Date: Sun, 09 Nov 2014 08:37:49 -0600
From: jason.kason@manlymail.net
Subject: Cock Worshipper Part 8

COCK WORSHIPPER PART 8
by Jason Kason
jason.kason@manlymail.net
jasonkason.tumblr.com

~~~~~~

"You said in your last journal entry," Philip was already saying before I'd
even got myself sat down, "that your step dad was getting suspicious of
where your interests lay.  What made you think that?"

"Did you like the entry, though?" I asked him, parking my butt on the cheap
padded chair in front of his desk.

"I think you were right when you said that the 'filth versus feelings'
ratio was way too skewed for my liking," Philip remarked.  "And the part
about the great cock up in the sky was obviously aimed at getting what
you'd call a psychobabble reaction from me.  On the whole, though, I think
Helena was right to ask you to write about what happened after that the
incident in the school toilet."

I shrugged.  "It was more about getting a reaction from her.  She never
seems to understand what I'm on about."

"Sexual dysfunction isn't her speciality," Philip said.  "She works more on
the addiction side of things."

"She had to ask me if I'm gay.  I mean... you know... what the fuck?"

Philip smiled.  "She probably didn't like to assume."

"It says right at the top of my record – pretty much stamped there in
bright red ink – 'PATHOLOGICAL PENIS OBSESSIVE'.  I don't think the
assumption would have been that unreasonable."

Philip just smiled and pretended to look down at whatever bullshit notes
Helena had left scrawled in her baby-style writing for him.

After I'd asked him if his course had been useful, which he said it had, I
told him about how my step-dad got wind of my cock worshipping exploits.
And that's what he said this journal entry should be about.

"Except I'd like to read far more about what was going on emotionally for
you."

He was trying not to use the word 'feelings' after I took the piss out of
him about it.

He added, "I don't really want to read endless descriptions of gay sex."

Like I'd ever write endless descriptions of gay sex.

"The thing is," I said, "it's kind of difficult to write about having sex
with two blokes in a caravan site shower room without... well... writing
about having sex with two blokes in a caravan site shower room."

"So I set a boundary and you're going to immediately step right over it?"
he asked, one eyebrow raised.

He's always going on about boundaries and where I am in relation to them.

A few sessions earlier I told him about how the cop who arrested me was
stupid enough to put me in a cell with another fella.  Some Irish lad who
was kalide drunk and getting aggressive; I guess the cop thought he might
teach me a lesson.

When the cop came back to collect me, though, he found us sitting in front
of each other on the bench like best buddies.  I think it took him a few
double-takes to figure out what we were doing: that the two of us had our
jeans yanked down and I was whacking away at both our stiff pricks and that
the piss-head had his hand down under my bollocks and his stubby thumb
plugged up my arsehole.

So much for me being taught a lesson.

What did he expect, though?  He'd just caught me in a toilet stall getting
spunk flung over me by four other blokes.  What the hell made him think I
was going to play nice with the drunk; a lad who wasted no time lobbing his
big Irish knob out once I told him what I was in for?

So I'd ended up with two extra offences added to my charge sheet.

"Two?" Philip had asked.  "Surely he didn't count the masturbation as a
separate offence from the anal fingering?"

"No, that was all counted as one," I explained.  "The second offence was me
offering to blow the cop off when I thought he was enjoying watching us."

Philip smiled and rolled his eyes back.  "You really are a piece of work,
Jason."

"He looked like he was the type to have a nice dick," I said in my defence.

"You think every guy you meet is the type to have a nice dick," he laughed.
And then, forgetting himself, added, "No doubt you think I have."

"You wanna prove me wrong?  Or even better, right?"

His face immediately became serious and he said, "Remember what we talked
about regarding boundaries, Jason."

So, yeah, he's very big on his boundaries is our Philip.  He mentions them
at least once every session.  I suppose he wouldn't if I didn't push
against them so much, but then that wouldn't be half as much fun.

