Cummencement Exercises
by Ashley Hardric ©2005

    This is a work of fiction.  That means it is not true.  Didn’t happen.  It’s a figment. No boys were involved or harmed in the writing of this story and no trees were sacrificed.  The author does not condone sex with boys; he just writes fantasies about it.  Further, sex in reality requires caution and protection, but my characters won’t catch any bad bugs unless I write them in.  Be safe and legal in the real world, and enjoy the story only if you are of age and location to legally do so.

    **This story is the property of the author and may not be reproduced in any form whatsoever without his permission.**


    “You wouldn’t dare,” Jimmy said, as we picked up our graduation caps and gowns.  “You’re all talk, as usual.”

    “Oh yeah?” I retorted with my usual quick wit.

    “Yeah.  You’re gonna wear your regular clothes under that gown and roast just like everyone else.”

    “No way, man.  It’s too fuckin’ hot as it is, let alone sitting on the stage under those lights.”

    “I’ll bet you ten bucks you chicken out.”

    “You’re on,” I replied, and we headed over to the auditorium to get suited up for the ceremony.  On the way over, I had rashly claimed that I was going to go through graduation nude under my gown, except for shoes and socks, as my final act of passive-aggressive rebellion against good ol’ Simmons City High School.  It seemed like the perfect end to my high school career at “Semen Shitty,” given my outward appearance of “nice boy” and “honor student” that disguised my secret alter-ego of “gay pervert and sex fiend.”   Only Jimmy and our friend Patrick knew about the secret me; to everyone else I was straight as an arrow.  Actually, all three of us shared the same characteristics.  We were always together; we’d been neighbors for like forever, and we messed around with each other a LOT in our rooms.  In fact, over the last eight years or so, ever since  Jimmy hit puberty, we’d had sex with each other every day, except when someone was sick or on vacation.  But it was the stuff at school that was so dangerous.  And so much fun.  Like jacking off together in the coat room in sixth grade during recess.  And shooting cum all over the band practice room.  And getting blow jobs under the table in the cafeteria at lunch.  And corn-holing the visiting junior high kids in the locker room during their wrestling  meets.  Not to mention cumming in our pants when we shared the back booth in Mrs. Cummins’s language lab, and jerking off together on the band bus.

    But all that was history (which was another story, too!), and it was time to put on the robes for Commencement.  “What the hell,” I thought.  “Who’s to know?”  I slipped my tee-shirt off and shrugged into the black robe.   Then while Patrick and Jimmy stared, and also blocked my view from everyone else, I dropped my shorts and pulled off my boxers, stepping out of them and zipping up my gown in the process.  I picked up the garments and stuffed them into the book bag that held the final contents of my locker.  “Looks like you’re out 10 bucks,” I said to the still astonished Jimmy.  “But you can keep it if you join me.”

    Not to be outdone, Jimmy repeated my tee-shirt and gown trick, and shed his pants too.  Patrick followed suit.  And so, buck naked except for shoes and socks under the veneer of academia, we lined up for the procession.  The same luck of the alphabet that had kept us three together all through school held true one last time, and we were adjacent to each other in the line,  seated at the far end of the back row.

    The lights beat down on us, packed onto the stage like sardines, and we were sweating despite our reduced clothing.  We had to sit on the little folding chairs -- Fat Fred in the row in front of us needed one for each cheek -- and the three of us were pretty much joined at the hips.  The speakers droned on and on, congratulating and extolling and challenging us.  It was all bullshit.  They used the same speeches every year.  No one was listening.  I was bored.  I slipped a hand into the slit in the side of the black gown and started to play with myself.

