Date: Thu, 13 Dec 2018 14:52:58 +0000
From: martinsmemories@hotmail.com
Subject: Edinburgh Boys

Please, if this type of content is unappealing to you or illegal where you
live, then turn back around and head out the way you came in.

"Hey, leave him alone guys," sighed Daniel, picking up my rucksack that had
been seized from my hands and thrown away as I stood up to get off the bus.

"Sticking up for your boyfriend, faggot?" asked Andy, the one who'd taken
my bag.

"Nope, just sticking up for the 12 year old that the three 16 year olds are
bullying ," Daniel replied, weary, and handing me my bag. "C'mon, Izzy."

My face burning, I followed my noble defender along the aisle, ignoring the
stares I could feel in the back of my neck and hurriedly jumped down the
few steps to the pavement, mumbling my thanks to the driver. The sun was
merciless; It was August and Edinburgh was in the midst of the hottest
summer on Scottish record. The tarmac burned the soles of my feet through
my trainers and I could feel my toes slick with sweat inside my damp socks.

I glanced up at Daniel. "Thanks," I muttered, before turning off and
opening the gate to the crazy paving path that led up to my front door; the
bus stop was right in front of our garden hedge.

"Don't mention it," said Daniel from behind me. "They'll keep giving you
grief until you stand up for yourself," he added, body hidden by the thick
privet bush. I ignore him and try the door handle. It does budge. I jiggle
it again. Nothing

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck..." I whine, high voice quivering pubescently.

"What's up?" I hear Daniel ask from a little further down the road.

"Forgot my key and dad locked the door." I check under the door mat; no
such luck. Daniel's grinning face appears above my gate.

"It's just not your day, is it pal? Wanna jump down to mine, wait for your
dad?"

I glance at my phone; he won't be home for another hour and a half.

"You sure?" I ask.

"Totally." Daniel opens my gate and gestures for me to follow him.

I've known Daniel for about 5 years now; ever since mum and dad split up
when I was 8. Dad and I moved into a wee 2 bedroom house in the outskirts
of Edinburgh and he and Daniel's mum hit it off almost immediately. Not in
a romantic way, but two single parents of young boys, 4 doors apart and in
desperate need of a drinking buddy, the two were now a platonic super
team. Thus Daniel had always kept an eye out for me. 4 years my senior,
we'd never had too much exposure to each other but now I was in my first
year of secondary school we caught the bus together every morning. Though
we hadn't exactly been friends, it was nice having a friendly face
guaranteed. It almost made up for the abuse I had hurled my way.

I'm Isaac MacDonald. I'm 12, nearly 13, and I'm about 5 foot 4 inches. Wee
bit dinky. I'm also skinny, pale as milk with bright red hair that falls
almost to my shoulders. I'm a walking magnet for bullies. Daniel, on the
other hand has got to be about 5'9, 5'10 with shaggy brown hair that he's
constantly pushing out of his eyes and periodic hair on his chin. I follow
him into his house.

"Irn Bru?" He asks, opening the fridge.

"Please."

He hands me an ice cold can and I resist the urge to rub it all over my
face. Daniel, however, does not and takes great delight in tabbing the
glistening can over his neck. As he reaches his elbow past his ear he
sniffs, suddenly.

"Jesus fuck," he exclaims, laughing. "I fucking stink. Come on man. I need
to get out of my shirt."

Daniel's bedroom was on the ground floor, behind the kitchen. If I stood on
the edge of the rockery in my back garden I could see into his room, if he
left the curtains open. Not that I ever did, mind. I just... knew I could
if I wanted to. The first thing I noticed was that Daniel was messy; I was
untidy, leaving games and books on the floor and desk and such. But this
room was messy. As well as clothes, mainly socks and underwear, strewn
across the grubby blue carpet there were a few plates and empty juice
bottles hoarded at the corners, with an assortment of about eight half
empty glasses and mugs on his bedside table.

"Sorry about the state of this," he said, sounding genuinely apologetic. "I
keep meaning to tidy it but... lazy..."

I laugh. "Don't worry about it. If dad wasn't so OCD my room would be the
same."

It wouldn't but he doesn't need to know that.

