We didn’t have time to do anything that afternoon. Aunt Margaret was rushing around like a scalded cat; surgery had overrun and she was running late. I was given various jobs to do, but the village party was brill. The news that I was going to follow in Aunt Margaret’s footsteps had gone around the village and must have been chewed over, digested, ingested—whatever. Tom told me afterwards that he’d heard two of the older ladies discussing the various people at the party. About me they said, “He’ll be a gey young doctor.” I pointed out that it didn’t mean they’d guessed anything about me!
We couldn’t get together again until the next afternoon, and then it was too wintry to go out anywhere. We had two very intense sessions with firstly a slow buildup of feeling, stroking, nuzzling, until we sixty-nined and lapped each other’s rods up and down the underside until Tom murmured he was about to come. I took his hot knob just into my mouth and licked his ridge. He was doing the same to me and then clamped his lips tight round my shaft as his prick jerked and massive spurts of his warm boy cream filled my mouth. Then I let fly and seemed to spasm for ages, but he kept my surging cock firmly clamped until he sensed my climax was over. Quickly, we turned head to head and gently exchanged each other’s spunk, mixing and mingling the tastes and smells. We had decided long ago that this was one of our favourite times. I kissed Tom’s lips, then his cheek and his ear. We lay together savouring each other’s warm bodies and the stillness and quiet in the bungalow.
“Oh, Flip,” he said after we had lain like that for some minutes, “I do miss you when you’re at school.”
“I miss you too, Tom. In bed at night I think of your little pug nose, your cross-eyes, that third tooth on the left with a chip out of it, your spotty chin, that tiny stub you call a penis—”
I got no further. He rolled over me, and, grinning broadly, pulled my ears and rubbed his slightly rough chin over my cheek.
“Cheeky bugger! Trust you to spoil the moment,” he said, “But my wee stub is exactly the same length as your shrimpy little stump.” It was too; we both now had exactly six and a half inches of prime Scots beef when they pointed up hard against our bellies. Mine was just a bit thicker, though. “In any case,” he continued, “you’re the mathematician so you should be able to work out that as I’m only six foot one to your six foot three, in proportion I’ve got more cock than you, so there!”
“You’re quite right,” I said, “But it’s volume that counts and mine’s fatter than yours.”
“Fuck you, Flip, you’ve always got an answer.”
I reached round him and hugged him to me.
“You can fuck me again when we’re both eighteen. Promise?”
We kissed deeply, then separated and lay just touching each other again.
“But honestly, Flip,” he said slowly, “I do miss you. I love you more and more every day, and I can’t wait until you get home each holiday so I can see you again. But I wonder sometimes if you’ll want to see me again. You’re with all those boys and you can be with Ghazi every day. Pete wants you, too. It was so noticeable in the car, and then over lunch, the way he kept looking at you. You’ve got to be careful.”
This was a Tom who didn’t usually bare his inner feelings in so many words. I turned and kissed his cheek.
“I’m sorry, Tom, I know I’m lucky. But Ghazi and I are really only very, very good friends. We do love each other, but I think it’s like we’re brothers. I love you because you are Tom.” I kissed him again. “Ghazi and I sleep together, we wank each other, and we suck each other. It’s beautiful. He’s a lovely person, but it’s only a way to share our friendship. With you I want to share my body and my life. That’s what I intend to do, and Ghazi knows that. He’s never tried to steal my affection for you. As for Pete, he’s had no one to talk to before. I promise you I won’t let him seduce me unless you’re there as well. He is a tasty morsel, though, isn’t he?”
Tom looked at me with his beautiful blue eyes and kissed me, his lips quivering with suppressed laughter.
“I know,” he said. “You could have your pick of any of them. Paul is very fond of you and he told me when you weren’t around that all the young kids like and respect you because you are helpful and kind, and don’t put them down.” He paused and giggled. “Actually, I wouldn’t put young Pete down until I’d had my fill. If he is as randy as Ghazi says, perhaps the pair of us could subdue his urges for a while. But I do get lonely with just my five fingers to keep me company when you’re away.”
“What about Lachlan?” I asked, as he hadn’t been mentioned recently. My question also deflected attention away from Pete, who, I must say, would be a prime choice for dalliance if I didn’t have my position, Ghazi, and Tom to think of! Down boy! Just thinking of stroking those hairy thighs began to interfere with my thought processes. However, I swung back to reality quickly as Tom went on.
Tom laughed. “Arch-wanker Lachlan discovered girl fucking last year, so he told me. He’s got some half-witted bimbo—she must be to be taken in by his tales—and he tells me every Monday morning how many times he’s fucked her over the weekend. He says she doesn’t realise he’s still at school as he’s told her he’s only around at the weekends because he’s in the SAS on secret duty. True, he looks older than eighteen, but he’s such a bloody liar I don’t even know what to believe myself with all his tales.”
I laughed this time. “I expect he just exercises his right arm and makes it all up. Do you still have dealings with him, otherwise?”
Tom snickered. “No, rarely now. I told him last term I didn’t want his pussy-stained fingers wrapped round my cock and he took umbrage and just told me to fuck off. He came back a week later after he’d told me about his latest round of shagging and he was so bloody rampant we did have a quickie in the storeroom. Since then… a couple of times… but I’m not interested in him. Anyway, if he is fucking the bimbo she must be satisfied with girth because he’s only just over five inches, and he’s a big lad now.”
While we had been talking we had moved so we were facing each other. I had my left arm under him with my hand just caressing his back. His left arm was over my shoulder and he was gently kneading my neck. We closed in and kissed deeply, our other hands feathering up and down our once again erect lengths.
For twenty minutes we revelled in each other’s lips, backs and—above all—those oh-so-sensitive shafts standing so proud and stiff between us. For once I was ready to come first. My hips began to buck slightly and Tom, taking the signal, pulled down sharply on my foreskin and stretched it very tightly so my piss slit must have been wide open. Gush after gush of sticky boy cream landed on our torsos, and Tom’s joined it within a minute. I quickly put both arms round him so these new offerings were shared by our outer bodies this time. The familiar smell of just-expelled cum rose from between us. I put my hand down and smeared it over both of us.
“Do you realise,” I said quietly to Tom, “that all those little jiggers in that took seventy-four days to produce, and you—”
“Shut the fuck up, you mine of useless knowledge,” Tom responded resignedly. “If you say anything else you won’t be making any more!”
He pressed his lips to mine and we clasped each other tightly. Then I reached down and held his lovely balls. “I love you, Tom,” I whispered. “I couldn’t stop you making it. Let me, too.”
That evening Aunt Margaret asked if I was OK after I hadn’t answered her a couple of times. She said I was rather lost in my own thoughts. In truth, was feeling rather lightheaded with the thoughts of the wonderful afternoon I’d had with Tom, but I couldn’t tell her that, so I said Tom and I had been discussing the best way to work towards the forthcoming examinations. We had, but that was after we’d washed and dressed, and banished the smells and evidence of our skirmishes. We had sat and mulled over the tasks we had to do this Easter Term, while drinking at least two hot cups of coffee and scoffing some homemade scones left over from the party. Aunt Margaret said I wasn’t to work too hard. Slow and sure was the answer. Start to work as soon as I got back to school—or better still, start before, since I had books with me—and take things steadily.
Tom and I both took her advice. Each morning until I had to leave for school we met up at nine. We exchanged ideas and notes and worked steadily until twelve o’clock on the three subjects we had in common—Physics, Chemistry and Biology. I was also taking Pure Mathematics so I solved problems in the evenings after Tom had gone home. After lunch we rested from those labours and laboured otherwise. We grew closer and closer, and it was with sadness that we parted when I returned to Kinloch.
I left a parcel with Aunt Margaret for Tom’s birthday. I’d had to go into Fort William on an errand for her, and had bought Tom a beautiful skean dhu in a lovely leather sheath. I had it engraved Tom McClaren January 28 2000. I knew he would like it because whenever he came into my bedroom he would pick up my father’s from the top of the dressing table where I kept it on display.
I had obtained Mr McCrae’s permission to drive myself to school and leave the car in his garage. I had strict instructions it wasn’t to be taken out for jaunts, except just to keep the engine going. So, all things packed into the car, I set off.
The term started quietly. So quietly, in fact, that I didn’t notice Little Dick wasn’t around. It wasn’t until I went wandering towards the chapel armed with a couple of maths problems that I realised that there was no organ playing. I sat in the stillness and solved them, but it didn’t seem quite the same. When I asked Paul where he was he wasn’t very forthcoming. All he’d tell me was that Dick was perfectly alright and would be back in a week or so.
Ghazi was glad to see me anyway and we slipped back into our usual routine of relaxing after a busy day with a leisurely chat through the days happenings, and then a slow release of our mutual randiness. Since Ghazi was horny seven days out of seven and I was equally ready nights and mornings, we almost always had a long, wonderful suck at night, and a sensuous feeling of each other’s bodies as we woke, culminating in another outpouring of our ever-flowing boy cream. In fact, we often spent so long in the mornings revelling in the feelings throughout our bodies before releasing our loads that we had to rush to wash, dress and get breakfast before the gannets gobbled it all up.
