Date: Fri, 4 Jan 2019 10:51:10 +0100 (CET)
From: jonkent69@tutanota.com
Subject: IN MY SECRET LIFE - GAY - URINATION

DISCLAIMER

Everyone should accept the laws of his country, reserving the right to
strive democratically to change those he disagrees with. Therefore, if the
laws where you live say that you should NOT be reading stories like these,
you are legally obliged to leave now and read no further. It does not
matter if these stories are fiction, made-up, only written to entertain,
instruct, engage, and inform. If for any reason, the law where you live
says you are NOT allowed to read them, you have to go. So off you go.  Live
a healthy and happy life, and come back, if you want to, when your laws
say.

And remember: these are only stories. They are made-up. They did not
happen. And the writer does not believe they should happen. The first
responsibility of adults is to protect children and their innocence. It
doesn't mean some adults won't enjoy reading stories like this, but it
doesn't mean they should go out and do things like this. Who knows? maybe
reading stories like this will actually stop them going out and doing these
things.

This is the final story in my trilogy - The Learning Curve - Loving You
Loving Me - In My Secret Life - which deal with my fascination with scat
and the farther shores of sexual experience. I doubt whether I'll be
exploring the topic further. "Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto," or
"I am a man, I consider nothing that is human alien to me." (Terence Roman
playwright around 170BCE.  At least in terms of contemplation and
consideration. Imagination can often be more stimulating than the
actuality. And human kind is the species who love stories. This one, In My
Secret Life, is for Pascal.

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IN MY SECRET LIFE

I don't know why I fell in love with bumholes but I do know I fell in love
with my own when I very young. I have a vivid memory of lying on my back on
my bed, my legs swung over my head, and holding them by the ankles to keep
them there. I'd dragged the bed as close to the wardrobe mirror as I could
but I still couldn't get the image close enough so that I could give my
hole the intense inspection I wanted to give it. To be accurate, I could
hardly see it. The cream of my bum went all the way to my hole, and the
tiny mouth didn't seem to be serrated at all. At least I could hold my legs
back with one hand while the middle finger of my other fucked my hole. Then
I slid my finger out and sucked it. Of course I knew my hole was where my
shit - or as we were taught to call it my 'pooh' and I knew shit was dirty,
though it didn't taste dirty when I sucked my shitty finger and I usually
went back for seconds.

I say 'fucked' but I'm not sure I had any real understanding of what
'fucking' was. I knew my mum and 'uncles' 'had sex' but even my
understanding of that was vague. I knew what it sounded like, my mum was
noisy during 'sex' and for quite a while I thought my dad was abusing her.

He was, but not in the way I thought of 'abuse', and given, how cheerful
she seemed the 'morning after', I guessed there must be something positive
about the experience. I sometimes wondered if my uncles played with mum's
hole the way I played with mine.

Would I have taken things any further at that age? You never can tell but
Fate stepped in and gave me a little push in that direction.

A sandy beach, a sunny summer day, and shadow-filled caves. And the man had
held me in his arms, sat me on his knee, stroked me, and whispered things
in my ear that made little or no sense. The words I didn't understand; the
feelings thrilled me, and I still remember that heady mixture of tobacco
and tweed, of rum and sweat, and the bristles sharp against tender skin.

Of course I shouldn't have been there - on my own - strictly forbidden, but
even then if someone told me something was 'forbidden' I couldn't wait to
try it. So when the man asked me the way to the beach, the only polite
thing to do was show him where it was, and let him take me there.

I knew the man only for a day, but for that warm sunny day he had played
with me down on the shore, showing me how to leap from rock to rock, how to
edge towards the inrushing tide, then jump precipitately backwards from its
greedy grasp. How to chase tiny crabs fearlessly into the nooks and
crannies of the sea-weed strewn rocks.

When I grew tired, sun-bleached, skin hot and tender, he carried me into a
golden cave that caught the shadows, and played fingers of lights across
its walls as his fingers played across my naked body.

If it was wrong, I had no way of knowing it. I felt safe, secure and
wanted. And if his lips ran over my chest, my tummy, inside my thighs, to
those secret tender places, it made him happy at no cost to me. Why he did
this did not even cross my mind? Maybe he was a doctor. Sometimes you had
to stand in front of Doctor Mason with most of your clothes off and your
little white underpants round your ankles.

Mum had told me: "Just do what the doctor says. I'll be back in half an
hour. Wait in the waiting room if the doctor's finished with you." I didn't
mind; they had comics in the waiting room so that was fine. But the man did
some of the things Doctor Mason did to me though he couldn't do an enema
'cos he didn't bring a tube with him. I loved Dr. Mason's enemas especially
when he put the tube up my bumhole and blew through it. That really
tickled! And I liked it when Dr. Mason took my temperature by sliding his
pointing finger - it was covered with Vaseline - up my bum and sliding it
backwards and forwards until I couldn't bear the feeling anyone and felt I
was going to make an explosion.

In the cave, I lay stretched face down across the man's lap, my head
dangling on one side, my skinny white legs on the other. It was silly but
it was kind of fun. My underpants were pushed down my legs. His big thumbs
opened the cheeks of my bum. That was rude - but he was the 'doctor' - and
"doctor knows best". I felt a finger brush the tiny opening I did my shits
through. I knew what a 'shit' was; I'd been at the nursery for nearly a
year, and even the nurses called a shit a shit. In fact, one of them called
me a "little shit". I'd no idea what the stranger was hoping to find and
his fingering only made me giggle.

Then it wasn't his finger.

Whatever it was, it was warm and wet and bent backwards and forwards on the
area around my hole. Something began to push into the centre of the
hole. It hurt so I tightened my hole up. His thumbs tried to open me up
again but he couldn't really get whatever it was inside. I began to squirm
a bit, not because it was hurting too much, but because I was getting
light-headed and I didn't like the feeling. I was glad when he gently
raised me and flipped me over so I was straddled across his lap, face up. I
liked looking at the man's face and I knew he liked looking at me because
he smiled and licked his lips, murmuring stuff I couldn't really
understand. He pulled to a sitting position, tight against him.

I snuggled deep into his chest as he held me and made my senses tingle,
made my skin goose-bumpy, and my penis (I even knew the right word.) stand
up hot and hard till it jerked between his fingers and something like
sugary sherbet exploded in my tummy.

The man kept me on his lap, lying face up, and whispered: "Puff out your
tummy." I'd no idea why he wanted me to do that but I did it anyway. He
began to knead it and massage, whispering, "Keep your tummy puffed out." It
felt really nice until I felt a No. 2 in my bottom.  (No. 1 is a pee. No. 2
is a pooh.) I began to wriggle and the man whispered, "Do you have to go?"
I mouthed 'yes'.

I thought he'd let me down and I'd run into another cave, so I was
surprised when he lifted me up, turned me round, and I found myself sitting
or squatting across his face! I tried to hold it in but his big thumbs kept
working on my belly and I felt myself opening up back there. My tiny balls
were on the man's nose, my penis standing straight up. I began to squirt
pee straight up on the air. I felt my pooh (shit) squeezing out of my
bumhole but I couldn't imagine where it was going. To tell the truth, I was
tingling and trembling all over - and I was loving it. Behind me I heard
slurpy, sloppy sounds, and little gulps, but even then I couldn't figure it
out until the man lowered me down and opened his mouth wide. His mouth was
full of shit, my shit, beige or brown.

He sat in the sand on the cave floor and yanked both legs in the air. I
watched mesmerised. His bumhole - it was huge - opened up like the head of
one of dad's roses near the end of the season, and out came a huge log of
shit. I could almost feel it coming out. I couldn't take my eyes away. It
stood on the floor pointing straight up.

"Do you want to give it a little kiss?" the man laughed. "I don't mean the
turd," he said. "I mean my arse hole. You can clean it if you like - with
your little pink tongue. Go on. Try it. You might like it."

The thought was too wild to process. I shook my head.

"Come on then," he laughed getting up and taking my hand. "Let's have a
last dip before I see you safely on the way home."

Ten minutes later, gently, carefully, lovingly he dressed me. He held me
again and stuck his big rubbery tongue into my mouth. I could feel his
saliva trickle down my throat. I didn't know the taste was a mixture of
tobacco and rum and my own bum juices, but I liked the taste, I liked
him. I wanted to take him home. He could my daddy. I'd be like the other
boys. No, no, not take him home. I wouldn't share my mum with anyone. But
if he lived in the cave, I could visit him - and he could do things to
me. He could do whatever he liked. And maybe someday I could do things to
him, when I knew what they were.

But we cannot keep summer forever, and we couldn't even keep that day
forever. Too soon, all too soon, he was gone, and I was clambering up the
rocks and heading home, making up a story about where I'd been and what I'd
been doing. I even threw the money he put in my pocket away - I can still
the notes fluttering away on the sea breeze. I didn't let the man do what
he'd done for money. I did because I wanted him to. And anyway how could I
explain the money to mum. They know about things like that, so it's best
not to tell them about things. Secrets are secrets, and the man in the
rocks was my secret. I wonder if he remembers me.

And in time I became the man in the rocks.

I wasn't stupid. After trying to 'finger-fuck' myself a few times without
anything to make my hole slippery, apart from sweat and saliva, I realised
I needed some sort of cream. To my relief, there was plenty of Nivea around
the house and a couple of globs of that smoothed the passage. Nivea smelled
nice, too. The funny thing was that Nivea smelled even better when mingled
with the residue of slimy shit up my hole. One finger was easy. I'd get it
in and twirl it around while playing with my penis. My cock got so hard it
hurt, but the throbbing was a good hurt and I wanted more of it. I guess I
was making a connection between something up my arse and the amazing
feelings my hard-on gave me. Although I was young, words like 'stiffie' and
'hard-on' were becoming common my school.

And I was lucky enough to get some practice with Dirty Danny.

At school, we all had nicknames and Daniel Dartford was 'Dirty Danny', not
only was he grubby and unwashed a lot of the time, and his clothes were
torn and stained, but he liked to do dirty things, but only with people he
took a liking to me, and, to be honest, I liked Danny.

We were down at Cripple Creek, splashing around in the water, when I
realised I'd have to go home.

"Danny, I have to go home. I'll be back in fifteen minutes, I promise."

"What the fuck for?" Even at ten, Danny swore like a trooper.

"I need to take a dump - a crap - a shit."  (I had to keep up with him.)

"What the fuck? Take a crap here. There's nobody around. I'll keep
watch. You take a shit."

"I don't know..."

"Oh for fuck's sake, Paulie, I'll do one with you. We'll just squat over
there - behind those bushes. But first let's take a piss. Don't want you
pissing all down yourself while you're squatting on your bare arse."

We adopted a tree and stood there pissing side by side. We played who can
piss highest up the tree. Danny won easily. His dick was bigger than mine
but mine was fatter than his. Neither of us had a single hair.

"Hey, I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he laughed. It took me a
few seconds to realise he was talking about each watching the other take a
shit - close-up. My heart began to race and my cock to twitch.

"Okay," I said, "It'll be like a dare."  To me it was nothing like a dare
but Danny only pushed his raggy shorts down to his knees followed by his
equally raggy underpants. "Well don't stand there like a numptie. Get
behind me," he said as he squatted down, legs apart, hands on knees.

I had a close-up view of his backside. His hands came behind him and pulled
his cheeks wide apart. I could see everything. His anal opening was
puckered. His big ball sac hung between his thighs. I could hear him grunt
as he contracted his stomach. His anus puckered outwards. He contracted
inwards and outwards again and again. The opening expanded as his sphincter
muscle gave way.

There it was: a knobby, firm turd dilating Danny's ring as it emerged into
the sunlight. From the past, I heard a voice whispering in my head: "Do you
want to give it a little kiss? Go on. Try it. You'll like it." The turd
slid completely free and I heard Danny exhale: "Christ, I needed that."

"Your turn now."

It was my turn and I took it.

"Christ, you needed that," Danny said. "Let's get in the water and clean
each other off."

"Clean each other?"

"Of course, you numptie. We'll be sure we're clean that way."

And that's what we did. Two ten-year-old boys stood in the crystal clear
waters of Cripple Creek and washed each other's bumholes out. And to make
doubly sure, when Danny wasn't looking, I licked my fingers clean. Maybe
Dirty Danny was dirty, but maybe I was dirtier.

I'd got a taste for it and what I really wanted was to taste Danny at
source... a month later at Cripple Creek Danny gave me the chance.

A sweltering day in mid-July. Schools on holiday. Splashing around in
Cripple Creek. Naked. We were used to being naked together. Even getting
stiffies (erections) didn't bother us very much.

"Jesus, Paulie. I'm burning up. Even my hole feels like it's on fire."

"Mine, too," I laughed. "Even sitting down in the water doesn't help much."

 Danny turned his back to me. Bent over. Pulled his cheeks wide apart.

"How hot does it look to you?"

He stuck his arse high in the air so that I can see his wrinkled rosebud -
we were learning new names - then gyrated his cheeks suggestively. "Fancy
some of this, Paulie?"

My face burned even more.

"Can you tell you hot it is?"

"'Course I can't," I countered. "Not just by looking at it."

"Well, stick your finger in and have a guess."

Was Danny serious? Was he just goofing around? Was this some kind of trap?

I called his bluff.

"Yeh, I'll stick my finger in, and, if you're just goofing around, I'll
stick something a lot bigger up you." I sounded really macho, even to
myself.

"Right let's do it," he said waddling to a shallow part of the creek over
which crossed a small brick bridge. He leaned both hands on the bridge and
stuck him bum in the air. My dick, that had shrivelled in the water, began
to stand to attention at the sight of my friend's untanned arse contrasting
with the tan of his upper body.

"Get on with it. Get your finger up my arse. You can wash it off in the
stream. Or even lick it off for all I care." My semi-tumescent penis
tumesced.

I carefully wiggled my middle finger into Danny's dirty rosebud and was
surprised how easily it slid through the greasy slime.

"Christ, I can hardly feel that. See if you can use two fingers. No make
that three."

Was he serious?

I clasped two fingers over my pinky and worked them up through Danny's
outer sphincter. It was tighter this time but apart from a grunt Danny
didn't seem to be in any discomfort. "You'd better make that four," he
grunted.

I could hardly believe my ears.

Four clasped fingers up to the knuckle.

"That's better now," he squeaked. "Now saw them in and out, backwards and
forwards. That'll help you work out the temperature." That made no fucking
sense at all but I wasn't going to miss the chance. I dropped on one knee
in the water and began to saw my fingers in and out of my ten-year-old
friend's greasy arse. We both laughed when he let rip an explosive fart.

"Told you my arse was like a volcano."

We laughed again.

"Okay, my turn now. Get your fingers out of my arse and get bent over the
bridge."

I slid my fingers out carefully and had a quick sniff. Not
unpleasant. Earthy. The kind of smell you could get used to.

I bent over the bridge and took the position. I hoped Danny wouldn't notice
it wasn't as tight as he might expect it. I'd done quite a bit of work on
it with the handle of a hairbrush I'd bought in Superdrug. It still me
"Ooof" when he jabbed in with what felt like two, even three fingers at
once and began sawing away. It took me at least five minutes to work out it
wasn't Danny's fingers up my arse - it was his cock. Dirty Danny was
fucking Paulie - Paul - me! And I was loving it.

But a boy's got to do what a boy's got to do if he doesn't want a
reputation for being fast and loose around the town. I bounced my bum back
as hard as I could, knocking Danny straight into the Creek with me falling
in top of him, still bound at the anus.

"You fucker. What the fuck you doing!" he spluttered, spitting water all
over my back.

"You're the fucker!" I yelled. "You're trying to fuck me. And you didn't
even ask me."

"And you were tasting my arsehole!" he yelled back. "And you didn't even
ask me."

We both collapsed into the water, helpless with laughter.

Nature took its course and released my dick from his arse.

We helped each other out of the water and stood there laughing.

"Anyway it's too hot for sex," said Danny. "What you doing tomorrow?"

"Shit. Tomorrow's Sunday," I said. "Gotta go to church with my mum and
dad."

"What you doing in the afternoon?"

"Nothing in particular."

"Wanna come here to the creek?"

"'Course I do. Only hope it's not so hot."

"How hot was my arsehole anyway?"

"Shit. I forgot to measure. How hot was mine?"

"Shit. I forgot to measure too."

We started laughing again, pulled on as few clothes as we could get away
with, and headed for Birdies' Bar in search of a frozen milkshake.

Tomorrow, at least the tomorrow I expected never came. Danny's dad got
arrested. I never got the full story until years later but I found out that
Danny's dad had been 'diddling' Danny for years. 'Diddling' or 'kiddy
fiddling' was the expressions the grown-ups used when one of them did
stuff, sexual stuff, with a kid. There was a lot more of that around in our
little community than you might expect, and Danny's dad disappeared and so
did Danny. I got on with what was becoming an addiction.

Naturally, one finger was not enough. One became two, and I lay on the bed,
legs over my head, easing two fingers up my hole, then twirling and
stretching it for ages. At first I was worried I might do myself some
damage but as my hole seemed to recover quickly, I thought, "What the
shit..." and kept on experimenting. Again, stretching my hole was a source
of pain but it was a pleasurable pain, I'd hurry home from school, knowing
mum was at work, and my younger brother Noah was with my Nan (grandmother)
for a couple of hours. I had my own key, I was trusted, given
responsibility, and with the key tied round my neck by a piece of string,
I'd hare home to have a couple of undisturbed hours playing with my bumhole
and my 'private parts'. I wasn't doing harm to anyone, and as far as I knew
I wasn't doing any harm to myself.

My bum was my business.

Of course, even two fingers weren't enough, and in a short time I was
working hard to get three over-lapped fingers deep in my arse. I'm not
going to lie: it hurt, it hurt bad, but I was a determined 'wee bugger', as
my granddad used to call me, and the pleasure drove me on. I'd also got
into the habit of taking my fingers out of my hole and shoving them under
my nose; to tell the truth, I'd often shove a slimy finger up each
nostril. It's not a word I knew then but I know now the smell acted as an
aphrodisiac that made me stand any hurt in order to get more of the feeling
that left me breathless, sweaty and gasping on my bed. I must have been
quite a sight: a skinny, pale-skinned, long-haired boy lying on his back,
legs over his head, driving three fingers ruthlessly in and out of his
anus.

