestling with mine, his body straining against mine. I took a step backwards, struggling to clear my head, finding nothing to explain how I felt.
We talked about waves, and boards, and what made surfing so different to other things. We talked about other surfers and the different styles they used, and what made the ultimate wave. We talked about wiping out, and we laughed when the Venturi’s “Wipe Out” played right on cue on the radio. It was one of my favourite instrumentals, right up there with “Pipeline” and “Bombora.” We gorged ourselves on sausages that were cooked on an open fire on the beach. They smelled of wood smoke, split open as if disembowelled, smothered in tomato sauce to hide the ashes, but they still tasted wonderful. We drank more beer, but this time I was given my own bottle. Byron said that there would be only one bottle for both Blaine and me apiece, and that had to last for the night. We shook our heads and argued otherwise, and it became a game among us, even going so far as to mix up the bottles, or steal sips from someone else’s bottle when they weren’t looking. It was all part of the mood, an ambience of easy going freedom and exhilaration that came from a day spent surfing, the ‘let go’ as Byron called it. Again and again, Bruce and I exchanged meaningful glances whenever one of us took a drink. Again and again, I thought about how we had kissed, how his tongue had pushed into my mouth and played with my tongue, and how much I had enjoyed it. I accepted without question that if the opportunity arose, I would do the same thing again.
As the evening turned darker and became night, I found that I could talk to Bruce without feeling as if I wanted to run away and hide. My confidence grew, and with it came a relaxed familiarity. Without a care in the world, I sprawled in the sand, excavating castles and moats and carving out pathways from constantly crumbling precipices. Bruce sat close by in front of the driftwood fire, Buddha like, with his legs crossed. I basked in his presence, attentive to his every word despite my ongoing construction projects. Yet as busy as I might have seemed, from the corner of my eye I watched Blaine sitting in Byron’s lap. I saw how Byron’s arm was always around his shoulders, how Byron’s fingers stroked the hair behind his ear, how they whispered together, and how Blaine burst into giggles without more reason than Byron had said something to him. I envied Blaine. He had everything that I wanted, although it was only that very afternoon that I discovered what I did not have. He had Byron, and not just as his uncle. Their close relationship was something that I had never known existed, yet I understood instinctively that it was important.
Without warning, Bruce stood up and dusted off the sand. He looked unhappy, distressed even. There was nothing to precipitate it, at least nothing that I could point to. We had been glancing at each other again and again, almost making a game of it by trying to catch the other person unawares. He walked away from the fire, all but disappearing into the darkness beyond. He became a shadow moving slowly along the water’s edge.
“What’s up with Bruce?” Byron asked after a while.
I shrugged absently, wondering much the same thing. I couldn’t think of anything that I had said or done to make him upset. All that I had been doing up to that point was playing in the sand and looking at him. Byron’s hand was flat on Blaine’s belly, circling his belly button, coming close to but never touching his private parts. Blaine’s expression was dreamy, his eyes all but closed as he relaxed contentedly in the warmth of the fire. His half erect penis was lying against his thigh.
“See you guys later,” I said, standing up.
I walked for a few paces, moving away from the light and leaving them alone because I was aware that they wanted to be alone, but they weren’t going to ask me to go. I slowed, listening. They were whispering, muted voices exchanging words that they would not have said while I was present. I felt like an interloper, an intruder who had no place being there in the first place. It was a part of Blaine’s life that I didn’t fit into. I heard Blaine gasp and then he giggled and I kept walking. Somehow, I resisted the impulse to turn around and see what was happening behind me. What Blaine did with Byron was none of my business no matter how much I loved him.
I followed Bruce’s footsteps, going closer to the water. He was still some distance away, his legs silhouetted against the foam along the shore, the rest of his body lost in the gloom of night. I began to jog, feeling free and alive as the salt water splashed up my legs. Then running, faster and faster, giving thought only to catching up with Bruce and not thinking about what I would do when I finally reached him. He heard me coming and turned around, his arms opening to catch me. We collided in a rush, a flurry of arms and legs that almost knocked him down, but he regained his balance. His arms locked around me, held me tightly, so tightly. My heart pounded in my chest as I pressed against me. He was warm and strong, and everything that I wanted. I wanted to shout out his name, staking my claim to him. Instead, I whispered it as I heard Bruce’s voice, his lips so close that I felt them brush my ear.
