J. H. P. Cash, 367
When I Were Nowt But a Lad 10
My relationship with Robert became almost exclusive during the next term. Not because we agreed that it should be, but simply because we seemed to get as much as we wanted solely from each other. Robert was intelligent and took his schoolwork seriously. I was, in the first year of my 'O' Level courses, just beginning to understand that not only did I come top or near it in my classes, but that I actually enjoyed learning. Dab and Charlie were fairly serious about work as well, but it was still great to be able to go into Robert's bedsit and sit and read and work there. If he was there I felt a warm companionship as he worked away close by. If he wasn't there then there was the anticipation of his return. Soon, if his friends came in and found me there on my own, sitting in his armchair reading, they no longer bothered commenting.
Of course, I still had the occasional wank or suck with Dab or Roger, or even one of the new sprogs. But that didn't count, really.
Even in the summer term, when Robert told me that he'd started doing stuff with a couple of the Junior boys, our closeness did not diminish. I still loved being in his bedsit, whether he was there or not, and the sex we had together got better and better. Robert became increasingly adventurous. One afternoon he came in from Games and I was sitting in his armchair reading a novel. He closed the door behind him and said, "I was hoping you'd be here."
He pulled down the front of his shorts and showed me his stiff dick in his jock strap. He pulled my head forward, saying nothing. I started licking him through the jock strap. I didn't even have a chance to loosen my House tie before he pulled his cock right out and put it in my mouth. He came very quickly, put away his dick and pulled up his shorts and grabbed a towel.
"What you reading?" he asked and snorted when he saw that it was "Wuthering Heights": "Romantic crap! I'm off for a shower," he said.
I sat back, delighted.
"Beat that, Cathy and Heathcliff," I thought, grinning.
I could still taste his spunk in my mouth when he returned and sat down to finish some work.
I tried to molest him, but he resisted, so I just lay on my side on his bed and jacked off into a tissue while watching him at his desk. When I came I gasped quite loudly and Robert looked over at me and smiled briefly, looking at my cock, before turning back to his work.
Once a term the Corps had a Field Day. This was when the RAF cadets got their ten minutes in a propeller-trainer and the poor dumb infantry got to go orienteering over some nearby mountains. In the Navy we got a full day's sailing. That summer term Robert led ten of us in the whaler out into the bay on a blazing summer's afternoon. We towed an inflatable behind us and spent long, silly hours jumping off the prow of the whaler and floating back to the inflatable 15 metres or so behind. When the inflatable was ready to sink under the weight of boys those remaining in the whaler would pull it in. There were always a few boys left to crew the whaler at all times, so we made a steady round of the bay. Then we cut back across the middle towards home. Out in the middle of the bay, out of sight of land, we discarded our swimming trunks and dived in naked. It was ridiculously warm that day. One of those golden days of summer that you only get in your youth. Eventually Robert was persuaded, to great cheers, to kick off his swimming kecks too. I was jealous but delighted.
That night in bed I said to Robert, "I wish you could come out to us for the summer holidays. We could sail everyday. They have Enterprises at the Yacht Club and we've got a little Mirror dingy when we go and stay at the beach bungalow."
"It's a bit far and a bit expensive for me though. And maybe your parents might think it's a bit odd you having a 17-year-old friend home for the summer."
I wanted to say that I's miss him over the summer, but I couldn't. Somehow it would have been soppy.
"We've got the whole of next year." Robert said.
"And meanwhile, I need to shag you rotten before we have to go home."
Robert really liked watching me preparing myself for his cock. Sometimes he'd just hand me the Vaseline, but usually he'd say something like, "Get yourself ready." or "Get your arse greased."
I loved showing myself off to him, fingering my arsehole as he watched, wanking himself. On my back with my knees up was best for this show. That night I watched him between my legs, watching my fingers in my hole. He took the jar and covered his own cock. Often I got him ready too, but with my knees around my ears it was easier for him to do it. Then he knelt up and just put just the head of his cock into me. I tried to squirm down on him, but his put a hand on my belly to stop me.
"Wait, you randy little sprog boy," he said.
The angle was all wrong for him to enter further anyway. I was rolled so far back that he'd need to lean forward over me and press down into me. He held my hands away from my cock and just gently rocked his hips, moving the tip of his cock in me.
"Please!" I whined.
"What?" he smiled.
"Go in me properly..."
I nearly came as he loomed over me and thrust down into me. He held my hands at the sides of my head. I wanted to cry, I felt so overwhelmed being under him, taking his dick up me. My legs were over his shoulders now and he bent me double to kiss me. He fucked me very slowly and I could hardly stand it. I sucked at his lips desperately. Sucked on his tongue. He seemed cooler. Steady, evenly paced thrusts in to me. No hesitancy now; he liked to see his dirty little bumboy monged out on sex. I panted and he smiled.