Did I say 'three' fingers?

Yes, I got to three fingers, I even tried four and got a real scare. I
wrapped four fingers of my right hand over each other, tucked my thumb
underneath them, and worked them into my hole. I made it, but I'd hardly
started fucking myself when I realised my whole hand - it was very small
-was going to go right up my arse. I'd often inspected my gaping hole after
a session - it was big in relation to my tiny arse - but I never dreamed my
whole hand could slip inside. I whipped my fingers, thumb and my palm out -
ouch! - and lay there with sweat pouring from me. I had the awful vision of
my mum coming into my bedroom to find me lying there naked with my right
hand jammed up my hole.

That would take some explaining.

And still I wanted more, and it was Mum who came to the rescue, although
she knew nothing about it.

Before I tell you what happened, maybe I should tell you what I looked like
- then, not now - though I'm considered a handsome man if I say so
myself. As a boy, I was average height, slim not skinny, with a nice
chest. I mean I didn't have muscled pecs or anything but it was a nice
chest. I was a wee bit self-conscious about my nipples because they seemed
larger and more brownish than the boys around me. I had a flat tummy, not
totally flat cos it did curve out a bit, and I liked my belly button, an
innie for the record.

Below that, in the area where my pubic hair eventually came - I didn't have
single wisp at the time - was flat and smooth. My dick dangled below. It
was a bit longer than most boys in my school year (I saw them in the
showers) and I wasn't circumcised. I can't remember seeing any boy
circumcised. It just wasn't done, and when I found out about circumcision I
wondered how a boy could have a proper wank (masturbation) without a
foreskin to rub against the head of his cock. My bum sat a bit high, it was
a bit roundy, and there was a nice gap between the cheeks. It seems weird
to be writing this but I'm just doing my best to describe what I looked
like in case anybody is interested.

I had thick, auburn hair that hung down to my collar. I had big eyes, thick
eyelashes, and a straight nose. I also had noticeable cheekbones. I was at
the age when I could pass for a girl, but then lots of boys wore their hair
long, and lots of them at my age could pass for girls at first
glance. Funny how I used to laugh at photographs of my dad when he was my
age; he had really long hair, but then dad was what they called a 'hippie'
who used words like 'cool' and 'groovy'. Mum used to talk about him even
after he walked out on us, and, though she still had boyfriends, she told
me dad was her first and only love. All a bit soppy, I guess, but I could
understand this cos I missed him, too.

I've just noticed how many times I use the word 'but'. Sorreee! But at
least you can think of me as your 'Butt Boy'. (joke)

Mum used to brush my hair with her long-handled hair brush, and one day I
realised the hairbrush was exactly what I was looking for. Not the hair
brush but the handle. You see, when I was finger-fucking myself (that's
what it was, so that's what I'll call it) I got frustrated cos I couldn't
get it deep enough. When my fingers were in as deep as I could get them,
there was always a bit of space left up there, and I wanted to fill it. I
worked out that when you were having a shit, especially if it was a long,
hard turd, it took ages to come down, and sometimes it was so long you had
to nip it off and let it plonk into the bowl before you released the next
bit. Sort of shitting in instalments. That emptiness up there caused a sort
of ache in my belly, and I figured if I could get something all the way up
it would ease the aching, though the aching was sort of enjoyable, too.

Funny how there's sometimes not much difference between pain and pleasure.

I'd already tried different thing up there, things like carrots and
candles, but I was scared to push them too far in case they broke off and I
couldn't get them out. You won't believe this but there was a boy (Ben) in
our school who shoved a marble up his jacksie and couldn't get it out
-'jacksie' is the word we used for our arsehole. Don't ask me why he shoved
a marble up his arsehole, I've no idea. He couldn't get it out, panicked
and had to go to his Form Tutor. Know what they did? The headteacher popped
him in his car, whisked him along to the clinic, where they extracted it. I
don't know what they did with the marble. Come to think of it, if Ben had
asked me, I would have been happy to suck the marble out for him. Actually,
I wouldn't have done that at time but I probably would now.

What am I writing about? Oh, yeh, carrots and candles. So they were no
good, but my mum's hairbrush was a different story.  It had a long, round
handle that tapered from thin to thick. It was made of cheap plastic (Mum
got it from the £shop.) which was good because the plastic was soft,
bendy and wouldn't scratch the inside of your hole (anus/rectum). At first
I thought of using mum's brush but then I thought of the smell of the
shit. I wasn't certain the smell would disappear no matter how much I
washed (or licked) the handle, so I decided to buy one of my own.

Amazing what a boy will spend his pocket money on.

I bought one in the £shop on the way home from school. I got a bit of a
shock when the Bangladeshi guy in the shop handed me the brush and said:
"That should suit you." For a moment I thought he was talking about my
arsehole (perv) - then I realised he was talking about my hair. I blushed,
mumbled "thanks", stumbled out, hid my treasure under my school blazer, and
fast-walked home trying not to draw too much attention to myself.

I admit I was shaking as I stripped off my school uniform in front of the
wardrobe mirror. Standing there with only my tight white underpants on, I
could see my erection straining against the fabric. I pushed them down and
felt my stiffy bounce against my groin. Naked, I nipped downstairs and
grabbed a used sheet from the laundry basket. Upstairs, I spread the sheet
out on my bed, sat down and ran a big glob of Nivea up and down the
handle. It seemed longer than my mum's, and thicker.

Was I really going to shove the whole handle up my arse? I was shaking as I
stretched myself out on my back, hoisted my legs over my shoulders and ran
the end of the handle up and down where I guessed my hole to be. I found it
and worked the tip of the handle against the pucker, applying pressure
until it sort of popped through and the handle slid halfway in.

Gently, I worked half the handle in and out of my anus. Soon that wasn't
enough, and with each forward stroke I pushed harder and deeper. I began to
fuck myself with the handle, and managed by getting my feet right over my
head till they rested on the wall behind the bed, to toss myself off at the
same time. With a bit of practice I managed to get the timing of my ass and
cock strokes pretty well synchronised.

Was it good?

It was fucking great.

Just a little bit deeper. Resting every now and then to let me hole get
used to being stretched so wide. I wished I could see it gaping. I wished I
could lick and kiss and suck my own hole. I knew it was dirty, it felt
dirty, but I didn't care, it was what I wanted. Weird thing was I could
feel not only my hole aching, but my tummy and even my nipples as
well. Everything was aching, but it was an ache I never wanted to
end. Harder I pushed. Deeper the handle went... until I could feel where
the handle joined the head of the brush. That meant there was about six or
seven inches of plastic pleasure up my arse; I couldn't imagine where it
was all going.

Faster and harder, though deeper was no longer possible. The feeling
centred round my cock grew until it was intense. I'd backed off at this
point before, but now I wasn't capable of backing off. I didn't care. I
didn't give a fuck. My mother could have walked in, Noah could have walked
in, but there was no way I could stop now. I was fucking my arsehole fast
and hard, I was jerking off fast and hard. I could feel my body soaked with
sweat, I could feel sweat trickling onto my forehead, I just wished
someone, anyone, was holding me down and fucking me as hard as I was
fucking myself.

My body began to buck, my hips rose from the bed, my belly fluttered out of
control. My cock was firing bursts of piss up my belly. I knew it wasn't
piss, I knew it was 'cum', the stuff the older boys made jokes about in
school. I felt it spatter on my belly - three, four, five. I wanted to keep
going but my cock protested, far too sensitive.

A few seconds ago I couldn't have stopped jacking off even if I'd wanted
to, now I couldn't face one more stroke. I let myself collapse back on the
bed. I was muttering 'fuck...fuck...fuck'. I was breathing so hard I felt
like passing out - maybe I did, for a few seconds at least. But it was
worth it, no matter what it took, it was worth it.

I lay there for a few minutes, blissed out, then remembered the brush
handle was still deep in my hole, anus, rectum - I know the correct words
now. Gently I eased it out and held the handle in front of my eyes. Know
what? I was jealous of that fucking plastic handle, fucking horny little
pervert that I was. The handle was slimy but whatever it was that slimed it
was mostly still inside me. I sniffed the handle - Nivea and shit, but a
lot more shit than before. I wasn't going to tell you about the next bit,
but what the fuck, I promised to put down everything, so I will.

I ran my tongue along the handle. I loved the smells that rose into my
nose. I slid a couple of inches of handle into my mouth and sucked on
them. What the fuck? I slid as much of the handle as I could into my mouth
and sucked on it as much as I could. Did it sicken me? I thought it might
but it didn't. I liked it! Only the Nivea put me off a bit, that stuff's
yucky to taste. But the shitty taste wasn't really offensive, maybe because
it was my own shit. I wondered for a moment what Noah's shit would taste
like. Then I gave myself a slap in the face with the hairbrush.

My little brother's hole, his shit... you're a fucking pervert, I told
myself. I reminded myself Noah was only my half-brother so perhaps that
would make it all right.

Time for a shower, so into the shower went me and my new hairbrush. By the
time Mum came in, I was as clean and shiny as a new pin, the sheet was back
in the laundry basket, and I'd set the table for dinner. Mum even said,
"You're smelling pretty nice," though she knew, and I knew that she knew,
it was the smell of her body lotion, strictly forbidden for me and Noah to
pinch. But I guess my cheerfulness convinced her to forgive me this
time. And the burning sensation up my arse kept me cheerful all evening
till I went to bed and fell asleep dreaming about... you guessed it -Noah's
bumhole!

Please don't think I was nothing but a sex-crazed little pervert in love
with his own shit! I wasn't. Like I said, I wasn't the best at school
subjects like English, Maths, History and that sort of thing but I was very
good at stuff like woodwork and metalwork. I was very good with my hands; I
used to do odd jobs for our neighbours, especially gardening jobs. Also it
turned out that I was 'dyslexic', though that's a thing they'd never even
heard of when I was at school. "He just can't spell," my teachers told my
mum, and "he is weak at reading," which meant I was crap. For me the most
embarrassing thing on Earth was having to read out loud in class but, to be
honest, the other boys didn't make fun of me, and some of them whispered
how to say some of the words that I really got stuck on.

Elwyn was an angel.

I didn't say that. It was women who said that. Ladies - ladies he didn't
even know - who patted him on the head and said: "What a little angel." And
Elwyn would look up at them with that angelic smile of his and they were
gonners.

Elwyn was Swedish, you see. Well, he was half-Swedish, so he spoke Swedish
and English perfectly. He was 11, like me. But I sometimes looked like I'd
been pulled through a hedge backwards; Elwyn looked like he'd stepped out
of a Mothercare catalogue.

He had straight blond hair, blond sort of mixed up with gold, over his ears
and just touching his collar. He had blue eyes, slightly curved little
nose, and lips like a bow. Perfect teeth of course. But the amazing thing
about him was his skin, yes, his skin, because his skin was creamy pink and
it glowed. Nobody else in our class, in our school, with skin that
glowed. It made you want to lick it, like the way you'd like a vanilla
ice-cream cone. And when Elwyn joined our class, the teacher sat him next
to me.

Bless her.

Elwyn was only at our school for a month. Story is his dad was doing
something about an engineering project at the harbour, so his family were
having a month's vacation (holiday) in our town. Elwyn's mum thought it was
a wonderful chance for Elwyn to practise his English - it was perfect
anyway just his vowels sounded a bit funny - so she stuck him in our school
during the month. That's the kind of things mums do, isn't it? And Elwyn
got parked next to me, which proves that there is a God. Elwyn yammered and
yattered away to me in perfect English, and his written English was better
than mine - well, most people's was. And, believe it or not, Elwyn's mum
made friends with my mum, who agreed to have Elwyn stay with us for his
last weekend in our town.

After all, Elwyn was 'a perfect angel', so what mum wouldn't.

Thing is we didn't have a spare bedroom, and there was only one bed in my
bedroom. Okay, it was a double bed but she might have asked me first before
saying: "Oh, no problem, Paul will be glad to share with Elwyn. They'll
probably chat all night. You know what boys are like."

Glad to share?

I was thrilled but terrified. Sharing my bed with the most beautiful boy
I'd ever seen, with an angel. Every time I looked at him I wanted to lick
his face. How could I spent all night in bed with him without wanting to
lick his.....

Friday evening we had an early dinner (can't remember what it was), then
mum took us out to see a movie I'd been dying to see all week (can't
remember what it was). We got back late. Mum pointed upstairs. "Bed you
two, and don't forget to brush your teeth." For a moment I thought she
meant we should brush each other's teeth, which goes to show how spaced out
I was.

It was early July. It was hot. We opened the bedroom window. A single sheet
on the bed was enough. Elwyn stripped down to the tiniest briefs I'd ever
seen and jumped into bed - more onto than into. He lay down and pulled the
sheet up to his waist. I followed. Stripped to my boxers and slid into bed
alongside him, careful not to touch him - my dick was stiff enough to snap
in two. Elwyn turned his head, kissed me on the cheek, and said: "God
natt," which even I could work out meant something like "Good night." Then
he turned away, cuddled his face into the pillow, and that was that.

I lay there, furious and frustrated. He should be chatting with me. We
should be lying there, heads on the pillow, face to face, chatting,
whispering, talking about the movie, about school, about fucking Sweden,
about anything, so that I could look at that face, those eyes, that
skin. Maybe he was a fucking angel after all; maybe Elwyn was a fucking
saint. At least the bedlamp was on, and I could see how that golden hair
lay next to his skin, how his shoulder blades were like butterfly wings,
how his back tapered down to.....

Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty, and I edged down the sheet so I could see
those tiny briefs - and most of his butt - two creamy globes with exactly
the same curve as his cheeks. I promised myself I wouldn't, and I kept my
promise for all of ten minutes, then with two fingers I edged his briefs
lower, a millimeter or less at a time, holding my breath as his cheeks
emerged and his briefs were tucked along the top of his legs. I inched
myself down the bed until my face was level with his buttocks. If Elwyn
woke up, I could claim I'd been dreaming and didn't even remember he was in
bed with me.

One, two, three four tiny licks - one, two, three, four little kisses. That
couldn't do any harm could it. But my fingers had a mind of their own. I
had to see, I had to know. Slowly, gently, inevitably, with the thumb of
each hand I prised open his bumcheeks until I could see it - a tiny pinky
slit in centre of a creamy valley. If an angel had an asshole, this is what
it must look like.

Enough... enough... but of course it wasn't. In went my face, out went my
tongue, until the tip touched, then licked the tiny pucker. I lost
control. I prised open Elwyn's anus and got the tip of my tongue right
inside him. Elwyn groaned. I froze. I pushed on till half my tongue was
inside him. The smell told me before I felt it. Something hard against my
tongue. It was a turd. It was an Elwyn turd. I held the tip of my tongue
against it. Elwyn groaned again and the turd moved down until I could slip
part of my tongue alongside it. I held my tongue there for a minute and
then withdrew it as gently as I could. There was Elwyn shit right along the
side of my tongue. It softened and slid down my tongue into the back of my
mouth and down my throat. It was really the first boy's shit I ever tasted
that wasn't my own - sweet Swedish shit.

Elwyn grunted. I froze. Elwyn shifted his position just a fraction, but God
or whatever was on my side, and the shift only made his anus more
accessible to my snaky tongue. If I'd had the nerve and the stupidity, I
would have slipped my hand round Elwyn's front, found his penis and played
with it. Do angels get hard-ons? This was my chance to find out. But I
wasn't that stupid. If he woke up, I could pretend I was moving in my
sleep, almost believable, but tossing him off in my sleep - even a Swede
wouldn't swallow that.

My own dick was hurting now. Reluctantly I moved my face away from that
beautiful bottom, and edged back up the bed. I felt my cock; the head was
slimy. I got some of the 'pre-cum' on the back of my middle finger, edge
back down, slid the finger between his cheeks, and smoothed the pre-cum
onto Elwyn's hole. Then I gently edged his briefs back over his buttocks.

Out of bed. Pad to the bathroom. Lock the door. Push down my boxers. Sit on
the toilet. Toss myself off. Slowly at first. Make it last. Images of Elwyn
playing in my head. Finish fast and furious. Cum spattering over my
belly. Scooping if off. Licking it up. Boxers back up. Padding back to
bed. Sliding in beside Elwyn. Making spoons like I used to do with Dad. One
arm round his waist. My nose in the hair down the back of his
neck. Sleeping with my arm round an angel.

"God morgon. Visste du sova gott?"

That was Elwyn. It was morning. I hazarded, "Yes. What about you?"

The angelic smile.

"Yes.  .....  Is it breakfast time? I'm hungry. May we have a full
English?"  (That's exactly what I'd wanted to give him last night - a full
English up his cute butt.)

After breakfast, Mum dropped us off at the ten pin bowling, where we had a
brilliant time. I won...  but you probably don't want to hear about our
day, and I don't want to write about it. I want to get to bedtime and maybe
you do, too. Not because I thought I'd have the chance to 'molest' Elwyn
again. I'd got away with it the night before, and I didn't want to push my
luck. Making spoons again, while I sniffed his neck and hair would be
enough. That's not quite how things worked out.

Elwyn stripped first again and dived onto the bed. It was hotter, if
anything, than the night before, and he didn't bother to pull the sheet
up. I slid onto the bed beside him, expecting him to give me a peck on the
cheek, then turn the other way. Instead he lay with his head on the pillow
facing me so closely that I could feel his sweet breath in my face.

"I know what you did last night," he whispered.

It felt like I'd been shot in the heart and punched in the gut
-simultaneously.

"I'm sorry," I squeaked before I'd the chance to think of an alibi.

The angelic smile.

"Oh, no," came another whisper. "I really liked it. You can do it again if
you want to... but..."

We lay there, two heads on one pillow, cheek to cheek.

"But what?" I managed to whisper.

Elwyn put his sweet lips to my ear and told me.

"Okay," I said, and started to slide down the bed.

