Date: Tue, 23 Apr 2019 09:37:11 +0000 (UTC)
From: bidaddy5@aol.com
Subject: Greyfriars Fun: Prequel 1

At the end of my encounter with the tramps in the graveyard, there flashed
into my crazed sexed-up mind an event which changed me forever. I was
twelve, and an enthusiastic locospotter. My favourite place was our local
station, a busy place with main line expresses charging through, loads of
freight, and stopping trains, all steam hauled. The toilets were always
covered in graffiti, which I regularly went to read, and wanked by, but
nobody had ever visited at the same time as I did. There had been
engineering over the weekend, renewing points at the throat of the station,
just opposite the toilets. About ten guys were working there, and a steam
crane. No high-viz in those days, jackets, trousers and caps were the order
of the day. All ages were represented. I pretended to be spotting, but was
fascinated by the various bodies, and the very different faces, and indeed
ways of being men in front of me.  That weekend there were several
observers of the work, my locospotter mates and some older guys. The
workmen joked and played horseplay as usual. Quite a lot of the work
involved bending down to lift, and the men's strong buttocks were outlined
erotically in their shiny heavy grimy work trousers. My young cock twitched
then, particularly if another guy came behind his mate and felt him up, or
sometimes humped him from behind. Laughter and filthy phrases were shouted,
more filthy than my playground friends used. I was fascinated and
aroused. Then one or two would straighten from their work, wink
lasciviously at the watching group, and cup their dirty hands to their
bulging crotches, leering, and mouthing to their mates. The reactions in
the watching group varied from vigorous V signs to looking away, to
blushing interest on my part. One of the workers noticed my response, and
made a wanking motion with his fist, his eyebrows arched in enquiry. My
mates jostled me and laughed, but one of the younger good looking well
dressed men in the group with the ubiquitous camera and notebook, looked
thoughtfully into my eyes. He moved off to the toilets at the end of the
platform, briefly looking back at me, and winking, as he did so. I found
myself breathing hard in excitement, that he had chosen to interact with me
in this obviously sexual way, and my whole body responded, blood rushing to
my face and my groin, When he didn't return I followed him. He was standing
at the urinals, and as I approached, he roughly grabbed my crotch where my
hard small penis was tenting my shorts, then he slid his hand down the back
of them and pushed his finger end into my hole. I yelled from the pain,
shocked, turned and ran.  When I burst out from behind the wooden wall
hiding the entrance to the toilet, I tried to hide my erection with my
spotter notebook, but I noticed a couple of the workmen, one of whom was
the "wanker" guy, watching me and nudging each other, winking at me and
licking their lips in a suggestive way.

The weekend work had overrun, so that when I went to see trains, alone,
after school that Monday, there were only two men still working on the
track.  I was disconcerted and thrilled to see that they were the two who'd
seen me exit from the Gents. The guy who'd made the wanking gesture was the
younger of the two. I had heard him called Alec, and sometimes Eck by his
mates. He was wearing the usual flat greasy cap, a grey dirty jacket whose
pockets were distorted from carrying heavy objects, Under the jacket he
wore nothing but a recently clean white vest, which I knew showed off his
strong arms when the jacket was laid aside. His thick dark brown moleskin
trousers, heavily soiled at the knees and at the crutch were tucked into
his work boots. His companion was a shorter older man with a belly, whose
cap was at an angle over one eye. Paddy they called him. He had a strong
Irish Scots accent, pronouncing "fucking" with an "e". He also had an old
greasy jacket, of an indeterminate black/green shade, misshapen from years
of use, and thick dark green corduroy trousers, creased around the groin,
although not soiled like the younger guy's. Under the jacket he was wearing
a clean white shirt, open at the neck showing thick curly grey hairs almost
up his Adam's apple. His big chest and belly were covered by a
pullover. His jacket was buttoned, strongly creased from straining across
his belly. His pockets were weighed down. Neither men wore gloves, which
was usual in those days. Hands were hardened and blackened.