"God, I'm going to miss fucking you over the holidays," he breathed into my face. "Fucking your little bumhole. Oh Fuck!"
A few days later I was leaving, the day before term ended, to catch my flight home. I went to Robert's bedsit to say goodbye.
"I want to see you the minute you get back next term, understand?" he said. "Find out which bedsit I've been put in and come a see me as soon as you get back, OK?"
"Yeah, sure. Of course." I said.
In the bus on the way to the airport my brother mocked me for looking sad.
"Missing our Chief Petty Officer, are we?"
"Fuck off!" I said. He'd left the school now; he wasn't a monitor any more. "Just fuck right off!".
I jacked off in the bog of the BEA Comet on the short flight down to London, and then again a couple of hours later as the BOAC VC10 headed towards our first stop in Rome. By Karachi my dick was sore. At Columbo there was a Buddhist monk at a table in the Transit Lounge where we waited as the plane was re-fuelled. He was funny and friendly and exuded such a sense of calm that my anxiety and sadness disappeared. He gave me a couple of booklets from his table: an introduction to Buddhism and an introduction to meditation. I read them on the last leg of our flight. It was a "Lollipop Special" - crammed full of kids returning from their boarding schools to their expatriate parents for the summer holidays. BOAC provided "Aunties" to supervise the "unaccompanied children" but it was pretty much chaos. I remember looking up at the childish madness around me and wondering what I, a 13 year-old kid, was doing thinking of my summer holidays primarily as a period without my older friend's cock up me, rather than a glorious, happy time at home in a tropical paradise. I think that I kind-of understood, a little. the Buddhist idea that pleasure was as much of a burdensome "attachment" as suffering.
We went for a week's holiday in the National Park in the middle of the country's most impressive primary rainforest. It was a wonderful experience: staying in a Rest House that could only be reached by boat; trekking through the jungle to watch the wildlife; staying overnight in hides high in the trees to watch early morning visitors to a salt lick; riding the rapids in a longboat. The only thing that I definitely wasn't into was the bird-watching trips. I sulked so effectively about these that my parents arranged for a guide to take my up one of the tributaries to the main river while the rest of our group went off bird-watching. The guide was not much older than I was - well, about 16. But a couple of years makes a big difference at that age, particularly in a strange environment.
We took a dugout canoe and Demang quickly taught me how to use a simple paddle. The tributary river was incredibly beautiful. Deep, calm and a clear green when the main river was fast-flowing and reddish-brown. And it was quiet. No other traffic as the tributary went nowhere. After a few miles we reached a waterfall - well a series of rocky rapids rather than a single fall of water through air. We beached the dugout and climbed up the rocks alongside the rapids. At the top we gazed out over the top of the tree canopy. I was just wearing Speedos and Demang a pair of cotton shorts. We knew enough of each other's language to get by and Demang asked if I wanted to swim. I was a little worried - there were little pools amid the rapids, but it looked like there'd be a strong possibility of being swept away. Demang grinned, took me in a bear hug and pulled me with him into the water.
Far from staying in the small pool by the bank, Demang kicked out, still holding me, into the fast-flowing rapids. He switched his grip so that he was just holding my head above the water as we were whirled away down the waterfalls. We bumped against a few rocks as we cascaded down, but I soon understood that this ride must basically be safe. Demang was laughing his head off.
As we got towards the bottom, as we passed through a few quiet, level pools and crashed over the last few spills, Demang let go of me, apart from keeping a firm grip on one wrist.
We dropped a couple of feet from the bottom of the falls into the large, quiet pool at it's base. The current took us towards a flat rock in the centre of the pool. Demang climbed up and I followed. He was grinning and asking if I'd enjoyed the ride. I was laughing in delight, laid out on my back trying to get my breath.
I knew the frequent cold and rain of Britain, and I understood how much more pleasant my tropical home was. But it was only much, much later that I realised that I had grown up in an environment which most would regard as some kind of unreal paradise, created for a Hollywood film. So, forgive me if this all sounds a little "Blue Lagoon" - it's not my fault that I was forced to grow up in South East Asia before the creation of the 747.
I got my breath back, looking round at the jungle around the pool. Some tree branches dipped over the pool. For no reason at all, without any sign that it would be welcome, I reached over and put my hand on Demang's crotch. He was a little hard, I thought. Certainly his dick seemed big in his wet shorts. Demand looked briefly unsure and I was worried if he'd just slap me away. But then he grinned and undid his shorts, pulling them down and slapping them out to dry of the rock. Then he pulled at the cord of my Speedos and pulled them down my legs and off. We simply lay there on the sun-bathed rock, arms around each other's shoulders, wanking each other off. Then we went swimming naked.