"Wait a minute," he said. He took my face between his small hands, pulled
me closer, and kissed me on the lips. I couldn't think what to do. He
pushed my face back a little and said, "You've got to open your mouth, like
this," and I felt his open mouth against my lips. In reflex I opened my
lips and felt his tongue enter my mouth until his lips were pressed against
mine. He wiggled his tongue, moved back, and whispered, "Your turn now." I
did as instructed and soon our tongues were taking it in turns to enter our
mouths; I could taste the flavour of the mints he'd been sucking in his
saliva. I wondered if he could taste anything in mine.

He pushed my head away and whispered, "How do you want me - on my tummy or
on my back?"

"On your front, please."

I slid down his body, slipped down his briefs, he raised his legs, and I
slipped the briefs all the way off. He spread his legs wide. Hungrily I
licked those round creamy globes, prised them open, and once again saw his
tiny pucker - his 'fucker pucker'.

'Pucker' is not the correct word because the tiny slit, the entrance to his
anus and his rectum was hardly serrated. I began to lick from the bottom
his balls, along the thin line into the valley of his cheeks, and onto his
hole. Backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards went my tongue. At the
same I sniffed those smells that sent my head spinning. No smell of
shit. His sphincter muscles were too tightly shut for that, just pure boy
smells until with my thumbs and forefingers I began to prise them apart, oh
so carefully.

Somewhere far away I heard Elwyn giggle something that sound like "harder
harder", but it could have been something in Swedish. Then something that
sounded like "open open". I dragged the lips of his hole apart just enough
to get the tip of my tongue in, not far because he was so tight, but enough
to release smells that were definitely not minty.  Elwyn giggled again:
"Det are skit." Elwyn had taught me enough Swedish for me to know that
'skit' was 'shit'. What Elwyn didn't know was that I didn't care. In
fact.....

I grabbed his hips to turn him onto his back. His prick was like an
asparagus stick, creamy white of course, about 3 inches in length, and,
like mine, not circumcised. I licked its length.

That giggle again.

"No, not like that, like this."

And, before I could make out what was happening, Elwyn had wriggled until
we were in what I now know is the 69 position, my face between his legs,
his face between mine, and the head of my stiffy was in his sweet little
Swedish mouth. I'd never been sucked off before but I immediately cottoned
on to the magic of it. I slid Elwyn's stiff penis into my mouth and copied
his actions. I couldn't believe this was his first time. His tongue swirled
round the head of my cock, his little fingers worked the skin of my shaft
up and down, and..... a finger of his other hand fiddled its way between my
buttocks, found my hole and pushed its way in. No standing on ceremony for
Elwyn; he was wanking me and finger-fucking me at the same. All we needed
was ABBA (mum's favourites) playing loud.

Well, what's sauce for the goose is good enough for the gander, and pretty
soon I was giving as good as I was getting, or at least I hoped I was. We
managed to keep this up for about two minutes - we were only 11 years old
for fuck's sake - when our bodies began to jerk rhythmically. My cum shot
out of the head of my cock into his mouth as his cum shot into mine. Elwyn
made a lot more than me, probably because I'd cum so hard the night before,
and because during the ten pin bowling I'd sneaked off into the toilets to
have a quick wank. You try watching Elwyn's bum every time he bent over to
deliver his bowling ball!

A couple of minutes later we were lying face to face and Elwyn was telling
me: "It's better second or third time. You don't make so much cum but you
can last longer."

Do they learn all this in Swedish sex education classes?

We spent the next half hour with Elwyn telling me how he'd learned so much
about sex. He'd been having sex for three months with his junior school
teacher before he moved on to secondary school! The teacher had refused to
fuck him because as he told Elwyn: "I don't want to lose my job," though
just before the school year ended he'd been trying to get Elwyn to fuck
him.

"I'll fuck you if you like, Paul," he said. "I'm getting good at it."

"Better not," I said, "but....."

I didn't have to finish the sentence. Elwyn rolled over onto his tummy and
presented his beautiful arse again. This time there was no hurry and I
managed to get about half my tongue inside him before I heard him whisper:
"I know what you want. Here it is." Elwyn grunted hard. I pulled my face
back a bit. There it was: two inches of hard turd sticking out of his
hole. "Fortsätt. Fortsätt. Slicka den. Slicka den." I took a guess
and licked it till it started to soften. "Fortsätt. Svälj det." I
didn't have much choice. The turd broke off, slid to the back of my mouth,
and down my throat. It would soon be in my stomach. Elwyn would be part of
me.

Another three inches slid out of Elwyn's rectum.

"Ge det en blow job."

I didn't need that translate. Although this section was distinctly softer
than its elder brother, I managed to get my lips round it and suck it till
it broke off and popped into my mouth.

"Wait! Wait!"

Elwyn wriggled down the bed. "Share. Share."

The little Swedish angel put his open mouth against mine and we passed the
chuck of shit backwards until it dissolved into a creamy fudge that we
shared, pausing to run our shitty lips and tongues together. Then we
slipped out of bed and padded across the landing to the spare
bathroom. Fortunately I've got the attic bedroom and mum's on the floor
below. We cleaned ourselves and giggled back to bed.

I'm not sure any 11-year-old boy can be broken-hearted, but on Sunday
afternoon as Elwyn and his mother got into the car chauffeuring them to
London, and the flight home to Stockholm, it was hard to hold back the
tears. My Swedish angel left me with such wonderful memories, and with the
nagging thought that a grown-man might actually want sex with a boy - even
a boy my age.

Two weeks, maybe three. That's how long I lasted. Even my hairbrush and
memories of Elwyn weren't enough, and I couldn't forget what Elwyn had told
me about sex with a man, a grown-man. But how the fuck was I going to get a
man when I couldn't even get a boy at school? I'm sure there were boys like
me at my school but it was incredibly dangerous to admit or even hint you'd
like sex with another boy. You wouldn't get punched in the face or your
head shoved down a toilet pan but you'd be teased and tormented for the
rest of your life at school - unless, of course, you were one of the
top-dog sports boys in the school. I was good at sports but I was only in
Year 7 - the bottom of the heap. That's a metaphor but could easily become
literally true if the school got to know I wanted sex with a boy, a man,
and what they fuck they'd do if they discovered I was in love with
arseholes didn't bear thinking about. But I was a horny 11-year-old and I
had to something.

Another hot day in July. We'd a match (soccer) in the morning and I
wandered into town to catch a bus home. Don't ask me about my intentions,
I'm not sure I had any. Five minutes later I found myself sitting on the
steps outside the public toilets - Men : Ladies. Guess which one I was
sitting in front of. Men and boys trotted in and out of the bogs
(toilets). I sat there in the sun. I hadn't even made up a story in case
someone I knew came long. A couple of guys glanced at me but the place was
busy, it was a hot day, and no one seemed interest in an 11-year-old
sitting on the toilet step dressed in his football kit.

Then I saw him, and realised this was the third time I'd glanced at him
standing on the corner. This time the man caught me gaze and held it for a
few seconds; that was more than enough. He was tallish, casually
well-dressed, about the age of my mum, early thirties. He nodded at me, I
nodded back. He strolled over smiling as if he was my dad or someone like
that. I got up, the top of my head reached his chin.

"Where?" he said.

"Macdonald's," I said, hurriedly adding, "The loos there are clean," in
case he thought all I wanted was a Big Mac.

He frowned, "No good. Follow me."

Like an obedient puppy I followed him - straight to the fucking bus
station!

Of course I knew the bogs well there. Dirty, smelly, busy. We walked in. We
each stood at a urinal. The moment the place was empty, he ushered me into
the far cubicle. What a stink- piss and shit! Bliss! He put his hands on my
shoulders, gave me a little downwards push and I sat on the toilet. He
lifted my hand and placed it on his crotch, his zip. I unzipped him and
struggled to get his dick out, no easy job, it was as big and stiff as
poker. When it was before my very eyes, I wanted to inspect it closely; I'd
never seen a grown-man's penis close-up before. Fucking huge, big mushroom
head (I couldn't figure out if he was circumcised or not), thick shaft,
veins running down into a big bush of black hair. I started to play with it
the way I play with mine - get him worked up - but he didn't need any of
that.

"Open up," he hissed.

I opened my mouth as wide as I could but I couldn't get more than the head
in before I started gagging. This man was no Elwyn. He pushed my head back
and hissed again: "Wide open." I obliged until my jaws cracked. Then he
started tossing himself off right into my gaping mouth. His fingers and
thumb were around the shaft; he worked the skin up and down - he was
circumcised - another first for me.

"Play with my balls," he hissed. I opened his trouser belt, the fastening,
and edged down his briefs (Calvin Klein), until I could set his balls
free. Fucking huge. They hung in his sac like a pair of tennis balls. I
thought of Elwyn's walnuts. I played with them as best I could, though it
was difficult with my head shuddering backwards and forwards. I tried to
slide my middle fingers into the sweaty valley between his buttocks but he
clenched them tight (fucking spoilsport). If I couldn't see his arsehole
close up, at least I wanted to feel around it.

It was amazing how quiet he was as he masturbated. I couldn't do that. And
it took me totally by surprise when volleys of cum hit the back of my
throat. This wasn't the milky white spurts Elwyn and I could manage. This
was big dollops of yogurty stuff that hit the back of my throat, then began
to fill my mouth. I couldn't swallow it all. I gave a loud splutter and
gobbed it right down my chin. I've got to be fair on the guy; out of
nowhere he whipped a big white handkerchief and wiped it straight over my
chin, holding the hankie there till I coughed out the rest. Then he wiped
his dick, his pubic hair and the lower part of his belly.

As he stepped back, I stood up, pushed down my football shorts and
Y-fronts, turned, bent over the toilet pan, reached round with a spare hand
and whipped my football shirt up over my back. I wasn't expecting him to
fuck me after shooting a load like that but I'd appreciate a bit of
fingering and rimming (I learned the word later.)

Smack!

He slapped my arse, and it hurt, it really hurt. I was too startled to do
anything.

"Dirty little fucker."

His ungenerous remark was followed by the slamming of the cubicle door, and
there I was, bent over the stinking toilet pan, bare arse in the air, with
a red handprint across it, my face halfway down the pan, and my cock so
hard against my belly, it hurt worse than the slap.

My first man had not been a great success, at least not for me, but it had
shown that men would have sex with boys, and, for that alone, it was a
positive experience. I locked the cubicle door, sat down, and enjoyed a
leisurely wank in time with a leisurely shit.

All I had to do was find the right man - and it turned out he wasn't very
far away.

You can never tell what someone's really like, can you?

If there was anyone in our school who was definitely a ladies' man it was
Mr. Cameron - we all called him Mr. C. He was not only in the
P.E. department, and taught some English as well, but he had a wife and two
kids, one about 8 and the other about 6. We boys thought his wife was a
model, like those women you see in magazines like 'Vogue', my mum's
favourite, not the old bags you could wank over in mags like 'Busty
Babes'. Mrs. C. was tall, elegant and beautiful. Can you imagine the amount
of spunk the boys in our school produced over her?

Mr. Cameron ran the Year 7 football team. I told you I wasn't so hot on
academic subjects but I was good at sports, and at football, without
wanting to boast, I was brill. 'A natural," said Mr. C. I used to catch him
keeping his eye on me; I guessed he was figuring how to make the best use
of me - he was, but not in the way I was thinking.

Although I was slight for my age, it was hard to get me off the ball,
partly because I used my arse to bounce tacklers off me. I had great ball
control, quick reflexes, and only wanted one thing: to stick the ball in
the back of the net. Even then, I was gob-smacked when, a few weeks after
the season started, Mr. C. turned to us in the changing room and announced:
"Right, boys, we've got St. Swithin's on Saturday, and..." He pointed to
me. "... Paul, you're captain." He turned and walked off. I just stood
there blushing. Nobody'd ever asked me to captain anything in my life. My
mates came rushing round clapping me on the back. It was all pretty
embarrassing, but as usual I said nothing.

We beat St. Swithins 4 - 3. Mr. C. made me captain for the season. Life
could hardly better - except I wanted more sex. It was then Mr. C. stepped
in to help me - with my reading, not the sex, well, not right away.  He was
my English teacher, and, after a chat with mum at Parents' Evening, he
offered to give me a lesson at his house every Thursday after
training. Mrs. C. and the kids were round their gran's and we'd have a bit
of peace and quiet, he explained. Mum was delighted; she didn't mind a bit
of peace and quiet either, and she could have an undisturbed shagging
session with Dan, her newest boyfriend. Dan was a nice guy, I liked him, I
was glad he liked me - and my mum.

Mr. Cameron was a brilliant football manager. He was just as good at
teaching reading and spelling, which takes some doing with someone who
hated both. He turned everything into games, competitions and quizzes, and
most of the time I learned without realising I was being taught. We
measured my progress every week and I was making amazing progress.

It started about the fourth lesson. As usual, we were sitting close
together on the couch in the living room. I had the book in my lap. I was
reading out loud. I always forgot the full stop and read on into the next
sentence. It didn't matter how often Mr. C. told me, two minutes later I'd
forgotten and was reading along as if full stops hadn't been invented.

"This'll help," he said.

The book was on my lap. Slipping his hand under my t-shirt, he put his hand
at the bottom of my bare belly. Every time I came towards the end of the
sentence, he pressed my belly a little. It worked! I remembered to stop,
most of the time. That continued for about fifteen minutes. I read and he
applied pressure to tell me when to pause. No big deal. Except, of course,
that it gave me a hard-on. I sat there expressionless (I can do it for
hours.) while Sir pressed my stomach a couple of inches away from my
erection. It was embarrassing at first, but Sir didn't seem to notice
anything, so I assumed it was an accident and went on reading.

Next week the same thing happened. This time there was a variation that
showed what was happening was no accident. Despite the pressure on my
stomach, despite my hard-on, I still forgot to stop at the end of the
occasional sentence. "We have to get them all right," laughed Mr. C. He
slid his hand under my school jumper, then under my school shirt, just
above the waist band of my trousers. Every time we reached the end of a
sentence, he pressed his cool hand into my warm stomach, then ran his
little finger along my skin just where it emerged from my trouser waist
band. It could still have been an 'accident' but when he ran his finger tip
the length of my stiffy we both knew it wasn't.

Could this really be happening? Did Mr. C. want me that way? Could I be so
lucky?

I think he was giving me the chance to stop him. He guessed I wouldn't
tell. No boy in a boys' school gives up a captaincy that easily.

Next Thursday we went to his house as usual. This time he didn't bother
with the preliminaries. He told me to lie on the carpet and read to
him. Lying flat out would help with my breathing, he said. It was so
comfortable lying there, one hand holding the book, the other pillowing my
head. I wasn't surprised when he lay down, full length, alongside me. Lying
flat out that way meant I was totally exposed, almost helpless.  He began
the familiar pressure and stroking on my bare stomach. My prick
hardened. There was no way I could hide it. He stroked lower and lower
until his thumb brushed my erection below the thin grey flannel of my
school trousers. I think if I'd protested in any way, even drawing up legs,
he would have stopped, and that would have been that. I didn't.

I felt him unclip the top of my trousers and edge down the zip. He edged
aside the flaps of my flies, exposing my white underpants. His fingers
stroked the bare skin above the elastic, then slipped underneath. He held
my stiff penis between his thumb and forefinger squeezing gently as I read
on, missing more full stops than I'd ever done before. This only lasted a
couple of minutes. Then he closed me up, zipped me up, closed my clip, and
tucked my shirt in. I almost groaned with disappointment. How could he do
that? Let me lie there with my hard-on pressing through my trousers,
demanding, begging for attention. Maybe just a few kissies, a quick splurt,
then back to fucking reading.

The lesson went on as if nothing had happened. It was crazy to lie there on
the carpet in the living room and do what he did. The living room had a
huge window. Anyone visiting or passing by couldn't have missed us. An
eleven-year-old boy lying on a carpet, reading, beside a man with his hand
in the boy's unzipped trousers. It was crazy. The lesson ended and, as
usual, Mr. C. walked me home. As we walked we chatted about the coming
Saturday match. Sir did most of the talking; as usual, I listened. I loved
to listen, especially to someone who was really enthusiastic about
something I loved. We never mentioned the sex, we never did.

Thursday's lesson started with some fun card games to improve my
spelling. Then Mr. C.  said, "Let's do some reading." I followed him into a
small bedroom. On a desk there was a vase of fresh flowers; the scent was
lovely. There was a single bed. Sir indicated the bed. "Get on and read
this." I lay down on the bed, face up, reading some pages he'd
prepared. They told a very funny story about some of my friends and
me. There was some light sex in the story. It made me smile and want to
read on. I had to fill in the blanks. Coach sat down on the edge of the
bed. "Read it to yourself first, and then out loud."

I felt him push up my jumper and my shirt. I wasn't surprised. He undid the
clip of my trousers and unzipped me. "Lift," he said. Still reading, I
raised my bottom and let him slide my trousers and my underpants down to my
ankles. I felt him stroke my stomach, my pubic area, (I had half a dozen
wisps of auburn hair), then take my cock between his fingers. I already had
an erection. It was about five inches, not bad for an 11-year-old, but my
balls were still hairless.  He began stroking me, jerking me gently, his
other hand tracing patterns over my stomach, my chest and my nipples. Then
his lips replaced his fingers. He traced patterns with his lips and tongue
all over my chest and belly. He lifted up one arm at a time and licked my
armpits. He tried to suck my nipples but that was like trying to suck
raisins, I guess. I willed his lips lower and lower. He licked my belly all
over, then my hip bones on either side. I felt like a kitten getting licked
to death by its mum. It made my cock so hard it hurt. It was great.

"Should I read out loud now?" I asked.

He raised his head. "Yes, go on," he said.

As I stumbled through the story, I felt him swallow my hard-on to the
root. His mouth was hot and wet. Slowly at first, but then faster and
faster, his head bobbed up and down on my cock. It was weird. When I really
got stuck over a word, he'd raise his head, pronounce the word, and then go
back down on me. Once I stopped and asked him what a word meant: the word
was 'erect'. Sir raised his head. "It means sticking up or standing
up. That's where the word 'erection' comes from." I hadn't understood the
word 'erection' before then.

"Should I read it again?" I asked. He obviously wasn't finished.