“Allan,… Oh God,… Allan,… I love you so much.”
I strained against him, wanting to be held, not understanding the rush inside me. His hands rubbed over my back and sides, pulling me into him, then lifting me until my feet dangled free. I responded without thinking, placing my hands on his shoulders to lever myself higher up, then locking my legs around his waist and back. His hands moved from my back to my bottom, taking some if not all of my weight. It brought our heads closer, so close that I needed only to lift my head up to meet his lips. We kissed, unleashing passion from the outset.
I don’t remember how long we kissed, but it was a long, long while. Bruce cradled me as I clung to him, both of us unwilling to let go because then it would end. For that all too brief time, I put my fears aside and enjoyed the freedom that came under the cloak of darkness. No one would know. Not Blaine. Not Byron. No one. His tongue swept into my mouth, searched out my tongue, battled for supremacy only to retire and accept my tongue into his mouth. Had I really wiped the top of the beer bottle clean of his spit? It seemed so long ago. And now, his spit flowed freely into my mouth, just as he sucked mine into his mouth. Was this love, or something else? The incredible sensation of being so closely joined to someone else that we were inseparable was simply overwhelming.
Finally, the time came for us to stop kissing. My lips were sore when I released the grip I had on his body and he lowered me back onto the sand. Again, standing before him, I had become the little kid again. Yet, even as the difference in height became important once more, his right hand cupped, then closed over my groin. He clasped that part of me, not squeezing, but containing everything. I pushed into his hand, wanting more, not understanding, but knowing that it was something that I had to do. I had to give him what he wanted. I groaned and without thinking, shoved forward to capture his hand between us as my body forced against him, pushing until his hard penis was squashed against my chest.
“Oh man,” Bruce sighed contentedly. “You’re so fucking hard, Allan,” he breathed.
Until then, I hadn’t realised I had an erection. Suddenly, I felt my penis throbbing, insistent and demanding, all but seduced by the intimacy and the wonderful heat we shared in that close embrace.
What I didn’t understand was why my penis had become so hard when all we had done was kiss.
“Why?” I asked simply.
“My dick? Why does it get hard that?”
Bruce smirked. “Because you’re a horny little bugger, of course.”
His fingers moved, tightening, clenching, squeezing, pleasuring. I groaned again, wanting it never to end. I forced myself against Bruce as hard as I could, sensing that if I could push just a little bit harder, I would somehow manage to merge into him. After a few moments, he eased away, still cupping my private parts. I gazed between us. His penis was a bloated monster that stared back at me. The swollen head seemed to glisten as it was wet. There was a wet streak down the middle of my chest where Bruce’s penis had been lying against me.
“I think it happened when we were kissing,” I remarked curiously.
“Yeah?” He smirked again. “That does tend to happen sometimes when you’re getting pashed off,” he said quietly. He wasn’t about to enlighten me any further.
“My, but you’re curious, aren’t you? Blainey said you were always asking him questions about sex,” he joked. “You sure are a funny bunny. Okay, you want to know? I’ll tell you. Your dick gets hard because it wants to have sex.”
My first thought was that maybe he was joking, and he might have been joking too, except that I didn’t know what the joke was. I stared at him, still the innocent eleven-year-old country boy. I didn’t think either my dick or me wanted to have sex, certainly not standing there on the beach, but I wasn’t about to say that to Bruce. Besides, now that I really understood what sex was about when it involved two males, I had convinced myself that I didn’t want to do it. Maybe with Blaine, but no one else. Indeed that possibility had crossed my mind at least once that day, but I had quickly put it aside. The ramifications were too disturbing to think about.
“But it happened when we were kissing?” I persisted.