Daniel dropped his bag on his bed, unbuttoned the top few buttons of his
school shirt and pulled it off over his head. His body came into view and I
felt my eyes lock onto his torso. He wasn't ripped, not by any stretch of
the imagination, but he was flat stomached with a pair of hard, if flat,
pecs. There was a thick patch of light brown hair around his belly button
that disappeared into the pink waistband of his boxer shorts, mostly
obscured by his black skinny jeans. His pink nipples were circled by think
rings of hair and a diamond of fur lay in the centre of his chest.

"Eugh, that's better," he groaned. He lifted an arm and inhaled deeply,
nose only centimetres from his pit. A thick ball of brown fur, curled with
sweat, stood in stark comparison to his light skin. "Damn, I reek. You ever
notice you quite like the smell of your own BO?"

"I hadn't, no," I said, eyes quickly on the floor.

"Must just be me then," he laughed. "Give me five minutes, I'm going to go
jump in the shower. Here."

He turned on his Xbox and handed me the controller. "Keep yourself busy, I
need to go wash this stink off me."

Left alone, I absent mindedly put on Netflix and stuck on a random episode
of Final Space. As the animation lit up the screen, I glanced idly around
the bedroom. Posters of bands I don't listen too, an impressive selection
of Xbox One and 360 games adorn a shelf and contrasting video game
collectables sit on a desk next to an array of stuffed toys. Clearly too
sentimental to throw away. I sit on the edge of the bed; my eye is drawn to
the slightly open drawer of his bedside table. Us I g my pinky finger, I
gently pull it open a little more. There is a loose collection of condoms
in yellow wrappers, some silver packets of what I assume is lubricant and a
large jar of what I soon discover is coconut oil. The condoms and lube I
understand but the coconut oil? I don't get it. I pick up one of the
condoms. I've never held one before. Did this mean Daniel was having sex?
I'd seen him hanging out with some girls before but the thought of him
doing sex made me feel weird. I knew... I knew how it worked, obviously,
but the theory and reality were two very different things. My mind suddenly
conjured an image of him under the blankets, on top of a faceless girl,
writhing, sweating, panting. My willy is stiff and uncomfortable. I
feel... jealous? I'm only 12, I can't be jealous of a 16 year old because
he's getting sex; it's just a matter of age.

There is a sudden un-noise, and i realise that the shower i hadn't been
listening too had stopped running. I hurriedly close the drawer and move to
then end of my bed, opening my phone and pretending to check Facebook while
half heartedly watching the show. I realise I should text my dad and have
just sent it when Daniel reenters his room in just a pair of baggy gym
shorts, viciously drying his hair with a towel, which he throws over the
back of the small sofa in the corner of the room.

"I love this show," he tells me, grinning. He picks up a white tank top
from the floor, sniffs it, then slides it over his head. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I assure him. "Just warm. Wanna get changed too."

"You can borrow some of my clothes if you like?"

"Nah, it's cool. I'll wait till I can get home and shower. Don't wanna put
clean stuff over my sweaty body."

"I understand. C'mon, let's go sit in the garden, it's too nice to be all
locked up."

Daniel dragged a couple of deck chairs out of the garden shed and set then
up at the bottom of the garden. Instantly I feels sweat start to gather
over me again. Daniel leans back and puts his hands behind his head,
exposing those incredibly dark hairy armpits. We talk about school, music,
games and I suddenly realise we've never actually just sat and chatted
before. At least not so organically. It's usually forced conversation until
out parents are finished nattering away.

"What?" Daniel asks suddenly.

"Eh?"

"Why do you keep staring at my pits," he asks, glancing into them and
giving one a good scratch. "Is there something in it?"

"No!" I blurt out, embarrassed at being caught out. "No, it... it's
just..."

"Cos they're really hairy?" he asks. I sit in silence. Is it gay to say
yes? "Mate, don't worry about it. When I was 12 I was fascinated by where
guys got hair. It's totally natural." He gives his pit hair a little
tug. "And I know I'm beast. Waiting for the hair to stop spreading but I'm
not holding my breath."

I laugh. "Sorry for staring," I say.

"Nah it's cool. Stare all you like."