    Now, I should explain in total honesty that I am hung like a virtual horse.  I had been one of the smaller boys in my class in grade school, and when the hormone fairy visited me near the end of fifth grade just before I turned twelve, my growth spurt concentrated in my penis.  Even before my friends were shooting up in body height, I shot up in penis size.  The Summer between fifth and sixth grade, my dick grew from a basic 1 inch, prepubescent weenie to  more than 2 inches soft, and 4 hard, a condition it seemed to be in most of the time.  By the end of that school year, it had become a 6-inch monster that could shoot cum nearly two feet through the air.  The rest of me wasn’t growing yet, and my adult dick hanging on a hairless 12-year-old’s body was an awesome sight. Erect, it was even more impressive, for it grew about two more inches, and produced a very large load of cum.  (Once, sitting at my desk in sixth grade, I got a hard-on that rose up and pressed so hard through the wire mesh bookrack under the desk that I couldn’t move:  there was nowhere to move to in the little one-piece desk/chair that would relieve the pressure without major pain, and I was stuck there for over an hour until I got it to go down.  I had to stay in from recess and pretend to work on math problems while I jerked off whenever the teacher wasn’t looking, until I finally managed to shoot a pants load.  But that made my pants sufficiently wet that I still had to say seated until after the other kids came back in.)  By the time I started seventh grade, I was up to 7 inches soft,  and I could suck myself off, if I lacked better alternatives.  Eighth grade brought me to eight inches, and since I’ve always had kind of short legs, it hung more than half way to my knees. In ninth grade, I finally started to grow elsewhere, sprouting some pubic hairs and actually approaching a hundred pounds. (Even now I’m real skinny, 26 inch waist, 34 chest, 5 feet 9, with no body hair to speak of, and my legs are still short.)  But my testosterone continued to stay focused in my cock, and like the Eveready bunny, it kept on growing, and growing...  Since sixth grade, it has been adding an inch a year until it is now 12 inches long soft and more than 2 across.  (I am not sure whether it’s stopped growing yet or not.  We haven’t measured me for a few months.)  Obviously, when I was in junior high, I couldn’t fit it into jockey shorts -- boys sizes  didn’t have enough room in the pouch,  I didn’t like to sit on it, and men’s sizes were too big for my narrow waist.  So I had to wear boxers and let it hang down my leg, where it pretty nearly reached my knees.  Even wearing loose pants, I had few secrets.  No matter what I wore, my equipment was visible.  And when I got a hard-on, the world knew.   (Maybe that had contributed to my tendency toward exhibitionism:  “when you’ve got it, flaunt it.”)  Gym shorts had been a problem since seventh grade, when we had to wear school-issue shorts and classes were co-ed:  I didn’t fit into a “junior” jock strap, and again, the adult sizes were too big around the waist.  My mother finally had to take a “extra large” cup and sew it onto a “junior” waist so that I could take gym without total embarrassment.

    Getting a hard-on was a trying experience in school.  When I was hard, I stuck out at about a forty-five degree angle, which created quite a tent, sitting or standing.  From my normal “down” position, I couldn’t get fully erect because of my pants.  And it was so long that I couldn’t maneuver it out of my pant leg without dropping my pants, which was difficult at best in class (except for the back row of the language lab).  But it pushed up so much that I couldn’t just leave the room with the lavatory pass to jerk off like everyone else, either, because of the massive tent pole straining against my pant leg.  I quickly learned to cum on purpose frequently enough that I seldom had to worry about an unwanted hard-on in school.   And Patrick and Jimmy were more than willing to help me solve my problem.

    Of course, I took a lot of ribbing in the shower room, but I got a lot of admiration, too.  Both hard and soft.  And a lot of grabs and gropes.  I was kind of a celebrity  in the locker room; the guys were awed by my dick, and wanted to touch it, just to see if it was real.  At least four boys could wrap their hands around it at one time, more if their hands were small.  Of course, that kind of attention tended to give me a hard on, which are more contagious than yawns, so gym days always included at least a circle jerk after class, which contributed further to my reputation.  Apparently Mother Nature realized that pumping semen through the excessive length of my cock would require more liquid and force than normal.  Whatever the actual reason, though, I produced a lot of white stuff.  A lot.  My precum leaked out in a steady stream for a few minutes before I came, and either lubed my entire shaft or soaked the sheets or shorts, depending on venue.  And when I came, I produced roughly 3 or 4 times the volume of the average load of cum.  One time when we were a bit younger, we caught our cum and then measured it.  Jimmy and Patrick produced the usual tablespoon puddle, but mine filled one of Dad’s shot glasses more than half full.

    Another time back in junior high, before my pubic bush grew in, me and Patrick and Jimmy were fooling around with my new webcam.  We took some pics of me going from soft to hard and then all three of us jerking off, and posted them on a couple of newsgroups.  We got a lot of flames back, claiming that my dick was a “poorly retouched” fake and that our cum was “obviously” hand lotion!   Geez!  Just because I was bigger and more productive than most, there really wasn’t any reason to be insulting.   

