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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"... you implicitly declare and affirm under penalties of perjury that you are not a minor or in the company of a minor and are entitled to have access to material intended for mature, responsible members of society capable of making decisions about the content of documents they wish to read...."
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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All of the lights were off when we went inside. We didn’t bother to turn them on. It was more fun muddling around in the dark, finding our toothbrushes on the window sill where we had left them, standing side by side brushing, spitting into the kitchen sink. It was a simple thing, yet I felt closer to Bruce than I had felt outside, even when we were lying on the sand, even when Bruce was lying on top of me. We got into bed, both naked, both pulling up the sheet, each keeping a respectable distance. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but something was going to happen that night. I lay on my back, looking at the dark ceiling, thinking about the day. There was a lot to think about. Blaine and Byron were in the bedroom next door. Maybe they’d had sex while Bruce and I were on the beach. I was envious of Byron. If I was in that bed with Blaine, I wouldn’t be hesitant at all. We could do whatever we wanted. With Bruce, I worried. I worried about everything.
Always, there was the growl of the surf, a constant reminder that there were waves forming, rolling, breaking. After two weeks how could I ever be able go back to a normal life? Living with my mother and grandmother and always being told what to do and being careful about what I did? I sighed sleepily. The shack was very dark. I felt lonely. Not really thinking much about it, I stretched my foot in Bruce’s direction. In a way, it was an exploration to find out where he was lying. It was also an excursion of different sort. Halfway across the converted couch, my toes touched his leg. I quickly pulled my foot back. He was closer than I thought.
It was a only a few moments later when Bruce’s foot brushed against my infringing foot. I felt his toes rub my ankle, then the sole, then the side of my foot. His foot eased away. I smiled in the darkness. I let him wait for a minute, perhaps longer, before my foot ventured out again. This time, my foot made contact with his shin. I played with my toes, wriggling them into his taut muscles. After a few seconds, I withdrew again. I waited almost no time at all before his foot slid onto my side of the bed. Our toes met. It was not at all like holding hands, yet I still felt connected to him. After a few seconds, his foot moved position. It lay over my foot, not exactly comfortable but it was soothing.
“If we keep this up, mate, we might start something that’s going to get out of hand,” Bruce whispered breathily.
“Shhhh. You know! It’ll be your fault too.”
“Just remember, you started it by playing footsies, Allan,” Bruce muttered.
“You know!” His foot jerked at mine. His toes grappled with my toes.
“No I don’t.” It was hard not to giggle. My feet were ticklish. My feet weren’t the problem.
“Messing around.” Bruce snickered. “Man, you’re just like Blainey. You act all innocent, but you’re just as horny as I am.”
“Am not!” I gagged, trying not to giggle. Our feet were wrestling.
“You want to mess around, don’t you?”
“No.” I meant yes. His toes were strong. Everything about him was strong.
“Yes you do. I bet you’ve got a stiffie.”
“I don’t.” I did. “Hey!”
He moved closer, reaching out for me. I pushed at his hand, not knowing why I wanted him not to touch me, because I did want him to take hold of my penis. He brushed my hand aside, His fingers suddenly clasped my penis. He was not about to let go. I didn’t struggle. I gulped air. His hand felt good, almost as good as Blaine’s. I felt the strength of it, the gentleness of his touch. My penis throbbed in his hand.
“Man, you’re hard.”
“So am I. Do you want to feel mine?”
“No…. yes,…. God!”
I tried to shove Bruce’s hand away. It was pointless. My attempt was feeble. It was doomed from the start. His fingers pressed into my scrotum. He massaged my testicles until I squirmed and pulled back. We both knew he wasn’t hurting me. His hand rested on the bed between us, his fingertips lightly stroking my belly.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said softly.
“Do you want to touch mine?”
His hand moved, found my hand, clammy and nervous, drew it downwards until my arm was fully extended. He guided my hand right onto his cock and then he kept it there. I could barely hold half of it, stretching my fingers so the tips could touch my thumb. They didn’t meet. So different to Blaine’s penis. So different to my penis. Both of them, even together, were easily held in my hand. Bruce’s cock was like the rest of Bruce. It was big and strong and very much a man’s cock.
“Well?” He wanted me to say something.
“It’s big,” I muttered nervously.
“Yeah, it is. But you know something?”
“What?” I couldn’t let go.
I eased the pressure in my fingers. It was nice just holding his cock, not moving my hand. There was no need to. Blaine’s penis, unlike my penis, was made to be rubbed. Mine liked to be held and squeezed on the end. I held Bruce’s cock the same way. The warmth of it soaked into my hand. It felt like it was warming the rest of my body. My hand quickly became sweaty.
“By’s cock is way bigger than mine,… and it still goes up Blainey’s bum,” Bruce whispered. “All the way up, too.” He squeezed his hand over mine. “I’ve seen it,” he added. It sounded like he was panting.
I didn’t answer. My heart thundered.
“He likes it too,” Bruce continued. His voice quavered with excitement.