"Yes, please, Paul. Take your time."

I started reading again, more confidently second time round.

He grasped my hips.

"Over."

I turned over so that I was lying face down. His fingers ran over my
buttocks. Then his lips. He pried the cheeks of my bottom open. I felt his
tongue run along the inside of my cheeks several times, then the hot tip
touched my hole. I was nearly sick with excitement. This was the dirtiest
thing I could think of anyone doing, yet it was the most exciting. I felt
the hot tip of his tongue run up and down the little serrated edge. He gave
a push and the tip slipped in - thank God for my hairbrush. I lay there,
willing my ring to open so that he could drive more of his tongue inside
me. I wasn't sure if I wanted to be fucked, but I did want to be opened up.

Then I farted - a little fart but a smelly one.

Fucking hell!  What would he think of me?  Would he call me a "dirty little
fucker" like the guy in the bus station bogs? He would he stop. Would he
give me a telling off, lines, a detention? Would he take my captaincy away?

I didn't have to wait for the answer. He fastened his lips over my hole as
best he could and tried to suck the shit of me. I don't mean that
literally, but that's what it felt like. If there'd been a log up there,
I'm sure he'd have drawn it down a couple of inches. I wanted to cheer as
if we'd just scored a goal! I wasn't the only one that loved bums,
arseholes, anuses, rectums, and whatever else was up there. Mr. C. was my
perfect man.

I farted again - a big one, a very smelly one.

"That's lovely," said Mr. C. "Try to do another one."

Eager to please, I strained my sphincter and let a real rasper go. It must
have inspired my teacher. I felt a big finger slide up my arse almost
before the hole stopped fluttering. It slid through the grease and slime
and started finger-fucking me. Is there a word 'roiled'? If there isn't,
there should be. Mr. C's big finger 'roiled' my hole and, when he found I
didn't complain, he roiled ne with two finger fingers turned them round and
round to slacken my sphincter and open me wider.

Then I felt the bed creak below us as Mr. C. clambered on and took a
position between my spread-open legs.

"Here we go," I thought. "Fucked at last."

But I was wrong, though I didn't work out what he did until a little later.

My teacher continued to roil my hole, keeping it open, while he tossed
himself off with his other hand. And, and when it came, he fired big
squirts of cum right down my hole. Better than messing up the sheets, I
guess. Then he moved again and he was sucking his own cum and my arse
juices into his mouth. I know because he flipped me over and started
kissing me open-mouthed!

"Up"

I swung my legs off the bed and stood in front of him. He pulled up
underpants, then my trousers, tucked in my shirt, zipped me up... all the
while explaining how he wanted me to play deep centre-forward on
Saturday. "We'll bang in a few more goals that way, Captain," he said. I
nodded. He walked me home. Came in for tea and tiffin - my mum's specialty
- and reported on my progress. Apparently I was making good progress but
there was still a long way to go, he said. (I hoped so.)

This went on for a few weeks but we didn't make the progress I expected. I
wanted to inspect his body as much as he inspected mine. I lay on the bed
naked while he licked, kissed, caressed, fondled and sucked, back and
front, almost as if he was in love with my body. A couple of times he
murmured, "God, you're beautiful," but never said anything directly sexual
to me.

I loved how he managed to open me up and get his longest finger deep inside
me. One finger, then two, though I willed him to go for at least
three. Sometimes he touched something deep inside me that made my whole
body jump, that sent shock waves through me, and I wanted desperately to
have his hard cock inside me. I presumed it was hard; I never had the
chance to find out.

Sometimes, when I was lying on my stomach, he'd slip his hand beneath me to
knead and squeeze my belly. At the same time two fingers fucked me. When he
did this, I could feel the shit in my bowels move - least I thought it did
- and I thought he was trying to work it out of me. It was so frustrating
when he turned his attention to my dick just as I thought he was getting
somewhere, shit-wise.

Sir would always finish off by sucking my brains out, cleaning me up,
dressing me, then going on with the lesson as if nothing had
happened. There were times I wanted to scream with frustration, rip down
his pants, underpants, and jam my little fist straight up his arse. How
could he be so inconsiderate? He was the adult after all. He should
consider the needs of the child.

It ended as abruptly as it began - not the lessons, the sex. One Thursday
after training Mr. C. said: "We're going to your house. My wife's got
visitors. Your mum's expecting us. It's tea and tiffin. Yummy. Now, about
Saturday's match..."

This wasn't a one-off. I never went back to his house again, at least not
for sex, though I went a few times a couple of years later to babysit their
kids because I was 'trustworthy and dependable'.  I know you're laughing
but I never once laid a finger on them; not the way you're thinking at
least - even though I got the chance to bath them and tuck them in bed. (I
almost typed 'fuck them in bed'. LOL)

That was five years ago.

A few weeks ago, my team staggered into our local pub. They were already
pissed; I was stoned (alcohol isn't good for you). Mr. C. was there. We
were all in the Sixth Form but they turn a blind eye to what we do outside
school as long as we deliver great A-level results. Mr. C. had moved onto
the local boys' grammar school.

We gave each other a big smile. He stepped up and we shook hands.

"Hi, Paul, how's going?"

"Fine, sir," I said. "Going to Sports College in September. I'd like to be
a P.E. teacher - like you."

"You'll make it, Paul. You can do anything you put your mind to.  You'll be
a great P.E. teacher, too."

He paused. "But I'll tell you one thing."

"Yes, sir?"

"You'll never have as good a captain as I once had in my Year 7 football
team."

"And there'll never be as good an English teacher as I once had."

We laughed. We hugged each other. We said goodbye. We went back to our
futures.

But first let's return to my past.

Ten inches.

Eric's cock was ten inches.

I know because he let me measure it. I know because I used to kiss it from
root to head. I know because I choked on it.

I was twelve, going on 13.  Eric was 15, going on 16.  I was in Year
8. Eric had just entered the Sixth Form; he had become one of our gods. He
was a god anyway because when he strode naked around the changing room
after showers, the hose-pipe swinging between his legs, he was god-like to
us. We all wanted what Eric had, especially those boys for whom puberty
arrived late. Not me, I was one of the lucky ones. At eleven, I had a more
than respectable five inches; going on thirteen it was touching seven
inches. Boys in Years 9 and 10 glanced enviously my way. I didn't feel
sorry for the boys who had little dicks, but I felt a bit sorry for the
younger ones who got hard-ons. Believe me, they got teased. But much as I
wanted sex with half the boys in the showers, I was never afflicted with
'sudden erection syndrome', though my dick would thicken a bit.

Eric was in the Sixth Form. He was Captain of Cricket, Captain of Rugby,
pre-destined Headboy, and a 'fine representative' of the school. Mind you,
I was Captain of Lower School Football, so I wasn't exactly a nobody, and I
had my near-seven inches to flaunt. So things were fine except sex was
confined mainly to me and my handbrush, my memories and my creative
imagination.

It was mid-September, an Indian summer, warm and balmy and sunny. At
lunchtimes, a lot of boys used to go down onto the lower playing fields for
a game of football. The lower playing fields were at the bottom of this
huge crater in the ground (a gift from Adolf H. that had been grassed over
by the years.). That day, for some reason, I had elected to play in
goal. Everyone had his blazer and tie off (strictly forbidden, but few
masters came near the 'crater'). We had a really good game. Everyone was
hot and sticky. The first bell went and most boys grabbed their stuff and
scrambled up the sides of the crater. A few of us die-hards went on
playing. The second bell went. Seconds later, there was only Eric and me
left, with Eric taking a few last pot shots at me in goal.

I hardly knew Eric. Apart from the age difference, we hadn't been at the
same junior school. He'd been to a school in the West End of the city while
I came from 'the wrong side of the tracks'. Eric's family had big
money. But Eric was fun, and I appreciated how much he'd befriended this
'fish out of water'. And he was extremely good-looking. Being good-looking
is important in all-boys' schools, probably even more so than girls'
schools since prestige and status are all-important amongst
boys. Well-built, regular features, open face, freckles, well-cared for
teeth. And a big prick. A very big prick. An outstandingly big prick. And,
trust me, this counts for a lot in boys' schools.

Ten inches. That's what they said Eric had - ten inches.  Eric would stand
there starkers, towelling himself down, with his hose pipe bouncing between
his legs, with half the room taking sneaky peeks.

Back to that September day.

We grabbed our blazers, ties and shirts (yes, Eric and I'd gone that far in
breaking the rules) and started to scramble up the grassy slope. Eric was
behind me. He slipped (he said), grabbed for something, got me, and
together we tumbled back down in the hill. We ended up in a heap of arms,
legs and clothing. Then it happened. Eric shifted till he was sitting
astride me. He put his knees on my arm muscles, such as they were, pinning
me to the grass. He was looking down into my face. He reached behind his
arse and stroked my genitals! I was stunned. My face, already red from our
exertions, was on fire. I tried to heave him away, but he bore down on me,
not enough to hurt, just enough to pin me there and kept stroking me, his
fingers fumbling till they found my hardening cock.

He looked down at me and whispered: "You're the kid with the big prick."

"And you're the prick with the big prick," I whispered back.

Eric laughed.

I laughed.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered.

"Don't stop," I whispered.

His fingers and thumb closed round my hard-on and began working the skin
along the shaft.

"Do I have to hold you down?"

I shook my head. from side to side.

Eric slid from my body. I sat up.

"We can't stay here," he said.

"I know," I said.

"The sheds," he said.

I nodded.

We scrambled up, grabbed our clothes and headed across the fields, away
from the school. The 'sheds' was our name for the boys' outside latrines on
the far side of the playing fields. They were rarely used. Smoking went on
there. Card games (for money) went on there. Did sex go on there? I didn't
know, but I was about to find out.

We got to the sheds and slipped inside. Eric took our blazers and ties and
hung them on a hook on the back of the shed door. "I'll go first," he
said. I nodded, not sure what he intended. To be honest, the thought of his
'whopper' up my jacksie was as scary as it was thrilling. Eric sat down on
one of the toilets and pulled me towards him. He opened my belt, unbuttoned
my flies, then dragged down my flannels and Y-fronts to my ankles. I was
exquisitely embarrassed. My cock was hard and already slick with
pre-cum. Eric fondled me for a bit, then without a by-your-leave opened his
mouth and sucked me in until his lips were pressed into my pubic hair (I'd
grown some.)

I stood there and watched my penis slide in and out of Eric's mouth,
fascinated by the way it bulged his cheeks, and amazed he could get so much
of me inside him. Where was it all going - down his throat? I put my hands
on his head and instinctively, I suppose, began pushing and pulling to find
the rhythms I liked best. One of Eric's hands worked the base of my cock
while the other played with my balls.

"Hold on," I said, pulling back.

"What's up?"

"I've got to take a piss," I said. "I'll just be a minute." I turned to a
urinal.

"You don't have to go anywhere," said Eric turning me back to face
him. "You can go right here."

"Where?" I asked.

"Right here," he repeated, opening his mouth wide.

"You want me to piss in our mouth?"

"Very much. If you don't mind."

"No, no, that's fine."

Eric opened wide.

My cock had gone from stiff to semi-tumescent, so it was easy to slide it
into Eric's mouth. But it wasn't so easy to start pissing. He was the most
admire boy in the entire school, and I was a little, long-haired twerp from
Year 8. I started to flow.

Eric gulp down the stream. I pinched and held to give him time to
swallow. Released and flowed again. It was a long piss but he took every
drop and when he was finished he smacked his lips. "I'll do the same for
you some time."

"Thanks," I said.

His right hand slipped into my crack and headed for my bumhole. I'd been
working on it before school, and with the help of summer sweat his big
middle finger slipped in easily. I thought of asking for two or even three
fingers but thought that might be pushing my luck. Eric brought me to the
brink of orgasm three My prick was going frantic, my heart racing. Then
when I thought I couldn't stand any more, he let me cum - he let me cum in
his mouth! I couldn't believe it. Eric's swallows filled the smelly shed;
at that moment the most romantic place on the planet. He waited until I'd
softened in his mouth, slipped me out, slipped his finger out, took a
handkerchief from his pocket and wiped my cock and his lips. Then, without
batting an eyelid, he sucked his middle finger clean. The finger that had
been up my ass.

"You would happen to need a shit," he asked.

"Sorry," I said.

Sheer class!

"What do we do now?" I squeaked as we did up our buttons, pulled on our
blazers, and Eric knotted my tie for me.

"Don't worry, I'll get you into class. Remember I'm in the Sixth."  There
was a pause. "Have you got a bike?" I nodded. "What're you doing on
Saturday?" I shrugged. "Wanna come for a ride?" I nodded. "Right, that's
that. We'll fix it up after school."

As we strolled back to classes, he said, "Hey, what's your name?"

"Paul. It's Paul," I said. "What's yours?"

"Cheeky fucker," he laughed - and slapped me hard over the arse.

My face glowed. My cheeks glowed. I couldn't wait for Saturday.

Saturday morning around 11 o'clock and we cycle down the towpath towards
Blean Woods. The towpath is lumpy bumpy so it's easy to keep up with Eric
on his racing bike. Out on the main road I'm happy to peddle behind him on
my trusty rusty Raleigh enjoying the gorgeous view - his arse - the rounded
buttocks rising and falling, cheeks pressing against each other. How I
wished my face was the bike seat as his bum rises then falls to press hard
against it. I imagine how the pressure pushes his anus open as he drops
onto the seat, then gently closes as he rises again. If I get reborn I want
to be the seat on Eric's bicycle. We're in no hurry, the sky is blue, the
temperature already in the low 20s. It's going to be a hot one again - I
hope.

I wonder what it will feel like if/when he fucks me. I'm under no
illusions. His prick is not only ten inches (and a half) long but it is
thick as well. It's going to hurt. At least I've taken the precaution of
working my hole with my beloved hairbrush after breakfast. And I've stuck
an extra glob of Nivea up there - just in case. I tried to take a shit but
my rectum was in no mood to give up its booty just yet.

We peddle along the path at Blean Woods.

"Follow me," Eric calls. "I know a place. Nobody ever goes there."

I follow, wondering how Eric knows nobody ever went there, and wondering if
he's taken a boy there before me. I'm not jealous. I wouldn't even mind a
third boy.

The clearing near the pond is lovely. Grassy, circled by silver birch
trees. The water in the pond is cool and clear, fed by a small stream. We
lay out a tartan blanket, and on it cheese sandwiches, digestive biscuits
(milk chocolate), and four bottles of pop. We strip to our undies and wade
into the pool. "Stand still," whispers Eric. I do and look down. Little
silver fish dart between my legs. "See if you can grab one," said Eric. I
bend over and concentrate on watching the fish. A push from behind, over I
go. Splash! Head first into the water. I come up spluttering and spouting
water. Clear my eyes.  Eric laughing fit to burst a gut. Dive at him. Knock
him over. And we're both sprawled in the pond.

Out we get laughing and stretch ourselves on the blanket, me flat on my
back, Eric, propped on one elbow, looking down at me.

"Do you like arses?" he ask.

What the fuck am I meant to say?

"Well?"

I keep my eyes close. Nod.

"May I make love to yours?"

I keep my eyes closed, roll over, lean my head on my elbows, my eyes
closed.

Slowly, inch by inch, Eric slides down my wet underpants, up, over my
buttocks down to my ankles. I raise my heels and he slides them off.

"Wow, you're lovely," he says.

I feel reassured.

Eric doesn't stand on ceremony.  He prises open the cheeks, lowers his
face, sticks out his tongue, and goes straight for my arsehole. I can feel
him licking all around it, directly on it, then probing it with the tip of
his tongue. At the same time a thumb on each side of the hole is gently
forcing me open. It doesn't hurt at all. It just feels good. Bless my
hairbrush. He gets about half his tongue in and starts to twist it
around. I wonder how far into my rectum he'll got. Can he actually touch
the walls of my rectum? I don't have much idea about my inner anatomy but I
hope he can. What if the tip of his tongue touches the end of a turd? Would
he know that's what it was? Would he be sickened, disgusted? I don't want
to be called a dirty little fucker again. Yes, it's my rectum, but it's his
tongue. He spends ages down there - up there - I don't care - he can stay
there forever. I can actually feel his wide open mouth pressing against the
inside of each buttock, or is that just my imagination?

"It's weird, isn't it?

"What is?" I ask.

"An arsehole. Yet it's shit that comes out of it."

"Suppose so," I murmur.

"Depends whose shit it is," he says.

I'm startled by that but I say nothing.

"I won't to put the head of my cock inside you? I won't try to get the
whole thing in. I promise."

I raised my head from my elbows and give what nod I could manage.

Imagine Eric, naked, straddling me, one knee on either side of my hips,
foreskin pulled back, the slit on the head of his cock touching the little
slit of my anus, his thumbs spreading the little pucker wider as he presses
insistently against the opening. Nothing at first as my sphincter fights
the good fight with all its might. The gentle pressure is relentless, then
for a moment relieved, as Eric lowers his face to gob once, twice, three
times into my hole, then back comes the head, back comes the pressure. I
feel the muscles relax, then give, and the head pushes its way past my
first sphincter and it's inside me.

"Fuck it!" I yell.

"Sorry, am I hurting you?" comes Eric's voice.

"No, no," I mumbled in a bare-faced lie. My ring has burst into flames.

"Push harder, push all you want."

The head is all the way in. I feel my anus grip the beginning of the
shaft. We both relax for a couple of minutes, breathing heavily. Eric
pushes again. Resistance again. Is that the second sphincter? If it is, it
isn't in the mood to struggle, it gives up, and Eric sinks all the way
in. I can feel his thick pubic hair against my arse. I feel the inner walls
of my rectum straining. If you looked at my belly, would you see the bulge
of the shaft half way up it?

"Fuck me, Eric," I whisper. "Fuck me, fuck me hard."

And he does.

Slowly at first, gently at first, then picking up pace till he is rabbiting
me. The shaft slides all the way out leaving only the head to connect us,
then he pummels deep again, rising and falling on those strong arms of his,
pressing my skinny body deep into the rug, the grass, the earth. Harder,
faster, deeper - harder, faster, deeper. The handle of my hairbrush was
never like this. Moans, groans, dirty words, licks in my ear, licks along
my neck, my own cock stretched hard beneath me.