Anyway, onto the story which takes place the very next summer when we were,
as you might have already guessed, back at the run-down caravan park on the
edge of an industrial estate in sunny South Shields.

As I've told you before, I was by now absolutely loving our holidays there.
The shower room had proven to be a deeply spiritual place in which to
worship cocks and by now I was smart enough to figure out which guys were
also checking me out, so I was no longer limited to just looking at all the
lovely choppers and then disappearing off into a toilet stall to beat
myself off.

I was starting to have loads more fun in there, and not just in the
changing rooms and toilets.  I was following blokes round the back of the
shower block to get on my knees and pay homage to whatever offerings they
had, and even sneaking back to their caravans with them when their wives or
girlfriends were out.

One afternoon I was taking my third shower of the day, disappointed that I
was the only one in there as everyone else was seemingly enjoying a rare
break in the endless rain.  After a while though, this nice-looking
dark-haired lad came in to join me, standing alongside me using the next
shower and looking maybe two or three years older than me.

He was really fit and had a few tattoos on his big solid biceps, which
weren't half as common back then as they are these days.

We were both working our shower gel into a lather, looking each other up
and down – first discreetly and then both making it obvious – and he
pulled his foreskin back to show me his bell-end and so I did the same for
him.

He looked blow-your-mind amazing, all wet and hunky and covered in soap
suds with his pink helmet poking out, and he chuckled as he saw my cock
starting to get bigger, not only because of the sight of his but by how
much I was rubbing the frothy lather into myself.  I grinned back to show
him that I wasn't embarrassed to be getting a boner in front of another
bloke and he gently jerked his cock a few times in the universal sign for
saying, 'I'm up for it if you are'.

I reached forwards and wrapped my fingers around his shaft.  It grew harder
in my hand, swelling to show its appreciation.

He smiled at me and said, "Aye, I thowt ya might be one o' them."

He had a strong Geordie accent; fancy living in Newcastle and holidaying in
South Shields.  You could catch the bus there any day of the week.  You
could probably walk it if you had a couple of hours spare.

I grabbed his cock more firmly and pumped his foreskin up and down, feeling
it getting rapidly longer and thicker as it revealed its full size.

"Yer good at that," he said.  "D'ya like doin' stuff wi' other lads?"

I replied that I did and he said, "What sorta stuff d'ya like doin' then?"

"I like sucking cocks," I told him.

He beamed at me.  "That's good that is, 'cause a like havin' mine sucked.
What else?"

I said, "I like licking bollocks and getting jizz on my face."

He chuckled but ignored the idea.  "Owt else?"

"I like taking it up me."

He laughed at that.  "Aye, now yer talkin'!  That's me favourite that is.
I love gettin' me knob up a nice tight arse!"

"I like getting mine up an arse too," I added, hoping we could take turns
on each other.

"Naah, I can't 'elp ya there, mate," he said without hesitation.  "I don't
bend ower for no fucker me."

His tastes were clearly similar to Hutchy's, except that he liked having
his knob sucked.  Many guys are like that in my experience: they like a
suck and then a fuck, but won't give a lot back.  I'm not too bothered as
long as their cocks are being appeased.

"I'll bot you up yours, though," he generously suggested.  "Nice and rough,
wi' me cock right up deep inside ya!"

I'd never had a guy offer to 'bot' me.  I figured it must be a Newcastle
term.

I kept wanking him until his organ had grown to full size and was looking
spectacular, arching upwards with a really pronounced curve and with the
head looking strikingly cone-shaped: narrow at the tip and then steadily
widening to its base.  It looked perfect for wedging itself between a pair
of sturdy bum-cheeks and then being able to cleave a tightly-clenched hole
open so the shaft could slide up after it.

Philip is always impressed at how I never forget a cock.  That's just how
my brain seems to work for some reason.  It's pretty useless information to
store away up there, granted, but I could describe to you in vivid detail
the shape, size, smell and taste of every single cock I've ever worshipped.
And how much spunk they produced: that's deeply ingrained on my memory too.

Anyway, he said, "Haway, then, bonnie lad, get yer chops around me knob."