About ten days into term Pete and Jamie asked me to help them with their maths. Because Pete was so much better than Jamie but wanted to check on some of the harder types of problems I advised them to work separately. There was a side room off the prep room and I suggested we study there. At least we could talk privately, and there wasn’t any reason for anyone to think we weren’t dealing exclusively with mathematical matters.
Pete was still in a turmoil over his feelings for Jamie. I told him to keep calm as there were very important exams for him next term and he mustn’t mope about being thwarted in any way. He was happier towards the close of the term as he said he and Jamie had managed to have a couple of intense sessions together—in the back room of the CCF stores—and Jamie had asked him outright if they could share next year as First Year Sixth Formers.
A big surprise, and something for much rejoicing, was Little Dick’s triumph. He was away for about a fortnight at the beginning of term, but, being Little Dick, he wasn’t missed except as the shadowy figure on the periphery of most events. Then, in Chapel at the beginning of February, the Rector—a posh name for our Headmaster—announced that Richard Richardson had travelled to London for examinations and had been awarded a diploma for organ playing by the Royal College of Organists. We all clapped like mad!
Towards the end of term Hamed was not clapping like mad, he was more like hopping mad. The master in charge of rugby, known to all and sundry as Poppa, was a very amiable man. Many years before he had been a Scottish international player and had somehow acquired a fourth class degree from Oxford—in Geography, I assume, because was what he taught. But Poppa, although a brilliant coach, was no organiser. A frequent grunt was that he couldn’t organise a piss-up in a brewery, or as coarser elements would say, a gang-rape in Rider’s.
This last was because he was Assistant Housemaster in Rider’s House, the boys of which, from time immemorial, were judged to be the most un-sporty, the most beautiful, the best-mannered and the best-dressed, all scoring one or two on a scale one to fifteen where the highest score was the one you would be most likely to kick out of your bed. Rider’s always came bottom of the heap on Sports Day or in the Inter-House competitions, except for fencing and—not surprisingly, as it was useful to keep the marauders away—karate. Another achievement was the number of participants in the annual Christmas pantomime put on by the boys of the school, mainly to lampoon teachers and fellow students. Last year’s was a riot, with Rider’s house lads very much to the fore. In fact, Fergie’s comment after seeing the lead in well-padded tights, was that there seemed to be more Dick than Whittington. As if he should be jealous!
Oblivious to the reported goings-on in the House between its members—members reported to be erect night and day—Poppa lived his own disorganised way. One event the previous year had been the end of Easter Term dinner put on by the Second-Year Sixth members of the House. It included a couple of guests, one of them—who happened to be Captain of Fencing—from McCrae’s. It was from him that a garbled version of the events of the evening was obtained. He was helped home, reeling, mumbling about the fineness of the food and wine. He was still pie-eyed at breakfast the next morning, when he announced to a startled group of new bugs and older inhabitants of the House that the dinner had been served by naked cherubs.
As one of my fellow Pure (?) Mathematicians was in that House, but not at the dinner, I quizzed him and he said it was almost true. Their ten new bugs had all volunteered to act as footmen, waiters, vomitorium-keepers, or whatever, and had been togged out in white tanga thongs, and gold head circlets and arm bracelets, and then powdered white to enhance the appearance of nakedness. A good time was had by all—but all the participants were too drunk to carry on with a cherub!
Poppa’s unfortunate tendency to procrastinate, or even forget, meant that things like inter-school match lists never appeared unless someone like Hamed badgered him for details. As Hamed was vice captain of rugger he had a lot of responsibility to keep things going. It was almost the end of the Easter Term when he went to see Poppa for something or other and spotted a letter on the master’s desk. Dated more than a month previously, it requested two players, hooker and No. 8, to play in a representative match for Scottish schools in Perth on the last Saturday of term, and asked whether accommodation would be needed.
Poppa waved his hand dismissively when Hamed asked what he should do.
“Och,” he said, “just send them a note that you and Flip will go. Don’t worry about accommodation. The school they are using is crap; just arrange a motel and I’ll pay!”
That got him out of that fix.
Oh. That meant a journey to Perth had to be arranged as well. But I had my trusty car and with Poppa’s help we persuaded Mr McCrae that I could drive to Perth on the Friday and drive back on the Sunday, or, if I was too exhausted after the game, we could return on Monday. However, Hamed was supposed to be kingpin in a big CCF parade to be held on the Friday afternoon, so he had the bright idea that straitlaced Angus could take his place, which would give him a great sense of importance. Hamed’s even better idea was to make the two wankers parade marshals and promote them to temporary corporals for the occasion. Needless to say Angus was both delighted and miffed at the same time!
The week before the game there was great panic. Poppa had not sent back the form with sizes of jerseys and shorts. Hamed phoned the organiser, who knew Poppa’s ways of old, and on the Thursday the number 2 and number 8 blue-for-Scotland shirts in the correct sizes arrived by special delivery, along with four pairs of white shorts and two pairs of blue football socks. There was also a terse note instructing the pair of us to appear at the ground by 11.30 am sharp!
We worked out it was about a hundred miles to Perth, and decided to take off early on the Friday. It was a most uneventful journey and we chatted about everything and nothing all the way. We stopped off at Pitlochry down the A9 and had a look at the salmon leap before lunch, and arrived at the motel outside Perth during the afternoon. A nice leisurely journey.
The room was OK, but of course, Poppa, bless him, had boobed again. He’d asked for a double room, but not a double with two single beds… there it was, a king-sized double bed. Good old Poppa! Tact or forgetfulness? One would never know! Hamed and I looked at it and laughed. We both knew it would be well-used over the weekend!
I said I wanted a shower and stripped off in preparation. Hamed stripped off too, saying he would join me, or at least—as the shower stall was small—take his shower when I was finished. We turned towards each other and smiled. I had seen Hamed in the nude many times but over the next day or two I was going to be able to examine him very closely. He was now, at nearly twenty, about five feet eight inches—a good couple of inches shorter than his younger cousin, Ghazi, and about the same difference in height from his constant companion, Clyde. However, he was five feet eight of compact muscle. His dusky skin showed every ripple of his stomach, and overlaying all this was a fine mat of black, almost straight hair fanning out from his belly button, up his stomach and across his chest to his throat. His most wonderful possession was his beautiful circumcised penis. Just like the object belonging to Ghazi that I worshipped most nights, Hamed’s was dark-hued from the root to where his foreskin had been cut away. From there it was a delicate pinkish shade to just before the dark red of his heavy helmet. I wanted that wonderful possession of his to give him the greatest pleasure that evening.
Hamed came over to me and put his hand out and very carefully cupped my balls in his palm.
“Remember that first weekend, Flip? We’ve never done this again except when you grabbed me in the scrum. Fergie always talks about that film he saw that showed how gorillas greet their friends by holding each other’s balls. I knew that night you were all my friends and my greatest disappointment is that I have had to wait nearly four years to be alone like this with you.”
I put my hand out and cupped his balls, two low-swinging orbs, also covered in sable fur. I put my other arm round his shoulders.
“I wondered that first week what would happen to all of us. I was new, you and Ghazi were new… I think we’ve survived, haven’t we? Let’s have a shower and we can find out some more before we go hunting for food like the gorillas.”
The shower turned out to be just big enough to accommodate two careful bathers. We helped each other by soaping each other liberally with the rather highly scented shower gel provided by the motel. Two dried, combed and deodorised companions made for the bed and felt each other’s now erect cocks, a dry towel placed between them.
Gradually, and very deliberately, we caressed each other. I explored Hamed’s body and he explored mine. He wanted to run his fingers through the now-abundant auburn curls above my cock. I needed to feel the texture of his silky hair. I put my head down and gently tongued first one, then the other, of his large dark red nipples. He groaned, arching his back. In response he licked inside my ear and then down around my chin and under my neck—an opening gambit that Ghazi had found always rendered me almost senseless with desire. My fires really awakened now, I rolled on top of Hamed and we tongue fucked with increasing violence as our rigid shafts rubbed against each other.
“Oh, shit, Flip,” he gasped, “I’m going to come!! Oooooooooooooooh!”
A warm wetness spread between us as he let fly. I crushed our two bodies together again and again, his still-hard cock pulsating against mine until my climax came and my spunk joined his. As soon as my breathing came down to more normal levels I kissed his eyes, then the tip of his nose. Finally our lips locked and our tongues caressed each other. There was an audible squelch as we moved apart.
“Oh, Flip,” he said, so quietly and sadly, “I’ve had to wait nearly four years for that. I’ve wanted to be with you so often. Clyde teases me when I tell him you make my cock leap and he says I should have told you that a long time ago. But I know you love Tom as much as I love my Clyde, and your friendship with Ghazi is wonderful and I didn’t want to make it all any more difficult.”
I said I had thought of that first weekend and the feel of his balls and cock in my hand many times. I said I loved Ghazi too, but I’d made my commitment to Tom. I said I was worried about Ghazi going to London, especially since he wouldn’t know anyone there. Hamed told me not to worry as Ghazi would be staying in a flat in St John’s Wood with Charles to begin with. I found out that Hamed had made peace with Charles and he was now reconciled to being someone important in their family.
