Date: Sun, 22 Oct 2023 16:52:41 +0000
From: Scotnat <locodriver2001@protonmail.com>
Subject: The Good Die Young 4

Here is chapter4 of The Good Die Young. I hope that the reader will enjoy
these tales of school in an age now long gone. If you do, please don't
forget to make a contribution to Nifty, so enable people to enjoy this
wonderful website for many years to come.

The Good Die Young, by Scotnat

Chapter 4

	 And so to third year, and we were all feeling increasingly grown
up, and increasingly interested in sex and our own sexual development. The
long lunch break we enjoyed at the Academy was something of a mixed
blessing. Fifteen or twenty minutes was enough to go to the canteen and
eat, leaving us with nearly an hour to fill sometimes, and it was easy to
get into mischief!

	One of the boys in our class, called Ian, lived just a couple of
blocks away from the Academy and always went home for lunch. On one
occasion he asked us to come to his house after we'd been to the canteen,
and five or six of us took him up on it. Ian's mum was at home and was
pleased to welcome his friends, offering us drinks as we waited for Ian to
finish lunch (which was rather more lavish than we had "enjoyed" at the
canteen!) Eventually Ian, who for some unknown reason was known to all by
the nickname "Rabbit", led us out of the rear entrance and down the back
garden to where there was a substantial mews building. This building was in
extremely good condition but completely unoccupied. Rabbit told us we could
come there and hang out any lunchtime we wanted, even if he were not yet
there. The outside door to the back lane was never locked, apparently.

	The chance to have a spacious and completely private hangout was
just what we all needed! We started going there nearly every day, and the
talk always got round to sex sooner or later. One such day, not long after
we'd first gone there, one of the boys said, "This is giving me a hard
on. Anyone else?" Next thing we knew he had opened his flies and pulled out
a rather large erect penis. That was the start. Soon all five of us had
them out and were masturbating together. I can't remember who first
suggested that it would feel better with someone else's hand, but
eventually we were each holding someone else's cock. We were in the
unfloored garage area, which was just as well, because five loads of spunk
were sprayed on the ground in short order. It soon disappeared on the dirt
floor.

	That was the start of an incredible spell of sexual discovery. We
went there every lunchtime for weeks on end and experimented with as many
different wanking methods as we could think of. My favourite was when we
stood in a line, Indian file, each reaching round to the guy behind and
gently feeling each other up. We had gone beyond simple masturbating and
were reaching well inside each other's trousers, fondling balls, stroking
the smooth skin of upper thighs and so on. Every so often someone would
call "Change!" and the guy at the front would move to the back; otherwise
there would always have been someone who wasn't getting felt up. For most
of us, getting groped was more important than groping.

	Christmas of third year was a notable time, for nearly all of us
got our first ever long trousers for wearing to the Christmas dance. In
those days all schoolboys wore shorts all year round, and 14 was considered
a reasonable age to move on to longs. The dance was held in the same main
hall as daily assembly, and it was interesting in more than one
way. Someone, I can't remember who, had managed to smuggle a quarter bottle
of vodka into the hall. He and I and Peter sneaked out into one of the
darkened corridors (where we ought not to have been, of course) and into a
classroom. I think it was the room my class had French in. We each drank a
mouthful of vodka. I hated the taste and refused any more, and so did
Peter. The talk turned smutty as usual, and next thing the cocks were out
yet again. After a bit of gentle groping, the guy with the vodka got bored
and went off to seek other drinking companions. That left Peter and me
together, feeling each other up. I was in bliss! It was the first time I'd
been alone with him in a sexual situation. We encouraged each other to go a
little further, and I found I had both hands inside Peter's wide open
flies, feeling round the sides and on to his bum. He did the same to me,
wriggling his hands into my underpants to stroke my bare arse. Again, I did
the same to him. We were very close together; our cocks were touching and I
was tempted to kiss him but I knew instinctively that he wouldn't like
that. As we felt orgasm approaching we turned away from each other and each
shot our load on to the teacher's desk! Dirty little boys! Then we went
back to the dance. Sadly, I never had another opportunity to be alone with
Peter like that.