“They aren’t poofters,” I mumbled. Suddenly, I wasn’t certain. “They aren’t, are they?”
“They’re like us, mate,” Bruce answered obliquely. “They have fun together because there’s no girls around for By to stuff.”
His hand left mine. I didn’t release my grip. Cautiously, I inched my hand up the engorged stake. Bruce’s hand returned to my penis, taking possession again. I shifted closer to him so that he didn’t have to reach so far down.
“Yours is way stiffer than mine,” Bruce observed after a moment or two of wholesome inspection.
He gave my penis an experimental rub. Once up, once down, very lightly, grazing the surface with his fingertips rather than trying to move the skin over the bone-like hardness inside. I quivered beside him.
“By was right on the money when he said your skin is really tight.”
He was right about that. The skin was pulled tight. It was how I had been circumcised, only I didn’t know it at the time. The country doctor who delivered me and performed the obligatory circumcision the next day apparently preferred the high and tight look, or maybe the clamp was placed too far down, or there was some other reason for it. At the time all I knew was that the skin on Blaine’s erection was tight too, but it wasn’t nearly as tight as mine. The difference was more noticeable when our penises were limp. His penis had a frilly collar just below the head, while there was a thin rippled ridge that was visibly much further down the shaft of my penis. The head of my penis wasn’t nearly as large as Blaine’s, but it flared and stood out from the shaft even more than his did.
“He was saying that when you wank you ought to use something to make it slippery.”
“Hm, you could try some petroleum jelly, I guess. Maybe some suntan oil. It’s pretty greasy.”
“Or spit.” I giggled. Spit was slippery, at least it was slippery inside Blaine’s mouth. How badly I wanted to repeat that experience, either with my penis in Blaine’s mouth, or his penis in my mouth.
“I know how to make it really slippery. I could suck it instead?” Bruce offered good-naturedly. I couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not especially after what I had been thinking. “Do you want me to?”
I took a deep breath. I wanted him to. The problem was that I didn’t want to suck his cock. However, I would give anything to be able to suck Blaine’s penis. I wanted that sweet boy-taste in my mouth again more than I could stand. Anyone who has had oral sex with an immature boy knows what I mean. It’s addictive, and all it takes is one time. It’s an obsession that stays with you for the rest of your life.
“Not now, okay?”
“Okay. What do you want to do?” Bruce asked in a rush.
He sounded excited, as excited as I was. I licked my lips, vaguely wondering what it would taste like. Blaine’s penis tasted sweet, not sugary sweet but like something that was warm and soft. It was unforgettable. It had the same wonderful memorable taste that every prepubescent boy’s penis has.
“Get on top,” I instructed.
I took a quick breath. I was breathless. Had I really said that? I suppose I must have. My mind was in whir. Bruce clambered over me, dislodging the sheet, making the couch squeak. He lowered himself onto me, again using his knees and elbows to take his weight. Our bellies and chests came together. From his position I knew that he was looking down at me even if I couldn’t see his face in the darkness. He was going to kiss me again like he had done on the beach. This time I wanted to be ready. I licked my lips and tried to take a deep breath. It was strange, lying there beneath him, waiting for something to happen, my heart thumping inside me, anxious and frightened because what I was about to do was what poofters did. Yet, my thoughts were happy ones. I offered my mouth to Bruce, even puckering up.
Our heads came together in slow motion. The first kiss was soft and tender, gentle brushes of our lips. Bruce’s hands held my head steady, his fingers behind my ears. His thumbs stroking my cheeks. I felt the moist warmth from his nose as he breathed. His lips moved back and forth over my lips. I’m sure that I kissed back, but when it finished, I wasn’t sure of anything. I trembled under him, breathless, heart shaking, hard-dick straining excitement. No sex education class could have prepared me for what I felt. My arms lifted up instinctively, locking behind Bruce’s neck, pulling his face back down again. The second kiss was longer, harder, wetter. His lips swirled over mine, spreading saliva between us. No wonder they called it swapping spit. His kiss, our kiss, became urgent, desperate, the longing bursting out of both of us in fierce passion. We broke apart, both shaking from the sheer intensity. I gasped for air, swallowing, tasting Bruce and the lingering tang of beer, still feeling his lips. I was vaguely aware that his tongue had been inside my mouth, that for part of the time we had been kissing we’d been somehow joined.
“Now that’s real French kissing,” Bruce murmured.
“And you didn’t even have to give me a beer.”
He snickered with amusement. “Oh man! I can’t believe this. You’re so fucking sexy.”
He nodded, kept nodding as if nodding gave credence to his claim. His fingers curled in my hair, tugging, demanding more. I closed my eyes, inhaled deeply, and offered my lips again, not puckered, but open for his tongue. His face back to mine again, and we kissed, his tongue behind my lips, rubbing over my teeth. For once I found myself not worrying that what I was doing was what poofters did. To Bruce, my acquiescence was as feminine as putting on makeup and wearing a skirt. We kissed and kissed, me sucking on Bruce’s tongue, him nibbling on my lips, trying to lure my tongue to venture forth. We kissed until our chins were covered with saliva, until both of us were quivering from the sheer thrill of it.
