Date: Wed, 10 May 2017 15:49:14 +0000
From: Zack McNaught <zackmcnaught@hotmail.com>
Subject: Six Weeks with Jack Chapter 4

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 4

I think as adults we carry too much baggage about sexual experiences. If
we'd been grown-ups, there would no doubt have been a great deal of
soul-searching, and at least an embarrassed smile afterwards, but Jack
simply came back with a now-deflated willy, dropped his towel and got
dressed.

That, I suppose, was the biggest change at first. I mean, the fact that we
didn't have to hide from each other any more. He'd seen mine and I'd seen
his, and there was nothing left to see, so what did it matter that we got
naked when we got changed?

I got to see him wee, too. In fact, we got to see each other, because quite
unabashedly we now sprayed up against the tree trunk together, laughing
when we crossed the streams, actively trying to do so to see which way
they'd splash. There was no longer a bit of modesty, except in one thing:
we still wanked in private.

But youth isn't all about the chances for sexual adventure. It would be
remiss of me to ignore the fact that Jack and I spent most of our time
doing things which weren't at all out of the ordinary for boys our age. We
got a bit of a reputation for riding through the centre of the village
jumping off anything we could find, earning a stern rebuke from the
miserable old ladies who seemed to congregate for no reason at all at the
bus stop, probably because we didn't have any teenagers to do that for us.

We played football on the village green (something I'd not done in ages)
because Jack had a way with people, and he somehow managed to convince the
council house kids that we were OK, and so we played. They still didn't
really trust me, but I was with Jack, so it was alright. It also didn't
matter that I was rubbish, because Jack was amazing at football (and
apparently still is), and he did everything in his power to make me look
better - he'd put me clean through on goal, or make my most ordinary,
misplaced passes look like little works of genius.

We ate together, played together, slept in the same house almost every
night, and became utterly inseparable. But stronger forces than friendship
were at play, and our relationship was about to take a different path
entirely.

- - -

Much like the introduction of the sexually playful side of our
relationship, the next big change can be traced to a single event, though
the roots of it started much earlier and had grown much deeper. So deep
that they could no longer be ignored.

It happened at night, in the dark, though perhaps that's a little
misleading as a way to begin. It happened in the evening, in the cinema,
which is dark by necessity. My diary helpfully reminds me that it was Robin
Hood: Prince of Thieves we saw, which raises an interesting little
historical point - that film was rated a 12 in the UK, meaning that mum,
who paid for our tickets and then left us to go in alone, actually broke
the rules; I wouldn't turn 12 for a number of weeks, and Jack for nearly 3
months. But anyway, that was the film.

We were a little giddy and nervous, being allowed to go into the film on
our own, even though mum was meeting a friend near the cinema for coffee,
and we knew exactly where to go to find her if we needed to. To all intents
and purposes, though, this was an adult-free expedition, and we felt nine
feet tall. Of course we raced up to the back, where it was considered cool
to be, and found ourselves on an odd little row of three seats squeezed
into one of the corners of the cinema. It was an old place, which had
probably shown silent films and Pathe newsreels at some point, so they'd
clearly had a difficult shaped room to deal with and crammed in as many
seats as they could.

Anyway, there we were, the two of us on a mini row of three, in the
darkness at the back of the cinema. If I'd had any concept of what a date
felt like, it would have reminded me of just that, but to my mind it was
nothing more than a night out at the cinema with my best mate.

For the first half an hour of the film it was no different to any other
cinema experience - cramming in popcorn and drinking expensive, over-sized
cups of Coke. Nothing unusual there. But there's a point a little way into
the film where Costner's character swims naked in a woodland pool, and
though you can't see anything much, and it's all relatively tastefully
filmed from a distance, there were some sniggers in the cinema. Jack leaned
over to me, and barely well enough to be heard, said,

"He's really strong, isn't he?"

I nodded, staring at the screen. I don't think I felt anything sexual, but
there was certainly a degree of adoration, which enhanced what I was
already feeling for the hero of the piece. Boyish idolising, nothing more.

But after Jack leaned in to me to whisper in my ear, he didn't shift
back. Being an old cinema, there were only very thin, low armrests between
the chairs, and he leaned his elbow on the one between us, so that our
shoulders and upper arms touched.

And the strange thing was, it felt nice. Perhaps in the way you might feel
comforted by the hug of a relative, but subtly different, too. I liked him
leaning on me, and pushed ever so gently back, trying to convey my
contentedness through nothing more than the slightest pressure.

