Date: Fri, 21 Apr 2017 20:34:40 +0000
From: Zack McNaught <zackmcnaught@hotmail.com>
Subject: Six Weeks With Jack Chapter 2

Author's notes:

(1) All this is written in British English. Hence, arse (ass), willy
(penis), wank (masturbate), pants (underwear), fanny (vulva).

(2) There is a historical inaccuracy - the Nintendo game, Super Mario
World, was not released for the SNES console in the UK until 9 months or so
after this story takes place. Please forgive me for warping that little bit
of reality.

(3) Part of this story (but by no means all) is accurate to real life, and
it is written about my youth, and so rather than using my alter-ego, Zack,
I've used my real name throughout.

Anyway, enough of that - on with the story.


Six Weeks with Jack, by Zack McNaught

Chapter 2

I saw him again that afternoon, but there was no chance to meet him,
because this time I was in my mum's car and on the way to the dentist. By
the time I came back he was gone, although when I looked out of my bedroom
window and along the lane, I could see his football abandoned on the front
lawn outside Mrs Brown's house.

I stayed there waiting for him to come out for ages. I don't know what I
would've done if he had appeared, other than continue to be a bit creepy
and stalk him, but he didn't come back.

God knows what I thought I wanted. I suppose to meet him, maybe to become
his friend. But it really wasn't all that clear cut, I just found myself
waiting for him at that window until the afternoon was turning to evening
and mum called me down for dinner.

In the end, my meeting Jack was not of my doing, nor his. It was, as these
things so often are at that awkward age, a result of our parents (or in his
case, grandparent) colluding to set us up on what these days would be
called a `play date'. In hindsight, that's probably a more apt term than
any other, but again I'm alluding to things which hadn't yet, in the
chronology of the story, in fact happened.

"I've arranged for you to go round to Mrs Brown's this afternoon, Tom," mum
said over breakfast the next morning. "I've got to go into town, and I
don't want to take you with me. She's got her grandson, Jack, staying with
her. He's that boy we nearly ran over the day before last."

I nodded stoically, while inside my mind scattered in countless
directions. Fear mixed with excitement left me mute. I wasn't very good
socially, I never really made friends easily, and I wasn't sure what I
would say to him. But at the same time I was finally going to meet him. I
still had no idea why that mattered. It just did and there was no point
trying to understand it.

The morning was thankfully busy, spent sorting out things from the loft to
dispose of, the kind of job my mum used to rope me into when I was off
school on holidays. I no doubt grumbled at the time, but looking back they
were some of the best times we spent together - she was silly, and
artistic, and playful, and we would end up having a whale of a time and
getting very little done. But, I realise now, getting things done wasn't
really the point of the exercise. She was keeping me interested in
something, trying to stem the boredom she surely realised I felt. That's
why she had arranged for me to go round to Mrs Brown's to play.

And so it was that I came to be walking along to Mrs Brown's house,
something I had done plenty of times before. She was always babysitting for
me when mum had something to do. She was kind enough, but not very
engaging, and I often ended up in her back garden playing with the
creatures which inhabited her pond, if the weather allowed. Today, though,
would be somewhat different.

He wasn't there when Mrs Brown answered the door.I tried not to act too
disappointed, but she saw me looking around her for signs of him, and
obviously realised what was going on.

"Jack's in the back garden," she chuckled, stepping aside to let me into
the house. "Go on, go and say hi."

For once, I did exactly as I was told. From somewhere a different persona
overcame me, and with my chest puffed out and a smile on my face, I strode
out to meet him.

"Hi, I'm Tom," I said, far too brightly, and with a sort of half wave, half
salute thing going on. It completely threw him.

"Oh, I... um... I'm... hi."

He blushed scarlet, and I suddenly felt like a right tool.

"Jack, right?"

"Er, yeah. Jack."

He looked stricken, but then the corners of his mouth curled a little, and
before long the smile had turned into a full-blown laugh, which I couldn't
help joining.

"That was so stupid!" he said when he'd stopped giggling long enough to
breathe. "I forgot my own name!"

