Date: Tue, 23 Apr 2024 05:02:55 +0200 (CEST)
From: fbravo@tutamail.com
Subject: Grinner & Smiler - Chapter 3

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
imaginative 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).

But if anything is unclear, please feel free to email me at the address at
the end of this chapter.



Chapter 3

So much that I'd seen and heard that afternoon in Uncle Vince's bathroom
was outside my nine year old's (nearly ten) frame of reference. Much as I'd
always loved seeing men and big boys naked, it had never occurred to me
that their big hairy willies would also get stiff like my little bald
one. I think that I vaguely had an idea that my erections were something to
do with my willy eventually growing to be as big as theirs and the urge to
squeeze and tug on it was part of that process like exercising to build up
your muscles.

I suppose the obvious difference between my little worm and their big
sausages suggested that some sort of magical and mysterious transformation
must lie ahead. Apart from knowing that men and boys both peed out of thing
between their legs, I wasn't even sure they were the same "thing". I just
knew that when I grew up I would have a big hairy one too. How and indeed
why this would happen were both unknown to me. I wasn't aware of the term
or the concept of Puberty, which as far as I knew might as well have been
another of those mysterious foreign countries like Hungary or Turkey or
Belgium, where people flocked to watch little boys piss in the nude.

Bearing all that in mind, the idea that men and big boys liked to rub their
big hairy, stiff willies until white cream squirted out was obviously not
something I'd ever suspected. And yet dirty Uncle Vince had done just that
in the bath and he really looked like he enjoyed it.

And Rob looked like he really enjoyed helping him with his hand.

And regardless of being largely ignorant of almost everything, I knew I
really liked seeing all of it.

And so did my very stiff willy.

Rob was inspecting the white tiles on the wall at the end of the bath.

"Got it!" he announced and swiped his fingers across one of the tiles.

He held his hand out to me and I saw some sticky milky liquid coating his
fingertips.

"What is it?" I asked, genuinely mystified.

"It's spunk, isn't it" replied Rob, obviously a bit unprepared for how
clueless I was. "Uncle Vince's spunk. When he wanked off just now."

Suddenly I remembered Rob telling me that playing with your willy was
called wanking. So Uncle Vince was wanking in the bath and this weird
liquid must be –

"Is that the cream that squirted out of his willy?"

"That's it," said Rob, and then thoughtfully "You can call it willy cream
or cock cream, but mostly we call it spunk."

"Spunk," I repeated. The first time I ever said it out loud, but I
immediately recognised the dirty magic of that rudest of words. I assume
wherever you grow up, when little boys discover the word for the wonderful,
messy stuff that shoots of out grown-up cocks, it becomes a word that will
thrill them forever. And for little British boys in the early 70s, as for
the little British boys before them and those still to be born for decades
to come, that supremely dirty word was –

"Spunk."

I already loved saying it aloud.

"Spunk!" announced Rob triumphantly, loud enough to be heard by Uncle Vince
as he headed for the front door.

"Spunk!" echoed Uncle Vince, "See you later, lads, or just let yourselves
out. Bye!"

The front door shut behind him.

Just me and Rob in the flat now. We looked at each other. Rob grinned and I
smiled.

"Spunk!" we both shouted at the tops of our voices.

This released a burst of silly energy. Rob tried to rub his sticky hand in
my face, while chanting "Spunk, spunk, spunky, spunky, spunk." I grabbed
his wrist and pushed it away, though I didn't really mind. It was just that
age old game of one boy trying to get another boy to do something naughty
and the other boy enjoying resisting. We wrestled for a few seconds, then
Rob pulled back. He looked at his fingers still glistening with the liquid.

"Spunk's lovely," he said, "Really dirty."

Then he licked it quickly off his fingers and grinned at me.

"Ugh!" I blurted out, but we both knew I didn't mean it.

A sudden thought struck me.

"But what is spunk?" I asked.

Rob shrugged.

"Oh, you know, it's what makes babies grow in the woman's belly" he said, a
bit dismissively and clearly not that interested.

I stared at him, waiting for a bit more. He thought about it for a moment,
then added.