I took up my position on the ramp at the end of the platform, and waited
for trains operating on the down lines, the up lines being closed because
of the works. Between trains, I very closely watched the two guys working,
They were tamping the remaining ballast, using huge mallets, and I could
see they were exerting themselves a great deal, their buttocks flexing and
bunching as I gazed fascinated. The younger had taken off his jacket, his
once clean vest now smudged from wiping sweat, outlining his massive
pectoral muscles, and even his big nipples. His muscled smooth shoulders
were glistening with effort. They didn't look at me during half an hour.

After the stopping train for the Borders had departed, they downed their
tools, turned to gaze at me, both winking, the younger grabbing his crotch,
which I could see was bigger than I remembered, and stepped away from the
track, coming up the ramp towards me, their steel toed and heeled work
boots loud on the stone. They stopped together, looking down at me,
smiling. The smell from their bodies was overwhelming, a mixture of sweat,
cigarette smoke, grease, and the stench of dirty clothing and something
rank and fishy. Alec, still feeling his crotch, said that he had something
to show me, and outlined a long lump under his trousers. His dirty hand
left another layer on his groin area. My mouth went dry. I had seen
drawings of erect cocks, and I recognised the shape, but it was huge. Then
the older guy, who was emitting the strange sharp fishy smell, took my arm,
and they led me willingly into the Gents at the top of the ramp. The little
stone building was separate from the rest of the station, although under
the canopy, its entrance facing away from the main buildings. The station
was quiet between Monday afternoon trains. I was nervous and asked not to
be hurt again, which they agreed to, but I allowed myself to be taken into
the one stall. The older guy said he'd keep watch outside, and I was alone
with Alec, half naked in his vest, reeking of sweat and grease, in a big
Victorian wooden space stinking of urine and shit, the floor wet, toilet
paper scattered, the white inside of the dark brown toilet bowl stained and
filthy, and graffiti covering every available space. He left the door open,
facing the guarded entrance. During the next fifteen minutes or so, his
companions tackety boots signalled when he walked in to the entrance, and
was watching, before returning to keep lookout. In fact, Paddy commented
appreciatively from time to time on our activity. and on his own
increasingly active wanking. I later found that one of the reasons gangers'
jackets were so misshapen was because things that might have been in one of
their trouser pockets were uploaded into the jacket, and it was without a
bottom so that they could wank whenever they wanted. Work trousers were
seldom cleaned, and the spunk spattered down their thighs hardened and
crusted, accounting for the stiffness of fabric on one leg, and of course
the fishy smell. Most young gangers needed to wank five or six times in a
shift, particularly if turned on by schoolboy loco spotters almost within
reach.

Unbuttoning his flies, Alec quickly took his big floppy dark coloured veiny
prick out and started to wank. The whole length of it, which had no
foreskin, was slick with what I later knew as precum, he lifted a strand of
it with his finger, and brought it to my mouth, but I shrank back. His knob
smelled very strongly and fishy, and his finger was dirty, the nail
discoloured. However, it was very hot watching him working on the shaft and
the big purple knob at the end, particularly as it rapidly lengthened and
straightened as blood engorged the whole massive thing.  He asked if I'd
like to touch it, and I hesitatingly said I would, reaching out to touch
the amazing slimy heat of the hard yet at the same time soft column. As my
fingers made contact, he let out a loud moan, and indicated I should grip
it. My hand just about met round the thing. He moaned again and asked me to
wank him like he had done. I slowly started to move my hand back to the
root, then forward to the knob end. He moaned more loudly, then asked for
faster strokes. I was beginning to be really turned on by the feel of his
hot shaft, and inexpertly speeded up my manipulation. His moans began to
mount, with whispered instructions to go faster. I was amazed to find that
my hand began to increase speed as if driven by inner force. Quickly I had
achieved a rapidity of stroke I couldn't have imagined possible, and he
shouted that I had him, and his cock got even harder, and his whole body
began to buck as he shouted that he was coming, which I didn't understand,
and suddenly out of the end of his cock shot great gouts of creamy stuff
which splattered on the floor and out into the toilet space.

