Cummencement Exercises
by Ashley Hardric ©2005
ahardric@gmail.com
This is a work of fiction. That means it is
not true. Didn’t happen. It’s a figment. No boys were
involved or harmed in the writing of this story and no trees were
sacrificed. The author does not condone sex with boys; he just
writes fantasies about it. Further, sex in reality requires
caution and protection, but my characters won’t catch any bad bugs
unless I write them in. Be safe and legal in the real world, and
enjoy the story only if you are of age and location to legally do so.
**This story is the property of the author and may
not be reproduced in any form whatsoever without his permission.**
******************
“You wouldn’t dare,” Jimmy said, as we picked up our
graduation caps and gowns. “You’re all talk, as usual.”
“Oh yeah?” I retorted with my usual quick wit.
“Yeah. You’re gonna wear your regular clothes
under that gown and roast just like everyone else.”
“No way, man. It’s too fuckin’ hot as it is,
let alone sitting on the stage under those lights.”
“I’ll bet you ten bucks you chicken out.”
“You’re on,” I replied, and we headed over to the
auditorium to get suited up for the ceremony. On the way over, I
had rashly claimed that I was going to go through graduation nude under
my gown, except for shoes and socks, as my final act of
passive-aggressive rebellion against good ol’ Simmons City High
School. It seemed like the perfect end to my high school career
at “Semen Shitty,” given my outward appearance of “nice boy” and “honor
student” that disguised my secret alter-ego of “gay pervert and sex
fiend.” Only Jimmy and our friend Patrick knew about the
secret me; to everyone else I was straight as an arrow. Actually,
all three of us shared the same characteristics. We were always
together; we’d been neighbors for like forever, and we messed around
with each other a LOT in our rooms. In fact, over the last eight
years or so, ever since Jimmy hit puberty, we’d had sex with each
other every day, except when someone was sick or on vacation. But
it was the stuff at school that was so dangerous. And so much
fun. Like jacking off together in the coat room in sixth grade
during recess. And shooting cum all over the band practice
room. And getting blow jobs under the table in the cafeteria at
lunch. And corn-holing the visiting junior high kids in the
locker room during their wrestling meets. Not to mention
cumming in our pants when we shared the back booth in Mrs. Cummins’s
language lab, and jerking off together on the band bus.
But all that was history (which was another story,
too!), and it was time to put on the robes for Commencement.
“What the hell,” I thought. “Who’s to know?” I slipped my
tee-shirt off and shrugged into the black robe. Then while
Patrick and Jimmy stared, and also blocked my view from everyone else,
I dropped my shorts and pulled off my boxers, stepping out of them and
zipping up my gown in the process. I picked up the garments and
stuffed them into the book bag that held the final contents of my
locker. “Looks like you’re out 10 bucks,” I said to the still
astonished Jimmy. “But you can keep it if you join me.”
Not to be outdone, Jimmy repeated my tee-shirt and
gown trick, and shed his pants too. Patrick followed suit.
And so, buck naked except for shoes and socks under the veneer of
academia, we lined up for the procession. The same luck of the
alphabet that had kept us three together all through school held true
one last time, and we were adjacent to each other in the line,
seated at the far end of the back row.
The lights beat down on us, packed onto the stage
like sardines, and we were sweating despite our reduced clothing.
We had to sit on the little folding chairs -- Fat Fred in the row in
front of us needed one for each cheek -- and the three of us were
pretty much joined at the hips. The speakers droned on and on,
congratulating and extolling and challenging us. It was all
bullshit. They used the same speeches every year. No one
was listening. I was bored. I slipped a hand into the slit
in the side of the black gown and started to play with myself.