"Well, there's like really tiny seeds in the spunk called sperms, and they
swim inside the woman's belly and then a baby grows there."

I knelt down by the bath and peered into the water.

"What are looking for now?" asked Rob.

"Jellyfish" I replied.

"What?" said Rob.

"Uncle Vince said he had to get out of the bath because of the
jellyfish. So are sperms like jellyfish then?"

Rob gave an exasperated laugh.

"You don't know anything, do you? Sperms aren't jellyfish. When spunk mixes
in the bath water it goes all gooey like jelly and it sticks to men's hairy
pubics and stuff."

I was none the wiser really, but it seemed clear there was no point looking
for jellyfish in Uncle Vince's bath. I turned my head to see Rob sitting on
the toilet lid stripping off his t-shirt and kicking his gym shoes off.

"Let's pee in the bath" he said, "before it gets cold."

Suddenly I was in more familiar territory. At nine peeing in the bath is
second nature and evidently Rob meant peeing in the bath together with no
clothes on, so I was in. I really wanted to see Rob's willy and bum again
and I wanted him to see mine. Off came my t-shirt and gym shoes too and
then, almost as though rehearsed for a very rude show, at exactly the same
time we hooked our thumbs into the waistband of our shorts and pants and
pulled the whole lot down to our ankles.

And there we stood, a few feet apart, two dirty little boys in the nuddy
together for the first time. Of course we immediately looked at each
other's willies, which unsurprisingly were both achingly erect, sticking
right up out of the narrow band of pale, untanned skin, where our very
short shorts and triangular-shaped pants normally were. Despite the
clichι of it always raining in the UK, actually back in the 70s boys
like us usually had tanned chests, backs, legs and arms from playing out
shirtless.

Of course, the sun rarely got the chance to give our bum cheeks any colour
and certainly not our willies. My willy and balls were just a bit paler
than the skin around them and the only colour was a few blue veins running
up my thin shaft and a rosy-pinky blush around the closed snout of my
foreskin. Rob's privates in contrast were distinguished by a bulb of vivid
red at the end of his stiff willy, much smaller but obviously the same
thing as Uncle Vince's big fat red knob when he'd skinned his foreskin
back. Mine was still too snug to see anything more than a little circle of
red with my pee-slit when I tugged back on my skin. Rob's however was fully
retracted with his skin bunched under the ridge of his helmet. It was a
truly lovely, sticky red and rude sight.

I sort of gasped in admiration and Rob stuck his hips out and made his
willy throb for me to see. I did the same and was pleased to see Rob
grinning happily at my erection. My willy was thinner and shorter than. I
had no real sense of inches then, but I would guess his was about three and
a half inches to my three. His sac was droopier than mine and his balls a
bit bigger and more defined like small birds' eggs to my marbles. Uncle
Vince was right – Rob was just as hairless down there as me, both of us
totally smooth between our legs and everywhere else on our skinny bodies
except for some fine down on our forearms.

"Let's pee" said Rob as he hopped in to the bath, not sitting down, but
standing knee-deep in the water. I copied him and there we stood facing
each other our willies pointing up at the ceiling. Since I had never
actually peed with a stiff willy, nor did I particularly need to go, I
wasn't sure what to do next, but Rob was way ahead of me.

"Look at my willy then" he instructed, rather pointlessly because I already
was. He put both hands on his hips and pushed his little erection
forward. I could tell he was squeezing the muscles between his ball bag and
his bum hole, because his willy suddenly swelled a little as mine did
whenever I squeezed down there. I heard him grunt a little, glanced up and
saw his eyes were half-closed and his pink tongue-tip was sticking out
between his teeth. Then he opened his eyes and grinned at me.

"Here it comes."

All at once a spout of yellow pee squirted out of the hole in his red
knob. It rose up a few inches, then suddenly rose up in an arc that went
right up to the centre of his chest before cascading down into the bath
water.

"Little Pissing Boy! Little Pissing Boy!" squealed Rob happily, gazing down
at his fountaining willy with pride.

I was quite amazed by the height, volume and velocity of his pee. He thrust
his hips forward again and suddenly he was actually peeing on my belly and
all over my stiffy. It was warm and wet and funny and rude. Of course I'd
peed on myself in the bath before, but this was the first time I was
splashed with someone else's pee and it felt wonderfully naughty.