Jack got the message, sure enough. After a minute, he moved, slouching
slightly down in his chair so that he could lean his head on my shoulder,
and for some time he stayed like that, just chilling out contentedly. I
leaned slightly into him, too, feeling the heat from the top of his head on
my cheek, and the tickling of his hair. I smelled his shampoo, thinking it
was rather similar to my own, then felt a pang of warmth when I realised
that was because he had showered at my house before we came out, and had
washed his hair with my shampoo.

He stayed with his head there for a while, before once again he felt the
need to wriggle about. He sat up, and then quite deliberately, without
preamble or permission, he reached his arm across the space between us and
took hold of my hand.

I was shocked for the length of two heartbeats, but knew straight away that
this was OK, that this felt alright. I closed my hands around his, and our
fingers intertwined. He squeezed tightly, and looked across at me at the
same moment I looked at him, and something electric passed between us.

I'd never known anything which felt quite like this. I could feel the heat
rising in my face, and my heart hammered in my chest, threatening to break
free. One of my legs started to quiver with the excitement of it. Prior to
that evening, I had thought all my pleasure at being naughty with Jack had
come simply from the fact we were being naughty, but this felt like
something else entirely. This was a new thing, a thing I'd never before
experienced, but for which I had ample vocabulary.

Love. Lust. Attraction. Partner. Boyfriend!

Really? That last one? I didn't want to think about it any more. I turned
back to the film, but left my hand in his, and until the lights came up we
stayed that way.

But the return of vision changed everything, and with a certain sense of
guilt we let go of each other, our palms and fingers sticky with
sweat. Jack disappeared into the toilets with a grin, and though I could
have followed him, and had another look at his little dick, right then I
just felt like I needed oxygen. I slumped against the wall outside, waiting
for him, and breathed deep lungfuls of cool evening air.

Mum turned up a few minutes later, by which point Jack and I had turned
back into the little chatterboxes we always were. Hyped up by the film we
managed to talk relentlessly until we were about half way home, at which
point I noticed Jack had gone quiet, and looked across to see that he'd
fallen suddenly asleep. I watched him gently snoring, and felt my heart
leap in my chest.

- - -

We weren't doe-eyed lovers the next morning. Jack gave me a morning hug
dressed in nothing but his shorts, and I immediately sprang an erection to
match his own, but we were far too shy to take it any further than that,
just yet. We needed a trigger to get over our apprehension.

Instead, we did normal boy things. We showered again, because the night had
been sticky and warm, and mum insisted. But we didn't do it together, and
though I decided to throw caution to the wind and just get dried and
changed in front of Jack, he hardly even checked me out.

Then we went out on our bikes, and did a bit of scouring of the woods for
`materials', though in truth our hearts weren't really in it. We made the
effort to do a few lazy jumps on our bikes, but the heat and humidity of
the day were oppressive, and neither of us really had the energy to be too
animated.

I should've seen the storm coming. The signs were pretty obvious, after all
- the muggy, still air, the storm clouds slowly building in the south until
they obscured the sun - but for some reason we were still fifteen minutes
from home when it hit. We could have sheltered in some trees, but instead I
made the stupid decision that we should make a run for it.

Bad choice. We were soaked to the skin and then some by the time we made it
home, and with the drop in temperature the storm brought, our teeth were
chattering. I let us in, and we bundled upstairs, stripping off our wet
clothes as we went.

It turned out that drying ourselves made little difference to how cold we
felt. It was Jack who made the obvious point.

"Why don't we have showers?"

"Yeah, OK, good idea! You go first."

"No, you do it."

"Really, it's OK, you go. I'll be OK."

"Your lips are blue!"

"So are yours."

"Ugh, fine!" Jack spat with a roll of his eyes and an exaggerated
sigh. "Let's just go in together, then!"

I froze, staring at him with my mouth open. He had started to grin, but
when he saw my reaction he lost the smile pretty quickly.

"Sorry," he whispered, suddenly very self-conscious, "I shouldn't have said
that."

I snapped out of my reverie. I'd been daydreaming about what it would be
like, and my dick was already hardening.

"No, it's OK, really. It would be alright. No, I mean, yes, let's do it. I
want to!"

With that, the smile came back to his face, and without another word he
dropped the towel from his shoulders, showing me his rapidly hardening
little spike, which ratcheted upward with his heartbeat. Dragging the towel
beside him, he turned away with a rather seductive sway of his hips, and
walked towards the bathroom. I gulped, tugged at my erection through the
material of my towel, and followed him. I found that I couldn't take my
eyes off the curve of his backside.

It turns out that showering together is a lot more awkward than you imagine
it will be, but that didn't detract from the fun of it. So much skin to
touch that you can't avoid it even if you want, which we didn't. And the
slippery, silken smoothness of his body... God, it was intoxicating. And
our little steel rods, jutting out painfully stiff in front of us, touching
each other, our hips, our bums, everywhere. Poking, prodding.