"What, here?  Like this?"

He shrugged.  "There's anly us two in 'ere."

"But someone might come in and catch us."

"It's anly nat'ral, lads 'elpin' each other out."

"Okay," I nodded, unconvinced but still happy to duck down in front of him.

I gave him the full works, the way I was getting really good at by now.  I
used my lips and tongue on him, even nibbled him gently with my teeth,
until his knob-end was throbbing really hard against the top of my mouth
and I was having to swallow to keep up with the flow of juice he was
making.

"Aye, that's it!" he said, holding my head firm so he could more rapidly
fuck my face.  His big heavy nut-sack slapped against my chin, his balls
feeling bloated and heavy with his jizz.

"Suck uz nice an' 'ard!" he commanded, sweeping his large manhood in and
out of my eager mouth.  "Use yer fuckin' throat on me."

He knew all the tricks that a well-practised mouth could use on his cock.

I worked my tonsils against his pounding cock head like I was saying the
letter 'r' in French – it's nice that that came in useful one day –
and opened and closed my throat against him.  He gasped with delight.  For
him, his big tapering bell-end was definitely the spot to focus on.

I wanted to be able to learn how to control that pink dangly thing that
hung down in my throat.  I'd seen on a TV programme that some people can
wiggle it to make weird sounds with their throats, and I wanted to be able
to use mine to sweep back and forth against a fella's swollen cock-end when
I was sucking him off.

Blokes would love that, I was sure: I could imagine them whimpering and
being unable to stop themselves from cumming, so I'd have to figure out how
to swallow quickly while I was doing it too.

I'd even been to the town library to find out how to do it (remember we
didn't have the internet, or nothing like it is now, back then in the
eighties).  All I could glean was that it was called a 'uvula' but none of
the books had anything in them about how you could learn to control it and
certainly didn't mention anything about its usefulness in giving head to a
man's knob-end.

The Geordie lad pulled back and grinned down at me with his big cock at
full mast.  I love seeing a bloke's rod when it's fully turned-on, with the
shaft all thick and veiny and the head a polished, glistening purple.  I
love it even more when it's me that's done it to him: when it's my
passionate deference that's made it rise up in all its pure and perfect
splendour.

Geordie boy wouldn't have seen it that way: I totally get that.  It's the
cock that I honour, even if to the fella attached to it it's just 'me
fuckin' big chub-on'.

He chuckled, "Ya know 'ow to suck a lad off, I'll give ya that!"

I grinned back up at him, hoping to venerate my divinity further.

"D'ya come in 'ere a lot, then?" he asked.  "Getting' yer gob around all
the fellas' porkers?"

"Not all of them," I replied.  I didn't want to sound like a huzzie.

"Haway then," he laughed.  "Stand up and torn 'round.  Let's see if yer as
good wi' yer dirtbox as ya are wi' yer mouth."

I stood up with my own boner looking like a mere shadow of his great
man-sized stonker.  And I've already told you I'm pretty average, so god
knows how big his was.

"What, in here?" I asked again.

He grabbed my shoulder and yanked me around.  "Aye, it'll be al-reet,
there's nee-one gonna come in!"

He squirted some of his shower gel between my arse-cheeks, obviously having
no idea how much it would sting inside me, and then worked his cock
steadily up my hole.  As I'd expected, the wedge-shaped head of it really
helped it to push up inside me.

"Aw, yer pretty loose!" he said with some disappointment.  What did he
expect?  I'd hardly tried to pass myself off as a blushing virgin.

I winced at the pain of soap up my bumhole but was more than happy to bear
it for the sake of his cock.

"How many fella's 'ave yer taken up 'ere?" he asked.

"I dunno," grunted, struggling to take his apparently endless organ as he
pushed it further and deeper up into my bowels.  "Not that many.  Maybe
ten...?"

I settled on ten because it was a nice round number and didn't, in my mind,
sound like too many.  I knew the actual number was probably closer to
twenty by now – I really had got into the holiday spirit at the campsite
that summer – but ten sounded far more modest.