“You keep kissing like that and I’m going to spunk all over you,” Bruce gushed.
His hand felt between us, easily finding my erection, clasping it firmly, his fingers massaging my testicles.
“Such tiny balls for a horny boy,” Bruce teased. “You want me to wank you?”
I nodded eagerly. His fingers glided along my taut penis, tickling, tantalising in a way that Blaine had never done to me. His thumb stroked the head until I groaned and wanted him to stop. It was torture of a kind I had never known. His thumbnail began scratching in the furrow, circling, then squeezing the hard little bulb between his thumb and forefinger until I whimpered. He stopped. Bruce brought his lips back to mine, not savagely, but forcefully taking what was his to take. I couldn’t stand it. I shuddered and writhed underneath him. He drew away, looked down at me. He licked where my lips had been. For the last part of the kiss, my tongue had been inside his mouth.
“I’d fuck you in a flash, if you said yes. You don’t that, don’t you mate?”
I nodded. My mind raced ahead. Would it hurt? Terribly?
“Do you,… “ Bruce paused. His pelvis moved, thrusting his cock along my belly, forcing it into my chest. I knew what he was going to say before he said it. He wanted to put his cock inside me, not in my mouth, but in my bottom. I wasn’t sure what I wanted. All I could think was that if Blaine did that with Byron, why couldn’t I do the same thing with Bruce.
“Do you want me to?”
I didn’t answer. If I did that it would mean that I was a poofter.I wasn’t sure whether it would mean that Bruce was a poofter. For him, it might be nothing more than two guys having some fun together because there were no girls available. For me it would be two guys having sex because they wanted to.
“I can’t promise it won’t hurt a bit, Allan, because it will.”
I kept looking up, feeling his thick hard cock pushing into me.
“The thing is, you have to trust the guy who does it to you the first time. It’s not that bad. The first time I did it, I was about your age.”
“Not now,” I squeaked. I must have sounded like a frightened mouse.
He nodded. “Okay,… I understand. I’m not going to rush you. But man, you are so fucking sexy. I have to get off something awful.”
“I can wank you if you want?” I offered.
“You don’t want to suck me, huh? No,… I didn’t say that, okay. Wanking is great.”
Bruce shifted to the side so that he lay next to me. One arm slipped around my shoulders to hold me close to him.
“Do you and Blainey take turns wanking, or do each other at the same time?”
Blaine and I were both right-handed so it was easier to take turns than to sit side by side and not have an arm get in the way. It didn’t feel as good using our left hands.
“Cool.” Bruce wriggled closer to me so that his cock pressed into my hip. “Do you know what’s even more fun than wanking, Bunny?” he asked mischievously. “And it isn’t getting your dick sucked?” he added quickly.
He didn’t wait for my answer. His right hand grasped my hip furthest away from him and he flipped me onto my side to face him. Our penises were close together, parallel, throbbing side by side. Although they had not touched, I could still feel the heat from his cock. I felt his hand wrap around my penis, drawing it down until it was perpendicular to my body. I wasn’t prepared for what happened next. His cock seared mine with its heat. They were clamped together in the vice like grip of his hand.
“First,… we put our dicks together,… like this,…” he breathed. His tongue swirled in my ear. “It feels nice, doesn’t it? My big one and your little one.”
“Your dick is so hot,” he whispered.
His hand moved, or rather that was what it felt like for a moment or two. Suddenly, I realised that it wasn’t his hand but his cock that had moved. I almost jerked away. He was rubbing his cock against mine. It felt much nicer than being rubbed by hand. Cannily, he waited until I settled down before he did it again. One slow, gentle, forceful thrust. It felt as if our penises were melting, merging together. A million nerves were activated in the most sensitive part of my body. A sigh of pleasure passed through me. I would never be the same again. Wanking was fun and enjoyable, but this? This was wonderful. On his third thrust, I moved too, just to see how it would feel. His hand squeezed tighter, gripping the tight skin of my penis. I groaned in ecstasy. The pressure released slowly, allowing my cock to move back.
“Yeah, it's good.” It sounded more like a groan came from my mouth than words.
He exhaled, waiting, rocking forward, pausing, pulling back, moving his thick hard cock in, then out. There were times when his movements were deliberate, at other times erratic. He seemed to be gradually losing control, even shuddering as he jerked away.
“It’s better with something to make it slippery, especially with your skin being tight the way it is,” Bruce said anxiously, his expression suggestive, tempting.
“Slippery,.... so they slide together. Um,... You don’t mind if there’s some spit on your dick, do you?”
I nodded, not really thinking about it, wanting only for the sensations to continue. His hand released me and our penises returned to the normal position. In the darkness, I heard his mouth expel saliva. Lots of saliva. I don’t know where it came from because my mouth was dry. I wanted him to take hold of my cock again. It was almost more than I could stand, and he hadn’t even rubbed it. All he did was hold my penis and squeeze it against his and move so that his cock did all the work. His hips thrust rhythmically, pushing against me, driving his penis back and forth, sometimes energetically, even forcefully, but it was so smooth and soft that there was no friction, just nice feelings.