Although at first his uncle was puzzled that he didn’t want to go to Officer Training School he had agreed that Hamed himself should decide what he wanted to do. He told me he’d arranged that his uncle would assume all control over the family affairs so that he could live in France with Clyde. Hamed’s uncle had been impressed by Clyde’s charm and his business sense, and with his granddaddy’s Southern courtesy, so he was not at all concerned about the two lads being together. He also saw a good business prospect in the making!
Hamed smiled. “Most men in my culture have a best friend.” He winked when he added, “My uncle’s is one of his advisors, and they often go off hunting together!”
Of course, we had to have another shower. Then we went out hunting. We found a good restaurant and stuffed ourselves with good Scottish cooking. And so to bed.
Our lovemaking that night was slow and sensuous. We explored every part of each other and finished up in my favourite sixty-nine position. Slowly, slowly we raised each other to a great burst of frenzy at the end. We sucked, licked, panted and frantically clawed at each other’s backs as our hips bucked and loads of warm spunk streamed from our engorged pricks. Another of my favourite rituals then ensued. We lay head to head and exchanged and blended our offerings to each other, then fell asleep most contented.
After the usual four of the numerous S’s in the morning (shit, shower, shampoo and shave this time) we breakfasted in leisurely fashion and then packed our rugger kit and made our way to the school where the match was to be played. We were almost the first to get there. The coach, a great pal of Poppa’s from the past, wanted to know how the old bastard was. Diplomatically, I said he was exactly the same as usual, which went down well.
We had a quick training session as soon as the team was assembled, then lunch and then the game. We just managed to beat the other side, although they were a well-drilled bunch and several times I thought we were really going to get hammered. Hamed did a bit of hammering himself. As usual there was some dirty play from both sides and one of our forwards received a cut above the eye from a well-aimed punch from one of their side. Naturally, the ref didn’t see the occurrence, but there was some muttering amongst our front row and in the next scrum the offender got a real battering from Hamed and our two prop forwards. I saw Hamed’s fist hit somewhere around the lad’s solar plexus and he was on his back struggling for breath as the game moved away from him.
But, as rugby goes, in the bath afterwards—a real full-sized rugby club bath—he leaned over and shook hands with the four of them and said he was sorry he’d lost his temper. Chatting to him afterwards I found that he would be going to the same London college as Ghazi in September, so we exchanged names and addresses. In fact, after the rather sparse tea the three of us went off to a local pub and had a couple of pints each before he had to get back to the bus taking him back to the school where he and the rest of his team were staying. He was rather envious that we’d been allowed to drive to the venue. I was rather intrigued because Hamed was not supposed to drink alcohol—but he didn’t refuse the offer!
We had another good meal later and wended our way back to the motel. We flipped idly through the telly channels—being deprived of such stimulation at school didn’t seem to make us telly addicts when it was available—and quickly decided that old films and rather tired so-called comedy programmes were not to our liking. So, not reluctantly, we prepared for bed.
Getting to know Hamed over the past four years meant I knew he had a very dry sense of humour. Someone in Clyde’s constant companionship had to be the opposite, a foil to Clyde’s tongue and his ever-ready wit. I had grown to like Hamed more and more over the time I had known him. The surly, bad-tempered creature of the first couple of days had emerged as a kind, sweet-natured, hard-as-steel-in-defence-of-his-friends person—one I would trust with anything. He and Ghazi were very much alike and I knew that Hamed valued me as a good friend and companion for Ghazi.
We lay together in bed, gently caressing each other, and reminisced about all the happenings over the past four years. He knew some of my background, but I went through the whole sorry story for him. He stroked my back, then kissed my cheek when I finished by telling him how I felt I was exiled at the time.
“I’ve been exiled since I was seven,” he murmured, “Thirteen years… and I don’t want to go back. But, Flip, you must make peace with your mother. My mother cannot read or write, so my sister writes to me and says my mother still loves me and wants me back home. I can’t go back. It is not my home. My friends and my future are not there. Your future and friends are not at your home, either, but your family are. It is difficult for us when we are growing up, isn’t it?”
I said I realised the best thing that had ever happened to me was to be sent into exile. I was a different me now, but a satisfied me. Perhaps, I said, being sent so far from home had been the best for Hamed as well. He said he agreed.
We were so together that night I got lost in the the wonderful bouts of sex we had. Hamed was such a considerate lover. We knew exactly what each other needed, and in the end I lost count of the number of times we came before we fell asleep. The last time was with Hamed’s legs over my shoulders and my trusty sabre deep inside him. He had asked me to fuck him just like his Clyde did. A gentle lunge, after preparation, was all that was needed to win the point. I then offered myself but he said he had never wanted to fuck Clyde, so, to the accompaniment of his delighted moans I used all the subtlety of my experience of licking and sucking to draw his final delivery, spurting and spraying, into my wanton mouth.
When we woke we were still in each other’s arms. His smaller body was close up to me, his head crooked into my chest and my arm around him holding him, almost protectively. I wanted him again in some way. I felt for his penis which, boy-like, was firmly erect. I licked my hand to lubricate it and gently drew my hand up and down as his prick stiffened completely. I wanked him awake—he came in powerful jets over both of us just after his eyes opened wide.
“That was beautiful, Flip,” he breathed out. “I’ve never been woken like that. It was perfect.”
He slid down the bed and my nighttime production of boy cream was drawn from my ever-ready sac in a gentle duplication of his last experience of the night before. I kissed him deeply as he returned sticky-mouthed, and said I hoped he and Clyde would be happy together. If he and Clyde were as passionate together as we had been the last two nights then they would be contented young men, I thought. I also decided that I would have to confess to Tom and Ghazi that last most wonderful encounter the previous night.
Our arrival back before supper on Sunday evening was greeted by Ghazi and Clyde, who wanted to know all about the game. We said we were hungry and would give them a first-hand account later. After supper the seven of us met up in Ghazi’s and my room. Paul produced a bottle of malt and we all toasted our success. Clyde had to go off to supervise the new bugs, now getting to know the ropes and needing to be kept in order. Then Paul, Little Dick and Fergie made their excuses, leaving just Ghazi, Hamed and me.
Hamed was sitting on Ghazi’s bed, and, quite unselfconsciously, they were holding hands. I remembered Bernard Mattheson, the battered forward, and I fished around until I found the piece of paper with his name and address on it. I recounted the incident and the front row’s response.
“…And Hamed punched the poor bugger straight in the guts,” I continued, “after the other two had duffed him up as well. But…” I paused. “He turned out to be a nice chap. We went out for a drink later and he’s going to the same place as you in September. Here you are… name and address… and you are to get in touch with him.”
I saw Ghazi look at Hamed quizzically and Hamed squeezed his hand.
“True,” said Hamed.
“I hope you two aren’t matchmaking. I shall be OK, I’ll make friends.”
“Come on Ghazi,” said Hamed, “he’ll be just right for you. He’s six foot five, eighteen stone if a pound, and he’s got a dong on him like a donkey! The only trouble is you’ll wear the poor bugger out!”
Ghazi turned on his cousin and wrestled him down onto the bed.
“I’ll fucking stop your cheek, you fiend! I bet you and that sex maniac over there cooked all this up!”
I went over and grabbed Ghazi’s legs so he was suspended, still clutching at Hamed.
“You’re the little fiend,” I said, with a hint of mock menace in my voice. “Did you sleep with Clyde while we were away? He looked as if he was getting bags under his eyes.”
Ghazi’s infectious giggle emerged from his mutterings.
“I don’t tell tales on my friends, but Clyde needed a bit of comfort in his loneliness…”
“And you, you sexaholic, had to make sure he was consoled, I suppose?” I bent his legs down and gave him a couple of smart whacks on his pert little bum.
“Retribution is needed,” said Hamed, grabbing Ghazi’s shoulders.
Our usual technique worked a treat with Ghazi. He squirmed, giggled and relapsed into hoots of laughter as we worked our fingers over his torso. So much so that a couple of sharp raps were heard as someone in Paul’s room banged on the wall. Hamed put a hand over Ghazi’s mouth and we stripped him completely very quickly. His boy cock was, as usual, erect. I looked over at Hamed and we dropped Ghazi on the bed and divested ourselves of our clothes, holding the squirming bundle down with whatever free hand or foot was available. Within moments we were in a three-way, with Ghazi fixed on Hamed’s cock, Hamed on mine, and I on Ghazi’s. Three friends later lay huddled together and passed each other’s spunk around on lips and tongues.
Later still, after Hamed had gone to bed in his own room, and Ghazi and I were lying close together in bed, I told him about Hamed’s last gift to me the night before.
Ghazi kissed my ear. “I told him not to hold anything back from you,” he said quietly. “We both love you very much. Before the two of you left on Friday he told me he’d wanted to be with you ever since that first weekend, and he asked what he should do. I just told him to be himself, because I knew that you liked him as well.”
“No, Ghazi,” I said, “it’s not like. It’s more than that. I value him as a true and lovely person and as a great friend, and now as a wonderful lover, just as I love you and your body. But, most important, it’s because you are you and he is he.”
Ghazi kissed my ear again, then hugged me tight. “And what about this friend you’ve got for me?”
I laughed. “He’s not quite as big as Hamed said. He’s a bit shorter than me, he’s tough-looking, and he’s bright. But I did note when we got out of the bath that he was quite well-endowed, so you should be alright.”