He laughed at my answer though.  "Yer a right fuckin' bot-boy aren't ya?
Ten big fellas' jimmies up ya...?  That's fuckin' well scuzzy that is!"

He pushed my back down so I had to put both hands out against the white
tiled wall, the showers we were under having long since petered out to a
mere dribble from neither of us continuing to press the push-button taps
in.

He held my hips and started working his cock in and out of me.  Finding the
position awkward, he kicked my feet further apart with his own, and then
told me to squat down a bit with him so that my rectum was at the right
angle for him.

"Do you really think ten's too many?" I gasped, gently coaxing my own cock
back to life now that his rhythm had started up proper.

He laughed again.  "Not too many, just a bit slutty for a lad as young as
you.  But if ya like it, why shouldn't ya?  It's not like yer's gonna get
pregnant!"

My cock was getting much harder now, enjoying the sensation of its big
brother right behind it enjoying itself up my bum.

"Mind ya love it, don't ya?" the Geordie lad went on, reaching under me to
briefly feel how hard my dick was throbbing.  "'Avin' fellas shaggin' yer
turd tunnel... get's ya well horny, doesn't it...?"

"It does, yeah," I gasped, although the answer probably wasn't really
necessary.

We got up a nice, steady rhythm together with the Geordie panting away
behind me.  For a big, laddish bloke who probably spent most weekends
trying to get his leg over pissed-up girls in Newcastle, he sure liked the
feel of another lad's arse clamped around his knob.  Perhaps it was the
position he liked, doing it standing up with his bollocks thumping against
the backs of a guy's legs; or perhaps it made him feel more manly to be
able to be able to get a fellow male gasping and wanking off from having
his cock slamming away deep inside him.

Another shower switched on and I turned in shock to look at who had just
joined us.

It was an older bloke, probably in his late thirties, and he was looking
across at us, at our two writhing bodies joined together butt-to-bush, with
a combination of fascination and horror.  His eyes were wide like he was
morbidly inspecting the mangled pieces of a car crash or some train
wreckage.

Geordie didn't miss a beat but kept on banging away behind me.  If anything
his knob swelled harder and his pubes pushed a bit more roughly against my
bum-cheeks at the fact of us being watched.

He called over to the older guy, "Never seen two lads bummin' before, or
sommit?"

"I think it's disgustin'," the bloke said, still peering at us and looking
like he'd forgotten how to blink.  "You shouldn't be doin' stuff like that
in here.  Kids could be running in or owld fellas wi' heart conditions."

"Aye, but they're not, though, are they?  There's just us three so it's
al-reet."

"It's not alright," the bloke said, finally averting his eyes to squeeze
some soap onto his hand.  "It's abhorrent.  That's what it is."

"Aw, fuck off," snapped Geordie lad without a diddly squat of concern.
"And keep some soap back to wash your fuckin' halo."

He could easily take the older guy if things got nasty: his arms were
bulging with his well-pumped muscles.  Since gyms and working out weren't
so popular back then, I would guess he was labourer or had some other job
which was very physical and involved a lot of lifting.

We stood together, side on to him, but both peering across at him as he
washed himself and returned our gaze.  He kept tutting and muttering stuff
about how we should be ashamed of ourselves, all the time unable to stop
himself from watching this big stud's shaft driving in and out of my cheeks
as he butt-fucked me right there under the bright strip-lighting.

I glanced behind me and saw Geordie lad grinning over at him so I smirked
at him too, the two of us joined not only in body but in solidarity.  I
started yanking at my swollen cock and he peered at that too, his eyes
appalled, so I grinned more broadly, jerking my foreskin hard and fast.  I
felt like our amusement was saying to him, "Yeah, we're two lads gaying it
right up!  What the fuck are you going to do about it?"

Geordie lad pushed me lower and grabbed me by the shoulders, then he
started really spearing with his long, thick cock shaft, sweeping his hips
in rapid lunges back and forth.  His hips started making wet slapping
noises against my butt cheeks and his knackers swung low between his hairy
legs with each powerful thrust.