“Move closer so we don’t have to pull them down so far.”
I wriggled closer, putting my hips right in front of his, Our penises touched again, both of them unwavering in their stiffness. His hand closed around them again. Clasping. Hotter. Slippery. It felt better with them sliding side by side.
“Use your hand too,” he muttered.
There wasn’t much room for my hand. It was squashed, but finally I managed to cup the head of Bruce’s cock and touch the tip of mine with my fingers. Bruce’s cock slid slowly forward, squeezed into my hand, then receded. I took that as my cue and did the same before I discovered that my hand was covered in slime. My cock throbbed, as much from the intense stimulation as from the realisation of what we were doing. This had to be what 'fucking' was like. It was the only logical explanation for what Bruce was doing. He was pretending.
For the next few movements, our thrusts were simultaneous. I gasped, not believing. It felt entirely natural as I strained against his hot thighs, as his massive penis squashed into mine. Without warning, Bruce’s hand moved to the back of my head, forcing my face up, bringing his mouth onto mine. My heart surged from the sheer thrill of knowing what came next. I needed no encouragement. We kissed, our hips jerking back and thrusting forward, pumping our cocks through his slimy hand. It was like having my penis in Blaine’s mouth, only I could control the sensations. The sensations were almost overpowering. Within seconds we were trembling.
“Oh fuck!” Bruce groaned. “I’m going to spunk big time if we keep doing this.”
By then, I was beyond caring. My hips moved instinctively, driving me onwards, closer and closer to the inevitable ‘jerks’, that until then I had only experienced with Blaine. I struggled to hold back the surge that kept getting stronger and stronger, but it wasn’t anything like jerking off. It was impossible to stop. Our thrusting became faster and faster. Frenzied. Frantic, Labouring to breath. Slamming back and forth through the slick flesh of our hands. Bruce lasted a minute, perhaps less. By then, the saliva was beginning to dry up, but neither of us were prepared to stop, not even for a second. He tensed suddenly, labouring, the heat searing us, melding our parts into one. I hugged him and felt him pushing into me in response, together clenching our penises tightly as if we could possibly hold it back. Something ached inside me, something was throbbing urgently. I wanted it to end, to never stop. His teeth closed on my tongue, keeping it inside his mouth. Bruce was in control. I felt like a rag doll as he forced me to lie back, down, under him, giving him whatever it was that he wanted. For a few moments he stopped still, then grunting he began grinding his cock against mine again. His thrusting became furious out-of-control lunges, hard, forceful pushes that shoved me into the bed. He ejaculated over me.
Even after he had finished and collapsed, I wasn’t certain of what had occurred. All I felt was a sudden increase in the hardness of the huge cock that was along side mine. It was followed by a series of pulses inside it, and with each one an intense warmth squired out in gushes over my hand. The glorious slippery warmth that changed a boy forever. Bruce groaned and hugged me tightly, mashing his body against mine. His thrusts slowed, became erratic, stopped. My penis was throbbing. I wanted to keep moving, sliding inside Bruce’s grasping squeezing fist. My instincts were strong, appreciating that I had to stop even if I had not achieved the ‘jerks’. Gasping, almost hurting inside, I stopped moving. Then, Bruce ceased squeezing as well. My penis escaped his grasp and slapped against my belly with a wet squelch.
“Oh man!” He took a deep breath. “Oh man! That was the best ever.”
He lifted up and felt between us. His fingers slipped over my belly. He rubbed his fingers in it, smearing it around, down to my pubis, around my balls, back to my belly button. He gave my achingly hard penis a playful tug on the way.
“Sorry about that. Man, that was so fucking good. I guess I spunked all over you, didn’t I?”
At least I knew what it was then, which was reassuring because the ignorant part of me was thinking he had urinated on me. That was the only thing that ever came out of a penis in that amount. Blaine ejaculated one or two droplets, barely enough to taste. His brother released a veritable torrent of semen. From the warmth it felt like it reached from my groin to my shoulders. It felt like I was covered with it. His fingers danced up my chest then back to my navel. It was everywhere. He kept smearing it around until the strings of semen became a wet sheen on my abdomen. I didn’t mind. It felt nice.
“At least I don’t have to worry about getting you up the duff, do I?” Bruce joked.
“Getting you preggers.”
“Like I’m a guy,” I rebuked.
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” He flipped at my penis again. The hardness had not diminished. “You really need to get off, don’t you mate?”
Bruce laughed softly. “Geez. Get off. Spunk up. What do you and Blainey call it? The ‘jerks’ right?”