Our eyes meet. There's what feels like an awkward pause before my phone
rings; it's my dad, letting me know that he's home and I'm an idiot.

"I need to go; homework to do."

"No bother man," says Daniel, stretching. "I should do the same, then I
need to go for a run."

"I'll see you tomorrow?" I ask.

"Obviously."

I turn to leave.

"Hey," I hear Daniel say. I turn back. "They're going to keep giving you
grief. Mainly because they're dicks. But if you're with me they'll ease off
a bit. But getting into shape a little bit might boost your confidence. I
run a lot and go swimming every week. Do you want to come with me?"

I bite my lip. I don't like exercise but I don't know if I hate my scrawny
body more. Plus if it means I get to hang out with Daniel some more then I
suppose I can make that work.

"I'll give it a go?" I offer.

"Atta boy," says Daniel, grinning again. "Now go on then. Get showered and
changed. I'll catch up with you tomorrow about going running, yeah?"

"Sounds good," I say, smiling.

This time when I try the door handle it clicks and I step into the call
entrance hall.

"Is that my idiot boy I hear?" Dad calls from the kitchen.

"It is," I yell back, kicking off my shoes and instantly being offended by
the smell that wafts up.

"Lucky we're such good friends with the neighbours, eh?" He asks me,
smugly.

"Give it a rest," I groan. "I barely know Daniel, he's just your
girlfriend's son."

"She's not my girlfriend, Isaac," he says, suddenly firm.

"I know, I know," I insist. "Sorry. I'm just hot and bothered. I need to go
and have a shower. I'm a'll sticky and horrible."

"Go on then. Wash away your stupidity and we'll have some scran."

I bound up the stairs two at a time and have already pulled off my school
shirt by the time I get into my room. Inspired by what Daniel said, I lift
my arm and sniff my bald armpit. There's barely any smell at all. I'm
sweaty but it doesn't smell. I wonder if just something that comes with
age? I put my hand into my pocket and pull out the crumpled foil wrapper I
had taken earlier. I rip open the packet and slip out the condom. It seems
so much smaller than what it represents, maturity and responsibility, when
it is just that small circle of rubber. I squeeze the little teat on the
end. My willy hardens again, thinking of putting it inside someone,
wondering how it feels to have sex. For the past half a year it's been
almost all I can think about, my wanking now a routine, once when I wake
up, once when I get in from school and once before I go to sleep, each time
leaving a single squirt of milky semen on my belly. I unbuckle my belt and
undo the top button of my jeans before lying down on my bed and lifting my
bum of the covers, pushing them halfway down my thighs. My willy slaps
against my tummy, the pink head just visible through the opening of my milk
white foreskin. A tiny jewel of precum is visible on my slit. My willy
started growing just before I turned 12 , just as my first shock of day-glo
orange pubes grew in. They aren't long and they only go about a centimetre
out from the base but I, like any 12 year old, was proud of them. At full
mast I'm about 4 inches long and about as thick as two of my fingers, but
as I slowly roll the condom down over my entire length I do not notice it
being as tight as I have read on puberty forums, where faceless boys talk
about how condoms are too small for them. Does this mean I am small? I
mean, it's not hanging of me but it fits like a glove. I wave my stiffy
about a couple of times, admiring it inside it's new coat. I am wearing a
condom, I say inside my head. I am wearing a condom. It fills me with a
strange sense of pride and I feel my small balls tense up inside their
hairless pouch. I begin to slowly masturbate, watching as my foreskin pulls
back inside the rubber and my pink head strains against the tip. It is a
new sensation and I feel my orgasm building already. I wanted to savour the
moment but too soon I am pounding hard on my stiffy, gripping the tip as it
slides up and down inside the condom until I finally tense, make a
strangled "HNG" in the back of my throat and the tip of the condom suddenly
fills as I pump out my semen. Panting and even a weather than I was, I
relax into my bed. I catch my breath before stripping off entirely. I
gingerly pull off the buses condom, careful not to spill any of my jizz. I
make sure it isn't leaking before storing it away in a drawer and wrapping
a towel around my waist, quietly padding my way to the bathroom.

End of Chapter 1

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