"Don't worry, it's the kind of stupid thing I do all the time!" I said, and
with that the barriers between us were broken down; I hadn't taken the mick
out of his memory failure, so I wasn't mean, I could be trusted.

"Come on," Jack said, "let's see if there are any frogs in the pond."

- - -

We ended up playing for hours that day, far after my mum had come home and
come round to pick me up. She and Mrs Brown decided that we were having so
much fun there was no point stopping us, and left me to make my own way
home. The sun was going down and the midges were biting before I was
finally kicked out, by which time Jack and I had made enough plans to fill
this summer and the next.

When I wandered through the door, full of life but trying to act cool, mum
gave me a strange look. She started gently probing me, and the dam burst,
and suddenly I couldn't stop talking about how cool Jack was, and how
amazing it was going to be to spend summer with him. When I finally stopped
long enough for her to get a word in, she just looked at me with a
contented smile and her head tilted to the side, and sighed.

"I'm glad you've found a friend, Tom. I think you needed one, this year
especially."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, with going to the new school in September, while I go out to be with
your dad in Africa."

I'd forgotten about that, for a short while, but now that I was reminded I
felt like all the air had been let out of me. Mum was leaving to join dad -
a civil engineer - in eastern Ethiopia, while he worked on a long-term
government-sponsored sanitation scheme. I was to go to boarding school from
September, and this was in fact my last few weeks with mum before she
left. My older brother was already off the scene, having joined the army as
soon as he could, and that left only the two of us.

"Oh, yeah. Right. Sorry, mum, we were going to spend the summer together,
weren't we?"

She smiled again, wistfully.

"Jack, that would be really nice, but let's face it, we were already
getting on each other's nerves. Let's plan to do a few big things together,
and if we're not getting at each other all the time they'll be all that
more special. No, it's good you have a friend."

- - -

It was good. It was very good. I lay in bed that night too excited to
sleep, thinking about all the things Jack and I were going to do. We'd
planned football games, and bike rides in the woods, and I'd promised to
show him the local area. It was going to be one amazing summer.

First, though, there was the small matter of my nighttime games. I hadn't
wanked all day, and the pressure was getting to me. I needed it really
badly that night, and I stripped out of my pyjamas, confident that mum
wouldn't interrupt me, and lay on the bed with the window wide open, and
listened to the owls as with fingers and thumb I brought myself off,
arching my back and shaking, gasping with the intensity of it.

Once again, I dismissed as coincidence the fact that Jack's freckled face
and now his satiny football shorts had come into my mind. Obviously it
didn't mean anything.

- - -

I disturbed him as early as I dared the next morning, but he admitted that
he had already been waiting half an hour for me to turn up. We were so
excitable that Mrs Brown shooed us out of the house and warned us not to
come back until we'd burned off a bit of our energy.

Today was the day I was going to show Jack the woods - it would be the
first thing I showed him of the village, because I thought it was the most
important part. I wanted him to love the spaces between the trees just as
much as I did.

I wasn't disappointed. Jack had a brilliant new BMX, and he knew how to use
it. Each little jump I made off a tree root he styled into a full-on trick,
and he could to wheelies and nose-stands, and all sorts of things I was
nowhere near being able to do. But in one area I had him beaten - I was
just that little bit braver than him when a new drop-off was found, or a
new jump was to be tested. It was always me who went first, and he would
follow only when he'd seen me do it safely.

But in most respects we were evenly matched, and our personalities were
identical. Things were fun, not boring. This was an opportunity to enjoy
ourselves, not escape the drudgery of home. We hadn't yet allowed the
cynicism of late youth into our hearts, and everything we did was done with
utter joy. He would encourage me to try the tricks he did, and I would coax
him into more and more daring jumps, and even though we had met only the
day before, we were already best friends.

About lunchtime we decided we needed to head home, but just as the decision
had been made, Jack grabbed the front of his shorts and in a strangled
voice said,

"Need a wee!"

"Well, go behind that tree, then," I said, wondering why he didn't just go.

"But what if someone sees me?"

"They won't, trust me. And I'll keep a lookout. No-one ever comes through
here. I wee here all the time. I mean, I even -"

I was about to say `play with my dick', but caught myself just in time,
thank God. Admitting it at that age was social suicide, even if the other
party was doing it just as regularly. Luckily, Jack seemed not to be paying
much attention - he was already walking away, pulling down his pants.