“Yeah, well, you’d better get used to it. You’re so fucking sexy, especially when you’re like this,” Bruce purred in my ear.
“Like this.” He gave my aroused penis a playful tug that made me tremble.
“It doesn’t mean,…” I stopped myself in time.
“What doesn’t it mean?” Bruce challenged.
“Nothing,…” We looked at each other in the darkness. I could just make out his face. His eyebrows lifted up. He was waiting for me to elaborate. “Okay, then if you must know,…”
“Just because I have a stiff, it doesn’t mean I want to have sex,” I replied boldly.
“You don’t huh?”
“Nope.” I laughed and pushed his hand away, jumping back out of reach. “Not with you anyway,” I chortled with glee.
It was fun teasing Bruce, getting back at him for all the times that he had teased me. He lunged at me, just as I expected. I darted away, using my agility to side-step his forward speed. There was a good reason why I was usually selected to play five-eighth when I wasn’t playing wing on the rugby team. Bruce missed me by an arm’s length. By the time he had regained his balance, I was off and running back down the beach. Safety was the light from the fire. Bruce pounded after me. I zigzagged, the standard wing technique to avoid being tackled, managing to avoid him whenever he gained on me. Once or twice we turned in complete circles, darting back and forth until I had an advantage and then resuming our race back to the fire.
He caught up with me just as I reached the light. Actually I slowed to let him catch me. I didn't expect him to pull me down onto the sand. I felt frisky and full of life as we wrestled. Nice though the struggle was, with his powerful body writhing hot and naked against mine, I still wanted Bruce to hold me like he had before, and more. I wanted to kiss him, again and again, even if Byron and Blaine did see us. And so I gave in after only a few seconds and lay back on the sand with Bruce lying over me in much the same way that we’d done the previous night, except that now I was face up. He leered down at me, his breathing like mine, ragged from our vigourous exercise. His expression was triumphant, the dominant near-man conquering the acquiescent prepubescent boy. And I submitted, following some innate need to be ravished by him. Not that I was ravished, but I lay back, curious, aroused, waiting for him to do something. Anything. Not nothing! For nearly a minute, all he did was gaze down at me and smile in that mysterious all-knowing way of his. And then, he started to move, slowly, gently, make small thrusts against my lower body, rubbing himself against me. One part of him was hot and hard and silky soft all at the same time. And it was big. It made me feel tiny, insignificant, a mere boy compared to grown man. Up and down, then sideways, back and forth, moving effortlessly, smoothly, not allowing his weight to force me down like before, but tenderly controlling how we came together. I was subdued, quietly accepting the lesser role of being underneath him and lying still.
Finally, he eased up a few inches and I squirmed out from underneath him and clambered to a kneeling position where I could catch my breath and come to grips with my excitement. Realising that Blaine and Byron were close by did nothing to ease my state of mind. I panicked. I glared at him, not grasping what was going on between us, knowing only that I’d been cheated in some way, that he hadn’t done whatever it was that he was supposed to do to me, even though I didn’t know what it was in the first place. It was all so confusing. I was apprehensive about what came next. Suddenly, we both became aware that Byron was laughing.
“Hey Brucie, what’s up,… besides your cock, that is?”
Of course Bruce’s penis was erect again, if it had ever gone down. That was what I had felt sliding, thrusting, jerking against my belly when he was on top of me. Had I really enjoyed it so much that I had lain back and let him do that to me? Had I known all along that what was pushing against me was his penis? Yes, unequivocally yes. Was that why I felt so strange, so incredibly excited that goose pimples were erupting on my arms despite the summer heat?
“Geez mate, it’s a pity you guys stopped humping. Blainey and I thought we were going to see you stuff him for the first time, right here in front of us,” Byron chuckled.