Now, I should explain in total honesty that I am
hung like a virtual horse. I had been one of the smaller boys in
my class in grade school, and when the hormone fairy visited me near
the end of fifth grade just before I turned twelve, my growth spurt
concentrated in my penis. Even before my friends were shooting up
in body height, I shot up in penis size. The Summer between fifth
and sixth grade, my dick grew from a basic 1 inch, prepubescent weenie
to more than 2 inches soft, and 4 hard, a condition it seemed to
be in most of the time. By the end of that school year, it had
become a 6-inch monster that could shoot cum nearly two feet through
the air. The rest of me wasn’t growing yet, and my adult dick
hanging on a hairless 12-year-old’s body was an awesome sight. Erect,
it was even more impressive, for it grew about two more inches, and
produced a very large load of cum. (Once, sitting at my desk in
sixth grade, I got a hard-on that rose up and pressed so hard through
the wire mesh bookrack under the desk that I couldn’t move: there
was nowhere to move to in the little one-piece desk/chair that would
relieve the pressure without major pain, and I was stuck there for over
an hour until I got it to go down. I had to stay in from recess
and pretend to work on math problems while I jerked off whenever the
teacher wasn’t looking, until I finally managed to shoot a pants
load. But that made my pants sufficiently wet that I still had to
say seated until after the other kids came back in.) By the time
I started seventh grade, I was up to 7 inches soft, and I could
suck myself off, if I lacked better alternatives. Eighth grade
brought me to eight inches, and since I’ve always had kind of short
legs, it hung more than half way to my knees. In ninth grade, I finally
started to grow elsewhere, sprouting some pubic hairs and actually
approaching a hundred pounds. (Even now I’m real skinny, 26 inch waist,
34 chest, 5 feet 9, with no body hair to speak of, and my legs are
still short.) But my testosterone continued to stay focused in my
cock, and like the Eveready bunny, it kept on growing, and
growing... Since sixth grade, it has been adding an inch a year
until it is now 12 inches long soft and more than 2 across. (I am
not sure whether it’s stopped growing yet or not. We haven’t
measured me for a few months.) Obviously, when I was in junior
high, I couldn’t fit it into jockey shorts -- boys sizes didn’t
have enough room in the pouch, I didn’t like to sit on it, and
men’s sizes were too big for my narrow waist. So I had to wear
boxers and let it hang down my leg, where it pretty nearly reached my
knees. Even wearing loose pants, I had few secrets. No
matter what I wore, my equipment was visible. And when I got a
hard-on, the world knew. (Maybe that had contributed to my
tendency toward exhibitionism: “when you’ve got it, flaunt
it.”) Gym shorts had been a problem since seventh grade, when we
had to wear school-issue shorts and classes were co-ed: I didn’t
fit into a “junior” jock strap, and again, the adult sizes were too big
around the waist. My mother finally had to take a “extra large”
cup and sew it onto a “junior” waist so that I could take gym without
total embarrassment.
Getting a hard-on was a trying experience in
school. When I was hard, I stuck out at about a forty-five degree
angle, which created quite a tent, sitting or standing. From my
normal “down” position, I couldn’t get fully erect because of my
pants. And it was so long that I couldn’t maneuver it out of my
pant leg without dropping my pants, which was difficult at best in
class (except for the back row of the language lab). But it
pushed up so much that I couldn’t just leave the room with the lavatory
pass to jerk off like everyone else, either, because of the massive
tent pole straining against my pant leg. I quickly learned to cum
on purpose frequently enough that I seldom had to worry about an
unwanted hard-on in school. And Patrick and Jimmy were more
than willing to help me solve my problem.
Of course, I took a lot of ribbing in the shower
room, but I got a lot of admiration, too. Both hard and
soft. And a lot of grabs and gropes. I was kind of a
celebrity in the locker room; the guys were awed by my dick, and
wanted to touch it, just to see if it was real. At least four
boys could wrap their hands around it at one time, more if their hands
were small. Of course, that kind of attention tended to give me a
hard on, which are more contagious than yawns, so gym days always
included at least a circle jerk after class, which contributed further
to my reputation. Apparently Mother Nature realized that pumping
semen through the excessive length of my cock would require more liquid
and force than normal. Whatever the actual reason, though, I
produced a lot of white stuff. A lot. My precum leaked out
in a steady stream for a few minutes before I came, and either lubed my
entire shaft or soaked the sheets or shorts, depending on venue.
And when I came, I produced roughly 3 or 4 times the volume of the
average load of cum. One time when we were a bit younger, we
caught our cum and then measured it. Jimmy and Patrick produced
the usual tablespoon puddle, but mine filled one of Dad’s shot glasses
more than half full.
Another time back in junior high, before my pubic
bush grew in, me and Patrick and Jimmy were fooling around with my new
webcam. We took some pics of me going from soft to hard and then
all three of us jerking off, and posted them on a couple of
newsgroups. We got a lot of flames back, claiming that my dick
was a “poorly retouched” fake and that our cum was “obviously” hand
lotion! Geez! Just because I was bigger and more
productive than most, there really wasn’t any reason to be
insulting.