For the first time in my life, I felt an overwhelming urge to see what
another boy's willy looked like. He was already facing the tree, but hadn't
gone behind it, so that he was mostly facing away from me. I could see the
bare skin on his hip where his shorts were pulled down, and the stream of
clear piss which flooded out to splash against the tree, but I couldn't
actually see his little willy.

I craned forward, hoping he wouldn't look around and catch me, but even
though I almost fell off my bike with the effort of reaching, I could see
only a tiny glimpse of the end of it, where his foreskin quivered up and
down with the flood passing through it. Then, inevitably, his stream
started to dry up, and I quickly righted myself before he could see me
trying to sneak a look. He turned back to me as he was pulling up his
waistband and letting it snap back into place, but I could see nothing, no
matter how hard I tried.

"Phew!" he exclaimed, then picked his bike up and without another word
climbed on and started pedalling.

I followed a little behind, my face flushed, my heart hammering in my
chest, my stomach full of butterflies and my little three inch dick so hard
you could've nailed boards together with it.

- - -

The incident passed into memory, as these things do at that age. I didn't
obsess over it as I might have done, I just got on with the rest of the
day, barely stopping for a second to wonder why I'd been so bothered. I
didn't need to analyse it after all - it was just one of those generally
naughty things you do as a boy, and that's why I had been so drawn to it,
and so excited by the event.

Jack and I *ate* time, that's the only was I can adequately describe it. We
didn't ever seem to get bored of each other's company, and what started one
minute as meeting up first thing in the morning would end just a moment or
two later with either mum or Mrs Brown kicking one or other of us out,
depending on where we'd ended up. My diary at that time is simple, and says
very little. There were even big gaps in recording one particular nighttime
activity, and I know it wasn't because I'd grown lax. No, it was instead
because I was falling into bed, exhausted, sometimes still sweaty, and
fallen asleep, and somehow in the morning there never seemed to be time.

Jack normalised me in that way, to some extent. On my own during the day,
boredom led to more self-abuse than was probably healthy for me (though I'm
reassured that it wasn't unusually regular). Being with Jack took that away
- I wasn't bored, and I didn't have privacy. Jack made me innocent again,
and all our games were played with the unsullied enthusiasm of youth. We
became closer in a way that isolated pairs of friends often do, and it
happened alarmingly quickly, in hindsight. By the end of that first week, I
was spending more time with Jack every day than without. I've never since
found a friend so sincere, and so ready to accept me, no matter what. I
loved him as I might love a brother, or perhaps even more closely; I didn't
yet have any indication how seriously that would change.

- - -

The first hint that our friendship was changing came one day when we were
riding through the woods. I even wrote up the event in my diary, so I know
it was the eighth day of our friendship. Doesn't sound very long, does it?

We were side by side, and then suddenly we weren't; Jack had braked
suddenly and I flew on for quite some way before coming to a stop, then
turning round. He was back up the track a way, with his bike on the
floor. He'd disappeared into the undergrowth at the side of the track, and
was rooting around for something. There was sometimes rubbish left in the
woods, just bits and pieces here and there, and apart from getting annoyed
at it, I hadn't really paid it much attention. But something had caught
Jack's eye.

By the time I had ridden back to him, he was back on the track, and rather
reverentially holding a folded up, mouldy-looking lump of paper. It looked
like it had been a magazine, but now it was a clump.

But that didn't stop me recognising what it was as soon as I was close
enough. My stomach gave a little lurch, and so did the worm in my pants. It
was a porno. I'd seen the briefest glimpse of one once at school, so I knew
what it was, but to actually have my hands on one? Unheard of.

"Do you know what that is?" asked Jack, and I nodded silently, not trusting
my voice when my heart was thumping so hard in my chest.

"What should we do with it?"

"I... I don't know. We have to take it somewhere and clean it up. I want to
look at it," I responded, instantly winning that year's award for most
obvious statement.

"I think it's a proper one. Hardcore. Look, there's a man in it with
her. Is she... ?"