He washed me, and for the first time let his hands linger down there,
grinning at me as he manipulated me and I gasped at the sensation. Then I
washed him, and I touched his - it felt so stiff, yet the skin glided as if
oiled by the gods. He moaned and his eyelids fluttered as I started wanking
him, then bent down on my knees to get a better angle to do it, and to look
more closely at his dick. I loved the way his slightly fatter balls dangled
below, and jiggled about as I wanked him with fingers and thumb, until the
little pouch tightened and crinkled, and I knew from my own self-abuse that
he was getting close. Speeding up, I was rewarded by the sight of his legs
shaking so badly I worried that they might give way, and of his stomach
quivering and tensing. And then he was there, and the little shaft in my
hand swelled, and kicked, and he groaned, a long, drawn-out howl of pained
pleasure, and on the very last pulse a tiny, clear droplet of something - I
didn't realise what - fired out over my shoulder and straight down the
drain.

He collapsed at last, eyes clamped tightly shut as he turned on his side,
curling up with his hand in his crotch, ignoring the water cascading down
on top of him. He lay there and panted until he got his breath back, and
then sat up and turned to me with heavily-lidded eyes. He tried to speak,
but nothing would come out, until he swallowed and croaked to me,

"That was so cool."

And indeed, that was really, really cool.

I helped Jack back to his feet, and we stood there with the steam rising
between us. He gave me a crooked, shy smile, and reached out to hold my
still-hard boyhood. He gently fondled me, and tugged ever so slightly, so
that I stepped closer.

"Have you ever kissed anyone?" he whispered, his voice quavering.

I could see the unspoken question, and I didn't hesitate; placing my hands
on his shoulders, I leaned forward and tilted my head, and my lips touched
his, chastely at first, and then with more passion. We melted into each
other, our bodies crushed together as our arms went around one another. My
penis met his - already hard again - and then both were sandwiched between
us, sliding over slippery tummies and along the furrows of bare crotches.

Eagerly we humped each other, urgent for release. My arms encircled his
shoulders, and his hands ran over my back and down to my backside so that
he could pull my hips ever more tightly into his own.

I felt my orgasm coming from a long way off, building slowly, gently at
first, then rising unstoppably towards a crescendo. Several times I came
close, only to lose it at the last second and slip backwards from the peak,
but when finally I reached my release it was so astonishing that I crushed
Jack to me, forcing the air from his lungs as I drove my forehead into his
shoulder and shook from head to toe, gasping with the painful intensity of
my dry cum.

When I finally felt able to stand on my own two feet, I separated from
him. I stood there, panting, just as he did, and we stared into each
other's eyes, neither smiling nor grimacing, but shocked at the intensity
of our passion. It was too much, perhaps, for young boys to deal with, but
what was done was done, and we had to live with it, and each other.

We dried slowly, watching one another. I desperately wanted to take his
now-soft penis in hand, and bring him off again, but somehow it wouldn't
have been right to do so. But we grinned at each other with the knowledge
of what we'd just done, and in a sense the knowledge of what it now meant.

Thoughts which had been out of bounds before now came unbidden to my
mind. I remembered the look of absolute pleasure on the face of the woman
whose mouth was stuffed full of her partner's thick dick in the porn
magazine we'd found. I hadn't even admitted to myself the thrill I got from
seeing that scene, not because I wanted to be the man (though that was an
ambition, too), but because of the very idea of having a mouthful of
willy. I'd worried that was the wrong thing to feel, and I'd also been
nervous of the idea of a big, fat, smelly, hard adult dick. But Jack's?
That was small, and achievable, and... I had to stop myself thinking about
it, before I just pushed him down and started sucking him off. What would
he think of me if I did that?

Some sense of normality had to prevail, if only for a while. We went to my
room, sat down and played Super Mario, and the only thing which marked us
out from every other boy and his best friend was the way Jack leaned into
me and rested his head on my shoulder.

- - -

We had, up to now, often pulled the porn mag out of under the bed and
looked at it together before bed. He would go off to his little airbed on
my bedroom floor, and I would lie in my bed, and we'd both wank ourselves
off, knowing what the other was doing but never daring to mention it.

That night, though, when I reached down for the magazine, Jack stopped me.

"I don't want to, not tonight," he said, looking downcast. I couldn't work
out why, but I didn't argue with him. We played a little more Super Mario
instead, and then went our own ways to bed.