I tried to persuade my parents to let me stay another week, but they were very reluctant. I suggested that they could pay for Demang to be my guide and look after me for a week - he wasn't an official Park Guide, just a lad from the nearest village to the Rest House who helped out on on a freelance basis. My parents were not that worried about me spending an extra week on my own at the National Park Rest House, particularly as they were charmed by Demang, but they were concerned about me travelling home on my own. The journey involved a trip down-river in a longboat powered by an outboard motor, then a taxi ride to a rail stop and a local train, and then a switch to a mainline train to the capital. I honestly don't think that Demang, or at least the possibility of more sex with Demang, played a great part in the strength of my desire to stay on. That waterfall ride, that clear, quiet pool, the calm of paddling a canoe along the tributary. Those were what I loved. And Demang's smile and confidence in the jungle and on the river. Oh, alright... and his cock too.
Fortunately, we found a family who were staying on for another week and they agreed that I could travel back to the capital with them. The bungalow I'd been staying in with my brother had been booked for the next week; but a smaller one, more-or-less a Westernised version of a traditional local hut on stilts, was available. Demang helped me move my stuff over as my family packed. My brother couldn't understand my wish to stay longer. He'd enjoyed himself, but was keen to get back to parties and discos at home. I waved him and my parents away in the longboat very happily.
Demang had chores and duties at his home in the village - he looked after three younger brothers quite a lot. There was no formal contract as to how much time he was to spend with me or what we were to do. We just played it by ear. I loved just lying on the beach by the pool at the bottom of the waterfall, reading paperbacks I found in the Rest House bookcase - left by previous guests. After his younger brothers had got back from school and been given lunch, Demang would paddle up to see me. We couldn't get enough of the waterfall ride. It was an easy climb up and it was very easy to get in four or five wild trips in an afternoon.
I wanted to do more than just wank with Demang. I wondered if I'd have to lead him along as I had Robert. Our fist afternoon on our own reassured me. We stripped naked before our first ride down the rapids and grabbed at and hugged each other on the way down and as we floated out into the pool. After a few trips we climbed exhausted onto the flat rock at the bottom. I reached for Demang's cock and he stood up and told me to follow him. We swam over to a tiny sliver of beach on the far bank over from where I'd left my book, water and swimming trunks. There we would be completely private.
Demang lay back on the wet sand and pulled my head down to his dick. He wasn't fully hard as I took him in my mouth. He smelled and tasted different, somehow, to the British boys I was used to. He stroked my head as I sucked him, asking if I was sure I was OK with this. I looked up at him and smiled. He took my head in both hands and moved it on his cock. I thrust against the wet sand, lying between his legs with my own legs in the water. Demang raised his knees, his feet flat on the sand. I licked down to his balls. I had to brush away sand before really getting into it. I tried to push his legs up so that I could get to his arsehole, but he resisted, holding his hard dick out for my mouth. This time he just put the head in and began jacking himself.
His spunk tasted different too.
He wanked me off and it took me no time to come. I tried to kiss his cheek, but he just dodged away and dived in to swim to the other bank where our things were.
I swam after him and jumped onto his back as he rose out of the water. We wrestled and I just loved being in contact with his body. He easily threw me off and started putting stuff into the dugout.
It was getting near dusk, so we drifted downstream back to the small settlement where the Rest House was sited.
I had my supper at the Rest House early, avoiding the family with whom I was to travel home. I then went and sat in my hut, reading by oil lamp, wreathed in the smoke from a mosquito coil. Demang appeared and dragged me into the bedroom area and under the mosquito net over my bed. We had hardly any clothes to discard. Demang lay back on his elbows and I happily went back to sucking his dick. This time he let me raise his legs and get down far enough to lick at his crack. I had to fight to get right in and start on his arsehole, but once I did he seemed to relax and enjoy it.
Eventually he pulled up my head and looked seriously at me as he pushed a finger through a hole made by the index finger and thumb of his other hand.
I said, "Yeah, you can fuck me, of course!"
"OK! your bottom's going to be fucked," Demang grinned back.
We used sun-tan oil, having no Vaseline. It was Bergasol, a fairly expensive brand that contained bergamot. Not enough to make my bum or Demang's cock sting, but enough to give Proust's madelaines a run for their money. I used it until it was withdrawn from the market and it always brought back delightful memories. I wanted him to do me on my back but he very firmly established that I was to be on my knees and elbows, with my head down on the mattress. He shifted us so that he could kneel behind me at the apex of the mosquito net hanging over the bed. He held my hips and pushed in. I grunted in some pain, but Demang just lowered himself so that his chest rested on my back, while still supporting himself on his hands.
He waited a little. I turned my head back to kiss him or urge him on or something, but he pushed my face into my hands on the mattress and started fucking me slowly. It felt wonderful. I wanted to try to kiss him again, but he grabbed my hands and put them on the back of my head, forcing the side of my face to the pillow. He would occasionally lick my neck or a shoulder, but I couldn't get my mouth to his face. As he started fucking me harder he pushed my hips down onto the bed and used his knees to spread my legs.