So I sat there at graduation in the back row of the
stage, idly
stroking my meat, paying no attention to the speeches, thinking about
the cute boy I’d seen at the pool. Of course I got hard, and my
lengthy rod, unencumbered by pants, rose beneath my gown , a
darker spot growing at the top of the pole. Jimmy noticed
immediately and slid his hand into my robe. He erected a black
lap tent right away, although of a more normal size than mine. I
slipped my left hand into the side slit of his robe and moved my hand
across his smooth hip to the small thatch of curly hair at the base of
his cock, and on down to his ample balls. Jimmy has almost zero
body hair, but a pair of the biggest balls ever. He’s had to be
careful not to sit on them since fifth grade, when he caused himself
major pain and embarrassment by discovering that the puberty god had
started with his balls. Patrick noticed my lap action too, and he
added a hand under my robe, stroking my thighs the way he knew I
loved. I let him take over, and transferred my right hand to his
crotch. He is the hairy one among us; just as I’d grown in penis
power, he’d grown in hair. By eighth grade, he had to shave his
whole face every day, and his legs and balls and groin are covered with
lovely thick blonde curls. They go on up the center of his belly
to his chest where they spread across his pecs and shoulders.
Jimmy and I have threatened to braid it for him, but we’ve never done
it. I caressed both of them on the stage as I had done so often
before, in so many other places, as they both caressed me.
Suddenly the row in front of us stood up and exited
their seats, as the one in front of them returned to their
places. The three of us increased our efforts, realizing that we
had little time. Fortunately, we were still teens, and we were
fast. Patrick’s work on my thighs was nearly sending me into
ecstasy, and Jimmy’s vigorous work on my slippery pole was bringing me
to the edge. I was breathing hard and fast, in fact we all
were. Patrick left my legs in favor of my balls and shaft,
pressed the sensitive spot between balls and asshole, and like a human
volcano I erupted, the hot gushing cum pushing the robe up with each
powerful squirt, 8 or 9 times, and then dripping back down along my
cock, and onto my crotch. As soon as I came, Jimmy followed,
filling my hand with his warm creamy spunk. As I thought about
how I might get some of it into my mouth without being seen licking my
hand, I gave some final strokes to Patrick, and he shot off too, his
cum landing on his furry belly.
We’d left no time to spare; our row was being
called to get our diplomas. We stood and joined the waiting line,
cum dripping from all three of us under our robes. I’d managed to
wipe my hand on Jimmy’s leg, and finished off on his sleeve as we stood
waiting. “James Zowarski” the principal called, and Jimmy walked
across the stage. His mom was standing there with the camera and
got a couple of shots as he received his discharge papers. Then
“Robert Zubrick,” and it was my turn. Jimmy’s mom got me too --
she was in charge of cameras for our three families, which worked well
because the three of us were seldom apart. As I offered my damp
hand for the obligatory handshake, I could hear a couple quite audible
“plops” as a globs of liquefying cum dripped from my dick and landed on
the floor. No one could possibly know what the sound was; I hoped
Patrick wouldn’t slip on it. And then the last graduate:
“Patrick Zygowicz” and Patrick practically ran across the stage.
And he stepped on my cum trail and slipped! He skidded only an
inch or so before regaining his footing, but it threw him off balance,
and he lurched into the school board member handing out the
diplomas. The school board guy was just bringing his right hand
up to be ready for the handshake and was picking up the the diploma
with his left, and suddenly Patrick bumped head on into him, nearly
knocking him down and trapping his hand directly at the wet spot we had
so recently created.
The guy was quite startled, as was Patrick.
The latter recovered quickly, though, pulling back immediately and
pumping the guy’s hand enthusiastically. Jimmy’s mom snapped
away, and Patrick took his diploma and made his exit before anything
else could happen.
After the obligatory Pump and Circumcise
recessional, we were back in the changing room. One last thing
needed to be done. “Wouldn’t it be nice to graduate with a full
moon?” I said to my friends.
“But full moon’s not for another ten days,” Jimmy
protested, always the stickler for details.
“Yeah, that’s right...
Ooooooohhhhh, yes. A full moon. Like maybe right
about now?” Patrick added, the light dawning. He grabbed a
nearby chair and stepped onto it.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, and All the
Ships At Sea!” I called out, using my best Student Council Election
speech opening. Startled, my classmates turned to see me, Jimmy
and Patrick standing on chairs, still clad in our graduation
gowns. The kids stopped talking some, curious. “I would
like to take this opportunity to make a final comment, and express for
the record my true feelings about my alma mater, Semen Shitty High
School,” I intoned. With that said, we three turned around,
bent over, flipped up our robes, and gave the senior class the most
memorable mooning they would likely see. Then, we straightened
up, turned back around, unzipped, and presented a full front flash, our
cocks and groins still wet with cum. We finished our show by
shedding our cum soaked robes, stepping down and nonchalantly putting
on our street clothes before walking out to find our parents.
It was a graduation to remember; I wondered what the
next time in four more years would be like.
The End