Then Eric comes down flat on me and stays there. The inner part of his
hips, his crotch, his groin, rubs against my much smaller buttocks, and
he's shooting his cum into me, spurt by spurt. His body shakes and trembles
against mine. I suck my arm, giving myself a hickey.

Stillness, silence, all except for our breathless panting - the heat has
stilled the birds - leaving only the audible breathing of two naked boys,
the smaller under the larger, stretched out in the dappled light of the
grassy clearing.

We lie like that for five minutes. Then I feel him pissing up my arse,
straight into my rectum. Hot and wet. I can feel the piss hitting my inner
flesh. It's wonderful. I wonder how far up it will go before it reverses
and starts to flow out of me.

Eric withdraws, rolls off me, and lies on his back, shielding his eyes. I
roll onto my front, prop myself on an elbow, and look him over. He is, like
me, awash in sweat. His cock had lost its hardness but it's still floppy
huge. I move over him, lower my face, and start to lick his cock. The head
slips into my mouth. I suck it like a gobstopper. He's too sensitive for
that, so I return to the shaft and lick it up and down. What are the
tastes? Nivea, cum, saliva, piss and shit. Now there's a combination. I
don't care. I want it. I'm the mother cat this time, and I'm licking my
kitten clean.

Two minutes, five minutes, ten minutes. Eric rolls to face me. Grinning,
takes me in his arms, kisses me open-mouthed and sticks his tongue deep in
my mouth. We snog like that for a couple of minutes. He withdraws his
tongue, looks deep in my eyes, and says: "Hey, don't keep all the good
stuff for yourself." I laugh.

"Hungry?" he says.

"A bit," I nod.

"Right. Let's have a cheesy before... "

Before what?

He leaves the sentence unfinished. We get up, drape our wet undies on a
branch, settle down on the blanket, unwrap a cheese sandwich each, open a
bottle of Coca Cola, munch, share the Coke, spit some of it into each
other's mouth, and fall in love - or at least I do. We lie there chatting
about everything under the sun - school, football, movies - everything
under the sun except what we've just done.

"Your turn," says Eric, taking the last mouthful from the bottle and
rolling onto his front. There it is - my first man's bum - though this man
is only 15 going on 16. He opens his legs wide in invitation; I crawl
between them and stretch his cheeks wide. There it is - his arsehole -
larger than mine, browner than mine, with hair - real hair around it! Not
lots of it, but enough to start me drooling. My thumbs edge him open, he
grunts, I lower my face and sniff deeply. Shit! There's no doubt about it,
though it must be deep inside; the scent is faint and the opposite of
offensive. Hard to describe. What are you going to compare shit with except
shit?

I draw my face back and have a good look. The lips of his anus are much
larger than mine, puffier, and look bruised. The lips actually stand up
slightly from the surface. I lick the lips. Kiss them. Pull them wider and
try to peer in. There's definitely a redness but nothing too definite. I'm
about to try my tongue when I heard Eric's voice.

"Get the bottle, it's still got some Coke. Work it in."

Did I hear him right?

Is Eric asking me to work the neck of the Coke bottle into his arsehole?

"You heard me, Paulie. Get the bottle. Work the neck in. Go easy. Don't do
anything till I tell you."

Who am I to question a Sixth Former?

I reach for the bottle, touch the neck end to his hole, and apply gentle
pressure.

"Twist it round. Keep pushing - not too hard."

It takes about five minutes, then with a sloppy pop it's in. It slides in
easily until it reached the bulge of the main bottle. What now?

"Keep twisting. Push slowly. Not too hard. See how much you can get in."

I follow orders and am amazed to find two thirds of the bottle slides right
in. I see how the mouth of his anus stretches to accommodate the bottle and
grip it tightly at the same time. I guess he wants me to fuck him with it,
so I start Coke-fucking him.

"Fuck, Paul, not so hard. If the bottle breaks, I could get really
injured. In and out, slowly at first."

I do what I'm told and get a nice steady rhythm going. I love the way his
anus stretches round the bottle like an elastic band. I wonder if the Coke
fizzed up, out and into him. After a couple of minutes, Eric whisper,
"Slide it out and finish the Coke."

Out comes the bottle, down goes my face, my lips fastened over his hole,
and I suck and suck. It's true what they say: 'Things go better with Coca
Cola'!

Eric roll over on his front.

"You're doing really well - so far," he tells me. He raises his legs and
swings them backwards over his shoulders. Told you he was athletic. His bum
looks magnificent.

"Shove three fingers in," I hear him say.

I can get three fingers into my hole, so why not Eric's?

I cross the first three fingers of my right hand over each other to form a
wedge. Then, starting with my middle finger, push against his pucker. The
Coke bottle has done its job; the wedge of fingers slides right up to the
knuckles. I start fucking Eric's hole, slowly then faster. "Add your other
finger," he instructs, though this time there's tension in his voice. I add
my 'pinkie' to wedge and repeat the process: in they go. The smell of shit
is stronger now; if Eric notices it, he doesn't say. More fucking. "Take
them out. Add your thumb. But go really slowly this time."

I added my thumb and am stunned when most of my hand slips inside.

Eric's groaning now.

"Work your hand in up to the wrist," he moans. "Twist it round and
round. Make me feel it."

It's hot in there. Hot and moist. No, not moist - mushy. That can only mean
thing: I'm in deep shit - Eric's shit. My erect cock throbs in
response. I'm so turned on I can hardly breathe. "See if you can open and
close your hand a bit," he said. "No, no, too much. Stop. Just keep turning
your hand from side to side."

"Now start punching."

"Punching?"

"Punching. Not too hard at first. Then speed up the punches when I tell you
to. Pull you hand all the way back to the wrist then punch as deep as you
can. Easy at first. Easy."

I do what I'm told. Soon I'm punching so deeply that my wrist and arm slip
in all the way up to the elbow. After a few punches my arm is covered in
shit, Eric's shit, and he's moaning as he if was straining out a big one. I
speed things up, making shorter and sharper strokes.

Finally: "That's enough. Out now - slowly - very slowly."

I pull and slide out. My hand wrist and arm are covered in shit. Eric
lowers his legs, sits up, looks at me, glassy-eyed. He's drenched in sweat,
so am I.

"Do you want that?" he asks looking at the shit. He makes a long, licking
motion with his tongue.  I shake my head.

"Best go and wash it off."

I wander down, naked to the pond, kneel, wash my hand in the water, raise
it, look at it, lick it, stick it back in the water and clean myself
vigorously. I go back thinking, "That's it," but it isn't because Eric's
lying on his back, his ten inches sticking up in the air.

"Sit on it," he says.

I sit on it, feel the head push past my sphincter muscles, pull myself as
wide open as I can, and let myself slide down his cock until I'm sitting
with his entire ten inches inside me. I look down at my stomach wondering
if I'll see the outline of his erection bulging in my belly. No luck. Eric
starts tossing me off. I try raising and lowering myself but that really
hurts, so I sit there letting Eric wank me. It's great. We are able to
watch each other's eyes. All too quickly my legs begin to shudder, my tummy
does little leaps, my eyes roll back in my head, my skinny body arches, and
I orgasm harder than I've ever done. Two, three, four spurts shot out -
three of them hitting Eric's chin and the fourth going where... I've no
idea.

Eric lies still until his cock softens enough for me to slide off it. It's
covered in shit. I blush but Eric laughs, slides a finger along his cock,
then pops the shitty finger in his mouth! He sucks it clean, takes it out,
shows it to me, and goes "Yummy, yummy."

A serious look comes over his face.

"Hey, Paulie, there's nothing wrong if we both want to do it."  He
pauses. "Anything you want to do before we clean up?"

"Well," I hesitate. "You need a shit. Is it okay if I watch you?"

Eric laughed again.

"That's exactly what I wanted to ask you."

A huge grin crosses my face.

"You go first," he says. "Come over and squat over my face. Just let it go
when you feel like it, but make it slow 'cos I want to watch close-up."

"Do you want me to shit on you?" I ask.

"No," he laughs. "I'll roll away at the last second. 'Cos we want to save
something for next time."

My heart leaps. Hurrah! There's going to be a next time.

I won't take you through the whole shitting thing because maybe that's not
something your into. But when Eric squats over me, I don't dare blink
because I want to watch every second of it. I watch his anus swell, puff
up, and then open to show the tip of a dark brown turd. I watch as it
bullies its way through the sphincter. His anus stretches until it
gapes. Gapes almost as wide as the Coca Cola bottle - thick end. To be
honest, I opened my mouth wide, but then at the last second rolled away and
let it pile up on the grass. I lay propped on one elbow till Eric finished,
then we jumped up and hand in hand - romantic or what? - ran straight into
the pond. We washed and splashed each other for about fifteen minutes, got
out of the water, and lay down on the grass to let the hot sun dry us off.

Amazingly enough, the whole thing had lasted only a couple of hours. We
dressed, packed up, got on our bikes, and cycled to Eric's house where he
introduced me to his mother and father. Eric explained I was Captain of
Lower School Football and we needed to discuss teams and matches for the
rest of the season. Eric's mum and dad were great, really nice. They
insisted I stay for high tea, then made us rest for an hour before they
allowed us into the swimming pool.

Yes! They had their own swimming pool.

Around four in the afternoon, Eric's dad piled me, Eric and my bike into
their People Mobile and drove me home. Eric charmed my mum, we shook hands,
and he said he'd see me at school on Monday morning.

That night I went to bed sun-burned, knackered (exhausted) but intensely
happy.

And the thought of using my brush handle didn't even cross my mind.

Eric introduced me to a world of sex I didn't know existed but I like to
think we had a special relationship, and not only because of our
fascination with arseholes. Of course, we couldn't have much contact in
school: Eric was in the Sixth Form, I was in Year 8. Sixteen-year-olds did
not hang out with twelve-year-olds, though my position as a school sports
captain helped smooth the way. But our bike rides continued every now and
again, as did my visits to his home where his parents welcomed and seemed
to like me. Eric was amazingly believable as he spun stories why, for
example, he needed to tutor me in Maths in his bedroom/study during a long,
wet Sunday afternoon. Even I started believing him!

But I don't want to start recounting some of our encounters of the dirty
kind in Eric's bedroom, or in en suite bathroom when the shit hit the fan
almost literally. Nope, I want to tell you how I discovered that my little
brother - sweet, cute, innocent Noah - started to take an interest in
sex. It's quite a story.

Blame it on 'The Exorcist' - I mean the book, not the movie.

It happened during the Christmas holidays after the 'Summer of Eric'. We
were on a skiing holiday in Switzerland. Mum's newest boyfriend had money,
a lot of it, and he took the three of us to a place called Crans-Montana,
somewhere in the Swiss Alps. We'd never been out of England before, so you
can imagine how thrilled Noah and me were. We got popped into a boys'
boarding chalet - the boyfriend arranged that - and we had skiing lessons
every morning and afternoon.

We had a skiing instructor called Jack D., everybody called him JD. He came
from California. He was incredibly popular amongst the 12 boys in the 'Ski
House' - and he deserved to be. Not only good-looking but kind,
considerate, generous, fun, patient, etc. etc.  Jack took an interest in me
and Noah! I think he did that 'cos we didn't see much of mum and her BF
-nobody did. They seemed to spend most of the time in their 'exclusive'
chalet. I guessed they were fucking most of the day; they both looked
knackered at dinner time. Don't get me wrong. I loved mum like crazy, and I
accepted she had a life of her own. Must admit I sometimes wondered if the
BF took her up the arse - but I never jacked off thinking about that,
honest I didn't.

Me, I took to skiing like Eric to my arsehole; Noah spent most of the time
on his cute backside; but it was me who crashed out. On my fourth session -
disaster. I swear a tree ambushed me. The bastard stepped into my path as I
flew down the piste far too fast. I got hurt, not too bad, but bad
enough. My tibia (shinbone) had a hairline fracture. They put a cast on my
leg, ordered me to keep the weight off it and said it would take six to
eight weeks to heal properly. I really didn't understand the medical
gibberish I heard but I did understand a few days in bed was mandatory with
as little movement as possible. At least the fabulous view from the window
was.... borrring.  And everyone, including Noah, was gone by nine
o'clock. That was the bad news. Where was the good news?

It was JD!

I got JD who told me, in what I took for a Californian drawl, that he was
'to do' for me during lunchtime. He did a lot more than that. He gave up
his free-time from the slopes to come in and keep me company - chatting,
teaching me backgammon, cards, and generally just being there. Then I
discovered the bonus - JD had to give me body washes! And even more than
that he had to help me on my bedpan, then dispose of my body waste (piss
and shit). These guys really earned their Swiss francs. He told me not to
be embarrassed; I said okay, and could hardly wait to feel his hand,
fingers and sponge on my body. I had a laugh to myself what Eric might do
with a panful of my hot, steaming shit.

Did I tell you what he did with the gobstopper?

Body washes I looked forward to, after I got over my initial shyness. What
adolescent boy doesn't worry about his body compared to that of the real
thing?

JD would strip off my pajamas, top and bottoms, and cover me with a single
sheet. Then with a cloth and warm soapy water, he'd wash me all over. Of
course, I got erections. I was nearly thirteen! But JD ignored them and
after a while so did I.

I usually pretended to read a book. I was still too shy to watch his hand
as it circled over my neck, my shoulders, my chest, my stomach, my legs, my
knees, my feet. Then he'd wash my pubic hair. It really was beginning to
grow. If I'd been able to keep my cock down before he did my pubes, I
certainly couldn't when he reached them with his wet, warm cloth and
hand. Up would spring my five inches of creamy, pink flesh with the head
peeking out of the foreskin. I'd bury my nose deeper in my book and pretend
I didn't notice my prick bouncing against my belly, and JD's fingers.

Blame it on 'The Exorcist'.

I'd reached the part where the young girl starts fucking herself with a
crucifix. I'm not religious, but that really turned me on. My prick was as
stiff as a poker. I couldn't stop re-reading the passage, and, of course, I
started imagining fucking Eric up the ass with the crucifix. That was the
moment I realised I was going to Hell. I felt warm fingers close around my
prick. For a moment I thought JD was only going to wash it. I felt his
fingers gently jerking the shaft. A moment of panic, but only a moment. I
lay back, closed the book and my eyes, and opened my legs.

JD accepted the invitation.

He nursed, caressed and stroked my hard-on with one hand while the other
fondled my balls. Bliss! I wondered if he'd masturbate me to orgasm, and if
he did, what would he do with my cum. He had plenty of soapy water and a
hand towel, so that didn't worry me much. What I liked was the care and
attention he gave my prick. I'd started wanking when I was ten, but the
routine had got pretty boring. A quick jerk-off didn't really satisfy
anymore. Now, here was a good-looking guy taking a loving interest in my
prick. It felt like I was having a doctor's minute examination of my male
organ of reproduction. No vein was left untraced, no hair unkissed.

I jumped, as much as a cripple can jump, when his mouth closed over me. JD
meant more than quick toss. This was serious business. In my mind I began
to do things that made the bitch in 'The Exorcist' look like a novice. JD
was bobbing up and down on my cock, his mouth like a wet furnace. He was
squeezing my balls, gently but to great effect.

"My asshole, my asshole," I whispered in my pathetic version of his
Californian drawl.

JD obliged. Finger-fucking me in time with his bobbing on my cock, his
fingers working the shaft. It wouldn't be long before my head was spinning
through 360 degrees!

Did he want me to cum in his mouth? He gave no signal, so I warned him,
"I'm cumming, JD." He sucked me harder, faster in short strokes while he
finger-fucked me faster and deeper. My cock spat cum into his mouth as my
bun bounced off the bed. I hadn't tossed myself off since the crash, and my
body was making up for it now. My belly rumbled; I farted. I'd have happily
accepted another broken leg at that moment as I squirted myself into JD's
mouth.

The door burst open.

It was Noah.

He was still wearing his ski goggles.

"What the fu....!" he began. "What you doing to my brother?"

"Get the fuck out of here, Noah!" I yelled at him.

The little fucker turned, half fell out the door, slammed it behind him.

For a moment I prayed he hadn't seen what was going on because of the
goggles.

Fat fucking chance.

I looked up at JD. I expected to see him in panic. He was laughing.

"What the fuck are you laughing at?" I yelled. My shyness had gone.

JD put on his serious face, the one he used when he was telling you not to
take risks on the piste, the look I'd ignored.

"Sorry, Paul," he said. "But you'll sort it out with Noah. He's your little
brother. In case you hadn't noticed it, he worships the ground you walk on
- or at least the ground you'll be able to walk on in a couple of weeks."

I couldn't help laughing, too.

Then I put on my serious face.

"JD. There's something I have to tell you."

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"I need to take a shit. It feels like a big one. Could you lift me up,
please?"

"'Course I can," he said, stepping towards me.

"And, JD," I added.

"I'm still as horny as fuck."

Eric had taught me a lot in six months.

When Noah came in around 3 in the afternoon, I was ready for him to ask a
thousand questions. He didn't ask one. What he wanted to tell me was how
great the slopes had been, and he'd landed on his backside only a couple of
times.

"And JD said I was a natural," he glowed. A few minutes later, he
disappeared into the Games Room where the boarding boys congregated after
every skiing session. I reached for 'The Exorcist', flicked open to page
125, and got on with the bitch's battle with Satan wondering into which
orifice she'd plunge the crucifix next. I also sighed with relief. The sigh
came too soon. The bombshell came just before dinner.

About half past five the door opened again. Noah strode in and threw
himself on his bed. He lay on his back, turned his face to me, and beamed,
triumphantly, "I had sex with JD, too."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"This afternoon. I didn't go to the Games Room. I found JD. I told him I'd
sprained my wrist. That was a fib. JD knew it. He didn't even look at my
wrist. He just asked, 'Well, how can I help?'....."

I interrupted Noah.

"Okay, okay. Tell me what happened."

"Well, I told him I didn't want use the showers downstairs, cos I was a bit
shy. Could I use the bath in the clinic, so nobody could see me? And could
he wash my back cos it wasn't easy with a sprained wrist. He just said,
'Meet me there in five minutes."