Ghazi muttered something about my being a cheeky fucker, which meant I had to deal with him again. After we had both come twice more we decided it was time we two sexaholics had a good night’s sleep!
I never asked him what had happened between him and Clyde while Hamed and I were away but it was noticeable that Clyde referred to him as McJizz more than once before the end of term!
The day before we broke up for the Easter holiday each of the seven received a letter signed by Charles Parsons, informing us that we were invited to stay at Linnhe Castle for the Easter weekend—Maundy Thursday to the next Tuesday at least. Paul expressed surprise because he’d heard nothing about this from his parents. Fergie and Little Dick were intrigued and said they would definitely be there while Clyde just smiled one of his enigmatic smiles. Ghazi was staying with me over the Easter vac and Hamed was going to Linnhe, anyway. There was a postscript to my letter stating that Tom McClaren was also invited and asking me to arrange transport for him and Ghazi! On the final day of term, as I was packing my car ready for the off, I saw young Pete putting his two bags with Paul’s as they waited for Paul’s mum to appear. Would he be at Linnhe as well?
As Easter was late that year we broke up on my birthday and there was a fortnight before we needed to be at Linnhe. I was turning eighteen, so we seven held a little celebration in Ghazi’s and my room the night before we left the school. Paul’s bottle of malt went the rounds and I was toasted several times and wished all good fortune since I would be a man from midnight. This left only Ghazi still officially a boy, so he was made to be our slave and pour the drinks. In bed that night Ghazi willingly dealt with my incipient man meat and sucked out my man cream, as he called it Later, I teased him by saying his was still a boy cock but his boy cream was still sweet and tasty.
There were plenty of books and notes to pack to take back to Glenfinnan as we vowed to spend as much time as possible on revising for the exams, which would start as soon as we arrived back. Tom would be joining in as all three of us were taking Biology, Chemistry and Physics. I was the only one taking Pure Maths as well, although Ghazi was doing Economics as a fourth subject.
Of course, as soon as we met up with Tom when we arrived back at Glenfinnan he wanted to know everything that had happened during the term that I hadn’t included in my letters to him. Ghazi told him some cock-and-bull story that my reputation was now the highest in the school as I’d personally shagged the greatest number of new bugs in one term in the whole history of the place. He claimed that when I kicked the bucket they would be putting up a special plaque in the chapel: He died with a smile on his face, let him rest in a piece. I vowed that I would deal with Ghazi—and Tom also, who laughed and said he wouldn’t be surprised. I still had to tell Tom about Hamed and me and our wonderful fuck at the motel.
Not to worry. I managed to get five minutes away from Ghazi while he went to the village stores. I confessed all to Tom. He laughed again.
“Och, Flip,” he said, knowingly. “That boy’s wanted you for ever. I saw that when we were at the castle last time. Every time you came into the room he looked at you. But I reckon he’s satisfied now. Are you?”
Perceptive Tom. I had told him, of course, about the way Hamed had been tamed all those years ago now. Perhaps tamed was the wrong word, but I’d also told Tom many times how much I liked Hamed, and I think he realised there was unfinished business. It was true. Those two nights in the motel had sealed a great friendship and we had secured that friendship by the loving acts we had engaged in. Since then, just two weeks earlier, Hamed and I had moved to a new level of friendship. We couldn’t meet without smiling at each other and for me, at least, that brought a rise in my spirit. It was the same with Ghazi and, most of all, Tom.
“Tom,” I said, “Hamed and I will be friends for life!”
Ghazi’s birthday was the Saturday after mine. Tom and I clubbed together and with some help from Aunt Margaret, who thought Ghazi was a darling, bought him a portable CD player. He was highly delighted with it, but I noticed he was rather quiet and wondered if he’d hit a hard patch in his studies, or was sad at being so far from home on his eighteenth birthday. After lunch Aunt Margaret had to go to the hospital as a locum. She said she would be back by seven unless there were any awful emergencies, and we would all have supper at eight.
We had intended to go for one of our rambles after studying like demons all morning, but the weather was bloody awful. We were sitting in the living room—all three on the sofa—just contemplating the infinite, when Ghazi put his hand into the pocket of the jeans he was wearing and drew out two small flattish boxes.
“I want you to have these,” he said, “with all my love. And then I want to ask you something.”
He handed one box to Tom and the other to me. They contained identical silvery rings. On the inside, each was engraved with a T and a P intertwined. We looked at Ghazi.
“They are for you to make your vows when you are ready,” he said, slowly and carefully.
Tears streamed down my face. I turned around and hugged him to me, joined moments later by Tom.
“Oh, Ghazi,” I managed to say, “they are beautiful. You must have a lot of faith in us.”
“Yes, I do,” he said, an arm round each of us. “I bought them in France for you.”
“What? Last summer?” Tom exclaimed. “You must really understand how much we care for each other to do that and keep them so long.”
We let go of each other and drew apart. I held up my ring to look more closely at it.
Ghazi let out one of his famous giggles.
“Of course I knew you would be together! I told Hamed and Clyde what I was doing and they both agreed I should. They knew you would be together, too.”
“They seem very heavy for silver,” I said, holding mine in the palm of my hand.
Ghazi giggled again. “Perceptive boy. Density is just over twice that of silver.”
Tom immediately said, “Platinum!”
I asked, “How could you afford them?”
“Well, I do have an allowance that I rarely spend, but if I tell you a bit more you mustn’t be angry.”
We sat back on the sofa and Ghazi launched into his tale.
“I decided that while I was at the resort I must get something for you, and I saw the plain rings in the jeweller’s franchise we have in the lobby of the hotel. I did have enough money but then I had a windfall as well.” He looked at us in turn and leaned forward conspiratorially. “I ought to tell you, but you’ve probably guessed, that most of the clientele for the gym are gay men. Mostly in pairs. There is a strict rule—Clyde’s granddaddy insisted—that all members of staff are off limits, especially Clyde, Hamed and me and the French ex-paras who run the gym. Doesn’t mean we young ’uns don’t get looked over! Anyway, I had to check the shower room one morning because of a leaky pipe. While I was in there a sweaty German came in and said he would give me a thousand francs if I let him suck me off.”
Tom and I both did rapid calculations. A thousand francs was near enough to a hundred pounds! I murmured something about his not being worth it and was rewarded with a thump from Tom.
“Come on Flip,” Tom said. “You’d sell yours for tuppence if there was anyone desperate enough to want it.”
“Bloody cheek!” I said vehemently, “I know who my friends are!” I turned to Ghazi. “And did you?”
“Of course not! I told him about granddaddy’s rule and at that moment his friend came up and asked me what was going on. Then he thumped him and stalked off in a temper. The guy was all apologetic then and ran off looking for his pal. I told Hamed and Clyde and they said they would note it for granddaddy’s judgment. That evening there were two envelopes in my pigeonhole—a note from each of the two guys apologising, and both enclosed a thousand francs.” Ghazi giggled again. “So I got two hundred quid for not being sucked off.” He lowered his voice. “I had that French lad in bed that night and I let him suck me off for nothing!” He sneered at me. “Not even for tuppence!”
“You toad!” I said, aiming a playful punch at him. “And you paid for our rings from immoral earnings!”
“No,” said Tom quietly, “You didn’t listen. The earnings were moral. He didn’t sell his body and he gave it freely to the French kid—who probably gives better head than you!”
I aimed a punch at him too and we all laughed. Then I was all serious. I put my hand out holding the ring towards Ghazi.
“I’ll value this all my life, Ghazi. When we are ready, I want you to perform our ceremony.” I turned to Tom. “Do you agree?”
Tom wiped his eye. “Och, aye,” he said very quietly, “I’ll make my vows any time.”
“I’ll do it for you,” said Ghazi, “but I want to ask the greatest favour of both of you.” He looked at Tom and me in turn. “I want something from you… and I want to give you both something.” He paused dramatically. “I want you both to fuck me like you described when you did it to each other.” He looked at me. “Hamed said you were so gentle and loving with him, I want you to be like that with me.”
The light dawned. When Ghazi had seemed angered by what I’d said about him and Pete he was already wanting us to take his virginity.
I looked at Tom and held my hand out to him. He nodded.
Ghazi looked so pleased and he went to his trouser pocket again and brought out two small packets.
“In case you want protection I brought these from France as well. They’re special ones I had to order for the gym. But, I haven’t been with anyone and I know I’m safe with you.”
Both Tom and I said simultaneously that we would not need them. We trusted each other.
Ghazi smiled. “Will you come to bed with me now?”
Tom and I got up and helped him to his feet. We towered over him a bit so we lifted him up and carried him to our bed. Tom shut the door, pulled the curtains and put the bedside light on.
“I’ve made all the preparations,” Ghazi said as I stroked his cheek. “Have a look in my bag there.”
I fished in his bag and found a small bottle of oil, some tissues and two large towels.
Meanwhile Tom stripped. He had a magnificent hard-on already. His nearly seven inches stood up sturdy and strong, bending out slightly from his body. My cock was going hard but was still confined as we had to deal with Ghazi first. Tom went to Ghazi’s head end and undid his shirt buttons while I took off his trainers and socks, then undid the top of his jeans.