Bruce and I froze, sharing the same look of shock. I wasn’t that naïve. I might have been sexually immature and inexperienced, but I still knew what Byron was talking about. Doing ‘stuff’ meant engaging in sex play, but the word the way that Byron had used it meant only one thing. Stuff, both the noun and the verb, meant fuck. It was just a nicer way of saying it. I was crushed, frightened by the very thought of being called a poofter, even more than being seen doing what poofters did, yet my heart thundered on. My face grew instantly hotter, far hotter than it had been at any time during the day.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, boy-o,” Byron remarked. “Not around us, anyway. There isn’t, is there Blainey?”
Blaine was in much the same position as he had been in before I took off after Bruce. He was still sitting in Byron’s lap, although now his legs were outside Bruce’s legs, spread apart enough that I could not only see his darkened wrinkled scrotum below his erection, but underneath him as well. There was just enough light from the fire to see his anus. It was a small depressed dark node that was strangely interesting to look at. Perhaps I stared because it was shamelessly exposed between his parted buttocks and I sensed that I was supposed to look. Perhaps it was a need that was emerging inside me, a fascination with something that should have been unpleasant to see, but wasn’t. Once he realised that I was indeed looking at his bum, Blaine smiled directly at me. It was a smile that said that there was nothing to be ashamed about. Not there. Not anywhere.
“Just take it one step at a time, Bruce. He needs you to go slow. He’s trying his best to figure it all out. You ought to know it’s not easy the first time,” Byron said patiently.
Bruce nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” He gave me a weak smile, almost contrite. “Sorry, Bun.”
“Remember what I said about not rushing him into things? Give him some time to get used to the idea, mate,” Byron added.
He stroked the inside of Blaine’s thighs. The skin was silky soft there, almost as soft as the skin of his belly. Byron’s fingertips casually grazed over Blaine’s scrotum. When it was pulled up tightly, it was like a ball, not flattened like mine. I swallowed, watching. He touched Blaine’s body in nearly the same way that I touched it. He was paying homage to Blaine in the same way that I did, although I had never thought of it in that way before. However, that was how I felt whenever Blaine and I played our sex-games, as if I was honoured to be with him. There were times that I worshipped at his feet.
Bruce and I resumed our positions on the other side of the fire, settling down close enough that our sides touched. It felt good to have Bruce lying next to me. Like Bruce, I watched what was happening on the other side of the fire, curiously aware that what Byron was doing to Blaine was only slightly different to the things that I did with him, yet Blaine seemed to enjoy it much more with his uncle. He had a big grin on his face through most of it. But why? Did it feel that much better? The answer was obvious. I knew better than to be jealous, but I couldn’t help it. It was obvious what I had to do, I could learn how to give Blaine the same feelings just by watching. I watched Byron’s fingers stroking along the side of Blaine’s penis, teasing it, bringing it to maximum hardness. There was no rush, just gentle strokes, then tormenting the head of his penis until Blaine wriggled and writhed and made soft whimpering sounds. It was impossible not to be jealous. Not of Blaine, but of Byron. Blaine was my best friend, and friendship had its advantages. It gave me certain rights, rights that Byron had assumed for himself. I envied him not only because he knew what to do to make Blaine happy, but that he could do it so openly. He had no shame.
A few times, he began to rub Blaine’s penis quickly, using an up and down jerking motion, going all the way to the tip and squeezing before returning. Then, Blaine began to shudder and twitch, and instead of whimpering, he gasped and pleaded until Byron stopped rubbing. And when I was beginning to think that I had seen everything, Byron’s fingers eased under Blaine and began to caress his bottom. At first it was just stroking along his crack, but the playful fondling quickly centred on his anus. His fingers circled the opening, pushing gently, then rubbing, then pulling as if testing the elasticity. I could not have touched Blaine there, not like that, at least not with someone else watching. It didn’t seem to bother Byron at all. And Blaine? With his eyes closed, he might not have even been aware that his brother and I were watching him.