"So?"

"So I went there and started running the bath. Isn't it huge? You could
swim in it, I bet. Anyway, I got all of my clothes off, I mean all of them,
so when he got there I was standing there starkers. He couldn't tell me to
put anything on, could he? Cos there was nothing there to put on. And
anyway I'm only 9."

I laid 'The Exorcist' down and turned my full attention to
this... this... spawn of Satan."

"Well, we stood there chatting about how well I'd done on the piste. The
bath filled, I climbed in, and nearly disappeared under a mountain of soap
bubbles. JD squatted at the side of the bath, took a soap bar, and started
rubbing it all over my body. I'd already stuck the big sponge down the
toilet. It was the best feeling ever. I could feel his fingers on my neck,
my chest, my tummy; he even did my pits.

"'Stand up and I'll wash off the soap.'"

"I stood up. Paul, my dick was sticking straight out from my body. Not up
towards my tummy, straight out. It looked really big. I know it's only four
inches but, wow, it looked much bigger sticking straight out. Then he took
the shower head and sprayed all the soap off me."

Noah paused for a second, gave me a look as if he was making up his mind,
then whispered: "JD said 'Let's make sure your clean', and he went on one
knee, pulled me towards him, and took my penis right in his mouth. Honest,
Paul, I swear to God, JD gave me a blow-job."

I was as startled as a rabbit in the headlights.

Where the fuck did my little brother learn words like that? Next he'll be
telling me JD 'rimmed' him.

"Yeh," said Noah. "JD gave me a blow job. I bet it was as good as yours
yesterday... and then he rimmed me."

"Listen, you little fucker," I said. "You better not talk about this
anybody. You could get JD into serious trouble. You have to keep your trap
shut."

"Gimmee a break," said Noah. "I'm not stupid. You can't give blow jobs to
little kids. They've got be in secondary school first. Anyway, JD sucked me
off..."  Where the fuck was he learning this language? What the fuck's
going on in junior schools nowadays? "...because he knows I was jealous of
you. He just wanted to make us equal, that's all. You know what Mum always
says: 'If one of you get something, the other one's got to get it, too.'"

I couldn't help laughing.

Noah relaxed and gave me his biggest smile.

"Hey, Paul, would you like a blow job? I bet I could suck you off as good
as JD."

'The Exorcist' hit him right in the chest.

What the fuck are the younger generation coming to?

As soon as I typed that, I started laughing. I was one of the 'younger
generation' and, like I said, Mr. C. and Eric took me through doors I
didn't know existed. Eric, in particular, introduced me to boys I'd never
have guessed shared our interests, at least some extent. I'm not going
write an account of all of them, not even of most of them, but there are a
couple I'd like to record to remind myself of the journey I was on.

It was near the end of Year 8, I'd just hit my 13th birthday, and it
happened after the final cricket match of the year. Not that I played
cricket; I hated it. But Eric was the Sixth Form's star bowler, batsman and
captain, and he talked me into becoming the side's official scorer. That
meant I could sit back on a deck chair and record the score as it ticked
along. Of course it also gave me the chance to watch Eric in action. You
should have seen his arse as he ran into bowl, buttocks churning away as if
I was twisting a Coke bottle up his rectum. Sorry, I digress. (We learned
the expression in English and I'm a natural digresser.)

After the final match - We won by 31 runs. Eric took 5 wickets and hit a
half century. - most guys hurried away to get ready for Saturday night. I
accepted I couldn't go with Eric - He was 16, I was 13. - not possible. At
least he said we'd go for a ride on Sunday, but there's a favour he wanted
me to do for him, and added mysteriously it was more of a favour for me. No
idea what it could be, but if Eric was asking, I was doing. A couple of the
side were staying to have a shower at the Sports Pavilion. Could I stay and
get the key from them when they were finished?

I was about to enter the shower room when I heard a couple of voices. The
shower room is a bit of a boom room, easy to hear conversations if the
showers weren't on, and they weren't.

"They fucked that kid - Ross what's-his-name? - out at Blean Pond after
school yesterday."

I froze at the name 'Blean Pond'.

"They didn't."

"They bloody well did."

"What the fuck happened?"

"Two of them in Year 11 asked him to go for a bike ride, and the silly
little fucker went with them."

"Shit. He's only in Year 7. Cute though. Would you fuck him?"

"Naw not me. Too much like a girl. Those eyes. Looks like a bushbaby. That
hair. Those lips."

"Methinks you protest too much."

"Don't use that Shakespeare on me, just cos you're going to Uni. Well, I
guess I wouldn't mind those lips round my cock. Your dick up his sweet
arse, mine down his cute throat. Anyway, he was stupid. If you're
11-years-old, you don't go with those sex-crazed 15-year-olds in Year 11. I
reckon he knew what he was doing."

"You're a fucking homo."

"You're a queer."

"You're a poof."

"You're a shirt-lifter."

I recognised the voices of the opening batsman of the school's senior
cricket team. I banged the door to let them know someone was there, then
stepped into the shower room.

"What the....?"

"It's okay," interrupted the other. "It's Paulie. He's cool."

The homo and the poof were Theo and Lendon, a couple of Eric's best mates,
though I'd no idea they batted for the same side as him - correction
us. The shirt-lifter - me - had arrived. They were standing under a shower
head, naked, waiting for.....

"Come on, Paulie," said Lendon. "Eric said you might be up for some. If you
are, get out off your kit. If you're not, get the fuck out of here." He
said it with a friendly laugh, Theo joined in. I didn't have much choice,
so I started laughing and stripping off.

"Jesus, you've got a big one," said Lendon.

"Must be the Son of Eric," said Theo.

We started laughing again. I threw my clothes onto a bench and stepped into
the shower area. Theo wrapped an arm round my waist. Lendon reached for a
knob (a shower knob) and twisted on the water. A cascade of cold, cool,
lukewarm, warm, fairly hot water hit us.

"What were we talking about? Remind me," said Theo.

"Fucking kids," said Lendon.

"Oh, so were," said Paul. "Let's soap this down first." Lendon passed him
bar of Wright's coal tar soap. Theo started soaping my back. Lendon dropped
to his knees, took my cock, which was already stiffening, looked up, said,
"Waste not, want not," and slid it into his mouth. Theo didn't stay long on
my back. He dropped to his knees, opened my buttocks and began licking the
valley between the cheeks. He paused for a moment and called up to me,
"This is the Sixth Form's way of saying thanks for keeping the scores all
season." He returned to my arse, this time drawing the soap back and
forwards against my pucker, then easing a finger up my hole as far as he
could, calling, "Wiggle, wiggle!"

Honest, I thought I was going to be sick laughing, but it was all I could
so staying erect (on my feet) while Lendon sucked me off and Theo
finger-fucked me. It took me a couple of minutes to work out they were both
finger-fucking me. I thought Theo had jammed two fingers up my jacksie
until I realised only one of them belonged to Theo.

I felt the familiar and irresistible pressure grow in me. I expected it to
be over in a couple of minutes and was, to say the least, when both boys
stood up. They read the expression on my face. Theo laughed. "Hey, that's
only starters, you know, and we are here for a shower - but not yet."

"Rub his belly," said Lendon, "That should do it."

"Do what?" I thought to myself, but as they rubbed my belly I found it. I
began to shit. Embarrassed I tried to step away but they withdrew their
fingers, stood up, and held me gently as a snaky turd slid out of me. The
stink was evil.

Lendon reached down, scooped up half the shit and began to rub it across
Theo's chest. "Great for the skin, they say," he laughed. "Help us out,
Paulie." I took the hint scooped the rest up and massaged Theo's belly,
pubes, cock and balls with the shit. "Don't think you've got enough,"
laughed the shit-covered boy and let loose an almighty splatter from his
arse. Lendon knelt down, got two handfuls and started doing his best
friend's legs. I got the rest and carefully covered Theo's face, staying
well away from his eyes. Within five minutes, Theo was totally covered with
his shit.

"I think this dirty boy needs a good shower. Don't you, Paulie?"

"I most certainly do."

But first we hosed each other down with our piss.

Later sitting in the sun outside the pavilion, Lendon surprised me: "You
know half of the Sixth Form are in love with you, don't you, Paulie?" Again
he surprised me by using my Christian name. "Yeh, half of us are in love
with you, and the other half just want to fuck your brains out." I had to
laugh along with them. "But you don't have to worry, everyone knows
Mr. C.'s got the hots for you, and nobody's going to risk offending him."

Theo took up the thread of the conversation. "Don't forget Eric. Anyone
messes around with Paulie is gonna get royally fucked by Eric - and not
just up the arse. Eric doesn't take just any kid to Blean Pond."

"He took you," laughed Theo. I looked at Theo and my heart skipped a beat,
though, oddly enough, I didn't feel jealous.

It was true; he was the best-looking boy in the school. There was nothing
girlish about Theo, but his golden hair, symmetrical features, high
cheekbones, big hazel eyes, and ready smile turned heads all around the
school, including those of half a dozen teachers. Yet there was nothing
boastful or arrogant about Theo; he simply laughed and got on with
life. Rumour had it he was a born -gain Christian who read a bit out of the
Bible every night. If Elwyn had an elder angelic brother it was Theo.

I looked at them and smiled.

"Have you two ever fucked a kid at the same time?" I inquired.

They shook their heads.

"Well, now's your chance."  I paused, then added, "And I don't mean one in
the mouth and one in the arse. I mean both of you in my arse, at the same
time. Just pretend you're Eric." Looking back, I think the last remark was
a bit cruel. They looked at each other, nodded and looked at me, like a
couple of ferrets weighing up a rabbit. Some ferrets; some rabbit.

That's what we did. And it wasn't easy, but we managed. Theo on his
back. Me sitting down on his cock. Lendon shoving his cock up my hole from
behind. My hairbrush handle and Eric had made it easier for me, but not
easy. It hurt like hell for a while, but I was able to look down into
Theo's big hazel eyes and that took most of the pain away. Actually, I
think what they found most erotic was their cocks rubbing against each
other rather than being up me. That's probably why they came at the same
time, while, a minute later, I had to get their cocks out of my arse, and
wriggle up Theo's body so he could suck me to a climax. Then they proceeded
to kiss me and share the cum in a three-way snog.

We walked to our homes. Lendon turning left after about half a mile. Theo
was with me for another five minutes or so, then he turned left, I turned
right. But as we said 'Bye bye', he took me, held me, and kissed me on the
mouth, right there in the street.

School finished for the summer. I never saw Theo again. He didn't stay on
in the Sixth Form but left for college and an apprenticeship. But I
remember that face, that kiss - and the favour that Eric did for me.

Hey!

Before I tell you anymore, can I just say something?

I loved sex, I still do, but it wasn't the only thing in my life. I mean I
didn't wake up every morning with a hard-on (usually I did) thinking whose
arsehole can I kiss today, or will I get the chance to watch someone taking
a shit, or would I really let someone shit on me, or in my mouth? I loved
football, and the woodwork and metalwork lessons at school. Most of all I
loved gardening.

Remember I told you I used to do gardening jobs for the neighbours?

Well, at the start of Year 9, when I was 13, Toby and I started our own
gardening business. Toby lived three doors away from us, he was in my tutor
group at school, and in some of my classes. He was a 'brainbox' - but not a
nerd - and he was in the grammar stream. It turned out Toby loved
gardening, too, and one day he said: "Why don't we start a gardening
business? Charge the neighbours, and anybody else for the gardening jobs we
do." It seemed such an obvious idea, that's probably why I didn't think of
it. So we printed some 'business cards' in school and stuck them through
letter boxes in the area. We were amazed at the number of calls we got. In
the end, our mums said: "Get those phone numbers off those cards." They
were fed up of guys phoning up asking if they wanted their bushes
trimmed. (That's not true, I made it up.) But we had plenty of clients
(Toby's word) anyways, so that was fine.

We only worked on Sundays and three days a week after school. We didn't
work from November to February (end of) because that time was for my sex
business (not true, made up). And I never fucked Toby during working hours
- definitely not true! Toby didn't seem interested in sex with anyone; when
I made jokes about wanking and such, he just frowned and looked at me as if
I'd crawled out from under a rock. No sex jokes then because you shouldn't
mix business and pleasure (probably true).

I'm just telling you this so you don't get the impression: this kid loves
for nothing but sex. I did. But I lived for other things, too. And I'm not
writing about every sex adventure I had. That would take too long, become
boring for me as well as for you, and I've forgotten a lot of them. So it's
mainly the important ones you're getting - well, important to me anyway.

It's amazing how naive parents can be?

I knew the first time I met I knew he liked boys that way. Derek was my
mum's latest BF. I can understand why she took up with him. He was
good-looking, had loadsa money, though no apparent job, a Porsche Cayenne,
and, as mum said, "Derek has a way with kids." So I wasn't surprised when
he moved in. It was the looks he gave me and Noah, like the cat that's at
the cream when it thinks no one is looking. Sometimes I caught him almost
licking his whiskers, not that he had any. Derek was always well-groomed
and freshly shaven, or maybe he didn't have to shave much at all. I used to
stand in front of the mirror gazing at my face and wondering when I could
start shaving. Hair down there, yes, wisps under my armpits, yes, but,
apart from a bit of downy fluff on my upper lip, nothing.

Derek bided his time. It wasn't till he'd been with us six weeks that he
offered to 'baby sit' us. Alarm bells should have rung in mum's brain, but,
being a female type creature, she jumped at the chance for a 'night out
with the girls'. It was obvious to me Derek fancied a night in with the
boys. Not that I minded too much. I knew how to say 'no thank you' if
that's what I wanted to say.

"Bye, Bye, Mum. Have good time."

"Bye, boys."  Kiss, kiss. "Be good. Do what Derek tells you. Don't give him
a hard time."

Tell that to Noah.

No sooner was mum out the door than Noah dived on Derek, and they started
fun-wrestling on the carpet. It was strictly no contest, so I dived in,
too. I was still slim/skinny but I was a wiry fucker, and Derek had a job
pinning both of us down. His aim was to pin us down, our aim was to haul
his sweat pants down. He was tickling us, we were rolling round the carpet
laughing. I could feel his hands all over me. Noah got the front of his
sweat pants and yanked them to Derek's knees. No underpants! Thick, dark
pubic hair. A big floppy cock. Balls in a floppy sack.

"We won! We won!" yelled Noah.

Derek heaved us off, jerked up his pants, and laughed along with us.

"Okay, you won that round, but just wait till the next one. Now let's
settle down and watch the movie. Where's that tape?"

I looked around for the tape. Noah disappeared upstairs. I shoved the tape
in. Derek and I hauled over the couch so we could all sit in front of the
TV and watch the movie together.

"Noah! Movie's starting!"

Noah came waddling down the stairs and into the living room, his boxers at
his ankles, his t-shirt pulled down over his crotch. He giggled, jerked up
his t-shirt, and revealed - a full-blown hard-on! A good four inches
sticking straight up. A little nest of black pubes. He turned round, bent
over, yanked his cheeks apart, and farted!

"I've won! I've won!" he yelled.

Derek and I fell about laughing.

"Are you going to watch the movie like that?" asked Derek. "Showing all
your naughty bits?"

Noah jerked his boxers up and sat with us on the couch. Derek lowered the
lights. I hit the 'On' button. The tele flashed into life. The titles
rolled onto the screen, and away we were. Terminator II. A great movie,
except I'd seen it about half a dozen times. This was Noah's first time; he
was glued to the screen. I was a bit bored and my tibia was aching; it
sometimes did that, though it never gave me any problem on the football
field. Derek looked a bit bored, too, though now and again he made
enthusiastic comments for Noah's sake.

Our coach was huge. I nipped upstairs, stripped, put on a shirt and boxers,
grabbed my favourite duvet cover, nipped back downstairs, and whispered,
"My shin," to Derek, then stretched myself out on the couch. Noah didn't do
as much as glance my way, even when I budged along the couch to the left,
plonked a cushion on his lap, my legs across Derek's lap, feet on the other
end of the couch, and the duvet cover draped over me. You've got to believe
me: I only wanted my shin massaged, nothing more, nothing less. I know you
don't believe me, but it's true.

Derek started squeezing my calf muscle gently, at the same time stroking my
shin. After a few minutes my muscle relaxed, the ache ebbed away. I
sighed. "Do you want me to stop?" whispered Derek. "No, go on," I whispered
back. "Shut up," whispered Noah. My cock was at half mast; that's only
natural when any part of you gets stroked, isn't it? I tried to say
something else...

"Shut up," said Noah, loud and clear, grabbing his cushion, diving onto the
carpet, and stretching out to watch the movie in peace and quiet. Peace and
quiet in Terminator II? I don't think so. Canons to the left, canons to the
right, Derek could have fucked me there and then, and Noah wouldn't have
paid the slightest attention.

To make myself even more comfortable, I pulled up my right leg, and felt
Derek's hand slide up between my legs till he reached the bottom of my
bum. I could have stopped him there but I was curious to see what happened
next. Anyway, what could he do with Noah lying right in front of us? I said
nothing. I eased my legs apart a little more, not quite sure why, but
knowing instinctively this would appeal to Derek.  The squeezing began
again; this time the lower part of my buttocks got the treatment. My cock
gave little jumps and stiffened to its full length.

The hand stroked my buttocks, slid higher under my T-shirt. The feeling of
Derek's cool fingers on my naked flesh made me hold my breath. Then the
fingers sneaked their way under the elastic of my boxers until the hand was
flat against my naked arse. It was now or never. I could make a vague
muffled protest and the hand would slide away. Or I could do nothing, and
let what happened happen. I did nothing.

The fingers slid into my crack. My face was glowing , but no one could see
it in the half light of the darkened room. I felt Derek's fingers exploring
my crack, though he steered clear of my bum hole. His finger tips stroked
the bottom of my scrotum, and I hunched up a little to give him easier
access. He gently manipulated my balls, his fingers managed to reach the
base of my shaft. My hard cock strained against my belly. His fingers edged
my foreskin back, and he began working the skin up and down my shaft. My
balls tightened in their sac, I could feel my heartbeat in my asshole,
which, I guess, is impossible.