His breathing subsided slowly, and he told me I was a good boy. Then he
leant down and kissed me on the mouth. Nobody had ever done this before,
but he forced my mouth open with his tongue, and I felt a sensation which
softened me utterly, so that he could lift me off my feet and into his
reeking strong arms. A comment from the door appreciated what had happened,
and suggested he fed me. I had no idea what that meant, but Eric stroked
and squeezed the end of his knob, pooled some remaining white stuff on his
dirty palm, and clamped it across my mouth. My response to the invasive
kissing somehow made me open my mouth and taste the viscous creamy stuff,
which tasted salty, and smelt a bit of bleach, with a greasy grainy dirt
texture, but I took it into my mouth. The first time I tasted spunk. I spat
it out into the toilet.

Paddy then asked for his turn. Alec put me down, bent to kiss me again, and
then left. As they passed Paddy said that he was almost there because it
had been so hot watching Alec take the innocent boy. I didn't know what he
meant by that, but I was to quickly find out. he took me into the stall,
leaving the door open again, and bent down to kiss me too, the smell of his
sweaty body was overwhelming close up, almost as if his clothes were soaked
in the source of the stink. I was amazed at how I accepted his rough
invasive kissing. Clearly I had been turned on by Alec's session with me,
even if his breath was pretty rank. He asked me to put my hand in his
pocket all the way down. My hand felt the heat of his knob before I touched
the mass of thick curly matted hairs at its base. He wasn't wearing
underpants. I felt down the hot, sticky, surprisingly rock hard shaft , and
found that he had a foreskin, like mine. He asked me to pull it upwards,
and as I did so, my hand became coated with slime. His prick was shorter
than Alec's. but thicker. I couldn't get my hand anywhere near round it.

He wrenched my hand out of his pocket, unbuttoned his flies and yanked out
his hard cock, pulling my hand back, telling me to hold it. As I did so, he
gasped loudly, almost a shout. He commanded me to wank it, which I now knew
how to do. I thought I would use both hands this time, and as I did so, he
started to shudder, his knees trembling, and a crescendo of swearwords fell
from his gasping mouth ,all with a strong Irish accent, his Scots seemed to
desert him at that moment of ecstasy. He leaned back against the wall of
the stall, which resounded with his convulsive shaking, until with one last
long drawn out swear I felt his muck pulsing along the shaft, and watched
in awe as it erupted out of the slit at the end. I deftly dodged as it shot
across the stall and splattered on the partition. It was creamier coloured
and thicker than Alec's and slid slowly down the wall. He took my head with
both hands, and pulled me down to his penis, forcing my mouth over the end
of it so that the remaining slow oozing gouts slicked my lips, and entered
my mouth, coating my tongue. I was horrified, but aroused to a pitch of
frantic boy lust, and dry orgasmed long and hard shouting some of the same
words as he had used, in my poshboy accent.

Alec came into the toilet now, and they lifted me up, Alec pushing his
tongue to the back of my mouth., Paddy pulled my shorts down and clamped
his mouth over my little cock and balls together. This was so new that I
almost passed out with pleasure. He sucked so hard, my new balls in my
scrotum hurt and I cried out. After that he focused on my small cock, which
seemed to get harder and harder until I though the skin would split. He
scooped some of the spunk on the wall with one finger and pushed it between
my buttocks caressing my hole, which responded pulsing and opening
slightly. I objected, but by that time it was slowly and partly in me, and
I hadn't resisted so aroused was I. He began to finger fuck me softly,
until he had three fingers up me, stretching my virgin boycunt, muttering
all the time what a quick learner I was. Engulfed in the hot soft mouth,
and with sensations in my arse I had never imagined, I came to a shuddering
climax in minutes. They gently lowered me onto the old toilet wooden seat,
kissed me, and told me what a good boy I had been.

They went back to work. I stayed in the toilet getting my breath back,
closing my anus muscles, and reliving the experience, then emerged shyly to
go home.  Paddy came right up to the platform edge, and quietly asked if I
would like more fun. But I was too embarrassed to respond, except by
nodding my blushing head.