The older guy kept on staring at us, completely transfixed.  His face was
going red, his mouth half-open.  Likely he'd never seen two males having
full-on bum sex; no doubt he hadn't realised how amazing it would look.  He
probably hadn't even realised the lad being bummed would have a stalk-on,
never mind be whacking himself off while his arsehole was roughly shafted.

I was gasping by now with the Geordie lad grunting and puffing away behind
me, when suddenly he sort of brayed with laughter and then called over to
the older guy: "Like what you see then, do you?  Makin' your little dickie
get all 'ard and tingly, is it?"

I looked at the man's cock: it was indeed getting a bit bigger and starting
to stand up.

Unlike the Geordie's dick, it wasn't that long or thick, but it was still a
beautiful and manly piece of meat and one which I could quickly tell would
make a very worthy subject of my adoration.

"It's disgustin', that's what it is," the bloke managed to stammer, his
face going a deeper red in his fluster.  "Makin' good decent folk look at
stuff like that... getting' them all worked up..."

"You should get over 'ere, let 'im suck yer knob while I bot 'im!  He's
fuckin' well good at it."

The bloke licked around his lips which must have gone dry and muttered,
"It's an abomination... that's what it is... havin' lads doin' stuff that
would make even husbands and wives blush..."

But his cock continued to have very different ideas.  It was pointing fully
upwards now and his foreskin was pulling right back so that his
bulbous-looking helmet eased out from it and pushed forwards looking like
an over-ripe cherry.

"Gan on, ya dirty sod!" Geordie boy laughed, still banging away at my rump.
"Let 'im suck yer stiff little pecker off!"

I noticed I wasn't being asked whether I wanted this self-conscious man's
knob in my face.  Not that I was complaining, of course, and I suppose in
fairness I hadn't really given the impression I'd refuse.

The bloke let his shower switch itself off, grabbed his soap and I thought
he was going to walk out.  Instead, though, he came over to the shower next
to mine, switched it on and started like he was still washing himself even
though he'd already rinsed himself off and was clean.  His cock, I noticed,
was poking pointedly upwards in my direction.

"It's a disgrace," he kept saying, his voice becoming more unsteady and his
breathing more rapid.  His face was now an even deeper shade of scarlet.
"Havin' lads comin' on to good honest blokes... wantin' to suck their
willies..."

I took the hint and craned forwards to get my mouth around the end of it.

"Nice married blokes..." he gasped, as I started nibbling at, swirling my
tongue around his bloated silky smooth head and working my lips around the
little ridge at the base of it, where his foreskin was pulled right back.

He made out like he was washing his dick, sort of rubbing his hand around
his stalk and his pubes, but soon he couldn't stop himself wanking his
foreskin back and forth and made small, fast jerks as I suckled away at his
cock head.

I tried to take more of it inside me – it wouldn't have been difficult
to consume him fully from the size of the thing – but he didn't seem to
like that.  He was a man who apparently only wanted his bell-end to be
sucked and preferred to tug away at his shaft while its purple head was
slurped at and nibbled.

Different strokes for different blokes, I suppose.  But that's what makes
the infinite universe of cocks so fascinating: you're never sure exactly
what each particular star among the endless galaxies is going to be like.

"This position you'd got yourself in," Philip asked.  "Does it have a
name?"

"I think it's called a 'spit roast'," I said.  "With me being the roast."

"Oh, I see," he nodded.  "That's quite apt.  I can imagine it being one of
your favourites, pleasuring a guy from behind while paying – I suppose
you could say – lip-service out front..."

He allowed himself a small smirk.

"Yeah, and me right there in the middle of the two of them.  A sort of holy
trinity of cock worship," I concluded.

The Geordie lad loved to watch me giving the older bloke head, such as I
was able to, while he was rutting away at my arse.  He really went for it
behind me, slamming in and out of me, telling me to suck the other bloke
off as hard I could, as if I really needed any encouragement.