In disbelief, but keeping my thoughts silent, I saw Byron rub his fingers over one of the dinner plates, accumulating grease from the sausages. Deciding it wasn't enough, he put his fingers to his lips, and when they were covered with saliva, return them glistening and wet to where he’d been rubbing Blaine’s bottom. In shock, I saw Blaine’s bottom lift higher and Byron’s fingers begin to push inside. Two of them, side by side, quickly forcing past the opening, then levering and twisting within. Blaine groaned. At eleven, I didn’t know the word ‘ecstasy’, but that was what it was. Byron’s fingers pushed and Blaine pushed back. The fingers slid in, going deeper than seemed humanly possible. From where I sat, it looked as if Byron’s knuckles were pressed into Blaine’s crack. I shivered, not believing that Blaine was actually enjoying it.
“Why doesn’t it hurt him?” I asked curiously.
Bruce chuckled. He held his finger to his lips to show that we needed to keep our voices down.
“Why do you think, mate? Because he’s used to it, of course.”
“Used to it?” I repeated, dumbfounded.
“Yeah. Once you do it a couple of times, you get used to having something in your bum. Taking two fingers is nothing after a while.”
“What’s it feel like?” I had to say something. I had to know.
“Um,… Let’s just say that having a finger stuffed up your bum hole feels like nothing you’ve ever felt before, mate.” He hesitated. It wasn’t what I expected to hear him say, and he knew it. There was a hint of a smile. “You know how good it feels when Blainey wanks you?”
I thought about it for a few seconds. The implication was obvious even if it did not seem particularly logical. “It’s better than wanking?” I whispered.
“Hm, how about a hundred times better. Geez, can’t you tell from watching Blainey getting off just from having his bum fingered? It’s so much better that you think you’re going to lose your mind.”
“It just is, man.”
Bruce shrugged in his nonchalant manner. He smiled again and shook his head slightly. He was teasing me. For some reason I wanted him to keep on doing it. There was a peculiar thrill building inside me. I didn’t want it to stop. It was the same thrill I had when Blaine and I wrestled in his bedroom and started pulling at each other’s clothes, not taking them off but enough exposing skin that we might as well have been undressing. It was the groundwork for something else, a way of becoming aroused without doing it explicitly.
“Why can’t you tell me?”
“Nope.” Again, he paused, waiting, thinking. It was as if he understood exactly what I was thinking. The longer it went on, the stronger the thrill. Surely, he felt it too. It was a way of becoming intimate without touching, letting the urge grow until it was irresistible. I was more than a little bit frightened, but the excitement more than compensated. It was part of a game that I very much wanted to play.
“Please? Pretty please with sugar on,” I whispered in my best little-boy voice.
Bruce laughed quietly. “You want me to show you what it feels like?”
I did my best to sound adult and adamant. It came out in a squeaky rush. To me it sounded like I was saying ‘yes’. I wanted to say ‘yes’, but there was a voice raging in my head saying ‘you idiot! If you do he’s going to think you’re a poofter.’ Why? Why? Why?
“Last chance to say yes?” Bruce kept teasing.
He knew. Of course, he knew. My voice was quivering with anticipation even as I tried to act the part of the rough and tumble Australian boy who loathed anything to do with poofters. And then, he upped the ante. He held up his index finger. Of course, I realised what it meant just as he knew I would. If I said yes, that was the finger he would use. I shook my head quickly despite the thrill. Maybe he was testing me. Or joking and I was to be the brunt of his humour. He changed course, but not by much.
“I’ll give you another beer if you let me stick it up your bum.” His voice was very soft. No one else heard him.
It was supposed to shock me. I acted shocked. “No way!” I almost shouted. My heart jumped and hammered.
“I promise it won’t hurt, okay? Just for a minute. I’ll only use one finger.” Still whispering, not as if it was something to be ashamed of, but as something no one else was supposed to know.
He was teasing me, laughing as he said it. I shook my head, rejecting the possibility despite the powerful effect that the idea had on me. The risk was too great.
“There’s no way I’m doing that. It’s,… it’s disgusting.”
“Just for a few seconds?”
“In and out one time. Just once, okay. To see if you like it?” He smirked and used his index finger to beckon like an invitation.
“If you want to stick your finger in someone’s bum, go do it to Blaine.”
“Maybe I already have.”