I nodded absently. He took my semen-covered penis back in his equally semen-covered hand. Blaine was good at wanking, but Bruce was incredible. The slipperiness made it even better. He gave my penis a few slow strokes from top to bottom. His slimy thumb rubbed and squeezed on the tip, then braced against two of his fingers. I held my breath as be began to pick up the pace. His other hand came from below to take hold of my testicles. One stray finger pushed between my buttocks and rubbed at my anus. Within seconds I was twitching, then writhing, then lifting up my body to get even more stimulation. His finger stabbed around my anus. It was trying to get inside. I clenched tightly, holding it outside. I wasn’t ready for that, yet something told me it would be even better if he did put his finger inside me. Bruce backed off, started rubbing there instead. He did it very gently until I relaxed. However, his other hand became a blur. The skin of my penis was so tight that masturbation wasn’t as enjoyable for me as it was for some boys, but it became even tighter as my penis swelled. It didn’t matter. His slippery fingers slid up and down, torturing my penis without creating noticeable friction.
After only a half minute or so, I felt the ‘jerks’ coming on the way they usually did. There was pressure deep inside me, an ache in my testicles. The need to strain down, to thrust my penis faster and faster. My knees lifted up, levering my buttocks off the bed. Bruce’s hand pumped. I closed my eyes, tried to block out the inevitable explosion. Sometimes, it was so bad that it hurt. Faster. Faster. Trembling.
“Faster! Faster!” I pleaded.
Even though I expected it, I wasn’t ready. It had never been like that. Never with the same overwhelming mind-boggling surge, the sense of exploding. It made me grunt as I tried to inhale. My penis spasmed, jerking between Bruce’s fingers, ejaculating nothing but sheer joy. My body jerked in response, heaving my hips up and down as I fucked Bruce’s hand. It seemed to go on forever. It was over in a matter of seconds. I slumped down onto the bed, drained. My penis slipped from Bruce’s hand. He cradled my testicles in his other hand. I was barely aware of his finger pulling out of my anus. I had not realised it was there. I didn’t know how far inside me it had gone, but one the way out it felt like a long distance.
“Good one, huh Bunny,” he said soothingly.
I nodded unintelligently. I was a very confused boy. For a few moments before I drifted off to sleep I had the strangest thought. I wondered what his cock would feel like if it had been inside me instead of being in our hands.
Waking early in the morning, when everyone else was still asleep, gave a person a chance to think alone. It was also the nicest time of day at Brindajari because it was cool and the animals, and I always took advantage of it, even in winter. That morning I got up quietly, perhaps an hour before sunrise. On the way to the beach I picked up my board shorts from where I had left them on the deck. I carried them just in case, throwing them high up into the air and catching them with a leap. That morning I thrived on the fresh salty air, the freedom of being naked and not having a care in the world. It was only when I reached the beach that I realised that I wasn’t the care-free boy who I thought I was.
I stopped at the water’s edge, enjoying the cool water on my feet, playing in the creamy-white foam with my toes. Life was good. Life was fun. Then, I itched my side. It all came back in a flash. I hadn’t had that much beer to drink that I couldn’t remember lying in bed with Bruce. Playing ‘footsies’. Rubbing our penises together. His cock spewing its hot juice all over me. That was what it was. The thin layer of crusty film that coated the front of my abdomen was Bruce’s semen. It looked like dried snail-trail, but there was more of it. It was all over me, from my breast to my groin.
“It’s spunk,” I said aloud. “Gross.” But it wasn’t gross.
I scratched my chest, scraping some tiny flakes away. I couldn’t remember anything after Bruce had given me the best ‘jerks’ I’d ever had. I must have fallen asleep almost immediately. Bruce must have rubbed it all over my front. I remembered him doing my belly and chest. I remembered his slippery hand and how good it had felt sliding up and down my penis. There were dry flakes clinging to my dangling penis as well. For some reason I began to scratch at it, itching. The itch travelled quickly. It was impossible to catch. His semen was everywhere, even on my nipples. I had been itchy the previous morning and now I knew why. Bruce had ejaculated between my buttocks while I was asleep. Then, as now, I wanted to wash it off. Not because it was dirty or bad, because it wasn’t. Strange as it might seem, I really didn’t mind that he had done that to me. I simply had the feeling that I wasn’t clean. A day earlier and I would have been disgusted by the very idea of having it on my body.
I waded ankle deep into the foamy water and squatted down. I brought handfuls of water up to my chest and belly, rinsing, rubbing, washing it away. It came off easily. I washed my penis and scrotum thoroughly because they were the itchiest part. I washed under my arms in case he had rubbed it there as well. Finally, I splashed water underneath me so that my crack was wet. Only then did I consider the possibility that Bruce had not ejaculated between my buttocks, but inside my bottom. I wasn't at all sure of what I thought about him doing that to me. I didn't like the idea, that much was certain, but then, neither did I hate it. And then I reasoned with innocent logic that it hadn’t happened, because as tired though I was after the long drive from Sydney, I would never have slept through Bruce doing that to me.
Still squatting, I cautiously lifted my hand up to touch between my cheeks. For some reason, I pictured Blaine lying back against Byron, with two of Byron’s fingers lodged inside his anus. Inside. Not just in the crack were my fingers were, but inside the hole where it was dirty. As innocent as I still was, I had no idea why Byron would do that to him, just as I didn't understand why Bruce would want to do the same thing to me, but at the same time there was no doubt in my mind that Blaine had enjoyed it.