Under the duvet, Derek worked my boxers down to my knees. His fingers
worked over my crotch, my genitals, and the flesh between my thighs. I lay
there watching Edward Furlong on the back of Arnie's motorcycle. I wondered
what it would be like to be fucked by a Terminator. I wondered what it
would be like to fuck Edward Furlong. Hasta la vista, baby!

Derek shifted his position. His fingers raised the duvet, and I suddenly
felt his hot breath on my stomach. I panicked. I reached down and gripped
his hair, holding his head away from me. I wasn't scared at the prospect of
his mouth around my cock; that seemed a natural progression. I was scared
Noah might turn around and see our 'baby sitter' sucking me off! Generally,
we brothers kept each other's secrets, but that would have been stretching
loyalty a bit far. And, knowing Noah, he'd probably insist on joining in -
when the movie was over. I know I might disappoint some of you, but I've
never had sexual feelings for my brother - not the slightest - in fact even
the idea makes me puke.

Derek returned to stroking my cock. The waves of pleasure built to an
intensity that couldn't last. I held back the whimpers and moans in my
throat. I began to shove hard against Derek's fingers and hand; in fact, I
was fucking his hand, then my crotch, thighs and hips bucked, and little
jets of hot liquid spurted from my cock. Where my cum was going, I didn't
give a fuck. You don't at the point of no return, do you?  That was Derek's
job. He started it; he could clean up the mess.

When I got my breath back, I yanked up my boxers, slid from under the duvet
and nipped upstairs to take a quick shower - the smell of cum lingers. I
returned to the lounge wrapped in a huge fresh bath towel and settled down
to watch the rest of the movie - to watch Edward Furlong if the truth be
told. At the end of the movie, Derek ushered Noah upstairs amid the usual
protests and saw him into bed. Then he came downstairs again.

I was a bit tired and had turned over on my side. I heard Derek come in and
kneel by the side of the couch. He half-tried to turn me over, but I
resisted, and he seemed to give up whatever he had in mind. He edged down
the bath towel until it was bunched at my ankles. My bare ass presented
itself to him. He began to rub and stroke. How did he know that's the one
thing I can't resist? I felt him part the crack in my buttocks, I felt his
tongue slide up the inside of my thighs. The tip poked at my bum hole. I
couldn't believe it. Here was my mum's new BF, a man who had 'a way with
kids' licking my asshole. Then he sat up and put an arm round me.

"Know something, Paul, you're something special. You could make lots of
money, and all you would have to be is my special boy."

"And what would that mean?" I said warily.

Derek laughed.

"Listen. I organise parties, special parties, for special men and special
boys. You'd be my special boy, my assistant if you like, and you wouldn't
have to do anything you didn't want to do. Of course it would be nice if
you did stuff, but only whatever you chose to do. If you said you didn't
want to do it, that would be it - even if it was something for me - with me
I mean. And that's a promise."

I was intrigued.

"Are we talking sex parties?"

"Yes we are. Special sex parties. See my Porsche. I made enough money on
the last three parties to buy that Porsche. Think of the money you could
make."

"I don't understand. How could I make money if I didn't have to do
anything?"

"Because you're a good-looking kid, my kid so none of the guests would lay
a hand on you with my permission, and I would never give permission unless
you said 'yes'. Of course you might have to encourage some of the boys -
the new ones - to get on with it. You'd kinda be a big brother to them. But
you wouldn't have to 'do' anything you didn't want to do. And that's a
promise. How's about it?"

"I'll think it over," I said.

I thought it over and next morning agreed to give it a try.

Derek arranged everything. He was going up to London for the weekend -
business - and could he take me along with him. Time he learned the ropes
of the business, though he didn't specify what the business was. Mum gave
the okay. Derek was a very successful entrepreneur and I could learn lots
from him... and, most importantly, she could trust him completely. So
Saturday off we went and spent a brilliant day, shopping, seeing the
sights, the London Eye, the London Dungeon, had an early dinner at our
Mayfair hotel and off to the party around seven o'clock.

Where was the party? I've no idea. Derek drove north through London to what
was nothing less than a two-storey mansion, and I was stunned when he
casually said: "This place is mine. Only use it for special occasions - and
this is a special occasion. Enjoy."

The place was ablaze with lights. The huge entrance hall was full of men,
well-dressed, well-groomed, well-presented. They turned and clapped when
Derek and me entered. Derek put his arm around my shoulder: "Gentlemen this
is Pascal. Pascal is my special boy." Heads nodded in approval. "You know
the rules. You can look but you can't touch. Your special boys are
upstairs. There are ten bedrooms and three bathrooms upstairs. There is
also a room marked 'Supplies'." Nods of approval. "There is plenty to eat
and drink down here. Nothing to be taken upstairs - at least nothing for
simply eating and drinking."  A round of laughter. "There is one rule, but
it is strict: none of the merchandise is to be damaged. You damage - you
pay - and fines are very heavy. Other than that have a wonderful
evening. And remember the evening ends at midnight. And none of the
merchandise may be removed from the premises. Other than that, go, find
your special boy, or boys, and share as you will."

A final round of applause and the men took to the stairs.

Derek took me into his private sitting room and served us both a glass of
champagne. I took a gulp rather than a sip and most of it came flying down
my nose. Derek laughed. "Don't waste too much of that, Pascal. That's a Dom
Perignon 2009. Follow my lead and you could be serving that one day."

"Why Pascal? That's not my name."

"We never give real names here, Paul. And if we can't use 'Paul', I though
Pascal sounds classy. It's a name you don't forget easily. And if you saw
the way those men looked at you, you'd know they're not going to forget the
name either. They'll be back asking for Pascal."

"But they ain't gonna get him."

Derek laughed again. "Quite right. It's all up to Pascal." He paused. "Why
don't you hang up your new blazer and go for a wander. See if there's
anything you like. Join in if you want. Don't forget: you're Pascal -
Derek's special boy."

At the top of the stairs, I saw ten doors, clearly the bedrooms, three
bathroom doors, and a door marked 'Supplies'. I tried the first door opened
it, stepped in a stood quietly watching.

On a huge double bed sat two men. Now out of smart clothes, they were fat,
flabby and hairy. I stepped forward. On the bed, between them, lay a small
body, a boy, a little younger than Noah, his eyes wide open, though they
looked distinctly glazed.

"Cover his mouth," said the man on the right. He was holding a small bottle
in his hand. A huge hand covered the small mouth. The man snapped off the
top of the bottle and held it under the boy's nose. His head swung left to
right on the pillow as the bottle was held below his nose. "That'll relax
him," said another voice. "You take the top I'll take the bottom."

At the bottom of the bed, the man lifted the boy's legs and draped them
over his shoulders, one either side so they were spread wide open. Pascal
stepped forward. The men gave him barely a glance. The man was eating out
the boy's tiny hole, though to Pascal it looked for all the world that he
was eating the boy from bottom up.

At the top of the bed, the other fat hairy man was slapping the boy in the
face, none too gently with his thick, flaccid, circumcised cock. He was
smearing whatever was coming out of his penis on the boy's lips. Then
opening the red lips and small mouth wide he inserted his cock head while
jerking the bottom of the shaft. The boy's own penis was rigid, sticking
outwards rather an upwards. Pascal sat on the edge of the bed and ran his
finger over the boy's tummy; it was rigid. He picked up the discarded
bottle. The label read 'Hard Rock' which explained everything and
nothing. he gave it a sniff. Yuk! It smelled like bathroom deodorant.

"Do his arse."

Pascal looked around. Presumably the remark was addressed to him.

"Shove the bottle up his arse."

The fat, hairy, flabby fucker, who was still trying to get his flabby cock
to harden in the boy's mouth, repeated: "Shove the bottle up his arse."

"Shove it up your own arse," snapped Pascal.

He rose from the bed and turned to the door. "See if you can find it
again." He closed the door behind him, counted eeny meeny miny mo, landed
on Door No. 7, and off he went.

"Ah, you must be Pascal, my new assistant," came a high-pitched voice from
behind a white face mask. "Dr. Derek told me I might have your
assistance. If you'll just put on that lab. coat and face mask. My
operating room is no place for germs." He gestured to the said items
hanging on the back of the door. I took my time putting them on as I
surveyed the doctor's operating room.

The only thing giving any hint it was an operating room was a high-backed
lounger of the kind at Dr. Mason's. At the side stood a small wheeled-table
on which, neatly-laid, was a selection of medical instruments. On the
lounger lay a boy, about my age, naked, legs drawn up so his bum balanced
on the edge. His arms were secured to the arm rests. He was gagged with a
crisp white bandage.  At the end of the lounger were two bar stools. On the
left side stood a TV monitor.

Dr. Joy - as he introduced himself - summoned me to a stool.

"Sit, observe, learn."

I sat and observed - ready to learn.

"Prise open his anus a little for me, if you please, Pascal."

Pascal pleased, and, reaching forward, I prised open the lips of the boy's
anus and was surprised it opened easily to the diameter of a 10p coin.

"As you see, we still have much work to do. Pass me a speculum, if you
please."

Pascal pleased but didn't have the faintest idea which of the instruments
was a speculum. He took one and hoped.

"No, no, we're well beyond that. We're well beyond half an inch. Let's
start with two inches," saying which he took up a shiny, metallic
instrument that looked for all the world like Donald Duck's bill with two
handles at on end. Dr. Joy gave the speculum a few quick quacks and placed
the tip on the boy's rosebud. "Open Bobby a bit for me, please." Dutifully,
I prised open Bobby's anus and Dr. Joy shoved Donald's bill in. I felt the
lounger shake.

Dr. Joy parted the handles and Bobby's hole began to stretch wider. The
lounger shook. I looked up. The boy's head rolled from side to side, his
eyes - big and brown - blinked furiously. His fists were clenched. Was it
pleasure or pain or a mixture of both? His hole was now open like a 50p
coin.

The good doctor took a tube from the table.

"As you can see, Pascal, there's a small camera fitted to the end of the
tube. The tube is wired to the monitor. There's also an LED fitted to the
tube making it the ideal endoscope device. So now let's see what we shall
see." Without more ado, the 'doctor' slid the tube up Bobby's arse and the
monitor flickered on. Bobby's rectum was crystal clear.

"What are we looking for?" I asked.

"We're looking for the boy's prostate gland. Maybe we can look for yours
later. The prostate is a like a little chestnut at the base of the penis."

"Yes, but what does it do?" I asked.

"Observe and learn."

The man slid his middle finger into the boy alongside the tube and I
watched his finger tip rub the inside of Bobby's rectum.

Suddenly, Bobby's bum rose up, right off the lounger and he not so much
rolled as writhed. His penis - around 5 inches - was erect. So erect I
followed my instincts, stood up and began to jack him off.  He shoved his
penis inside my grip and tried to fuck my fist. Whatever a prostate did, it
was doing it for Bobby! Waste not, want not, I thought and leaned over to
suck him off. I was so absorbed I hardly felt my trousers and undies behind
pulled down to my knees, and, even when I felt a finger push into my hole,
I was too far gone to care, though I did pause and glance around.

It wasn't a fucking finger. It was that tube, that endoscopy thingie. It
was up my arse and showing pictures of my insides on the TV monitor. Fair
enough, but if Dr. Joy touched my hole with Donald Duck, I'd fuckin' kill
him.

Bobby bounced, moaned, groaned through his gag. I guessed he was about to
shoot his load when I felt my mouth, face and head being eased away. "No,
no, Pascal, there is so much more to do. More experiments. Come, sit down."

I sat down and watched the doctor remove the speculum from the boy's
arse. He took up another speculum. "Watch how his one locks," and, fitting
inside Bobby's hole, turned the screw on the side until the hole gaped
twice as big as before. You didn't need a camera to see his rectum now.

Dr. Joy stood up, unzipped his trousers, fished out a big, flaccid dick,
gave it a shake, pointed the head at Bobby's stretched hole, and said:
"Watch closely. I'm going to urinate as hard as I can into Bobby's
rectum. I shall try to keep the flow centred on his prostate. I want to
make him orgasm through the power of piss alone." He let go and fierce
stream of piss fired into the boy's rectum. I was amazed how much piss went
into his rectum before it began to overflow and stream from his anus.

Bobby did not have an orgasm.

But he did piss. Straight up in the air. Straight through his erect penis,
as all boys will tell you it's not easy to do. The piss splattered over
everything. I managed to jump back but the good doctor didn't. Not only was
his operating table splattered in piss - he was too - and screamed
something like: "Ach, Gott in Himmel!"

I'd had enough of this shit - or piss, if you like. I ripped off my mask,
flung off my Lab. coat, and bundled myself out of the room, laughing first
to bust a gut. If Dr. Joy was really a doctor, I wanted nothing to do with
him. Give me Dr. Mason any day!

If No. 7 opened the door to medical insanity, Room 3 was, according to
Pascal, simply silly, though erotic if you liked role play. There, on a
mock-marble throne, sat the 'Emperor Tiberius' while around him frolicked
his minnows and tiddlers, boys so young it was difficult to guess their
ages. The visitor watched as the august emperor, a man so fat he made Jabba
the Hutt look positively trim, flung open his toga and sprinkled his
grizzly, old genitals with flakes of chocolate. The boys - a toothsome trio
- scampered to the man and kneeled to lick him furiously, scooping the
flakes with their tiny pink tongues.

"Ah, young Caligula, you're here at last. Divest yourself of your garments,
attire a toga, and join the merriment. You may choose whichever tiddler
takes your fancy. Pascal chose not to divest himself, nor attire himself,
nor join the merriment but sat back in an armchair and watched the strange
proceedings.

'Uncle Tibby' as the boys called him organised fun and games, the first
being to determine which boy could suck fresh flakes of chocolate from
uncle's floppy cock fastest. Lucky 'Lucius' won! The second competition
involved which boy could get uncle's big toe up his arsehole. Tiny as it
was Felix was the victor, though the other boys protested 'Felix' had been
practising with a cucumber (no longer to be seen).

The third round proved the most challenging. Uncle pushed a very large
gobstopper deep into his ancient arsehole and challenged the boys to suck
it out. Try as they might - How they did try! - no boy succeeded in
extracting the large, round, multi-coloured object from the august
arsehole. The looks of dismay brought pity from the emperor. With a
flourish, he whipped off his toga and stood in wrinkled splendour before
them then squatted and, with much groaning, splattered a pile of
foul-smelling shit onto the vestment. Somewhere in that shit was buried the
gobstopper!

"To it, my tiddlers, to it!" he yelled in an accent pure Scouse rather than
pure Roman.

Like slippery dolphins, the boys leapt into the pile of shit scrambling for
the prize, imperial excrement flying everywhere until red-headed 'Rufus'
arose triumphantly crying out: "I have it! I have it!"

"That you do, Rufus, that you do! And while you are sucking on your prize,
Lucius and Felix shall suck on you. Not only suck on you, but lick every
trace of the royal waste from your body. That is the imperial edict. So it
is said so it must be done."

The boys knew better than to question a direct command and set themselves
to the task, if not with a will, at least with a way.

"Ah, young Caligula, which of these tiddlers will you have. Have them all
if you wish. Dr. Joy has had his time with them, and two of them, Lucius
and Felix, have begun to prolapse even when they sneeze. I shall not be
using them again. Do what thou wilt with them."

Pascal said nothing. With a bow to the emperor, he backed his way to the
door and out into the corridor. He made a mental note to look up 'prolapse'
when he got him and hoped he might have better luck with the next door.

He didn't.

In the centre of Room 3, two men were kneeling on all fours. They were
naked. They were facing away from him. Their arses were raised high. Two
boys knelt behind them. They were naked. One of the boys (Ted) was his
age. The other (Leo) was Noah's age. Standing behind them was a tall,
muscled, hairy man. He was holding a cane in his hand. He rapped the cane
on the floor.

"Do what you're told and you'll be in the club. Don't do what I tell you
and you'll be back where you came from. He rapped the younger boy lightly
on the bare arse. And Ted won't be able to protect you there, will he,
Leo. Here you'll get me up your sweet arse once a week. Back there you were
getting fucked every night, weren't you, Leo?" The small boy nodded
again. "They even made Ted fuck you, didn't they Leo?" He nodded. "Here
you'll get well-looked after. Just do what we tell you when we tell
you. Got it?" Leo nodded. "Got it, Ted?" The elder brother nodded.

"Ted, suck your little brother's cock. Get him hard."

Ted leaned down, Leo's legs, and slipped his little penis in his mouth. At
first, he sucked gently and slowly, but speeded up until the penis was
erect and stiff in his mouth.

"Leo, stick two fingers in your brother's hole and fuck him."

Leo hesitated for a moment. The man touched his shoulder with the cane. The
then tips of two fingers wormed their way inside Ted's hole and began to
saw in and out. Leo was a quick learner even when he didn't want to learn.

"Leo take your fingers out and let Ted suck them." He did what he was told,
as did Ted. Now, Leo, use both hands to pull Ted's bum cheeks apart and
suck on his asshole - that's the brown rosebud in the middle. Ted, start
sucking Leo's dick again but don't make him cum. I know he only has dry
orgasms but he mustn't even have one of those. I want him right on the
edge. If he cums you'll both be sorry." He whacked the floor with the cane
as he strolled over to Pascal.

"Sorry, sir, I didn't see you there. Sorry to keep you waiting. I'm Bruno -
Mr. Derek's right hand man. You're his special boy aren't you?" Pascal said
nothing. "Just tell me anytime you want to join in." He paused, non-plussed
by the boy's non-response. "That's a comfortable armchair. And that's Dom
Perignon on the table. Help yourself. Nothing but the best for Mr. Derek's
special boy."

Pascal passed on the champagne and sat back to 'watch and learn'.

"Now, boys, follow my instructions exactly. Fold your fingers over each
other. No, not over each other's fingers. Over your own fingers." Bruno
gave Pascal and apologetic glance. "That's it, Ted. Show Leo what to do."
With loving patience, Ted folded his little brother's little fingers over
each other."