As soon as he came Demang rolled me over to wank me off, but I'd already spunked, just from his fucking me. And it seemed to me that I's spunked a huge pool, compared with what I normally managed. Demang had a quick shower and left. I tried to hug him "goodbye" but he just playfully pushed me back under the mosquito net.
Demang fucked me in a friendly, enthusiastic but quite detached manner the following two nights. I couldn't persuade him to stay with me through the night. I loved just being with him and loved sucking him and getting fucked by him, but a wanted a little bit of a cuddle too.
One day Demang led me on a long walk through the jungle that brought us out at the top of our waterfall. We had our small picnic in the shade just away from the bank and Demang fell asleep as we rested. One arm was up behind his head. The other hand was on his tummy. He'd taken off his tee-shirt and was wearing just his khaki shorts and green canvas jungle boots.
He woke as soon as my lips touched his chest, but he smiled down at me and ruffled my hair. If I couldn't hug him I could at least explore him with my mouth and hands. His detachment somehow made it easier to just adore his body. He was very beautiful. I could consciously say that to myself now. He was only a couple of inches taller than I was, but his body was much more developed, more muscled, more adult than mine. I licked at his neck and kissed down to his armpit. His skin was slightly damp. He smelled and tasted wonderful. Wood smoke and sweat, the red soil of the forest. His hand stayed in my hair. I licked at his chest. I knew that I liked having my nipples licked and rubbed, so I licked at Demang's and then sucked on them. His raised his left hand from my head and used the other to push my face into his left armpit.
I took off my tee-shirt and undid Demang's shorts, dragging them down to his ankles. I couldn't get them over his boots and so just left them. My own shorts and underpants could be pulled over my shorter boots. Now when I licked at Demang's chest again, my own chest slid over his and my stiff dick rubbed against his hip. I gripped his shoulders as I licked down his body to his sweaty pubic hair. As I licked his balls I looked up along his body. His eyes were closed. I tried to get at his arsehole with my tongue, but we couldn't sort it out with his shorts still round his ankles. I gave up and licked and kissed down his legs,. I don't think that I'd ever licked another boy's body like this before. I recognise it now as a sort of adoration. I licked back up to his cock and started sucking.
I dragged over my small rucksack and took out the sun-tan oil. I slicked up Demang's dick and my own arsehole. Demang smiled and shrugged at me, placing his feet a little apart, knees up, and nodded at he lap he'd made. This was new too. But easy. I was naked except for my boots. I crouched over him and sat down on his cock. I leaned back against his sloping thighs. Demang laughed at me as I relaxed, loving his cock in me and loving looking at his beautiful chest and face. His hair was damp on his forehead. We were both sweating heavily. Demang moved his dick inside me, but I was happy just sitting.
Demang wrestled me over onto my side and then put me up on hands and knees, shoving his cock back into me. He came quickly and stayed in me while I jacked myself off. We both collapsed sideways and Demang briefly hugged me from behind. We took our boots off and leapt into the rushing water. We splashed and grappled with each other all the way down the rapids. As we were spat out into the pool at he bottom we floated over to the flat rock. But Demang wouldn't let me try to snog him and we soon set off walking back up to the top of the waterfall to collect our stuff.
It is only in retrospect that I understand an element of frustration in the time I spent with Demang. At the time I was extremely happy. I could spend time on my own reading without being sneered at by my brother or encouraged to get out and do something active in the sunshine by my mother. In particular I read two paperback memoirs about the jungle war against the Japanese during the Second World War - true stories in which the area in which I was staying featured quite heavily. I refused most offers from other guests to join their parties in any activities apart from the trips up the rapids of the main river. Demang and I did take a group of other expatriate kids - British and American - to "our waterfall" a couple of times, but mostly we were alone together when he had time away from his family duties.
We had one final Hollywood fantasy moment when Demang fucked me in my hut as a huge tropical rainstorm fell outside. It tended to rain everyday, just for an hour or so - this was not the monsoon season. There is no more cosy, safe but slightly excited feeling than being safe indoors as heavy rain crashes down into the jungle around you. With no need for the mosquito net Demand had me kneel on the edge of the bed and stood behind me, fucking me hard as the thunder and lightening raged. Well, OK, maybe the latter elements were not quite Hollywood (more Russian website, perhaps) but you know what I mean.
Demang helped me to carry my bags down to the boat on the morning I left, but when I made to hug him he shook my hand and slapped me on the back.
I hugged him anyway.
I started writing my sexual memoirs at the request of an online undergraduate friend who had been to an all-boys private day school at which there was little sex between the boys. He was keen to hear about "what went on at boarding school".
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