While Tom helped him off with his shirt, I piled my clothes on the floor beside me. Then, gently, Tom helped me take off Ghazi’s jeans and underpants. We were ready.
Tom looked at me. “You are first.”
I leaned over Ghazi and kissed him gently on the lips, then drew my tongue down under his chin and over his firm, jutting-out nipples. As I moved down his body, so Tom took over and opened Ghazi’s mouth. They rotated their heads as their tongues duelled, and Ghazi began to moan softly. I reached his lovely hard prick and licked the mushroom head gently, causing him to moan more. I lifted his legs so his feet were flat on the bed and moved my head down and kissed and licked his balls. I put one of the towels under his buttocks and rolled the other one and put that under him as well to raise him up a bit. After pouring some of the oil into the palm of my hand I let it warm there for a few moments then slowly drew a finger full over his seemingly tight pucker. The moans intensified and I saw that Tom was now licking each of Ghazi’s nipples in turn.
Using plenty of the oil, I pushed one finger into his hole. I added a second, and gradually moved my fingers until he was open enough to let me put a third one in. I constantly oiled my fingers and his hole until I could slide my fingers back and forward quite easily. He was very relaxed; this part had been easy. Tom got up and moved over to stand by me.
Looking Ghazi straight in the eye I lifted his legs up higher and Tom supported them so I was free to give all my attention to the next stage.
I bent my legs and moved around until my hard shaft was just touching my still-inserted fingers. My prick entered Ghazi as I withdrew my fingers, and he gasped as the first four inches slid in. Tom ran his hand down from my back to between my legs and held my balls. I pushed a little harder and then, with hardly any further effort, I was fully in.
I leaned right over him and kissed his open mouth.
“Fuck me slowly, please, Flip,” he said quietly. “I want all of you.”
Very slowly, I moved back and forth. Each time I pushed forward a little harder, willing my cock to expand and fill him more and more. Ghazi was gasping harder now on each stroke and after no more than thirty or so thrusts, when I knew I was fully in him and my pubes were pressed tight against him, I began to spasm. Spurt after spurt of my spunk passed into my dear, dear friend. I was gasping now and when I got my breath back I leaned forward and kissed him again.
“I want Tom now,” he whispered.
I slowly withdrew my prick, which was still hard. As I moved away Tom took my place. I held Ghazi’s legs and as Tom leaned over him I guided his prick to the waiting hole. I watched as inch after inch of his magnificent tool disappeared into Ghazi. Then he began the slow backwards and forwards movements and it wasn’t long before he was gasping. With several massive jolts of his thigh and pelvic muscles he rammed his cock right in and shot his load to join mine. He stayed in position as we lowered Ghazi’s legs a bit. I moved around to his side and took that well-remembered hard rod into my mouth and licked and sucked, and drew out stream after stream of his young man cream. I leaned over and kissed Ghazi and passed him the remnants of his semen.
Tom and I went to the bathroom and washed ourselves. We kissed each other when we had finished, then hugged each other and rejoined Ghazi. We lay on either side of him and cradled him in our arms. He was smiling, and looked content. After a minute or so he turned to each of us in turn and kissed our cheeks.
“Would you do that again soon, after you’ve rested?” he asked.
I wanted to fuck him again immediately but I knew I would have to wait a while. That fuck was as sensual and passionate as my first fucks with Tom and Hamed. I looked at Tom. Knowing what I was thinking, he nodded.
“We want you to fuck us,” I said. “During next week, eh?”
Ghazi’s face was a picture. “Oh, please,” he said. “If I can give you what you’ve just given me, I want to. I want to!”
We lay silently for about half an hour, each just touching each other, caressing and feeling our young, happy bodies. Tom was the first to move. He took some tissues and wiped away some of the spunk and residues around Ghazi’s pucker. Tom’s cock was a ramrod again as he oiled it and aimed it at the target. I kissed Ghazi as Tom made his entry. This time, lifting Ghazi’s legs to rest over his broad shoulders, he thrust deep and went faster than before. As he got into a rhythm Ghazi’s breath came in great gulps. I licked his nipples and tongued under his chin. Ghazi was calling out with ecstasy as Tom fucked him harder and harder.
“I want more and more, please,” he yelled. “Fuck me harder, ha-a-a-ar-der, ple-e-e-a-se!”
His voice dropped to silence as his hips bucked and jets of cum squirted up his belly as his own orgasm hit.
Tom was panting heavily as his prick rammed in and out of Ghazi’s now quite loose and well-lubricated hole. Then he gave a mighty roar and slammed himself against Ghazi as his buttocks spasmed with the intensity of his climax. His knees buckled, and as he withdrew quickly two last squirts of spunk landed somewhere around Ghazi’s navel. Tom was beat. He crawled over to me and I helped him onto the bed where he and Ghazi lay clutching each other and nuzzling each other’s faces. I climbed on the bed behind Ghazi. Lifting his left leg I pushed my ever-ready dong in almost to the hilt. As I moved gradually back and forth to his mewing and moaning, Ghazi licked and kissed Tom. Almost imperceptibly I moved Ghazi over the top of Tom so he was straddling him with his buttocks in the air and his legs apart. I knelt behind him and could then thrust my cock even deeper into him. Tom moved down beneath him and took Ghazi’s prick into his mouth. As I fucked him Tom sucked him.
We kept this up for close on half an hour. As I felt myself getting nearer and nearer to firing my load I slowed down and then sped up again. At last I couldn’t stop. I pressed down deep into him and let go. My friction on his prostate must have then been sufficient for him to come spontaneously as Tom gagged and spluttered with the volume that gushed out into his mouth. My cock was liberally coated with all sorts of debris as I withdrew it and, stumbling, made my way to the bathroom. On my return, we lay spooned up against each other and fell asleep.
We were woken at five o’clock by the phone ringing. I staggered to the hall and picked up the handset. It was Aunt Margaret calling to instruct me to turn the oven on at six o’clock sharp, and to make sure the white wine was in the fridge.
That evening Aunt Margaret made a huge dish of rack of lamb with couscous and all the trimmings. Three kilted, sexually replete, and very hungry lads made her day by finishing our first helpings and demanding seconds. Tom was very sorry he had to go down the road home as it left me in the arms of Ghazi for the night.
Ghazi was so thrilled with our afternoon that he clung to me as soon as we got into bed and said it had been the happiest day of his life. He’d been fucked four times by two of his best friends, had shot a load spontaneously, and had been sucked off twice as well. What more could he desire? Was I happy?
Of course I was happy. It had been a tremendous experience for Tom and me as well. And we had assured Ghazi that we wanted him to fuck us.
Ghazi fucked Tom on Monday afternoon while I watched and aided and abetted, and then I sucked Tom and Ghazi sucked me. That night I fucked Ghazi very slowly and (for us) very quietly, as he and I both tended to become rather vocal in those last few moments before unloading our juices. On Tuesday afternoon Ghazi fucked me and Tom did the honours for Ghazi.
Ghazi had been a bit apprehensive on Monday, hoping that he would do everything OK. Needless to say, as soon as he began to lubricate Tom his instincts took over and two roaring boys made sure it was a great success. I shall never forget the look on Ghazi’s face as he leaned over me filling me with his spunk that Tuesday afternoon at three o’clock. That night he slowly and gently fucked me again, and, after that, I lay impaled on his fully erect cock for nearly two hours until I somehow milked him for the third time that day.
I told Ghazi I was sorry I had accused him of shagging young Pete, and I realised now what he had meant. He smiled at me.
“Flip, I’d forgive you anything. As much as I like Pete… well, someone told me an old Arab verse once: There is a boy across the river with a bottom like a peach. But I cannot swim…
“Pete’s not ready yet, but, perhaps, one day…”
I am certain the sex helped us with our revision. We were so attuned to each other that as soon as one had a problem the others were so willing and so often able to help with an explanation or a reference, that studying became a joy not instead of a chore. My only worry was whether my Maths was proceeding OK. But, I got up at six o’clock each morning and did two hours solid work on problems before waking Ghazi for breakfast. I also had my Rider’s House friend at the other end of the telephone line and we spoke to each other almost every day. He and I were able to give each other the necessary insights needed when a sticky proof or a knotty problem baffled either of us. So for the next week or so we all kept each other sane—and, in Glenfinnan, sexually satisfied.
It was Aunt Margaret’s birthday on Ash Wednesday, April the nineteenth—we were very politic and did not enquire about her age—and the three of us invited her out for dinner in Fort William. She said that being escorted by three young men would either enhance or ruin her reputation, depending on which of her patients saw her. She insisted on being on Ghazi’s arm as we entered the restaurant, which did turn a few heads. The diners looked even harder when two well-over-six-foot boys, also in tartan, entered behind her. One of the diners was a patient of Aunt Margaret’s and, realising it was an occasion, sent the wine waiter across with a complimentary bottle of champagne. A good time was had by all.
Ghazi and Tom were ready for me to drive them to Linnhe at half past nine on Maundy Thursday. Aunt Margaret and Tom’s mum had both told us to behave ourselves. What cheek! I said it was Ghazi they needed to admonish because we were certain he’d come back with half the Castle’s silver. That got me a real prod in the kidney region from him. Anyway, the pair of them kept up a moaning commentary on my driving from the comfort of the back seat of my car. I told them to keep their hands off each other and was rewarded by seeing in the driving mirror two kilts being lifted and two dongs being waved at me.
