Date: Fri, 12 Apr 2024 01:51:02 +0200 (CEST)
From: fbravo@tutamail.com
Subject: Grinner & Smiler - Chapter 1

GRINNER & SMILER

This is a story inspired by my own experiences growing up in the UK in the
1960s and 1970s. That doesn't mean it all really happened.

Nor does it mean I condone the actions of the characters. They are simply
depictions of boys and men who get up to certain intimate male activities
that might have taken place a long time ago, but certainly should never
happen now, regardless of how much they enjoyed themselves in the past.

If you are likely to be offended by this story or it is illegal for you to
read such fiction in your country or jurisdiction for whatever reason,
please stop reading now, close this file and step away from the words.

Category: b/b, m/b/b, m/b

***************

Since the story takes place in the UK around 50 years ago, the language
reflects both that period and culture and uses terms commonly used by boys
for their sexual parts and activities at that time. This is how we spoke,
though I admit I'm not aiming for perfect period dialogue. It's the general
sense of the times I'm hoping to convey.

Needless to say, in the UK "pants" are and were "underpants" not trousers.

Also "willy" is rarely a person's name, "spunk" is not "pluck" and "wank"
is not a town in Austria. The context should make it easy for non-UK
readers to grasp the actual meanings (amongst other things).

Chapter 1

The best thing about growing up in the UK in the 1960s and 1970s was the
freedom we kids had to explore our world. I remember being out all day with
friends at weekends and school holidays, simply looking for places to
explore and games to play in the countryside and urban spaces alike. Even
if none of my friends were around, it was easy to find others to play with,
and that's how I met the new boy in the summer when I was nine, very soon
to be ten.

I was in the woods, a mile or so from my home, busy building a small dam of
rocks and sticks in a stream. The sun was shining through the trees, the
air was warm, the dam-building was absorbing and really the only thing that
could have made it better was a friend to share it with.

And then suddenly he was there.

"Look, I got these sticks," said a voice, "Can you use them?"

I looked up and kneeling beside me was a boy about the same age as me with
a pile of good-sized useful sticks next to him. I assume he must have been
there for a while gathering them, but I'd been too absorbed in my
construction work to notice.

He seemed a bit taller than me, probably a bit tougher, but like me mainly
just another unremarkable little boy. We both wore shorts, t-shirts and gym
shoes – part of last year's school PE kit and due to be replaced next
term, so now worn for playing. It was the early 1970s just about when all
little British boys were growing their hair long to be like the older boys
and men, so both of us had the same shaggy mop in between the old-fashioned
short back and sides haircut and proper long hair like the pop stars and
footballers on TV.

The thing that made this boy stand out though was his smile and his eyes
when he smiled which somehow suggested here was a naughty boy and since I
was a mainly good boy with a strange new urge to become a naughty boy, I
was instantly drawn to him. It was more a grin, than a smile. A dirty grin
- whatever that meant.

I accepted the sticks and we were suddenly a partnership, concentrating on
building the best dam ever. I remember we talked a bit, but mainly we
built. I found out he had just turned ten, went to a different school to
mine even though we only lived about a mile apart, liked football, swimming
and snakes. Football and swimming were also amongst my hobbies, but I had
no experience or any informed opinion about snakes.

It did cross my mind that we might go to the swimming pool together
sometime, which rather excited me. Lately I'd developed a real interest in
seeing men and other boys naked in the changing rooms and showers. For some
reason, I really wanted to see this new boy without his clothes on, so I
was keen for the friendship to grow.

The dam-building carried on into the afternoon, until suddenly the new boy
said he to go.

"Go home?" I asked.

He grinned at me and pointed at his crotch.

"No, go pee."

With that he stood up and took a few steps back from the little lake we had
managed to create. Before I could really take in what he was doing, he
pulled his shorts and underpants right down to his ankles. I stared at his
white bum cheeks and felt my stomach flutter. He then took his small white
willy in his hand, pulled back the wrinkly foreskin snout a little and
began to pee strongly into our lake right there in front of me. I thought I
should probably look away, but I didn't. He grinned at me. I had a sudden
urge to pull my shorts and pants down too, but an irritatingly literal part
of my brain told me that I didn't need to pee and in any case my willy had
suddenly gone stiff so I couldn't.

An odd response because of course the reason I wanted to stand next to him
had nothing to do with needing to pee and everything to do with my stiff
willy.

But I knew very little of these matters at the time.

He finished peeing, shook his willy so that some drops of pee flew about in
the sunlight, playfully smacked his bare bum cheeks with both hands, then
pulled his shorts and pants up again in one movement. I was quite sad to
see the still wet tip of his little cock disappear

"Now I got to go home" he said. "See you tomorrow morning?"