“Yeah, right!” I snickered in irrational disbelief. “Like pigs can fly, man.”
We both grinned. It was just another part of the game we were playing, like two dancers, moving around and trying different things, but always staying close enough that we could touch if we wanted to. We had come very close to touching, but when Bruce didn’t continue the game, I was strangely relieved. I settled back into the sandy bed and made road tracks beside me. If the sand was even the slightest bit wet it clumped together sufficiently that you could excavate a transportation infrastructure of bridges and tunnels. The sand was dry and crumbly.
The fire was burning down to glowing red embers. Sooner or later we’d have to sally forth and find some more driftwood. Until then, I was content to soak up the warmth. So I lay there next to Bruce, enjoying my drowsy tiredness, the roar of the surf, the black-velvet diamond-studded sky. My thoughts wandered from what Blaine and Byron were doing as I gazed upward and blocked out the world below. It could be an Arabian desert, or on a boat far out at sea, even travelling among the stars themselves. It was easy for me to dream, if only because my imagination offered an escape from the thoughts that wanted to parade in my mind. I would have some peace. However, it was just a matter of time until I would have to give them the attention they demanded.
Bruce nudged me suddenly. Lost in my fantasy of distant places, I hadn’t noticed that Blaine was in the process of getting off Byron’s lap, Finally, he untangled himself and stood up. He said something which I didn’t hear. He flipped at his penis. Like normal, or what was quickly becoming normal for him, it was hard and pointing up to his belly button. Byron pretended that he was too lazy to get up by himself. Grinning, Blaine reached out and tried to pull Byron up by pulling on his hands. He came to his knees, and then he stood and turned side on, still clasping Blaine’s hands. Only then did I see his man-sized erection. It had been hidden behind Blaine’s back. If his limp penis was huge compared to anything in my limited experience, his erection was humungous. It defied description. It was big, very, very big. It was far bigger than Bruce’s penis, which until then I had thought was enormous. My eyes were literally glued to it. And the thought foremost in my mind? Having just witnessed two of Bruce’s fingers penetrating Blaine’s bottom, it was impossible, indeed utterly incomprehensible, that it could fit.
They disappeared into the darkness, Blaine giggling, Byron laughing. Going away from the beach, towards the sand dunes, towards the shack. I shook my head, feeling a growing sense of despair. They were going away to have sex. The thought settled in my consciousness like a lead weight. Blaine was going to have sex with Byron. Byron was going to put his cock in Blaine’s bottom. That huge thing inside my best friend’s bum. It was why Byron had been playing with his bottom, sticking his fingers in there. And then there was Bruce, sitting right beside me. He had suggested doing the same thing to me that Blaine had been doing with his uncle. Was it a prelude to something else? I trembled involuntarily. He wasn’t joking about putting his finger in my bum even though he made it sound like a joke. I struggled in silence. Everything that I had always taken for granted was changing so quickly that I was perpetually confused. When boys my age talked about sex at school, they made it sound like a game. Having sex was so easy that anyone could do it, but of course they weren’t talking about two guys. I wanted desperately to understand.
“Are they going to have sex?” I asked apprehensively, because I already knew what Bruce’s answer was going to be.
“Maybe. They’re both horny enough, that’s for sure. But who knows with By. Sometimes he'll do it non-fucking stop for a few days, and then he'll stop for a while. He has to be in the right mood. I guess we're all the same way.”
I considered that to be confirmation of my worst fears. It certainly did not help my state of mind. I stared at the fire, looking into the gold-red embers. There were no answers there, just more questions. The more I thought about what I had seen when Byron stood up, the more I disputed the possibility that his penis, that huge cock of his, could actually fit inside Blaine’s bottom. Despite how much they talked about it, it was impossible. It had to be. It was simply too big to fit. For some reason that night, I was far more concerned with practicality than usual. Perhaps, in the back of my mind, there was something that I did not want to think about. If Byron’s cock could fit inside Blaine, then logic said that Bruce’s cock could probably fit inside me. That night was the first time in my life that I ever entertained the possibility at a personal level. What was happening to me? It was as if something finally clicked into place for me, something that I should have been ashamed of, but wasn’t. I shivered and promptly shoved the thought back where it belonged.