As usual we were met by the pack of dogs and then Paul and Clyde appeared. Clyde was in his usual ebullient mood and volunteered to show us our rooms. I think the main reason was to see Ghazi’s response when he found he was bunking in with Pete the perpetual pearly passion potion producer. In fact, Pete was sitting on the bed reading a book when we all went in with Ghazi and his travelling bag. Pete looked up and blushed a bit. He looked most delectable.
“Hi, Pete,” said Clyde, “Your goddam roommate appeareth!” He turned to us. “I have been helping Pete with his goddam Shakespeare and his Latin for the goddam exams next term and he is quite familiar with his goddam set books now as well.” Clyde looked at us sternly. “I hope you boys have brought some goddam work to do as I don’t want any slacking and goddam failures amongst y’all. Forti et fideli nihil difficile! Eh, Pete?” Pete blushed even more.
I’d heard his peroration to the Third Year exam fodder in the House the night before we broke up, which included some choice Latin quotations. It was as if any dereliction on the part of any examination candidate would reflect back on Clyde as Head Prefect of House. He kept everyone on the straight and narrow as far as work was concerned and I knew that our House was considered by the beaks to be ‘academically sound’. Also, although he wasn’t in the CCF, he inspected each member before they were allowed out for any important parade, even casting a critical eye over Sergeant-Major Paul Campbell himself.
Ghazi didn’t know Pete was going to be at Linnhe again. I hadn’t told him I’d seen Pete’s bags being loaded with Paul’s. He was delighted, though, because the pair of them got on well, even if Ghazi complained about sexual harassment. Tom and I left them and were shown our room next door to theirs. Clyde wanted to know if Ghazi had given us anything. Tom told him about the rings; neither of us said anything about his cherry.
Clyde grinned. “I knew he’d bought them for y’all, because I was with him when he got them. My granddaddy had them engraved for him, and he wants you two boys to come out to see us all when you’ve settled down.”
That would be most interesting. Perhaps next Easter, once we’d got into the swing of things at uni. Ghazi’s descriptions of the French ex-paras who ran the gym—two couples who were intensely jealous of each other in case any one of them made a move on one of the others—were highly amusing. He said it was very ‘Cage aux Folles’ as a succession of aunts and uncles of one of them visited the straight part of the health resort and the other couple threatened all the time to ‘out’ the poor lad. Ghazi said he got on well with all of them and, when they heard of the German’s move on him, had said they could easily remove the Hun’s balls for Ghazi to hang on his bedroom wall, like they used to when… The next bit was a bit gruesome and even Ghazi shuddered when he told me. That made me wonder if Paul and Fergie might end up in the paras removing terrorists’ ball sacs to be made into delicate leather purses.
We pottered about for the rest of the day. Fergie turned up quite late in the afternoon and was bunking in with Paul. One bit of news was that Little Dick wouldn’t be arriving until Saturday and Nelson Chombe was driving him up. Apparently Little Dick’s grandfather, the Lord, had died the previous week, which meant that Little Dick was no longer just Honourable, but now had a courtesy title.
As usual, the meal in the evening was superb—good plain Scottish cooking, but just the thing for hungry lads. After a couple of drams and plenty of chat we all went off to bed. I told Ghazi to keep the noise down as Tom and I were in the next room and we didn’t want to hear either of them squealing all night long. Tom remarked that Ghazi had a Mona Lisa look on his face when he said goodnight. Tom can be a bit enigmatic himself at times.
I was the one to do the squealing that night. Tom wasn’t rough, just exuberant and energetic. I was pawed, pummelled, pinched, prodded and, finally, penetrated by a perfect prong, my legs over his shoulders with him slowly but forcefully inserting and extracting his almost seven inches of well-lubricated priceless prick for ages and ages. I was in my seventh heaven, one heaven for each glorious inch! As he massaged my prostate with each stroke and we hugged each other close, tonguing and licking, I shot my first load of the evening. I shot two more loads before Tom decided his three deposits of warm spunk within me were a sufficiency for that night. He finally withdrew, kissed me fervently, and disappeared off to the bathroom to clean up.
I fell asleep before he returned. I was satiated and so content, and the next thing I knew was a familiar voice whispering in my ear. Strange, it was Ghazi. The bedside light was then switched on.
“Flip, move over, let me in.”
A familiar body inserted itself under the bedclothes and familiar arms clutched me.
“What the hell have you been doing. You stink like a polecat in full heat!”
I sniffed him.
“Speak for yourself, you pong like a randy goat. Anyway, why are you here?” I recollected the bedding arrangements. “What have you done with Pete?”
The whispered conversation was enough to rouse Tom a bit.
“Whassup?” he grunted, “Who the fuck’s blathering this time in the morning? And why the hell is that bloody light on?”
“Morning, Tom,” said Ghazi, more brightly than I felt was necessary. “I’ve come to see you both and have a chat. It’s gone six o’clock, anyway.”
“Oh, fuck off. You and ginger nuts here can go somewhere else and gossip. You woke me up and I was having such a lovely dream…”
Ginger nuts, indeed!! I rolled over onto Tom and held him down while I shut his mouth with mine and reached down and grabbed his hefty bollocks. I leaned up a bit.
“Wake up, you black-haired monstrosity! You ungrateful beast. Don’t you dare call me ginger! I’m auburn!”
I gave his balls a squeeze—a gentle squeeze because I loved him so—to emphasize my point.
One of Ghazi’s giggles interrupted my chastisement of Tom.
“Shut up you two,” he said, moving over to us and putting his arms round both of us. “Just quieten down and listen. Come on Tom, wake up properly and let me in the middle.”
I rolled off Tom the other side of him. Ever obedient, he moved away and Ghazi slid in between us. I realised he was also in the buff.
“Well, what do you want, you un-Scots twat?” Tom said, putting his arms round Ghazi and giving him a mighty kiss. “God, you smell like a well-used twat, too! What have you been doing to that poor boy?”
Ghazi giggled again and pecked Tom on the nose.
“Nothing you wouldn’t want to do. But shut up and listen.”
He wriggled around and put one arm under each of our necks. He stroked my face—I don’t know if he did the same to Tom.
“That boy is a sex-bomb! I thought I would wear the bastard out first by holding him down and jacking him off twice immediately without stopping. Gosh, didn’t he squirm. I stopped him hollering by fixing my mouth over his. I bet I’ve got scratches down my back where he tried to push me off him. Anyway, as soon as he’d come the second time I sat on his chest and he sucked me off while he was gasping and crying.”
I turned on my side towards him. I was rather angry with what he’d said. “You made him cry? You fucking raped the poor child!”
Ghazi put a reassuring hand on my arm.
“No, not that sort of crying. He was gasping how marvellous it had been and he wanted it again and he was getting louder so I stopped that the only way I knew would silence him.”
He giggled again.
“Poor bugger nearly choked, ’cause I had a full load ready for him! Anyway, listen. That kept him quiet for a few minutes and we lay and cuddled and then he started to talk.” Ghazi snorted. “He’s besotted with you two.
“Tom, he thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread. He wanted to know if you like him. He told me all about you driving the car when you two took him home and how you asked him all sorts of questions. And how his mother said what a nice young man you were and that he could just try to be as nice. Oh, he thinks you’re marvellous… and what he’d give to have a brother or a friend like you!”
He giggled again.
“…And as for you, Flip, you’re his big red-haired Cookie Monster. He worships you and says all the kids in the House want you or Paul, who’s another hero. He said Jamie was ever so jealous when he found out that Pete would be staying here and you would be here as well. He thinks Jamie wanks off thinking about you, because he’s heard him muttering, ‘Please, Flip’, in bed. Oh, and there’s some other kid in the dorm who has a photo of you in his locker in your rugger kit. Pete found it one day when he was looking for a pair of socks he thought the kid had borrowed. Anyway, while he was telling me all this he kept clutching me and rubbing his sticky prick up and down me like one of those bloody dogs, and asking what it was like to be your friend. He got so worked up he shot another load just doing that.”
Ghazi paused.
“I’m worried about the lad. He’s got the serious hots for both of you—as well as Jamie. He says he really loves Jamie and wants Jamie to love him too. He wants to know what he should he do to find out if Jamie loves him. He’s a real mixed up kid. He’s dying for you two to take him to bed, and he wants Jamie even more badly. Give me a clue, what can I tell him?”
“And I suppose he doesn’t think of you at all?” Tom asked.
“I haven’t told you that bit yet. He asked if I’d have him if Jamie wouldn’t!”
“That hairy-chested little urchin needs a good talking-to,” said Tom. “He could cause a lot of people a lot of trouble if he’s not careful. He is sixteen, and I know that law is being changed soon, but I think we could be seen to be in positions of some authority or care over him. You’ve got to be careful, Jazz. I know you’ve only one more term at school, but if he and Jamie don’t hit it off and he starts pestering you—or auburn-nuts here—he might start blabbing elsewhere. And what about his tales about the others? Fuck me, some child wanking off thinking of this hero of the First XV, eh? You been flashing your tassel at him, Flip? And how did that other kid get your photo, glamour boy?”