	After that Christmas holiday Gavin from the choir was no longer one
of the gang, for his father's firm had relocated him back to Canada and we
all had to say farewell to a good and rather precocious friend, whose
sexual development had been so far ahead of most. I never saw him
again. Peter tried to keep in touch, and a year or so later was able to
tell us that Gavin now had a car of his own and a steady girlfriend. I
couldn't imagine a lifestyle like that! In the UK none of us were old
enough to learn to drive. My father had only recently acquired his first
car, a ten year old banger! I didn't get a car of my own until I was 25 or
so, and was married before that! (Yes, I did get married, in spite of my
attraction to other boys, and celebrated my golden wedding not long ago,
but that's a totally different story.)

	As third year moved into the summer term and the weather improved,
the long lunch breaks brought new opportunities. The Academy was in a
seaside town and was actually situated close to the beach. The same group
of us who frequented Rabbit's mews started going to the beach for a swim on
warm days. Now, had I mentioned that the Academy allowed boys to wear the
kilt as an alternative to school uniform? No? Well, it did, and I as a
lifelong kilt wearer occasionally took advantage of that. I liked wearing
the kilt. I was by no means the only kiltie in the school, although I was
the only one in our crowd. So one day, knowing that we were planning to
swim at lunchtime, I had packed a towel in my schoolbag but wore my
swimmers under the kilt. In those days of course the only swimsuits for
boys that anyone had heard of were the type usually called speedos
nowadays. Board shorts and the like were unheard of, and boys of all ages
thought nothing of appearing on the beach or at the baths in very skimpy
pants, showing off full leg lengths and full torsos. Anyway, that's what I
had on under my kilt that day. Which was fine until after we'd come out of
the sea and were drying off, when I realised that of course I hadn't
thought things through. My swimsuit was very damp and I hadn't thought to
bring underpants, so I was faced with a choice: either a damp swimsuit or
nothing under my kilt. I was still too young to have got into the habit of
wearing the kilt "commando" -- that came much later -- but I couldn't face
being damp all afternoon, so the trunks came off, I dried myself up and put
the kilt on with nothing underneath. All my mates must have noticed but not
one of them made any comment! I had a hard on all the way back to school
and struggled to hide it as we got into the playground. I was of course
very much at an age when the slightest thing would give me an erection, and
I spent a very uncomfortable afternoon!

	That summer I went on my third church camp, which stayed in
Scotland this time, in a lovely location down near the Solway coast. Some
of the regulars had moved on and there was quite a number of younger boys
that year, so things were a little more circumspect. Very little sexy fun
-- Peter was obviously growing away from it in a way that I was not -- but
we spent happy days exploring the wonderful countryside around Gatehouse of
Fleet. One day we climbed the local hill, Cairnsmore of Fleet, and found
the remains of a World War 2 Spitfire which had crashed there. The wreckage
may be there to this day, for all I know!

	I was really looking forward to fourth year, but there were
disappointments in store. Voices were breaking, membership of the church
choir was constantly changing. I loved everything to do with the choir, and
thought I had a chance of being head boy if my voice lasted long
enough. The first disappointment was when Peter announced he was leaving
the choir. His voice had changed and he had no interest in singing a lower
part. He had been head boy for the previous few months, and so I had my
chance and managed to sing treble in the head boy's stall for the whole of
that academic year, but with Peter no longer there some of the magic had
gone. I still saw him at school, of course, and we were in the same class
for most subjects, but somehow things were not the same. Several of the
gang from Rabbit's mews and the beach came back from the summer holidays
with girlfriends. If any of them remembered the fun we'd had, they
certainly never mentioned it again. I wondered if I was the only boy who
didn't want it to stop. I still wonder that, actually!

	The day that Peter announced his father had a new job and the
family would be moving to the London area, I felt that life as I knew it
was coming to an end. Although I had never had the courage to make a real
pass at Peter, and although he was quite obviously very straight, I was
still besotted with him, and wondered how on earth I would face life
without him. Things always seem totally black and white when you're 15!