There, in the shallow foamy water, in the soft light of early morning I touched my anus, really touched it for the first time in my life. It felt like an anemone, a hot little anemone. It was like the anemones that Blaine I had spent the afternoon of the previous day tormenting in the rock pools below the headland. It was puckered up and tightly closed as if defying that something could ever go in.
Then, I remembered the night before, the feeling, strangely enjoyable in itself, of Bruce’s finger pulling out, the way it pulled my body with it, the sense of being empty when it came free. His finger, which was every bit as big and thick as Blaine’s penis, had been buried inside me. I rubbed my fingers back and forth over the wrinkled indentation. It was so sensitive, so lewd, so depraved that it was impossible not to enjoy it. The one part of my body that I had always considered disgusting was a source of instant delight. Curiously, I pushed my fingertip into the opening. Like an anemone, it resisted by closing up. I felt something inside me tightening. Even my balls retracted. I felt rejected. I stood up and ambled back to the firm sand of high tide.
The sun was just beginning to breech the horizon. The sea was still dark. The sky had a yellow tint to it. The surf thundered an endless welcome. It was beautiful, intense, life changing. I had watched hundreds, perhaps thousands of sunrises at Brindajari, but none of them were like this. The sheer drama of it took my breath away. The sliver of sun began to grow. I knew better than to look directly at the sun for longer than a few seconds, even at sunrise. I watched the waves appear from the gloom. They were much bigger than the day before. I sucked on my tongue, a habit that drove my grandmother to despair.
Without really thinking about, I put my right forefinger in my mouth, wet it with slippery saliva, and proceeded to suck on it. It was Blaine's penis. Hard, unyielding, foreign, hot. The thrill grew instantly. I shivered, but not from being cold. I knew exactly what I was going to do next. I wet my finger thoroughly, spitting on it again and again until it was covered with foamy spit. My hand trembled as I moved it carefully behind me so as not to wipe off any of the saliva. Was I really going to do this? I took a deep breath. Yes, I was. No one would ever know. The first rays of sun were just beginning to reach me. I felt as if I was being bathed by it, my nakedness exposed to it alone. But how to do it? Standing up, my buttocks were pinching together. They needed to be apart, the way that Blaine’s cheeks had been when he was sitting in Byron’s lap, or mine when I squatted in the surf with Bruce. I squatted and brought my hand up from underneath. I rubbed down the furrow until it came across the creased dimple. After the first pass, I needed more saliva. I licked my finger again quickly, making sure that most of the saliva was on the tip. I brought it back, this time from the front. I felt under my scrotum with my other fingers, searching. It was further back than I expected. It was a stretch. I poked at it with my wet finger. The slipperiness of it took my breath away. My finger pushed through the wrinkly opening. I gasped and felt the sun on my face. It wasn’t very far inside, but it was inside. There was no doubt about it. I could feel my finger just inside my body even as my muscles tried to squeeze it out again. I took a deep breath and pushed.
My finger was halfway inside my anus before I realised it. I hadn’t even pushed that hard because I was afraid of hurting myself. There was no pain at all. None. There wasn’t a lot of pleasure either, at least not at first. The pleasure came later. There was just the incredible sensation of having my finger up my bum! It wasn't all that far inside and I felt funny all over. Quivering, trembling funny. Not-stopping-to-regain-my-breath funny. I kept pushing. It glided easily into my rectum, deeper and deeper. My sphincter muscle offered no resistance at all. I stopped only when my finger could go no further. I shuddered and tried to make my body relax and accept it.
That morning, although I didn’t know what it was called, I discovered that there was a very strong muscle just inside the opening. The natural function of that muscle was to push things out and keep them out. It took a good deal of coaxing before it worked in reverse. The coaxing consisted entirely of cautiously moving my finger in and out. The muscle gave way very slowly, but at least it didn’t hurt. It simply felt strange. After a few back and forth movements my finger began to loose its slipperiness as if drying off from the heat within. Instead of pushing and pulling, I began to wriggle it around inside me. If I twisted it if felt like a corkscrew. If I lifted it up,….
There was a pressure point inside my bottom, a pleasure zone that was right at the end of my finger. I didn’t know the words that described my anatomy, words like sphincter, rectum and prostate were a foreign lexicon. All I knew was how good it felt. I strained down, pushing against my finger, struggling to get my finger in deep enough that more than my fingertip was there. I wanted more. I needed to increase the pressure. I wanted it deeper even if started to hurt. The muscle contracted by itself, squeezing back on my finger. I groaned and tried to relax, suddenly tired. It was as if my energy was rushing out of me. My knees felt weak. I came off my haunches and settled forward with my knees in the sand, bracing myself as I forced my finger upwards to where my belly was. Something made me gasp, inhale and not breath out again. I could stop myself from trembling.