“So do you want to go for another run, Bruce?” I asked with a nervousness that made no sense at all to me.
My heart was fluttering. I kept seeing Byron’s 'thing' as my mother would have called it. His penis. His cock. It was a dick like mine or Blaine’s, bit it was so big and thick that it was more like a forearm than the reproductive organ that I was acquainted with. Of course, no matter how much I tried to avoid it, I kept thinking about Blaine and Byron. They would have reached the shack by then. They would be inside. Perhaps they were already having sex, that huge 'thing' trying to find a way inside a body that wasn’t much larger than mine. Nearly a year older, a dozen pounds, and a couple of inches at most.
“I’m too tired to move a muscle, mate.” Bruce yawned without covering his mouth. He smiled. “So do you want to make out for a while?”
“Huh?” I was taken aback by his bluntness. He hadn’t even lowered his voice.
“Swap some spit? French me, my darling.”
“You’re gross!” Again, the thrill was back, stronger than before. More demanding.
“Yep. And you love it, man!”
“Do not,” I retorted. “You’re so weird.”
“You’re sexy. Man, you’re sexy.”
“Geez. Give it a break!”
“Why? Are you afraid you’ll get horny and do something you might enjoy?”
Bruce smirked at me in the darkness and glanced down. My eyes followed his. It was unsettling, being so close to him, both of us naked, both of us erect and ready for action. His hand reached between his legs, cupping his testicles and most of his hard penis. Still, a few inches of it was not covered by his hand. I kept staring at it even though I knew I should look away. What was happening to me? Why me/ Why now? I even tried to close my eyes. Nothing worked. I stared.
“You want to get on top of me again, Bunny?” he whispered.
His voice was strange sounding, not drunk but slurring slightly, and gravely, rasping with what I would later know to be lust. But I was still a boy, a boy whose only real sexual experience until a few days ago, had been playing with his best friend. I shook my head abruptly despite the surge that exploded through me. My heart pounded. How could he know how much I had enjoyed doing that the night before? Fear. Excitement. Sexual arousal. A deserted beach. He looked at me. Not smiling. Just the two of us. No one would ever know. It was a dangerous combination. I nodded weakly.
Bruce rolled onto his back, extending a hand to greet my shoulder as I climbed over him. His hand slowly moved to my neck, then to my jaw, past my ear, behind my head, drawing me down and onto him. He was warm and strong and I basked in his encompassing arms as much as his aura. My Bruce. He was mine, totally mine. Perhaps I whispered his name aloud. Perhaps it was just my imagination. I felt the air being pulled from my lungs. His lips were were on mine, hard, demanding, urgent. His penis was like a log under my belly. I didn’t mind. I pushed down onto it, squashing it. I let him kiss me, wanting to kiss back, but not wanting to. Afraid. Pounding in my chest. A thousand different thoughts, all of them wrong and all of them frightening. Why? His warmth flowed over and under me, embracing me in a way that I had never known. His hands glided over my back and bottom. They settled there, one hand more than cupping an entire cheek, his fingers pressing between them. It was reassuring and unsettling. I was scared stiff, but my penis was as stiff as it have ever been. Finally, his lips left mine. I lowered my head onto his shoulder and lay still. Was that his heart thumping?
A minute or two passed with us just lying there, me on top of him. There was so much to think about that I didn’t know where to start. Why did I feel like this? So content. I was safe and secure, and comfortable. Then, when I least expected it, Bruce rolled us over. I ended up on my back with Bruce above me, his knees outside my legs, his elbows next to my armpits. About half of his weight was on me. It felt like Blaine lying on top of me. It felt good, but not as good as Blaine.
In the flickering light from the fire, Bruce gazed down at me. He seemed to be smiling. He was happy. His hands held my head, his fingers playing with my hair, brushing it back from my forehead, then entwining his fingers through the long strands at the back.