My thoughts, feelings and wanks for the next days were focussed on this
amazing experience. I even began to finger my arsehole, eventually getting
three up there as I wanked with my legs in the air. I went back after
school alone to locospot, thinking lewd thoughts about every working man
who I saw, but although I blushed furiously at every encounter, and glances
were sometimes exchanged, and even smiles, there was no repeat of an
approach. I often visited the toilet, and locked myself into the stall to
wank reading the graffiti.

One of them actually said "Paddy is a bugger. TRUE!!" with a drawing of a
big cock and balls, with a foreskin, pointing at the crudely drawn buttocks
of a crouching naked person without shoulders and head.  I couldn't believe
what I saw, and wanked several times over a couple of days concentrating on
that graffiti. My dry orgasms were now accompanied with precum, which sped
my fingers, so that I matched the speed of my wanking Alec regularly.

On Friday, I was standing looking at the engine of a stopping train as the
passengers milled on the platform, doors slammed, and steam hissed
loudly. As the train started to depart amidst a deafening noise caused by
the loco slipping, I heard the sound of tackety boots approaching. I almost
fainted at the thought it might be one of the two gangers coming off the
train from work. I turned to see that it was indeed Paddy, who came right
up to me in the smoke and steam as the carriages accelerated away. He asked
me for the answer to his question; which confused me for a moment, and then
I remembered. My blushing must have been vivid, but I stammered assent. He
asked me how long I had, and I replied hour and a half. I was allowed out
later on Fridays. He warmly insisted that I should come with him to his
place, where we would be comfortable, and undisturbed. I hesitated, but
only for a moment. We walked smartly down the steep ramp and along the main
street, across the High Street, and down past my school towards the sea. He
talked about how much he'd enjoyed our last encounter, and about how a good
boy like me would be a good learner, and would appreciate the fun we would
have together. I was putty in his hands and listened devoutly. As we passed
the Catholic Church, he made the sign of the cross. On the corner of the
Esplanade was a tall shabby tenement block. The entrance was on the side of
the block with the usual big door which you just pushed. There were no
doors on the esplanade because high tides would have threatened access. We
were in an entrance hall lit dimly by a cupola. He hurried me up five
flights of stairs to the top floor. At the end of the dark corridor leading
off the stair head beside two well used filthy doors which by their heavy
smell indicated they led to the shared toilets, he took out his keys and
opened a heavy door, remarking that his wife was away in Ireland visiting
her mother. There was one room used for cooking, with a tin bath hung above
the sink. There was a banked-up open fire with a sleeping alcove beside
it. A thick dark embroidered curtain half concealed a dark room, a double
bed, totally dishevelled, with the quilt on the floor and the sheets
dragged roughly, but not concealing the dark stains thereon. Paddy poked
the fire, which sprang into life. He picked up a couple of coals with his
bare hands and threw the deftly on the blaze. The flat was in disarray,
dishes in the sink, pots on the cooking rings, the beds. However, the
skills of Mrs Paddy were clear. The wooden floorboards had a high shine,
although stained and scuffed close to the settee, whose old leather was
buffed to a high gloss apart from the central cushion which was stained and
crushed out of shape. There were magazines scattered on the floor and the
sofa, the likes of which I had never seen, even beating Health and
Efficiency, which I regularly stared at on Menzies station stall, causing
the newsagent to comment under his breath and wink at me more than once.

I was impressed by the bay window opposite the door with an amazing view of
the estuary. I loved ships as much as trains, and was quickly standing
there behind the big shabby tan leather sofa, looking out, when Paddy came
and stood behind me, wiping his hands on his jacket, rubbing himself
against my back, his hard cock between my shoulder blades, his smell
engulfing me again.