The sensation wasn’t disagreeable. It wasn’t entirely painful or delightful, but somewhere between the two extremes, or both mixed together. I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that I had to do it again. I breathed out slowly before I deliberately levered my finger upwards. The angle was wrong. My finger wasn’t long enough. It felt good, but it wasn’t enough, even if I pushed down with all my strength. I sensed the possibilities ahead even as I realised why someone else had to do it to me. That was why it felt so wonderful when Bruce did it to me during the night. His fingers were much larger than mine. It wasn’t something that a boy could do for himself because his fingers weren’t big enough and he couldn't get them far enough inside. Someone else, a grown-up, had to do it to him.
So I stopped. I smelled my finger after it was out. I could hardly smell it but what there was, was both disgusting and delightful. My finger came out clean and the smell was barely noticeable. It was still wet, just not as much. I could have reinserted it again without difficulty. I resisted doing it despite the empty sensation that persisted until I stood up and began to walk down the beach. For no other reason than I was embarrassed by what I had done, I started to run. I ran and ran, running as fast as I could go because I wanted to leave my worries behind me. Running flat-out was the best way to do it.
My sprint down the deserted breach lasted for several minutes. Then, I jogged, splashing through the water, playing my toss-the-board-shorts-and-catch-them game. A few times when my timing was off, they landed in the water. Eventually, my jogging slowed to a walk. Only then did I start to think about it. My world had been turned upside down. Allan James Harding, heir apparent to Brindajari was a poofter. So was his best friend. And his best friend’s brother. And Byron. All of us? Hardly likely. Maybe it was just me? I stopped and stared out to sea. The golden orb of the sun was above the horizon. It had happened so quickly. One day I was a normal kid, and the next? I stuck my finger up my bum to see what it would feel like. I shook my head and stopped.
“You can’t be,” I said miserably. I kicked at the water. “Fucking poofter!” The words sounded remote. Everything was wrong. My life was ruined. “No!” I took a deep breath. “Damn! Bloody shit! Fuck! Cunt! Poofter!”
At eleven years old, a boy didn’t cry very often, yet tears welled up in my eyes before I could stop them. Every one I knew would hate me if I was a poofter. My mother would never talk to me again. I wouldn’t have a single friend. Not even Blaine. We’d made jokes about poofters too often for me to think otherwise. And I was one of them. I wiped the back of my hand across my eyes. I blinked. I stared at the waves, thinking how very easy it would be to die. I could be slammed underneath one, to be crushed onto the sand when the wave broke and I might not come up alive. Then, in the still grey surf, right behind the line of a breaking wave, I saw the fin. A huge fin. A curved fin that was grey at the tip. It zigzagged suddenly. Dolphins didn’t do that. They went up and down. It was too big for a dolphin anyway. It disappeared. I waited without knowing why, wanting it to reappear, just to make certain that my eyes weren't deceiving me. When I saw it again it was closer, cutting through the quieter water of the channel. I kept looking until it was out of sight.
Strangely, seeing the tiger shark took away my self-loathing. I began to walk back towards the headland, to where the others were still asleep in the shack. I had run a surprisingly long way. On the way back, in my usual unrelenting manner, I figured out a solution to my problem. In a way it really didn’t matter if I liked girls or not. Even if I was a poofter, all I had to do was to pretend otherwise. No one would know but me that my life was make believe. With the naivety that only an eleven-year-old boy can possess, I promised myself that from that day forward, I, Allan James Harding, would not be a poofter. I felt a lot better after that.
By the time I got back to the shack they were out of bed and cooking breakfast. However, instead of going inside, I stayed on the deck. I could hear their voices clearly, too clearly.
“You really spunked on him, Bruce?” Blaine asked with a giggle.
“Yep. The little bugger didn’t expect it I guess, so I almost fucking drowned him in it.” Bruce sounded proud. “Man, it went everywhere. He looked so fucking sexy afterwards.”
“All wet and slimy, huh? You gave him a real spunk bath.” Byron laughed. “Good for you. Did he get off?”
“Yeah, but only after I wanked him for a while. He went off like a bunger at the end. I was afraid he’d wake you guys up.”
“Cool.” Blaine sounded impressed. “He really let you wank him?”
“Mostly he just wants me to play with the head.”
“That’s probably because the skin on his dick is so tight. I've never seen one that's so tight. Poor little guy. I wonder who did it to him.” That was Byron.
“Why is it like that?” Blaine asked. “His is way tighter than mine.”
“Search me, Blainey. Ask your dad, he’s the doctor in the family. I guess that’s how it’s done sometimes.”
”Maybe the doctor cut too much off by mistake,” Bruce suggested. “Or his dick grew longer afterwards.”
“More likely his gran probably wanted him done like that, nice and tight so her little boy wouldn’t be able to wank himself silly.”