Then he fell onto my back and grabbed me around the front of my shoulders,
using my body to roughly lever himself against as he rattled breathlessly
down his home straight.  All too soon, with a few short grunts and a
disappointingly brief release of spunk up inside me, he was finishing off
with his chest heaving against my back.

He pulled out of me and laughed loutishly as if someone had said something
about tits.  Then he said to the fella whose jeb-end I was busily sucking
off: "If ya've nowt against sloppy seconds, mate, there's a nicely
broken-in hole back here for ya to shoot ya muck up."

He laughed again and switched his shower on to start washing himself off,
especially his cock which was already softening and starting to droop down
in front of him.

The bloke I was sucking kept muttering about the filth of it all and then,
when I pulled off his cock to see if he wanted to use my bum, he muttered,
his voice still unsteady and breathless, "You should be ashamed... bendin'
ower for fellas... fellas wi' kids... so they end up doin' it up yer
bum..."

Again, catching his drift, I swivelled around and presented him with my
well-stretched hole, the Geordie lad's spunk still dribbling out of it.

He pushed his hips forwards a little, still chastising me about forcing
myself onto 'good and proper' men, but it was mainly up to me to work
myself back against his knob so it could ease it through my swollen ring
and slide myself down it until it was as far as it could get inside me.

I must say it was kind of like an aircraft hangar being vacated by an
Airbus 380 and having a little hostess trolley get wheeled in in its place.
You've heard the jokes about little peckers not really managing to touch
the sides of the holes they're trying to fuck, but in this case, with this
bloke's cute little peepee trying to follow-up on the great massive shlong
that had gone before it, it was pretty much true.

Even so, it was a cock and therefore to be treated with utmost respect.
Each cock has its own wonderful and unique gifts to bestow on those who
offer their praise, but even I've got to admit that this one wasn't really
ideally suited to pleasuring bums, since with two pert butt-cheeks to push
past before it had even started, its shortcomings in length were all the
more obvious.

Not that he did anything to make up for his limitations in size.  He just
stood there, gasping and panting about filthy boys like me chasing after
well-brought-up fellas like him, while I did all the work, pounding my arse
back and forth against his stubby erection, pumping and squeezing it as
well as I could with my over-loosened muscles.

When he came, after maybe half a minute or so, he did so calling out across
the shower room, "You need horse-whippin', ya little bugger!
Horse-whippin'!" and then pumped what felt like buckets of spunk into my
bowels.  It was relentless the way he was spurting it into me and felt like
it was filling me up in hot, gooey surges.

He said he had kids; I imagine there were a good few of them.

"What's all this got to do with your step-dad and his suspicions?" Philip
asked.  "That was the subject I asked you about."

"I'm getting there," I said, gesturing for him to be patient.  "This is all
backstory... it's all relevant."

When I got back to our caravan, my mam must have been out shopping or
gossiping somewhere, so Pete, my step-dad was in there alone.  He was
slumped out on the fold-away couch watching some mindless show on telly
and, thinking back, he must have been waiting a while, maybe a few days,
for the opportunity to catch me all on my own.

With me still clutching my towel and washbag and without looking up, he
said, "You spend a lot of time in them showers, Jason."

I looked over at him and he picked up the remote to turn down the telly and
then looked over at me.  His eyes were intense which was odd: they were
usually bleary and half-closed like his brain.

"You're in there four or five times a day, and sometimes you can be over an
hour each time."

I shrugged and tried to look innocent, which isn't that easy to do when
you've got two flavours of spunk trickling down the backs of your thighs.

"I know what goes on," he said quietly.  "I hear stuff and I'm not stupid."

His expression didn't give much away about what he thought of it and I
wondered if I might be in for trouble while my mam wasn't around.

But he didn't get up.  He just stared at me and continued.

"I know you're not just showering in there.  And I know you're not just
takin' the odd peep at whatever it is that you like so much."

I kept staring at him, probably gawping like a startled goldfish, and he
went on, "There's no point denying it, Jason.  Fellas have seen
you... doin' stuff... round the back of the toilet block and sneaking into
other bloke's caravans."