He asked if I liked his sucking me, and I said I did. He then said, we can
have fun as you watch the ships, and took me by the hand, leading me round
the sofa which had a stained pouf in the same leather in front of it.  He
undid his belt and let his trousers fall with a crash of cash and keys, and
sat down on the sofa, his already erect cock pointing to heaven. He lifted
me up so that I was standing on his naked thighs, he pulled my shorts down,
and my underpants, so that they were stretched between my ankles in front
of his big thick cock. My penis was facing his mouth, hard, and quickly he
swallowed both cock and balls. This time he was more gentle, and I moaned
with delight as he sucked cleverly and slowly, using his tongue a lot. My
hands were on his head, fondling his thick curly greying hair which his cap
had covered until now. I shyly pushed one hand down the opening of his
shirt, and was amazed at the thickness of his hair, and the mounded nature
of his pectoral muscles and the massive nipples which seemed to grow at my
touch.  After some minutes, he let my scrotum fall from his mouth, and
began to suck my cock mightily. Again, it seemed to swell until it would
burst, and he complimented me on the size of it at my age. It wasn't long
before the surges of a dry orgasm shook me to my core, and I shouted
obscenities in my high soprano.

As I fell against his massive shoulders, I heard the key turn in the lock,
and struggled to get down. However, He held me tightly and told me it was
OK. He turned me, still standing on his thighs, my cock slowly subsiding. I
glanced down shyly, not wanting to meet the newcomer's eyes and saw that
Paddy's knob was still hard and pointing upwards, the foreskin being pulled
back with one hand, the base of his hairy belly now exposed as his pullover
rode up. The shirt was open, and the long tails draped over the sofa. His
whole big hard body rose massively behind me. He pulled me back against it,
and told me to relax. He widened his thighs so that I had to back up to
lean on him.

A cheeky cracking adolescent voice greeted him asking with a dirty chuckle
if this was the posh boy at the station he'd mentioned. The local accent
was strong and guttural. I raised my eyes to see a perhaps 15 year old boy,
dressed in the faded green uniform of the Catholic school. He was very good
looking in a butcher boy way, with masses of his father's curls, swept back
from his high forehead and Brylcreemed . His full red lips were widened in
an obviously lascivious smile as he came towards me and embraced me round
my naked waist as he leant to kiss his father's mouth, in an amazingly
languorous way. He had the same smell as his father, but sharper, and with
more rank sweat mixed in. Paddy called him Mick.

Startled, I realised that I had seen this older boy before. One Saturday
morning when I was climbing the ramp to the station to locospot on my own,
he came running down towards me, and stood close up to me in a threatening
way. His dirty white shirt was unbuttoned half way down his chest, and I
could see one or two red spots which fascinated me and revolted me in equal
measure. He pushed his face into mine, and called me a pretty boy in an
offensive way. I smiled and somehow seemed to defuse his aggression. He
grabbed his groin, smiled wickedly back, and was gone. So now here he was
pushing his body against mine, embracing me, and kissing his father in a
sexual manner!

After some minutes, during which his embracing hand was tracing my
buttocks, and even touching my anus, he stepped back, and then kissed me
long and hard, my tongue meeting his this time. I melted. He was another of
my fantasies, the randy working class adolescent. He stood back and slowly
stripped out of his uniform, leaving on the slightly grubby creased white
shirt and the crumpled, stained tie. The acne was quite obvious on his
smooth dark skin, and on his face.