Everyone laughed. I smiled too. I loved my grandmother, but no matter what it was, I always had to do things her way. She set such a high standard for me that I could never satisfy her. I tried my best to, but I never reached it. There were times when I wondered whether she really liked me. It was difficult to tell sometimes. She was very strict about what I did. Sometimes, she showed she cared. For example, my staying on the school football team was a constant struggle between us every time I came home with a bruise, yet if I fell off my horse, she always told me to get back on but be more careful. If I didn’t eat everything on my plate, she was certain to comment about the starving Chinese. Like most Australians, our family wasn’t what could be called ‘religious’, but she still made me go to Sunday school every week. What good it did me, I never knew.
My grandmother was very conservative, a true dyed-in-the-wool Country Party voter. If she even suspected what I did with Blaine she would have shipped me off to boarding school and forbidden me to ever talk to him again. Indeed, she talked long and hard with my mother about doing just that, sending me to a boarding school when I started high school, There were several in the Blue Mountains, including one at Katoomba which would have been conveniently on the way from Sydney to Brindajari. The subject came up often enough that she sounded like a broken record. It would, as she put it, not only make a real man of me, but it would also bring me into contact with the right people, whoever they were. As far as I was concerned, Blaine and his family were the ‘right people’. For good reason, I spent more time at his house than I did at mine.
“So what else did you do?” Blaine asked boldly.
“No idea.” Byron laughed suddenly. “You didn’t!”
“Nope! I wish. Man oh man, I wish, but I did stick my finger up his bum.”
“Now you’re talking. How did it go?” Byron demanded.
“Did he like it?”
“Blimey, mate. Out with it. Did he like it?”
“Yeah, I guess he did.”
“You guess he did?” Byron said sarcastically. “Geez. It's like pulling teeth. Okay, did he say anything?”
“No, not really. I think he did. I mean he acted like he enjoyed it. He sure didn’t want to chat about it afterwards.”
“Oh, he liked it all right. He’s one hundred percent pure poof. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
“I sure as hell hope so.”
“More like ‘I know so’, Bruce. In fact, I can fucking guarantee it.”
“How can you tell?” Blaine asked.
“For one, from how he looks at other guys’ dicks. He’s always staring at yours, Blainey. Plus he's always getting a stiffie when Blaine's close to him, or haven’t you noticed?”
“Yeah. Of course, I’ve bloody noticed. I’m not blind. But they’re best friends,…”
“That’s true, but he’s also got a thing for you. He likes you a lot and he already knows you like him, thanks to old Blainey here doing what I told him. Give him a few more days to warm up to you. He’s a nervous nellie right now. He needs to get used to the idea of guys having sex before he lets you have a go at his bum.”
“You really think so?”
“Christ almighty. You’re talking to the fucking expert you know. Aren’t you paying attention? Bruce, I know so. You already told me he was showing some interest in what Blainey and me do, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. He asked a bunch of questions that’s for sure. He wanted to know if it hurt when your cock went up Blaine’s bum,” Bruce snickered.
“So what did you tell him?” Blaine laughed.
“Nothing that wasn’t true. It didn’t seem to faze him all that much.”
“Why am I not surprised by that? Look there’s something I should have told you yesterday. You’re going to have to be real careful with him,” Byron added. “I pretty sure he’s having a difficult time adjusting to seeing Blainey and me together. He’s probably a bit jealous because Blaine’s been his best friend and all forever. Here’s the thing. I reckon you’ll be able to take Blaine’s place if you play your cards right. Just don’t go for him like a bull in china shop or he’ll run for his mum.”
“Be his friend before you try to do stuff,” Blaine suggested knowledgeably.
“Like you’d know,” Bruce sneered.
“Allie and I have been friends since kindergarten,” Blaine reminded his brother. “I know him better than both of you.”
“He’s never had a dad, or a big brother, or an uncle who’s a perv. I'm the only person he's done stuff with, for that matter. It’s all new to him.”
Blaine squealed. It was the same sound he made when I tickled him. Like me, Blaine was very ticklish. Sometimes I didn’t even have to touch him to get him to burst into giggle. Anticipation was enough.
“Blaine’s right on,” Byron insisted once the giggles stopped. “Our cute little farm boy’s grown up with two women constantly looking over his shoulder. His mum’s okay, but his gran is a real bitch if ever there was one. He’s all alone like a country dunny. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be around guys like us. He probably thinks we’re a bunch of poofs. The last thing I want him to do is tell anyone what happens up here. That would be the biggest fucking boo-boo of all time.”
“Just be his mate, Bruce,” Blaine suggested. “He likes you more than you think he does.”
“Like? Man, I need more than fucking like. I think I’m in love with him,” Bruce muttered.
“Christ almighty. Who isn’t mate? I’d love to be in your shoes right now.”
Then, they stopped talking about me. I didn’t know what to think. My ears were burning in the way that only an eavesdropper can appreciate. They hadn’t been trying to hurt me. I wasn’t certain that I understood everything that had been said, but there was enough grasp of the subject on my part that I was devastated. All they had done was tell me about myself. I wandered to the side of the deck and gazed at the surf, at waves that were perfectly shaped as they rolled in from far across the Pacific Ocean. I felt stifled, and it wasn’t the morning heat building up. I needed to be by myself and think things out yet again, but it would have to wait until later in the day.