"You do it too," urged Rob, laughing at his own clever trick. "Bet you
can't!"

Well I tried, but he was right. The most I could manage was a tiny trickle
that seeped out of my slit. My willy stayed stubbornly erect and I was not
the Little Pissing Boy.

"Never mind" said Rob, as his flow subsided, " I'll teach you and you can
practise on your bath too."

He squatted down in the water and splashed some between his legs and up his
belly and chest. I did the same. The water was now too cold to immerse
ourselves in properly, so it certainly wasn't the fact that it was mixed
with Uncle Vince's spunk and (mostly) Rob's wee that stopped us. I thought
how good it would be to spend some time in a nice warm bath with Rob,
playing with our soapy willies, but he was already out of the bath, drying
himself with a big white towel. I followed suit and used a big blue towel.

Soon dry and both still erect, Rob led me out of the bathroom.

"Come on," he said and his voice suddenly went comically husky, like
someone being sexy on the TV, "Do you want to see some really dirty stuff."

"Yes, please."

Rob led me into the living room of the flat. It felt thrilling to be naked
and erect in this strange man's space amongst such ordinary things as a
sofa, armchairs, TV – and a pair of light blue man's y-fronts discarded
in the middle of the carpet.

Rob saw them too and picked them up. To my surprise he held them to his
nose and sniffed deeply.

"Dirty pants", he announced, "Smells like his willy."

He thrust them into my face and he wasn't wrong. I recognised the smell of
my own willy on my fingers when I played with it, a bit pissy, a bit tangy,
a bit sweaty, but Uncle Vince's pants smelt so much stronger, heavier and
with something extra that was new to me, but absolutely intoxicating. I
felt so dirty standing there with my new dirty friend, both of us naked and
erect smelling a man's dirty y-fronts.

Rob showed me inside the crotch where the flap was.

"He sticks his cock out of that when he pees and sometimes when he wanks
too and there – "

He pointed out some silvery-grey marks which reminded me of slimy snail
trails.

"That's the juice that just comes out of his willy-hole. It's not spunk and
it's not wee. I don't know what it is really but he's always got it inside
his pants."

Rob stepped into the pants and pulled them up. They were far too big for
him and he had to hold them up with one hand as he poked and tugged his
stiff willy through the y-flap. It protruded obscenely as he pulled me
towards one of the armchairs.

"Sit down and open your legs really wide," he instructed, "I'm going to
inspect your willy."

I did as I was told and happily so. No one had ever looked at my hard willy
really close before and I wanted to show Rob everything I had down there.

He knelt down and put his face really close to my erection. I could feel
his breath on the taut skin. He shifted to see from another angle, then
moved his attention to my balls. He considered them for a moment, then blew
softly on my scrotum, which immediately contracted a little.

"Your balls moved on their own" he giggled, then gave them a cheeky
tickle. I flinched, gasped and snapped my legs shut automatically.

"I haven't finished yet" he protested "Open up."

He pulled my knees apart and exposed my privates again. He took my snug
foreskin and gently tugged it back. A little circle of sticky red nob
emerged revealing the slightly protruding lips of my slit. He stared at it
for a moment and I stared at him staring at it. I became aware that my
stomach was tense and I was feeling almost sick with excitement and for
something else I couldn't quite identify.

"Does it go back any more?" asked Rob, gently testing the elasticity with
his fingers.

"No." I replied "Is that alright?"

"Oh yeah" said Rob knowledgeably. "Some kids got tight ones and some got
loose ones like me. My nobby has always come out, but my little brother's
is still like yours. But he's been pulling on it and more comes out
now. You just have to keep playing with or just wanking loads and it will
pop out all the way one day."

He touched the circle of exposed glans. It was so sensitive the light
pressure of his finger tip actually stung a little. I knew that from
experimenting with touching it myself, but it was a strange sensation
because the sting was more like a little shock of pleasure than actual
pain.

Rob glanced up as I half winced, half groaned.

"Yeah, that's like my brother too. But you can touch my nob as much as you
like, it just feels nice and sexy."