He prodded me and gave a low laugh. I’d been listening to all this quietly. I liked Pete very much. He was very good looking and I would have him in bed in a trice. He was very much a younger version of Tom, with a hairy chest already, according to Ghazi! Over the past few weeks I ‘d noticed Tom was beginning to sprout some wayward black hairs along the centre of his chest. So far I was hairless there. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh…
“Oh, there’s a photo club at school,” I said in explanation. “They had a competition last term for the best sporty photo and a kid won it with a shot of the scrums steaming during that match on that bitterly cold day I told you about. There were several kids taking photos that day and I know there was one of me dropkicking the ball after a scrum.”
Ghazi giggled again. “That was the one the kid had I would guess, from Pete’s description. Said he’d paid a pound for it.”
Tom returned to the question of what to do.
“I think either I or Flip should talk to him. Perhaps together. I know Flip has talked to him at school, but he seems to be all pent up with no release in sight for the poor lad. I know how much I miss Flip during the term and it’s only the thought of seeing him again which has kept me going. I know I need sex all the time. Flip laughs about what he calls my prowess, but I can understand how this kid feels going through such a hyperactive stage and not getting answers to all his feelings and questions.”
He leaned across Ghazi and kissed my cheek.
“What do you think, Flip?”
I knew what it was like when my hormones were first in overdrive. Only my loving friendships with Michael, then Tom and Ghazi, kept me on the straight and narrow. I wondered whether, had I still been at home, I would have craved companionship so much that I would have frequented some of the hinted-at local sites where lonely boys and men found some sort of comfort. Michael had told me how one day he was taken short and went into a public loo. While he was crapping, a cock appeared through a hole. Being more frightened than curious he ignored it, then waited for ages until he heard retreating footsteps. He left the loo and ran home as fast as he could go.
My thoughts were interrupted by the bedroom door being opened quietly and a head appearing round it. It was Pete. I beckoned to him and he came in towards the bed rather hesitantly. Like us he was in the nude, his well-formed cock drooping. He started to explain.
“I woke up and Ghazi wasn’t there. I waited ’cause I thought he was in the lav but when he didn’t come back I went and had a look to see if he was OK and he wasn’t there. Then I saw the light under the door here…”
I held the bedclothes up.
“Get in here. We’ll shift up.” He hesitated a moment. “Come on, we’re not going to rape you. We want to talk to you.”
I made him clamber over me so he lay between Ghazi and me. Ghazi and Tom swopped places. I put my arm over Pete’s chest and hugged him. He felt warm and muscly, just as I remembered my Tom at that age.
“Look Pete,” I said, “Ghazi’s told us some of the things you’ve told him. Now, you tell us what you’re worried about and we’ll try to help.”
I stroked his pecs and felt the roughness of his patch of newly grown chest hair. If I wasn’t careful I would be getting a very serious hard-on very soon.
Pete then unburdened himself as Tom now also put an arm round him and hugged him. His body relaxed as he told us the usual tale of youthful sexual repression and the thoughts he had for other boys. I knew his feelings exactly and so did Tom. When he finished, I stroked his cheek.
“Look, Pete, what you’ve told us is exactly what has happened to us, but we’ve been lucky. Tom and I were able to tell each other how much we loved each other a long time ago, even before we were your age. We’ve been faithful to each other. I am telling you in confidence that we’ve all had sex of some sort with others, but Tom and I know we are made for each other. We both see Ghazi as our brother and we love him like a brother. We’ve had sex with him—just as you have. Like you, none of us have real brothers. Paul’s lucky; he has two older brothers. He learned a lot from Roddy, and Roddy learned from Walter. So it goes on with brothers. We’ve had to learn things from friends, and you have to accept that some people want more than just being a friend.”
I paused and Tom took over.
“You say you love Jamie but you don’t know if he loves you. If he does he’ll tell you, in good time. Be kind and gentle with him. From what Flip has told me about him he seems very nice, and he’s bright, like you. But don’t push him. He might be a bit hesitant about saying anything to you. Wait and see if he breaks the ice first. If he’s chosen you over someone else to room with next year then that’s a step in the right direction. He hasn’t bullied you into tossing him off, has he?”
Pete had been listening very intently to what we’d been saying and then whispered, “No. He always asks if I want to and I always do. He’s been ever so kind since that bastard Reid shopped us. He’s really a stronger person than me, even if some of the others think he’s a bit soft ’cause he’s blond and curly.”
“Was curly,” I said. “The pair of you had pretty sharp haircuts before that trial. I bet his mum wondered why.”
Pete grinned. “My mum did, too, when she saw me, but I like mine short. Jamie said his mum cried when she saw him and said she would write to Mr McCrae, but Jamie told her it was the fashion and it was better for the CCF, anyway.”
Having this lithe young creature next to me was making my hormones run. If he stayed much longer… I couldn’t help it but I felt round him and was reminded of Ghazi’s Arabic verse… He certainly had a bottom like a peach! My dick began to stiffen.
Luckily, Tom was in full flow. “Now, Pete,” he continued, “you’ve got important exams coming up next term. If things get a bit difficult use those as an excuse and you can always confide in Flip. D’you understand?”
Pete nodded and I gave his rump a reassuring pat.
“Now, you’re not to say anything about this morning. I suggest we all lie here for a few minutes and that will give you something to think about until you sort young Jamie out.”
Ghazi giggled. “Come on you two, give him a bundle!”
He launched himself over Tom and arranged himself over Pete, who was lying on his side now facing Tom. I turned on my side so my now stiff cock was resting in the crack of Pete’s arse, and moved my right hand round to his front and gripped his erect, thick dong. Pete wriggled his butt and I responded by wedging my cock more firmly in his virgin territory. Tom put his arm round Ghazi and I heard Pete kiss Tom and receive an instructional murmur from him.
“No, Pete, just hold it!”
We lay quite still for several minutes. Poor Pete, his rod was pulsing in my grip. I knew he wanted more. I wanted more, too, and I knew that either Ghazi or Tom, given one hint, would set off a chain reaction.
But no, Ghazi was first to move.
“Come on Pete,” he said, “we’d better get back to our own bed before nosey Clyde gets up and starts prowling. Don’t forget you’ve still got that Latin translation to do for him as well.”
Slowly, we extricated ourselves. Tom and I gave Pete a last hug and I noticed he had a little string of clear fluid hanging from his piss slit as he turned to give us a last look. As soon as he and Ghazi had left our room and shut the door Tom and I kissed deeply, our hands immediately on each other’s cocks, and slowly and lovingly we jacked each other off until two morning streams of our man cream spurted out and once more sealed our love for each other.
We didn’t discuss the early morning’s events until much later in the day. Poor Pete must have been distracted by all that had happened as I heard Clyde in the library giving him a roasting over a bit of sloppy translation.
“Nunc sunt crura pilis et sunt tibi pectora saetis horrida, sed mens est, Petre, vulsa tibi! Indiligens!! Nates pilosa, Petrus, non potes asses venditare!!!”
At least, that’s what he said when I asked him afterwards. I knew no Latin. Pete—who Clyde said was very good—looked suitably abashed, and I would have given him more than a penny for his hairy nates. Clyde, according to Paul, was a formidable Latin and Greek scholar and would have done very well if he’d opted to go to university.
Tom and I cornered Clyde a bit later, when Hamed and the others had gone off with Mr Campbell trying out his many shotguns, and told him what had happened. He said he’d been keeping an eye on Pete and Jamie in the House and he would appreciate it if I could talk to Jamie sometime, just to sound him out. Nothing more. He grinned when I asked him for the translation, which I thought was very apt. [As it is, you have hairy legs and your chest is like a rug, but your mind, young Pete, is plucked smooth. Sheer negligence! Huh, Peter, you couldn’t even sell your hairy arse for a penny!]
Saturday came and so did Little Dick and Nelson. I didn’t really know Nelson but we all got on well after the initial re-introductions. Little Dick was even more subdued than usual. He was now Lord Fordham. By Sunday morning, when he’d recovered a bit more of his composure, we were bowing and scraping and calling him ‘milord’, which in his uncomplicated, simple way he really enjoyed.
Nelson was very protective of him and told us Dick had been very upset at his grandfather’s death, as he’d idolised his granddad, and he wanted to get back to stay with his grandma as soon as Easter was over. Nelson’s bit of news was that he’d passed his Fellowship exam for organ playing and was enjoying being at college.
On Sunday morning Charles Parsons, Hamed and Ghazi’s uncle’s secretary, appeared. After lunch he said he had an announcement to make. I noticed Clyde had gone out of the room and came back carrying a number of small boxes.
Charles said that he had a presentation to make on behalf of the boys’ uncle. He asked the seven of us to stand . We stood and looked and wondered but both Ghazi and Hamed had enigmatic looks on their faces and Clyde had a poker-face as well.
Charles opened up a sheet of paper and started to read, “On behalf of His Highness Sheikh…”
He looked at Hamed, who shook his head.
He started again. “Hamed and Ghazi’s uncle has been so impressed by the friendship shown to their Highnesses Hamed bin…” He stopped again as both Hamed and Ghazi shook their heads. “…to Hamed and Ghazi throughout their careers at Kinloch School, that he wishes this to be commemorated by the presentation of a watch to each of the group who have supported and helped them—a small token of his regard.”