He approached me, lifted me off his father's thighs, and without pausing,
turned and lowered himself onto Paddy's big knob as he stood me on the
pouf. My face must have been a picture as I took in what was happening. The
big thick wet hard thing had slid straight up his arse, allowing the boy to
sit on the lower part of his Dad's stomach. His shirt gaped open over his
well formed body, the big nipples swelling as his father manipulated
them. The tie hung down to his hard wet prick, which was some 6 inches, and
thick like his father's. The smell of his shit filled my nostrils, and I
almost retched. His father lifted him up and down on his cock for a few
strokes, during which their guttural moans filled the flat. I stood there
with my cock rising again, despite the shock of this new development. Paddy
was actually buggering HIS SON before my eyes, and both were obviously
enjoying it. Paddy motioned for me to sit on the pouf, and stopped fucking
so that Mick could pull my shirt and pullover over my head. I was now naked
except for my trousers, shoes and pants round my ankles. Mick told me to
stand and turn round and bend forward, and I cried out as his wet tongue
explored between my buttocks. He was clever at opening me up with his
strong licking and thrusting. I found myself ecstatically shouting my
enjoyment, and trying to widen my legs to let him further in. Frustrated in
this, I pulled away and sat down on the pouf, and dragged my shoes and
pants off, throwing them beside me. I then turned again, and was surprised
to find that the muscles in my back were lifting my arse, at the same time
as I widened my thighs as far as possible, standing on my toe tips, to open
myself. Paddy and Mick both commented that I was a natural, and I felt an
urgent need to have Mick's tongue further inside me. However, he had other
ideas, he turned me to face him, and pointed to his knob, hard as his
father's and pouring precum down the shaft. He lifted some to my mouth, and
I took it gratefully this time, bending to take his knob in my mouth. But
he roughly turned me again and pulled me back so that his wet knob was
against my widened wet anus. He then told me to take my time, but do what
you want to do, and I slowly let the knobend into my arse, calling out as
it passed the sphincters, and slowly pushing downwards, despite the
pain. Now it was the familiar smell of my shit which invaded the
space. Suddenly a blast of sensation erupted from a place in my arse which
I could feel the knobend inside me pushing against. This was an
overwhelming joyful sexual charge, such as I had never experienced, and
which made all the previous fun in the flat, pale into insignificance. The
insistent rhythm of Paddy's big knob up his son's shitter began to take all
three of us over, and when Paddy shouted that he was going to cum, we all
three spasmed at once. For the first time my arse experienced the hot
pumping feel of spunk erupting inside it. Also for the first time, my
screaming orgasm shot some cum, which landed on the pouf, whose stains I
could now understand. From now on, I would be on a mission to achieve that
bliss wherever and whenever I could. As Mick's knob gradually softened
inside my arse, I began to experience a profound feeling of loss. My hole
wasn't filled any longer. This was a feeling I would spend may life
rectifying whenever I could.

As he pulled out, the boy pushed me down over the pouf, and for the first
time I felt the amazing sensation of a tongue lapping up the contents of my
boycunt. The race of somebody licking out his spunk mixed with my shit, was
indescribably hot. Suddenly, he turned me around and kissed me
passionately. I realised that he had kept the product of his cleaning in
his mouth, and, because he was too strong for me to get loose from his
mouth, was enthusiastically sharing the muck with me. I moaned disgust, but
then my taste buds began to enjoy the mix of grassy bleachy spunk mixed
with my own oily, slightly gritty shite. He lifted himself off his father's
still semi erect prick then, and turned holding me by my shoulders, so that
we were both staring at the panting older grey haired guy, his heaving
stomach, and the juices cream and red brown sliding down into his pubes and
onto his big hairy ballsack. Mick bent forward to kiss his father's
bellend, and pulled me down too so that my face was hovering above the big
balls. Then he pushed his mouth right down over the gleaming head, and
pulled my face into the mess in his father's groin. The taste and smells
were much stronger than the kiss, Paddy's spunk was strong tasting I knew,
and his dad had excavated out of Mick's arse a load of softer mush. I
gagged, but somehow was again so hot after the shitty spunk kiss, that I
started to suck and lap as Mick's mouth cleaned the shaft beside me. Then
he pulled off his father's cock, lifted my head, and pushed me down over
Paddy's knob. He forced my head down until I gagged, then held me there as
he began to suck his dad's nuts, causing him to cry out that we were good
boys.

Then it was Mick's turn as he pushed his dripping arse into his father's
face and moaned in delight as his dad ate his own spunk and the sloppy shit
up his chute. Mick meanwhile had resumed his work on my arsehole, and was
vigorously wanking my prick which was harder than before using slime from
his dad's mouth.

I exploded again, this time producing more spunk, and we all three
collapsed across each other on the now slimy settee. That was how I
acquired my taste for raunch. It was also how I acquired my reputation
locally as a good boy. From now on, encounters seemed to be easier, and
looks in the street, particularly from labourers, and from older schoolboys
from St. X's became commonplace. But that's another story as they say.

Paddy said that my time was up, and helped me to dress, hustling me out of
the door, and taking me down to street level with his hand on my arse,
always telling me what a good boy | was and that he would see me soon
again. I could barely walk, but kept up a shuffling run to get home on
time.