I nodded.

He grinned.

"Don't play with your willy too much in bed tonight or it might fall off."

And then he was gone.

I still remember the rush of new feelings I had as he disappeared. His bum,
his willy, his pee, that incredibly cheeky bum smack, had all thrilled me
for some reason, but the fact that he knew I played with myself in bed and
actually said it out loud astonished me.

And excited me.

To be clear I knew very little of sex and what boys' willies could do at
this point. My willy had always got stiff sometimes and stood up rather
comically, but recently I discovered how much I liked touching it when it
was hard and I did that often under the covers at night. I knew nothing of
wanking and mainly just squeezed the hot, thin, bald little stiffness in my
hand and between my fingers, sometimes rolling on to my front and pushing
it into the mattress.

But that was about the limit of my understanding, though as I said I was
aware that places like the swimming bath male changing rooms now seemed
much more exciting than they had before.

Needless to say I did play with my willy that night in bed, thinking about
my new friend grinning with his pants pulled down and his bum and private
parts on show as he peed. However I also remember something different about
that night. For some reason I really wanted to take all my pyjamas off and
run about the room and jump up and down on the bed with my stiff willy on
rude display. Of course I couldn't because that would wake my little
brother in our shared room. But it was certainly a new and very thrilling
sensation that actually made me giggle in bed squeeze my hard willy even
tighter.

                                                                                         ***

The next morning my new friend and I did meet up in the woods again as
planned. For a while we concentrated on the dam. I wanted to say something
about willies, but couldn't think what. Luckily he wasn't so clueless.

"Did you play with you willy in bed last night then?

I nodded.

"Yeah, I did, actually"

The big naughty grin was back on his face.

"Me too. It was really stiff and I played with it for ages. I even took my
pyjama bottoms off. Sometimes I just stick it out through the fly, but
other times like last night, I just want to be in the nude when I play with
it."

I didn't really know what to say, so I just smiled which seemed to
encourage him. Also I was aware my willy was getting hard in my pants
again.

"I love it. Do you know it's called wanking?"

I didn't.

"Well, it is. It's called wanking when your willy gets stiff and you play
with it."

He was grinning more than ever now.

"It makes me feel really dirty."

And I suddenly realised that's what I felt when I played with
myself. Dirty. And I loved it.

"I love dirty things." he continued and then paused, apparently looking for
an example.

"It's like when my little brother's in the bath and his willy sticks up and
then he pees everywhere like a yellow fountain. It's not very big, but his
pee goes really high up in the air. He's even peed in his face by
accident."

We were both laughing now because that sounded funny. He stood up and
started demonstrating how his brother peed with a stiffy, miming the pee
going everywhere.

"I bet that's really funny to see" I said.

"Yeah it is. Funny and really dirty."

He squeezed himself between his legs. I wondered if his willy was as stiff
as mine.

"My uncle showed me a photo of this actual fountain statue in France or
Spain or somewhere.  It's this little boy with no clothes and he's holding
his willy and the water comes out just like pee. It's called The Pissing
Boy."

This made us laugh even more and it developed into one of those mad moments
of boyish hilarity with us both jumping about pretending to be The Pissing
Boy peeing on everyone in that street in France or Spain.

This would have been a good moment for us both to pull our pants down and
leap about half naked with our stiff willies on display. But for some
reason we didn't. Instead we ended up rolling about on the ground, trying
to get our breath back after all the laughter.

For a while we were silent and then the boy said,

"I really love dirty things."

"Me too, I said", because it was suddenly obvious to me that I really did.

"My uncle's really dirty" he said, "Do you want to go round his flat to see
him."

Honestly, I didn't hesitate.

"Yes, please" I said.

"Ok, it's not far."

He jumped up and we headed off to see his dirty uncle, whatever that could
mean. Maybe he could piss like a fountain too. I had no idea, but I really
wanted to find out.



I didn't even know my new friend's name at this point. As is so often the
case amongst small boys, it felt like we'd known each other forever and
such details weren't really that important when there were so many new and
mysteriously naughty things to share.

But that's for the next chapter.

    *******************************************************************

Thanks for taking the time to read this first chapter of my new story.  I
don't know if it will be of most interest to those British readers who like
me remember their own sexy dirty times in the 1960s and 1970s, or have a
more general appeal. Please feel free to email to let me know if you like
it, make suggestions or just chat.

You can contact me on fbravo@tutamail.com

And please consider making a donation to help Nifty keep doing what it does
so well.