Jack looked miserable the whole time, and there was definitely something up
with him, but I couldn't work it out and I wasn't brave enough to ask. I
felt a knot of fear in my stomach that I had done something really
wrong. Perhaps I had ruined everything by forcing myself on him in the
shower? The logical part of my mind knew that what had happened was
entirely by mutual consent, but the irrational, emotional side lied to me,
and told me I'd read the signs wrong, and that he'd only participated
because he was scared.

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, wishing that I could just make things
better. I wanted to cry. I wanted to talk to him, to find out what I'd done
wrong, whether he would still be my friend.

Then I heard a stifled sob from Jack's bed, and my heart broke. I, too,
burst into tears, and there we both were, lying in our beds, crying, not
really having a clue what the hell was going on.

It was Jack who calmed first, taking huge gulps of air to steady himself.

"I'm sorry, Tom. If you want me to go away I will."

"What? I don't want you to go away. I thought you didn't like me anymore."

"Why did you think that?"

"Well, because you didn't want to look at the magazine and then you just
looked sad and got into bed, and I thought... I don't know..."

"I didn't want to look at the magazine because... because I don't really
like the look of all those gross fannies. I mean, yuk!"

I stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"They're really gross, aren't they?" I said.

He grinned back, sniffing loudly, and nodded his head.

"I just... I just wanted to do it with just us, on our own, without the
magazine," he whispered.

I considered that for, oh, about half a heartbeat before I threw back the
covers on my bed, pushed off my shorts and lay there naked with my dick
rapidly bobbing upward.

"Come on, then!" I said, and Jack scrambled out of bed, dropped his shorts
and jumped on top of me.

We were fevered little jackrabbits, humping and fucking against each other,
whimpering with the sensations of little stiff willies rubbing against
together, their sticky, sweaty little foreskins smooching each other's
tummy, sticking and then sliding. Sticking, sliding.

Jack stopped and levered himself up on his elbows, looking down at me. God,
how I loved him in that moment, and needed him, too. Thankfully he leaned
forwards, and our lips touched, and electricity happened down below. He
ground into me, a more measured, deliberate effort to bring us both
pleasure, and it worked.

I came first this time, gasping for air as the surprising force of it
hammered into me. I went rigid, arching my back, pushing Jack into the air
above me, my head writhing back and forth on my pillow. I drew breath
through gritted teeth, then let it flood back out of me in a huge,
uncontrolled sigh. Oh God, those dry cums were intense, and this one
perhaps more than any other I'd felt.

When I felt able to open my eyes, Jack was staring down at me with a
thoroughly amused smile.

"It's so cool when you do that!" he said. "Do I look that funny?"

"Dunno," I shrugged. "I've only see you do it once, and you kind of fell
over in the shower."

I reached down to grasp his still quivering boyhood, and sounding a lot
more confident than I felt, said,

"I'll have to find out, won't I?"

With a grin Jack lay back on the bed and shifted until he could lie with
his hands under his head on the pillow. I sat up and moved down the bed
until I was sitting next to his hip, and took his rock-hard willy back in
my hand.

That expression left his face when I started to gently wank him, taking his
dick in my fist rather than using fingers and thumb. His mouth dropped
open, and shortly after that his eyes drifted shut. His lay breathing
heavily, his hips rotating as I worked him up. The only sounds in the room
were his increasingly frantic panting and the soft, rhythmic slap of my
hand on his crotch.

His pants became whimpers and whines as he got closer to the peak. His back
arched, and he rocked his head rapidly from side to side, as if he was in a
trance. I could feel his dick soften very slightly and then jerk back to
hardness. Each time it happened, the softening got a little less, and the
jerking stronger, until it was all jerks and nothing else. He pushed his
hips high off the bed and came with a strangled cry, holding himself rigid
with only his shoulders and heels touching the bed. When the last spasms
were done, he collapsed back onto the bed with a massive sigh, and lay with
his arms across his face, still panting, as his dick rapidly deflated to
the little worm I was more used to seeing.

I looked at my hand, where a thin, clear droplet ran down the back. It
reached the side of my hand and hung there, glistening like a drop of
diamond.

"That's my stuff," Jack breathed, looking up at me.

"I thought it was meant to be white."

"It will be. I only just started making it though. I think it takes time to
go white."

Unlike most adults who happen to wank off young boys, I had no desire to
lick it up (not yet, anyway), so I wiped my hand on the sheet and lay down
next to Jack, with my head on his shoulder. His arm went around me, resting
on top of my hip, and even that touch was enough to rouse desire in me once
more. But it wasn't to be - I was too tired to go any further, too drained
to continue. I felt asleep like that, cuddled up to my best friend.

End of Chapter 4

zackmcnaught@hotmail.com