After that, I had to have something in my hole every time I wanked. I found
two large carrots in the outhouse, and carved them to resemble those of
Paddy and Mick, and sat on them as I wanked. The Vaseline I smeared them
with kept them from rotting, but they did go softer after a while, which
was in fact more realistic. I even heated them in hot water sometimes to
get the warmth of a real prick invasion. My training wasn't long before it
was put to the test.

The next time I heard Paddy's boots on the platform, he grabbed me by the
arm, and said that I could have some fun now, if I rushed. It was close to
30 mins. before I had to go home. As we half ran down the street through
the town centre, he told me his wife was at home, but not to worry. When we
got to the end of the corridor, he opened the left hand door of the
toilets, and squeezed in beside me, warning me not to make any noise. I
could hear pots and pans, a tinny wireless, and the smells of cooking in
the flat. There was barely space to stand, and we struggled in that space,
our bodies clenched together. The stench was overwhelming, but his hands
were already actively seeking my nakedness and his, and I began to identify
these smells with sexual excitement at a deeper level. Our clothes were
soon piled on the deep shelf of the high window behind him, intersected by
the high-level cistern pipe. He sat down on the wooden toilet hole, his
thighs wide, his cock straight standing, and lifted me onto his thighs
again. My cock was at his mouth level, and his fingers plunged into my
eager arsehole. I could stare out of the small window right down the
Esplanade. As he sucked me I found great thrill in being visible; my face
expressed the ecstasy I was experiencing, my thighs widening as he spread
his thighs, and my cunt took more fingers. I came quickly, and he swallowed
my small offering telling me I'd develop quickly now. I froze when the door
of the adjacent toilet opened, and a heavy body slammed in there. There was
a pause, and then an opaque window in the partition slid sideways, just at
my face level. Through the gap came an enormous cock, dripping precum,
pointed straight at my mouth. I knew now what to do, and opened my lips to
take the big head. Paddy reached up to push my head onto the slimy hardness
muttering whether Lachie was horny, and as I withdrew gasping each time, he
pushed me hard onto the thing until my mouth was against the pubes sticking
through the window. The man came quickly and suddenly, so that I didn't
know what to do. The stuff shot into my mouth, filled it up, and overflowed
down my chin. Then the cock pulled out and discharged another two gouts of
cream over my face and unbeknownst to me, into my hair. The man quickly
left.

All this time Paddy was wanking fiercely, and again suppressing his moans,
erupted between my legs, his generous cum load spattering my thighs and
even reaching my bum cheeks. He massaged the stuff into me, wanking me with
it when the door opened and closed again, and immediately another shorter
thicker cock appeared in the window. This time I was amazed to notice that
it was a different colour to any others I had seen in my short but already
rich experience. The shaft was a bruised looking light brown with blue
highlights. The glans was a fiery dark purple. Paddy laughed quietly,
called the man Gino, and pushed my mouth over the smelly prick. It went
straight down my throat this time causing me to gag and dribble spunk and
saliva down my body. Paddy held me in that position and my convulsive
swallowing brought the guy off almost immediately. This time, the spunk
shot straight down my throat so that I didn't taste it, and then he
abruptly withdrew and shot three blasts straight into my face. I was
dripping with cum.

Paddy quickly used my underpants to smear the stuff away from my eyes and
mouth, dressed me and pushed me out of the closet. As that door opened the
other did too, and a tall guy, obviously Gino, came out whistling. In the
light filtered from the little window behind him, I recognised him as one
of the handsome Italian waiters form the ice-cream parlour down below on
the seafront. When the door closed behind him, we were in pitch
darkness. In a strong Scots/Italian accent he told me I was a good sucker
for a beginner, and I realised that Paddy had been talking about me, and my
virgin learning skills. He took my hand as we went down the stairs, kissed
me deeply, and then ducked into the first floor passage as I ran down into
the street. I could see people staring at me as I ran home, and decided I'd
better keep away from the busy pavements, and run through the park.