What Jack failed to say, perhaps because he didn't quite have the
vocabulary to say it, was `giving him a blow job?' Which she most certainly
was, thank you very much. I pulled away a leaf from the page and there she
was, with the man's enormous erection bulging out her cheek.

"Oh, shit..." said Jack, and I giggled at both the profanity and the
enormity of our find. A proper porno, not the soft kind I'd seen
before. This was going to be legendary.

At the same moment, we looked up at each other and then looked around to
see if we were still alone. Of course we were, very few people ever came
into the woods, and we were on a well-secluded track at the time.

"Well, what are we going to do with it?" asked Jack again. "I'm not leaving
it here, no way."

"Let's take it to my house," I suggested. "I can keep it in my room. My mum
won't know, she never clears things out in there."

"But what if I want to look at it?"

"You can just come round. You're always there anyway. Mum won't care."

Jack swallowed, and nodded solemnly.

"OK, so we'll take it to your house. How are we going to get it there? We
don't have a bag."

"Um, OK. I'll go to my house and get one. My mum's out but there's a key in
the garden. You wait here with the magazine."

"OK, but hurry. I don't want to get caught with it."

"Just go and hide behind that big tree over there until I get back,
alright?"

Jack nodded, and quick as a flash I jumped on my bike and pedalled for
home.

It's amazing what adrenaline, fuelled by pubescent lust, can do for you. I
don't think I had ever come close to getting back that fast. I tore into
the drive, dropped my bike, hurdled the side gate, robbed the little statue
of its key, and let myself into the house. Inside, I ran upstairs, grabbed
my rucksack, emptied out the contents and quickly put it on. Then I was
downstairs again in a thunder of feet, out the back door, leaving behind
the key - though not so well hidden this time - and back on my bike inside
a couple of minutes.

Jack was nowhere to be seen when I got back to the spot, panting and
sweating. It was only fifteen minutes after I'd left him. On a lazy day it
would take us that long to make the journey one way, and it was perhaps
that unexpected speed which caught him out.

I called for him, and a strangled cry came from roughly the direction of
the tree I had pointed to. I couldn't see him at all, though, and so I
called again. This time he came stumbling out of the undergrowth, pushing
his bike and holding the magazine in one hand. It flopped about, and looked
as though it was open to a different page, a suspicion which was confirmed
when Jack reached me. A huge, erect penis dominated the page, with a river
of what I assumed to be semen running down from its peak.

Jack looked flustered, and wouldn't meet my eye, and he hunched over a lot
with his hands in front of his privates. It clicked immediately what he had
been doing while I was gone. There was no way I was going to challenge him
about it though, not just because I didn't feel like being mean. I was also
scared that just by raising the topic he would think I was weird; boys that
age just didn't talk about things like that.

It didn't surprise me that I felt a lurch in my pants at the thought he'd
been playing with himself - after all, it was such a naughty, taboo thing
to be doing, and that was bound to make me feel a bit funny. `Bonky' we
called it back then, though these days you'd probably say `horny'. Whatever
it was called, I had to fight down the urge to reach down and push at the
lump in my crotch, which was thankfully hidden by sitting on my bike. I
suddenly had a very strong urge to ditch Jack and find somewhere quiet I
could spend some time having fun, but I had this idea in my head that he
would know; he probably would have, too, because he was probably thinking
the same thing.

Anyway, we shoved the magazine into my bag, and made a beeline for my
house, riding at a little more leisurely pace this time, but still faster
than we normally might.

When we got back, the forensics began. I knew mum would be out for most of
the rest of the day, and she'd told me that if I needed anything I was just
to ask Mrs Brown. That gave us a good few hours to sort things out. The
first thing to do was to gently peel the pages apart, if they would come. A
few were stuck really well together in places (I dread to think how, in
hindsight, but we were naive and assumed it was water damage), and we lost
a fair few images, but by the time we were done we had about two thirds of
a complete porn mag.

Then we started cleaning it up, using kitchen towel dipped in water. It
left the pages damp and crinkly, but the detail we revealed was enough to
have us both squirming where we sat, desperate to touch ourselves but
mortally scared of doing so. I glanced across at Jack's lap, unable to stop
myself, and the bulge there was both obvious, and, I thought, definitely
bigger than mine.