“Allan,… God,… You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured
“Don’t be a drongo,” I muttered. No matter that boys weren’t beautiful, it still made me feel good.
“I really like your hair long like this. Too bad you’re going to have to get a hair cut before you go back to school. They're fucking stupid about that at high school.”
“It’s six weeks away,” I reminded him.
I wasn’t looking forward to getting my hair cut either. However, the hair-length rule was rigidly enforced at Sydney Grammar School. The same ‘not-over-the-collar’ rule was in effect at Edgecliff Preparatory School. It just wasn’t enforced as strictly.
“Am I squashing you?”
“No. It’s okay.”
“You’re a scrawny little bugger, aren’t you, mate?”
I shrugged. Perhaps I was scrawny. I had never thought about it. However, I was light on my feet and fast, the perfect combination for a Rugby wing. With luck, both Blaine and I would be on the First Form football team instead of playing house rugby,
“It’s like lying on top of a bag of bones.”
“Then get off.”
Bruce giggled like a boy. “No way! You feel too good.”
He rubbed his body against mine to prove the point. It did feel good. Warm and hard and soft, and the wonderful smoothness of bare skin. His body pushed harder against mine, compressing me. It felt even better. Harder. Stronger. Hotter. His hips lifted up an inch or two and a hand slipped between us. It pushed past my belly. I sucked in, wanting his hand to keep reaching downward. I wasn’t disappointed. His hand closed over my penis and squeezed.
“What’s this?” he crooned in my ear. His tongue touched my ear. I wanted to groan aloud.
“it’s my dick, you dummy.”
“You're almost right. My dummy is your dick,” Bruce returned with a nervous laugh. “Do you want me to suck on it?” (dummy = pacifier)
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
But I wasn’t sure. I had done that to Blaine, and Blaine had done it to me. Part of me wanted to do it with Bruce, but it would mean putting Bruce’s cock in my mouth. I knew that it wouldn’t be anything like putting Blaine’s penis in my mouth.
Bruce nodded thoughtfully. “I’m rushing you, aren’t I?”
“I’m sorry, mate. By’s right again, I guess.” He pushed up, sliding off me, then kneeling beside me. “Hey, do you still want to go for a run?”
I looked up at him. His cock arched out over me. It was even bigger looking at it from below. His testicles were covered in dark hair. His hand closed around his cock, levering it down and pointing it at my face. I almost gulped, thinking that he was going to ask me to suck it. I didn’t know whether to say yes or no. It looked as if it had already been sucked. The head was swollen and dark and the tip was wet. I stared and stared. Blaine’s penis was beautiful, precious. His brother’s cock wasn’t ugly. It just wasn’t the same. It was disturbing. I felt cheated. It was big and hairy. It belonged to a man, not a boy. It wasn’t what I really wanted, but what did I really want? It was all so confusing. Finally, I swallowed and found the words.
“I will if you want, but I’m kind of tired.”
“So am I. Man, we ought to be exhausted. We fucking surfed non-stop since breakfast.”
“Thanks for teaching me,” I said humbly.
Bruce smiled. “It’s cool. You’re a great kid.”
He stood up and pulled me to my feet in a single powerful jerk. I almost fell over again. Bruce hugged me tightly. Again, his massive cock pushed into my chest. If I lowered my head just a few inches, I could have touched the tip with my tongue. I closed my eyes and pushed my nose into his breast. I inhaled him, the freshness of salt, the male smell of sweat, the scent of suntan oil. It was a different smell compared to his brother. It wasn’t nearly as intoxicating. Awkwardly, I eased away again. There was a smear of wetness on my chest, where the head of Bruce’s cock had been pushing into me. Before I could say anything, Bruce’s hand wiped it way.
Together, we kicked sand over the embers. There was nothing that could burn for a hundred yards in any direction, but I’d grown up with a healthy respect for bush fires. Bruce probably thought I was crazy. We urinated on the pile of smoking sand as a last resort. We laughed most of the way back to the beach shack.