"Now, lean forward and work your fingers into your man's arse hole. Twist
and wriggle your hand until all your fingers are in." The boys did as they
were told, and Pascal was surprised how easily the fingers seemed to slip
in. He heard both men, in their doggy positions, groan and moan, and saw
them pushes their arses onto the fingers.

"Now, boys, on my count to three - that's 1, 2, 3 - ram your hands right up
their arses."

Silence.

Then.

"1 - 2 - 3."

The boys rammed their hands in and were swallowed past their wrists. This
time, the men didn't groan - they screamed, but almost before the screams
ended, they pushed themselves backwards so both skinny arms disappeared up
to the elbows.

"Bravo! Bravo, my little ones. Now make fists and punch in and out of their
guts. Punch as hard as you can."

The boys now seemed to treat what they were doing as a game, a competition,
as each tried to outpunch his sibling. Moans and groans. Pleasure or pain?
Who the fuck cared?

"Now, boys, open your fists. Make your hands as wide as you can, and pull
them out, slowly, slowly.

Pascal couldn't believe what we he was seeing and took steps forward and
knelt down just behind the men's arses.He half-expectec the boys' hands and
arms to be covered with shit but that was not what he saw. The bigger man's
anus bulged outwards about four inches and began opening up. A
baseball-sized rosebud slid into view until bright-red rectal flesh
protuded from the anal lips. The slimy rosebud retracted, the man grunted,
the prolapse appeared bigger and fleshier.

Bruno stepped forward, got Ted to his feet, and guided the boy's erect
penis into the red flesh.

"Fuck that prolapse, boy. Get your balls in as well and fuck him good and
hard."

Ted did what he was told. Bruno grabbed Leo and pulled him beneath the same
man whose cock hung down like a floppy hose. He laid Leo on his back. "Suck
him. Don't stop sucking him. Even if he cums or starts pissing don't stop
sucking or you will get a taste of this." He rapped Leo across his tummy
with the cane. Leo did as he was told. His mouth bulged with cock while his
brother did his best to fuck the 'rugby ball' of red meat that hung from
the man's arse.

"What's that?" said Pascal pointing at the 'thing' that hung out of the
man's arse.

"That's the inside of his arse, part of his rectum, his bowels, his shit
bag, sir," said Bruno. "Do you want to see one close up?"

Pascal nodded.

Bruno knelt beside him. Almost casually, he folded his fingers and rammed
them up the other man's arse followed by his hand, wrist and half his
arm. The man screamed. Bruno jerked. A glistening, bright-red prolapse
emerged and bloomed into massive extruded rectum. Rectal mucus and debris
dripped onto Bruno's hand. The man leaned forward and swiped his tongue all
over the rosebud, tasting the arse juices that coated every fold of the
man's prolapsing bowel. "Like a little lick?"

Would Pascal have taken a lick? We shall never know, for at that moment the
tip of a thick brown turd emerged from the centre of the huge prolapse
followed by a log that slid noisily from the inside-out arsehole. Bruno
leaned forward and slid his lips round the nobbly turd.

Pascal rose, turned and walked to the door.

He turned and looked. Leo's naked little body lay under the huge, hairy man
- his face below the dangling, hairy balls - gagging as cum and spew ran
down his chin onto his neck and chest. Ted was ramming himself backwards
and forward, though none of his genitals were in sight among the thick,
black hair that sprouted from the man's arse. Bruno was doing something
with what was left of the turd and the man's prolapsed rectum. Pascal
couldn't figure what Bruno was doing. He opened the bedroom door, stepped
out and closed it behind him.

Room 10 - the final room.

A boy lay on the bed. Not so much a boy. More like Eric. The boy was naked.

"Are you the special boy?"

Pascal nodded.

"I used to be the 'special boy'."

Pascal stripped off his clothes and got onto the bed.

The 'special boy' took the 'special boy' into his arms.

Two hours later, Uncle Derek drove them to their hotel.

"Well, Paulie, are you going to be my special boy.

Paulie looked into the darkness and said nothing.

***

"Come on, Noah, it'll hurt at first, then you'll like it. You'll be my
special boy."

That was Uncle Derek.

"Fuck off. Leave me alone."

That was Noah, and I could hear the tremble in his voice.

"Come on, baby. Turn over. Bite the pillow. It'll be our secret."

"Leave me alone. Please, please."

I could hear the fear in Noah's voice.

I didn't wait. I turned the handle. Kicked the door open. Snapped on the
light. Saw...

Noah on his back, his pyjama bottoms at his knees. Derek standing over him,
his pyjama bottoms at his ankles, his big, fat cock standing in the air.

"Paulie..." began Derek. "I can explain..."

"Noah. Get to my bedroom. Get to my bed. Get to sleep."

Noah scampered off his bed, pulled his jammies half up, tripped and
stumbled out of the room.

"Now look here..." whispered Derek.

"No, you look here," I said out loud. "If you're here in the morning, I'm
telling mum everything. I'll say you tried to rape me. Noah'll say that,
too. Just get the fuck out of our house. Don't come back."

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" swore the man.

"27 Worthing Drive, Hampstead. 020 7658 8234"

"You little shit," said the man. "How did you get that address?"

"I'm a special boy."

"Listen, Paul, we can talk..."

I turned and slammed the door behind me.

I got into bed with Noah. I pulled him to me. I took his thumb out of his
mouth.

"Paul..." he said.

"Yeh, sweetie," I said. That's the first and last time I ever called my
brother 'sweetie'.

"Paul... I don't like men. I like boys and girls."

"I know that, honey," I said. Another first and last.

"Go to sleep I said. In the morning he'll be gone."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

In the morning Uncle Derek was gone. Everything was gone. He was gone, and
he never came back. In fact, we never heard from him again.

Of course, Mum was mystified. Noah and I just shrugged our shoulders. Mum
was miserable for a few days, then I heard her say under her breath, "good
riddance to bad rubbish." She started to sing 'Somewhere Over the
Rainbow'. Weirdly enough, that's the song she always sang when she was in a
really good mood.

Two weeks later she said: "Boys, I've got an announcement to make. I've
made a new friend. This time he really is the man for me.. I think."

Noah and I looked at each other, then chimed almost in harmony:

"Aw, for God's sake, Mum."

"Boys!"

As the Beatles' song goes, "It's getting very near the end."

Like I said, my years at school were great. I found lots of sex, and lots
of boys I liked, and who liked me. I was sad for a while when Mr. C. and
Eric left. They were special friends to me. But I never loved them. I'm not
sure boys in their early teens can love people outside their family. Until
I met Robert, and, like most of the good things in life, that was luck.

Remember I said I was good at football. Maybe I was a bit more than that
'cos I'd been in my school sides and district sides all the way through,
and now I'd been selected for the County side, made up of Under-17s. I was
really lucky to get a place because I'd just turned 16 at the start of
Sixth Form. Being in the County side meant going to Soccer Camp for a long
weekend once a month. I was nervous when I got there, except when I was
actually playing. Then the only thing mattered was sticking the ball in the
back of the net, and that was never a problem for me.

I hardly ever scored spectacular goals from far out, and I couldn't head
the ball against a barn door if I was standing next to it. But over 10
yards nobody was going to catch me. I was a poacher, pure and simple as
that, but poachers have to play inside the rules of the game like everyone
else. I'd stand on the shoulder of the last man, alert for the through
ball, turn like a rabbit being chased by a fox, cover a couple of yards
like a whippet, and pass the ball into the far corner of the net. Nothing
fancy, no frills, just stick it in. Defenders hated me.

"Just tell me where you want me to stick it."

That's the first thing that Robert L. said to me.

Honest, it is.

When we arrived at camp, we were paired up and given a room to share. I got
Robert; he got me. Robert arrived late, just in time for the first
selection session. I was so nervous I didn't notice him until I heard his
voice behind me - "Just tell me where you want to stick it."  I was playing
up front, Robert was in midfield. We had a couple of minutes before
kick-off.

"You're Paul right?"

I nodded.

"You're the little fucker who keeps scoring all those goals, aren't you?"

I nodded.

"Well, now you're scoring for us. I set up the chances. You take
them. Deal?"

"Deal?"

Big smile. Warm handshake. Instant like.

I'd heard of Robert L., but I'd never played with him or against
him. That's because he'd played in the next county until his family moved
in August. He wasn't coming to our school. He was at one of the local
grammar schools, so he had to be really bright.

The whistle went. The match was on. Only one thing mattered: sticking the
fucking ball in the fucking net. I managed that four times. Three of the
goals were set up by Robert. I scored the fourth when I tried to head a
cross. The ball hit me full in the face, knocked me on my arse, and flew in
the back of the net. Our coach shook his head sadly.

"Nice one, Paul!" shouted Robert, who could hardly shout for laughing. I
could have been annoyed, but I saw the funny side as well. At the end of
the session, the Coach came up to me and said: "You're in for Sunday
morning. Don't waste your time trying to head a ball. Jimmy Greaves
couldn't do that either." My face was on fire. Coach had just compared me
to Jimmy Greaves - England's greatest-ever goal scorer.

Robert strolled over to me - actually Robert strolled through the whole
match.  He put his arm round my shoulder. "It's true what they say about
you."

"What's that?"

"You can't play football for fuck, but you sure can stick it where it
counts. Come on. We're sharing a room. Last one under the shower's a homo."
My heart sank a little when he made that last remark. I shrugged my
shoulders and trotted after him. I didn't care if I was last; I knew I was
a homo; but I only pick up speed when I have to. I slowed my trot to a
stroll and watched Robert's gorgeous arse race ahead of me.

By the time I got to our room - like all the others it had its own shower
cubicle - Robert was stripped and waiting.

"Hurry up, homo," he said. "We're only allowed ten minutes hot water, so we
have to share. Get the kit off."

Robert must have seen the look on my face as I stripped.

"Hey," he said. "Don't take it like that. You're not the one here who's a
homo. I am. Homo. Poof. Queer. Nancy boy. But don't worry. I'm not going to
pounce on you when you're asleep. I'm going to wake you up first."

I took a deep breath and said, "Robert, ..... "

"It's Rob to you. My friends call me 'Rob'."

"Rob," I said, "I'm a homo, too."

A huge grin spread across his face.

"Ace. Fucking Ace. ... Now let's get under the shower. ... Wait a minute."

"What?"

"Fuck it, Paul, your dick's bigger than mine. What is it - 7, 8 inches?"

"Yeh, but your nuts are like tennis balls. I've only got ping pongers."

"True. Right, let's get under the shower. We'll compare later."

Ten minutes of really hot water. Then we towelled each other off. Wrapped
our towels round us and sat on Robert's, sorry Rob's bed. Rob stood up,
flicked on the radio - David Bowie - searched in his hold-all, pulled out a
tin and extracted what looked like an over-grown cigarette. I raised my
hand. "I don't smoke," I said. "Neither do I," he said, adding, "These are
fags for fags." I didn't get the joke then; I get it now. He lit the ciggy,
drew deeply on it and held the smoke in.

"It's called a joint. Try it."

I took a deep draw. Something hit my chest and lungs. I tried to cough up
what was left of my lungs. My eyes watered.

"Don't take such deep draws - amateur," Rob smiled, taking the joint from
me. Another draw and he passed it back to me. This time I didn't draw so
deeply, and, following instructions, held the smoke in my lungs. I coughed,
not nearly so much. I started to feel light-headed, incredibly relaxed,
like I was melting, and took another puff.

"Hey," said Rob, "Share, share, fair, fair." I grinned like an idiot,
passed the joint, but kept my hand out for my next turn. Two more draws and
I lay back on the bed, my head full of fluffy clouds.

Under my damp towel, my cock was thick, semi-tumescent. I felt Rob's
fingers. "Go on," I managed, adding, "Please." I raised my arse an inch and
he tugged the towel away. His fingers raised me up, his mouth took me
in. He sucked long and slow, his lips kissing their way up to the head,
then swallowing me till those lips pressed against my thick pubic
hair. Fingers ran the length of my body, tracing the shape of my shoulders,
my arms, my chest, my nipples, my belly, my hips. I felt I was being
sculpted. My erection was stiff and hard.

The pressure rose but Rob moved away from my penis to concentrate on
another part of my body. He pushed my legs apart and kissed and licked
under my balls along that place they call... I don't know what they call it
- the place between my scrotum and my arse hole. That bit where you seem to
be joined together. Is there a name for it? Back would come his lips and
mouth and throat to my cock to take me in again and start the whole process
over.

He stopped.

I sat up. He still knelt on the floor. I sat there watching Rob's dirty
blond hair (long), his powerful shoulders (freckled), and his spine
(curving into his towelled ass) while my thighs trembled, my hard-on
throbbed. I was puzzled. "What's wrong?" I asked. "Nothing's wrong," he
said. I tried to form a question into my head.

"I want you to fuck me," he said. "With this," he added, pulling my
erection to his face to kiss it.

"Would you? Will you?"

I stood up. Rob stood up. His towel fell to the floor. We stepped into each
other's arms, chest to chest, belly to belly, hair to hair, stiff cocks
pressing against each other. We kissed open-mouthed. Hysterically rather
than romantically, as if we wanted to swallow, to devour each other. Rob
lay face down on the narrow bed, his head on a pillow. I stood at the end
of the bed, knelt - the bed was very low - pulled his legs wide part, then
the cheeks of his arse, and slid my face into the valley.

Blond hairs around his pucker, his starfish, the serrated entrance to the
most intimate part of the male body. I slid the tip of my tongue along the
tiny mouth, pulled back, spat on it, kissed it, sucked at it as much as I
could. Used my thumbs to prise him open - reddish pink - I tried to suck it
out with no idea what 'it' was. Retreated. Penetrated him with a finger -
one, two, three, as he moaned and groaned above me. Five minutes, maybe
ten. Pulled out my fingers.

His hole gaped for a moment, then closed itself.

I stood up. Knelt on the bed between Rob's legs. I didn't have to ask. He
reached back and, with fingers and thumbs, pulled himself open again, not
gaping but enough. Enough for me to burrow the head of my cock in. I let
myself fall forward thrust my cock into his bowels. I know it hurt; I heard
him squeal. "Fuck, fuck..."  That was Rob, not me.

I fucked him hard and fast, almost desperately. I wanted to make him
mine. My back arched, my head flew back, it was my turn to squeal. My cum
shot deep inside him, again and again. The bed shook and shuddered below
us. I fell the length of Rob's body; we were glued together by our own
sweat. We lay there for a quarter of an hour, neither of us wanted to move.

When we finally moved, Rob looked at me sheepishly.

"We'd better dump this sheet," he said. "I've cum all over it." There was a
huge stain to prove it. We both grinned. "Looks like the shower again," he
added. It was my turn to look sheepish. "Rob, can I ask something?" He
looked puzzled. "Well, I've got a thing about arseholes - and yours is
beautiful." It was incredibly difficult to say it but I did it. "Is it okay
if I suck my cum out of your asshole?"

For a moment I thought he was going to hit me.

"You, too?"

I nodded.

"Fucking hell, me too. Okay, here's the deal. You suck the cum out of me
now. Tonight, before showers, I fuck you and suck my cum out of you."

"Deal," I grinned.

Rob got on the bed, lay flat on his back and hooked his legs over his
shoulders. He eased the lips of his anus as far apart as he could, then
grunted, "Go for it, babe."

I did.

And that night, before showers, he fucked me hard, then sucked his cum out
of me. I don't know who was happier, me or Rob.

At bedtime we pushed the beds together and lay side by side, our heads
sharing the pillows.

"I don't know either," said Rob. "I can't remember when I wasn't fascinated
by arseholes. It's not easy to tell anyone this, but I love kissing them,
licking them, sucking them..."

"...making love to them."

"That's it exactly," said Rob. "What about shit?" he added.

"What about shit?"

"You know - playing with it, shitting on someone, letting them shit on
you. Some guys even eat it."

"No."

"Honest?"

"Yeh, honest. What about you?"

Rob seemed thoughtful for a moment.

"No. I used to think I might. I just wasn't sure. I mean I'd like to watch
someone taking a shit, but I think that's because I want to see their hole
in action. You?"

"Same here. I've seen guys taking a shit. It gets me incredibly hard and
horny, but, when I look at the shit, I know that's not what's doing it. I
love looking at an arsehole opening and closing, I love to see an anus
gaping, buit the shit itself doesnt do anything for me."

"The same here," said Rob. "It's such a relief to be able to talk about it
- to someone who knows, someone who understands." He got up on one elbow,
leaned down and kissed me. He lay back down.

"I've got a theory," I said.

"Tell," he said.

"Well, I used to have this fantasy about crawling up inside a guy's
arsehole, past his sphincters, up into his rectum, into his bowels, and
then - you'll think I'm crazy - "

"I know you're fucking crazy. Go on."

"Well, when I was deep inside, all of me, I could become that person. I
would still be me but I would be that person as well. But you'd have to
love that person, I mean really love that person to want to do that."

"Fuck, Paul, that's brilliant. Even if it isn't true - and I think it is -
it's fucking brilliant."

"Now can we go to sleep?" I asked. "We've got early training
tomorrow. Seven fucking a. of the m."

"Yeh... but can I ask one more thing?"

"Go for it."

"Tomorrow morning, before we have a shower, can we watch each other shit,
close up, very close up I mean?"

"I thought you'd never ask," I laughed. "Now let's hold each other till we
fall asleep. Last one asleep is a homo."

We fell asleep in each other's arms, and we slept the dreamless sleep of
two boys who have come home at last.

And that, as they say, is

THE END

Not quite.

Do you remember that night when I met Mr. Cameron in the pub? And I told
him I was going to Sports College in September to train as a sports
teacher? And he wished me well. And we hugged and said goodbye.

One thing I didn't tell him, because it wouldn't have meant much to him,
was that I wasn't going alone. I didn't tell him I was going with Rob. And
that we were still playing together - not for the county, but for the Youth
Side of a Premiership team. Maybe he knew, Maybe he was waiting for me to
say. But I didn't.

And where was Rob?

In the toilet - having a shit.

I closed my eyes and watched a turd emerging from that beautiful, beautiful
rosebud.

Close your eyes and you'll see it too.

THE VERY VERY END