I just stayed stood there, wide-eyed in front of him and in the brief
silence that followed, managed to swallow the huge amount of spit that
suddenly seemed to have filled my mouth.

"And I hear stuff at home too," he went on, rising to his subject.  "You
get seen all over the place, Jason, always wi' a certain kind o' lad, and
you can't tell me that Donny Hutchinson's kid is only after friendship from
you.  Everyone knows what it is he wants, and what it is that you give
him."

I didn't nod: I just stood there looking gormless and wishing I'd wiped my
bum down a bit better before I left the shower block.  The way I could feel
the stuff running out of me, I'd be standing in a puddle of dirty spunk
next and I could see how that wasn't going to help my case.

"I won't tell you to stop doin' it, because I know that's not how it works.
And you needn't look at me like you've shit yourself: I'm not gonna thump
you.  What's bred in cannot be brayed out.  I know that."

I've always been impressed with his 'shit yourself' comment.  I mean, I
know I hadn't actually done that – not strictly speaking – but he was
pretty damn close.

He said, "I just want you to be careful, Jason.  There's some horrible
diseases around and the sort of stuff you're doin'... well... you know as
well as I do that you could pick up somethin' that you'll never get rid of.
Somethin' that'll kill you well before your time, and I wouldn't want to
see your mam put through that."

He was being honourable, in a way.  He was thinking of my mother – for
all he was a lazy-arsed layabout, at least he wanted the best for her.  And
maybe the best for me, but I'm less convinced about that.

"You know that if I looked in that little washbag you're holding onto, I'd
find the soap and shampoo that you go through like treacle, and your little
tub of Vaseline that you carry everywhere... but not somethin' else that
comes in packets of three that we both know is way more important."

Even in the middle of a conversation like this, he couldn't bring himself
to say 'condoms'.

"Just promise me, Jason – for your mam's sake – that you'll be more
careful in future.  You know how I mean."

I nodded.  "Okay."  It was the only word I said to him throughout the
entire conversation.

He nodded back and said, "Okay," too and I left my stuff and got the hell
out of there to go down to the little harbour and think about what he'd
said.

So Pete knew what I was up to but he wasn't going to try and stop me.  He'd
said he'd known he couldn't, which showed he had at least one brain cell
more in his head than I would have given him credit for.

I worried for the rest of that afternoon how we would be together over tea
with my mam there, but he pretended like the conversation had never
happened.  He clearly hadn't told my mam about it: she was just her usual
self going on about everyone else's business on the caravan site.  I
actually started to wonder if maybe I'd misinterpreted what he'd said until
I went for my last shower of the day and when I opened my washbag there was
a pack of three condoms in there.

My first three were on him, or so it seemed.

Philip asked, "Did your opinion of him improve at all?"

I shrugged.  "Not really.  I just think he didn't really know how to handle
it.  I've told you before how he hated anything remotely smutty so finding
out he was step-dad to this gay teenage cock-nympho was just way out of the
ballpark for him.  He had no idea what he should do."

"Didn't he tell your mam about it, like he did the previous year when you
were just looking at other men?"

I shook my head.  "I don't think he knew how to.  It had got way past the
sort of stuff he could maybe relate to, and I think he was trying to do the
best he could for me – man-to-man, kind of – without wanting to
actually ask me or wanting to even know what the hell I was up to.  He was
probably disgusted by me, if the truth were told, but he didn't want to
show it because he'd promised my mam he'd help her care for me as best he
could."

Philip nodded and glanced up at the clock behind me.

"This is all getting quite complex, Jason.  I think we'll need to delve
back into this subject next time."

"Do you want me to write another journal entry?" I asked him.

"Of course," he smiled.  "I'm pleased you're finding them useful.  But the
subject of this one can be completely up to you.  You have free reign: just
write about whatever you like."

So that's what I'll do next time: just write up whatever comes into my
head.  I must admit I'm kind of looking forward to it!

~~~~~~

jason.kason@manlymail.net
jasonkason.tumblr.com