With that he stood up. His willy was still as hard as ever sticking out of
Uncle Vince's y-fronts. So was mine for that matter. We both must have been
erect for almost an hour by now, which is of course the fantastic
super-power of little boys' penises. Being erect just becomes the normal
state of our things for as long as it lasts and then suddenly they collapse
into floppy again. Little boys don't need conscious stimulation to keep
standing proud, their willies just respond in seconds to a change of mood
or a rude sight and can stay up on their own for ages, twitching, bobbing,
throbbing or just sticking up thin and stiff and of course rude.

Rob let the baggy pants slip down and then knelt up on the armchair between
my open legs, supporting himself with his hands on the armrests. His
erection was right in front of my face. He thrust his hips back and forth
chanting –

"Willy, willy, catch my willy," while I attempted to grab it.

It didn't take me long. Suddenly I was holding his erection in my hand and
instantly aware of how it felt different to mine. A bit longer, a bit
thicker, just as stiff but warmer than mine when I squeezed it in bed. I
squeezed his and the lovely red nob bulged. I examined the shape of his
bulbous helmet which looked like a little plump mushroom, at the retracted
foreskin bunched up beneath, at his pee-hole which was gaping a little and
a bit wet.

I played with his dangly ballbag and the loose smooth skin of his scrotum
felt like some sort of very soft, very thin, pliable chamois cloth like my
dad used to polish our car. I rolled his balls around and then remembered
what I'd seen Rob do to Uncle Vince in the bath. I started wanking him,
moving his foreskin up and down over his helmet.

For a moment, we were silent, connected by stiff penis and wanking hand. I
was unsure how fast or hard to move his foreskin and I definitely didn't
want to break it, so I suppose I was a bit tentative really. But Rob
started making a humming noise which sounded a bit like a cat purring, so
he must have liked it and I certainly did. The first willy I ever touched
apart from my own.

Rob suddenly pulled away and grabbing my hand pulled me to my feet.

"Come on" he said excitedly, "I'll show you the dirty stuff."

He dragged me after him. We were both holding our stiff willies tight, a
bit like when little boys need to pee, but this was because we were so
aroused we just had to keep feeling our hardness.

We went into a bedroom with a big double bed and men's clothes lying
about. Uncle Vince's obviously. It wasn't really messy, just in use. Uncle
Vince had been rushing to get dressed and out of the flat after his bath of
course. I could smell aftershave, which was spicy and nice, but didn't
drown out the smell of a man sleeping in there and doing who knows what
else when he was in his big bed, hopefully with no pyjamas on.

Rob dived under the bed and seconds later emerged dragging a big scuffed
leather sports bag. He hoisted it up onto the bed and started unfastening
one of two hefty buckles. I climbed onto the bed too and tackled the other
buckle, both of us naked with our bums stuck up in the air. Buckles finally
loose, we sat back on our haunches and Rob unzipped the bag, then pulled it
open.

At first I wasn't sure what was inside. I had no real idea what Rob had
meant by "the dirty stuff", so I wasn't expecting anything specific. Now
all I could make out inside the bag were flashes of glossy colours in the
afternoon light coming through the drawn curtains. Rob crawled over to a
bedside lamp and switched it on. I realised that the bag was full of a
jumble of magazines with naked bodies on the covers.

Rob thrust his hands into the bag and pulled out a small pile of the
magazines. He spread them on the bed and grinned at me.

"Uncle Vince loves dirty mags", he said, "He lets me look at them any time
I want."

Here was another new experience for me and a hell of a lot to take in for a
nine, nearly ten year old boy in early 1970s Britain. There simply wasn't a
lot of porn around and I hadn't actually seen any of it. Newsagents may
have started stocking a few soft core magazines, but there was a reason
they displayed them on the top shelves. Little boys like me just weren't
tall enough to get even a proper view of the covers, let alone the rude
mysteries inside.

But now, here I was naked on a bed with my new friend, and a whole treasure
chest of dirty magazines in front of me. And not just ordinary dirty
magazines. I began to notice that the naked people showing off their bodies
and having sex all had willies, some big and hairy like Uncle Vince and
some small and hairless like Rob and me. There were photos of men and boys
naked with stiff willies, men having sex with men, boys having sex with
boys, and men and boys having sex together, in pairs, in threes and
more. It was impossible for me to take in much of the details and indeed
some of the boys and men were doing things I didn't even understand.