Jack was the first to twitch, perhaps sub-consciously. We'd determined that
I was the best at cleaning the pages, and so I had my hands full the whole
time. That left little to occupy Jack's fingers, and they found their way
into his lap, pinching and tugging at the lump there, then pushing it hard
down, only to let it spring back up.

It was only when I actually stopped doing what I was doing, to concentrate
on what *he* was doing, that he saw me looking. With a sharp gasp of
`shit!' he pulled his hand free of his crotch, and his head shot up. His
pupils were wide, his nostrils flared, and I could see the pulse in the
side of his neck. He was sexed up, and frightened.

He was the first to break the silence which followed.

"I'm sorry, I..."

I stared at him a moment longer, not quite sure what to say. My little
brain had been short-circuited, blown by the combination of knowing what he
was doing, and trying to work out how I should respond. What would he do if
I condemned him? Surely he would be hurt. But equally surely, I must
condemn him so that he wouldn't think the wrong thing about me. I'm not
sure exactly what the `wrong thing' was, but I was certain he would think
it.

In the end, my desire not to be unkind won over.

"It's OK, I don't mind. We all do it, right?"

I don't know where that last part came from. Did we all do it? I had no
idea, not really. I knew what the word `wank' meant, and I also knew that
we used the term `wanker' at school, but I also knew from the book mum had
given me that it was perfectly normal to do. Whatever the reason, it was
the right thing to say.

"Ha, yeah..." he said. "Yeah, I suppose so. Sorry, I won't do it again."

"You can if you want," I replied, surprising myself with my own boldness.

`Really?' I asked myself, `can he really?', and the reply from my horny
little self was a resounding `yes!'. I wanted him to do it. Practically
needed it.

He didn't say anything, and his hand didn't go straight back to his crotch,
but as I continued to clean up the magazine, carefully layering kitchen
towel between each damp page, I saw out of the corner of my eye that not
only had he started again, but his hand was shoved down the front of his
shorts, presumably inside his pants, too, and his motions were far more
rhythmical.

I tried to carry on mechanically cleaning the pages, but it was hard to
concentrate with him wanking right there in front of me. It was so naughty,
such a forbidden thing to do it just like that in front of someone else. I
was in awe of Jack's bravery, and yet at the same time torn between my own
desire to copy him, and my fear of doing so.

In the end it was moot. We heard the crunch of mum's car tyres on the
gravel driveway, and panic took hold. Luckily we'd already discussed the
right hiding place for the magazine - far beneath my bed, in an old sports
bag I never used, underneath the fabric-covered cardboard bit in the
bottom. No-one would dream of looking there.

We shoved it away, piling all sorts in front of the bag, and by the time
mum had come in the door and called upstairs to us that she was home early,
we were almost composed. I glanced across at Jack's crotch and saw that he,
like me, had completely lost his hardness.

"Why aren't you outside?" Mum asked when we barrelled downstairs.

"Too hot. We're going out again now, though," I answered, pushing Jack
toward the door.

"Tom, hang on a moment!"

"What?" I asked, sounding a little more aggressive than I'd meant, and
earning a raised eyebrow.

"I got this in town," she said, pulling out of her bag a smaller plastic
bag with `Electronics Boutique' written on the side. My pulse
quickened. That's where video games came from. What had she... ?

I don't remember walking over to her, but I must have, because suddenly the
bag was in my hands and the game was coming out.

"SUPER MARIO WORLD!"

I think I screamed it, then fainted. Well, OK, not actually
fainted. Probably went into the kind of giddy, over-excited state which
makes parents wonder why they ever do anything nice in the first place. I'm
fairly sure I thanked my mum so profusely that she grew tired of it.

"But!" she cut in, making both Jack (who had joined the frenzied dancing)
and I spin around and take notice. "The deal is that you have to go outside
and play for the rest of the afternoon in the sun. Then you can come in and
play the game after tea, and Jack can stay the night if you like."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Now, outside with you."

We could hardly argue. This day was just getting better and better.

End of Chapter 2

zackmcnaught@hotmail.com