In the distance, was walking towards me on the path, a familiar figure of a
well known disreputable tall man, whose long faded greatcoat was always
covered in fish scales when he sometimes stood in town outside the
fishmongers mouthing obscenities. As I speeded towards him, spunk trickling
coldly down my thighs. He suddenly stopped me dead with a hand on my arm,
spun me round and pushed his hand down my pants. He brought his hand out,
held it to my nose, and asked me if it was spunk he had found.

I had to nod, I was getting hard again, I was developing that overwhelming
sexual desire which would make me the hungry boy I quickly became. He asked
me if I was Paddy's new boyslut, and I nodded again. Then he grabbed me,
and pulled me into the thick bushes near to the road, took down my pants,
and opened his coat. He always had a dirty silk scarf knotted to fill the
gap between the coat lapels. I gasped to see that his torso was otherwise
naked, his heavily matted chest hair trailing down to his groin. He was
wearing naval ratings bell-bottoms, the flap down, with nothing underneath,
and out of a big bush of hair was sticking an enormous dark knotted knob
with a furious looking bellend, dripping great gobbets of precum which hung
briefly on a string before splashing onto the dried leaves under our
feet. It was almost at the level of my lips, and i moved to lick the slime
pumping from it. He had other ideas however, and roughly, spinning me
round, fucked me there and then, my arse unresisting, indeed welcoming,
despite the pain. A new force took me over, and I found myself pushing back
strongly with each massive stroke, which filled me completely, my prostate
electrifying me every time. When he came, I came too, and we both bucked
furiously together as his cream filled my hole and ran down my thighs. He
pushed me out as I was still pulling my pants up, and I ran off again, more
slowly this time, aware that my buttocks were sliding against each other
greasily. As I got half way into the big railway bridge, a dark high arched
short tunnel, I heard running footsteps behind me. I turned to see it was
Mick, panting with effort, who had obviously been told that I had left to
go home. He grabbed me by the shoulders and dragged me sideways into a
space I had used on the way back from school. The bridge was made up of
three massive stone constructions, made at different times, and the bridge
closest to the beach was at an angle to the others and sloped downwards to
the right so that double-decker buses had to pass singly on the left. A
supporting angled brick pillar had been found necessary to support this
black stone angled arch, and created a triangular alcove which I had wanked
in more than once. It was dark at the apex, the walls covered with
scratched graffiti and dried spunk, and the floor muddy with two or three
pale objects which looked like dirty deflated balloons.

Mick turned me to face him, kissed me passionately, and told me he knew
what I'd been up to because he'd heard from his dad, and also from the man
in the park, who he called "Mr Anderson". He whispered all this in my ear,
as he forced my wet pants and underpants down, slid his fingers into my
boycunt, and finger fucked me fiercely. I moaned with pleasure despite the
pain, and he kissed me again, pulling my head round to reach his, as he
unbuttoned his flies, took out his already by now familiar prick and stuck
it straight into me right up so that it hit my prostate. His hand was over
my mouth to stifle my noises of appreciation and pain, and we bucked away
in that dark space for several minutes before we both came together. He
kissed me again and said I was a good fuckboy, we slipped out and went our
separate ways.

I staggered at a ragged run all the way home, just in time.

Dad was in his workshop and I shouted as I ran past that I needed a bath. I
grabbed new things from my bedroom, and an old carrier bag and soon was
scrubbing in the shallow water, spunk and grime floating on the
surface. What to do with the filthy clothes? I thought about it in the
bath, and came up with the idea that I could place the outer items under my
mattress, with the carrier bag, and then use them for visits to the
station. The underpants would just go in the wash as usual, I hoped.

Obviously this would not be a permanent solution, not only because dried
spunk begins to stink quite quickly, but also because I was now committed
to being used wherever and whenever and by whoever, and semen soaked
clothing, and other stains would become commonplace, I needed a cleaning
option. It was Mrs Paddy who came to my rescue. The next time I was fucked
by Mick, he told me to bring clean clothes on my next visit to the flat,
and to leave my filthy ones for his mother to deal with. As you can
imagine, she knew a lot about the results of Mick's sluttish activities, of
which more next time, and was turning a blind eye to her husband's pastime
with her son, as she took her laundry to the "steamie", of which more
later.