But what I did understand was that I really, really, really had to tug on
my willy right now.

Rob must have noticed how overwhelmed I was. He shuffled through the
magazines until he found what he wanted.

"Look at this one" he said, "It's a really dirty one."

He lay down on his stomach and I crawled over and lay next to him. The
magazine was in front of us. I don't remember what the cover was but I know
it was filthy. Rob began turning the pages and the photos revealed a
scenario in which two little boys about our age stripped a young man naked,
played with his huge hairy cock, stripped off themselves so he could play
with their stiff little willies and then they all stuck each other's things
in their mouths and sucked and licked them with big grins on their faces.

Grins very much like Rob's as he turned the pages, said dirty things about
the photos, stuck his hand down between his legs to wank his willy and
humped the bed. I knew about humping the bed, but even if I hadn't those
astounding photos would have got me doing it by pure instinct. As it was I
was thrusting my willy into the blankets with as much gusto as Rob and when
he suddenly rolled over on to his back, abandoning the magazine so that he
could grab his willy tight and do very fast wanking, I just naturally
followed his lead.

And there we lay side by side, two very excited little boys, legs wide open
wanking, wanking, wanking, making wanking noises with our hands and mouths
and wanking shapes with our naked bodies. Somehow deep down inside I knew
this was the day something huge and wonderful was happening to me. I had no
words for it, but I genuinely believe I knew that nothing would ever be the
same again.

I heard Rob groan and I watched as he wanked faster and faster and his
mouth opened wide and he said "oh, oh, oh" and his whole body tensed up and
shook. My hand was keeping pace with his, but suddenly he went limp and his
hand flew off his stiff willy like he'd had an electric shock.

I really didn't want to stop this wanking thing now. My hand and my willy
were perfect together. But suddenly something changed. Out of nowhere, I
was convinced I was going to pee and pee a lot. If I didn't stop the
wanking I was going to pee all over Uncle Vince's bed and over Rob and over
me and that I could not, could absolutely not, mustn't let myself do.

I dropped my willy like a hot coal. It twitched and I braced myself for the
pee, but that feeling between my legs subsided and soon I didn't want to
pee. What I wanted to do was wank some more, but now I was too scared that
I'd pee all over Uncle Vince's bedroom if I moved an inch.

Rob jumped up off the bed.

"That was ace" he exclaimed. "I got to get home now though to give my
brother some tea."

He shovelled the magazines back into the bag and zipped it up, then pushed
it back under the bed.

"Come on", he urged, "We got to get our clothes on and go."

"I can't" I said.

"Why not?"

"Cos I just nearly peed the bed and I'm scared it'll come out if I move."

Rob considered me seriously for a moment.

"Didn't you get your come?" he asked.

I looked at him blankly.

"Come where?"

Rob laughed, but with genuine good humour.

"You're really bloody clueless, aren't you?"

"Why?"

"I'll tell you next time. But I'm going to be late if we don't leave right
now. Get dressed. I promise you won't pee."

I chose to trust him and he was right. I didn't pee. We got our clothes
from the bathroom, dressed and left the flat.

Back down on the street, Rob said.

"Good dirty afternoon, yeah?"

"Yeah." I said.

We set off home in opposite directions.

I had a lot to think about and also it seemed a lot to learn.

But Rob said he'd tell me next time.

So that was all right.



...



I hope you enjoyed Chapter 3. Obviously the boys – particularly Smiler
– had some unfinished business at this point in time, so there is much
more to tell in Chapter 4, which will certainly exclude Uncle Vince sharing
the benefit of his experience in these interesting matters,

I've really appreciated hearing from readers who are enjoying the story. It
really spurs me on to know it's giving pleasure and you're eager to find
out what happens next.

Existing and new readers please feel free to email to let me know if you
like it, make suggestions or just chat. It's always great to hear from you
and meet new friends and fellow nostalgia wankers!

You can contact me on fbravo@tutamail.com

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