    So I sat there at graduation in the back row of the stage, idly stroking my meat, paying no attention to the speeches, thinking about the cute boy I’d seen at the pool.  Of course I got hard, and my lengthy rod, unencumbered by pants, rose beneath my gown , a darker spot growing at the top of the pole.  Jimmy noticed immediately and slid his hand into my robe.  He erected a black lap tent right away, although of a more normal size than mine.  I slipped my left hand into the side slit of his robe and moved my hand across his smooth hip to the small thatch of curly hair at the base of his cock, and on down to his ample balls.  Jimmy has almost zero body hair, but a pair of the biggest balls ever.  He’s had to be careful not to sit on them since fifth grade, when he caused himself major pain and embarrassment by discovering that the puberty god had started with his balls.  Patrick noticed my lap action too, and he added a hand under my robe, stroking my thighs the way he knew I loved.  I let him take over, and transferred my right hand to his crotch.  He is the hairy one among us; just as I’d grown in penis power, he’d grown in hair.  By eighth grade, he had to shave his whole face every day, and his legs and balls and groin are covered with lovely thick blonde curls.  They go on up the center of his belly to his chest where they spread across his pecs and shoulders.  Jimmy and I have threatened to braid it for him, but we’ve never done it.  I caressed both of them on the stage as I had done so often before, in so many other places, as they both caressed me.

    Suddenly the row in front of us stood up and exited their seats, as the one in front of them returned to their places.  The three of us increased our efforts, realizing that we had little time.  Fortunately, we were still teens, and we were fast.  Patrick’s work on my thighs was nearly sending me into ecstasy, and Jimmy’s vigorous work on my slippery pole was bringing me to the edge.  I was breathing hard and fast, in fact we all were.  Patrick left my legs in favor of my balls and shaft, pressed the sensitive spot between balls and asshole, and like a human volcano I erupted, the hot gushing cum pushing the robe up with each powerful squirt, 8 or 9 times, and then dripping back down along my cock, and onto my crotch.  As soon as I came, Jimmy followed, filling my hand with his warm creamy spunk.  As I thought about how I might get some of it into my mouth without being seen licking my hand, I gave some final strokes to Patrick, and he shot off too, his cum landing on his furry belly.

    We’d left no time to spare; our row was  being called to get our diplomas.  We stood and joined the waiting line, cum dripping from all three of us under our robes.  I’d managed to wipe my hand on Jimmy’s leg, and finished off on his sleeve as we stood waiting.  “James Zowarski” the principal called, and Jimmy walked across the stage.  His mom was standing there with the camera and got a couple of shots as he received his discharge papers.  Then “Robert Zubrick,” and it was my turn.  Jimmy’s mom got me too -- she was in charge of cameras for our three families, which worked well because the three of us were seldom apart.  As I offered my damp hand for the obligatory handshake, I could hear a couple quite audible “plops” as a globs of liquefying cum dripped from my dick and landed on the floor.  No one could possibly know what the sound was; I hoped Patrick wouldn’t slip on it.  And then the last graduate:  “Patrick Zygowicz” and Patrick practically ran across the stage.  And he stepped on my cum trail and slipped!  He skidded only an inch or so before regaining his footing, but it threw him off balance, and he lurched into the school board member handing out the diplomas.  The school board guy was just bringing his right hand up to be ready for the handshake and was picking up the the diploma with his left, and suddenly Patrick bumped head on into him, nearly knocking him down and trapping his hand directly at the wet spot we had so recently created.
    The guy was quite startled, as was Patrick.  The latter recovered quickly, though, pulling back immediately and pumping the guy’s hand enthusiastically.  Jimmy’s mom snapped away, and Patrick took his diploma and made his exit before anything else could happen.

    After the obligatory Pump and Circumcise recessional, we were back in the changing room.  One last thing needed to be done.  “Wouldn’t it be nice to graduate with a full moon?” I said to my friends.

    “But full moon’s not for another ten days,” Jimmy protested, always the stickler for details.

    “Yeah, that’s right...   Ooooooohhhhh,  yes.  A full moon.  Like maybe right about now?”  Patrick added, the light dawning.  He grabbed a nearby chair and stepped onto it.

    “Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, and All the Ships At Sea!” I called out, using my best Student Council Election speech opening.  Startled, my classmates turned to see me, Jimmy and Patrick standing on chairs, still clad in our graduation gowns.  The kids stopped talking some, curious.  “I would like to take this opportunity to make a final comment, and express for the record my true feelings about my alma mater, Semen Shitty High School,”  I intoned.  With that said, we three turned around, bent over, flipped up our robes, and gave the senior class the most memorable mooning they would likely see.  Then, we straightened up, turned back around, unzipped, and presented a full front flash, our cocks and groins still wet with cum.  We finished our show by shedding our cum soaked robes, stepping down and nonchalantly putting on our street clothes before walking out to find our parents.

    It was a graduation to remember; I wondered what the next time in four more years would be like.

The End