Clyde gave him the boxes, which he handed out to each of the seven of us, including Hamed and Ghazi. Inside mine was a very fine, stainless steel, chronometer wristwatch. I turned it over and on the back was engraved a ring of initials—Pp F G H C R Pl—with two hands clasped in the centre. We were all dumbstruck. I looked at Hamed and Ghazi, who were smiling. I was the first to leap on them and hug both of them, followed quickly by the other four.
Then came the explanations. Their uncle was so impressed with what Hamed had told him last summer that he really wanted us all to have very expensive gold watches. However, the boys and Clyde’s granddaddy had dissuaded him and suggested the more practical ones we had just been given. We all protested that it was all far too much, but Hamed said we had given him and Ghazi so much it was the least the family could do. Ghazi turned and hugged Hamed, and said he was proud to have us all as his friends.
Pete, Tom and Nelson weren’t left out either. Each was given a substantial book token, which I know pleased Tom as he had expressed some concern over the cost of some of the books we would require at medical school.
The rest of the weekend passed so quickly it was soon Tuesday morning and time for our departure. I’d offered to drop Pete home, so Tom drove again and Pete and I sat in the back as we’d done on the previous journey. He was quite voluble now, and much more relaxed. Sex, relationships and worries weren’t mentioned. His mother was pleased to see us when we arrived, and we had lunch there again. My last words to him were that we would talk whenever he wanted once we were back at school.
The first few weeks of term were hectic. The work Tom, Ghazi and I had done over the Easter vac paid off. I felt really confident that I’d done more than my best. When I compared results in the Pure Maths exam with the lad from Rider’s, I found we’d got roughly the same solutions to the problems we’d done in common. After that the term began to wind down but we were still kept busy.
I helped both Pete and Jamie before their Maths exams. Pete seemed a lot more relaxed and Jamie seemed a very nice lad. I twitted him about his haircut and he blushed and said he liked it that way now.
Sports Day came. I won the shot put against the two big lads who were the prop forwards in the first XV, and beat the school record handsomely. The years of weight training certainly paid off. The two lads who had joined in the training sessions with Ghazi and me asked if they could have the equipment handed down to them. Jamie and Pete asked if they could use it as well, so that tradition would carry on.
Ghazi and I slept together most nights. He confessed towards the end of the term that he was going to miss me so much when he went down to London after the summer holidays.
Just before the end of term I came across Jamie sitting by himself on the edge of the playing field. After we’d chatted for a while I asked him outright what he thought of Pete. He was a bit startled, but then he looked at me and said three words, “I love him.” I said he needed to tell Pete that as soon as he could.
I wouldn’t say the end of term was a tearful occasion, but it was a wrench to say goodbye to so many good friends. Mr McCrae was almost voluble when he shook hands as I said goodbye to him and Mrs McCrae. He told me to keep in touch and to come back any time to see him. “A good move on your part to break a couple of noses, eh? Watch you don’t break any hearts. You and Tom have a good life!”
How the hell did he know about Tom? Schoolmasters!!
Ghazi and Clyde were off to France, to be followed by Hamed after his final CCF summer camp. Little Dick, milord, headed to a farm in Suffolk to gain experience. Paul and Fergie planned to while away a few weeks after camp, then begin degree courses in London prior to Officer Training at the Royal Military Academy.
And so seven friends went their separate ways.
I didn’t want to do anything else but spend the summer in Scotland relaxing before my hoped-for university career. Aunt Margaret was going off for three weeks with a friend to the Dolomites and asked if I wanted to go anywhere myself, as she would gladly pay. I refused and said I would stay and look after the bungalow and wait for the exam results. However, that summer was to produce a few surprises.
The first was during the day I arrived back at Aunt Margaret’s. It was a phone call from Pete’s mum. Would Tom and I like to go for lunch the next Monday? No other explanation. We agreed, much intrigued.
We went and had a superb lunch and then came the eye-opener. She and her husband had arranged to go on a cruise and Pete was refusing to go. As Tom and I seemed to be his mentors and she trusted us, would we look after him for a fortnight after his CCF camp? She had already asked Aunt Margaret if that was possible and she had agreed.
More explanations were forthcoming. She had finally asked Pete at half-term if he was gay and he’d confirmed that he was. She had been led to this not only by the mag she’d previously found but also by a series of drawings she’d discovered in his bedroom at the beginning of last term. She took us up and there were about a dozen now displayed on the walls. I hadn’t known that Pete was a talented young artist. He had depicted Tom, me, Jamie and several others in various poses. Luckily those of Tom and me were no more than torsos, but a couple of Jamie and another lad in his class were full-frontal, detailed images, and very well drawn. Pete had told his mother he wanted to go to art school. Tom and I both said that, judging by the quality of the drawings, we thought he should. She said she and her husband had already agreed.
So that was arranged. Tom and I would pick him up at the school and he would stay with Aunt Margaret and me until his parents returned. It was rather embarrassing as Mrs Douglas gave us fifty pounds each so we wouldn’t be out of pocket—for petrol, she said.
Tom was particularly quiet on the way back. He finally opened up as we left on the road out of Fort William.
“Oh God, Flip! Will we be able to keep our hands off him?”
I said it was more a question of whether Pete would keep his hands off us. Anyway, he would be sharing my bed!
Tom and I turned up at the main school drive, dressed as usual in our kilts, when the lads returned from Summer Camp. Mr McCrae was there with the dogs and seemed to know why we’d turned up as he never asked why we were there. Staff Sergeants Hamed and Fergie and Sergeant Major Paul were surprised to see us. I explained what had happened, while Tom organised the transfer of Pete’s belongings to the boot of my car. Pete was radiant and in his uniform, with sergeant’s stripes! Young Jamie was as well, and I congratulated them—and the arch-fiend Sergeant Reid—on their promotions. Dolly stood with a smirk on his face next to Reid, sporting his newly acquired corporal’s stripes. From the smirk I knew he and Reid had been cavorting together, celebrating their promotion no doubt. From the corner of my eye I could see that Tom and Mr McCrae were deep in conversation.
There was much jocularity as all the lads were as filthy as hell. Having done a commando assault course the day before they had then discovered no water was available to wash or shower. Pete was particularly sweaty and I drove home with Tom next to me, and Pete in solitary splendour in the back seat ponging to high heaven.
On arriving at the bungalow we told Pete to get into the bathroom straight away to shower and deodorize himself. I unpacked his bags and shoved an interminable amount of dirty clothing into the washing machine.
When he’d finished cleaning himself up he looked most presentable. His mother had given us spare clothes to bring back for him but he insisted he would be like us and just wear a shirt and kilt. Over a cup of tea and a couple of Tom’s mother’s scones he revealed that Jamie had at last told him of his love. We were so pleased we both hugged him and the tears ran down his face. We both kissed him and said we hoped they’d be as happy as we were.
I managed to get Tom on his own for a few minutes and asked him what he was talking to Mr McCrae about. He grinned and said it was obviously common knowledge that we were an item because Mr McCrae had told him to take good care of me and wished us both well.
Poor Tom. After supper with Aunt Margaret, Pete and me, he had to go home to his lonely bed. Pete and I hugged and caressed each other as soon as we got into bed, and then slowly, lovingly, brought each other to massive orgasms. We sprayed each other with copious amounts of boy cream and man cream.
A little later, as we lay just savouring each other’s presence, I asked Pete if he and Jamie had done anything further. He said they hadn’t so I gave him his first experience of being sucked and of sucking another. He hugged me so tightly after we’d both come I could hardly breathe. We tongue fucked for ages after that and although he had only just come for a second time his young prick was soon hard again. In a whisper, I told him to lie still, then wanked him again, very slowly. I waited each time I sensed he was getting near and kept him on the verge for about half an hour until he whispered very urgently, “Please finish me!” His orgasm was colossal! After that he lay cuddled in my arms and went to sleep almost purring with contentment.
In the morning I left him sleeping peacefully while I showered and dressed and got my breakfast. Aunt Margaret asked how he was and I said he was very tired, the CCF camp must have worn him out! A little later I took him in a plate of porridge and a mug of tea. He looked so lovely lying there asleep I nibbled his ear until he was awake. He turned his head and kissed me and said the night before had been the most wonderful he had ever known.
When Tom came around later in the morning Pete was in the shower. Tom was curious to know what had happened, but he reckoned that from the smile on my face I didn’t have much to explain. Anyway, he didn’t have to wait long to find out more because that afternoon was a particularly wet and blustery one, so we three retired to my bed. We talked, wanked each other, and sucked each other until young Pete had shed three loads to two each for Tom and me. Pete declared that it had been an afternoon to remember! I will remember that night well as Pete gave me the most delicate and intense release of my spunk I’d had for a long time.
The next few days gave us the opportunity to really talk to Pete about his emotions and his sexuality. He said that he and Jamie had talked about their feelings for each other and Jamie had confessed that he had wanted to tell Pete how he felt at least a year before. Pete had asked Jamie how he felt about others and had got him to admit that he did think of me sometimes when he tossed himself off at night. I wasn’t going to get bigheaded about it, though, because, apparently, Jamie had a string of wank heroes he used as fuel for his ardour. Besides me there were Paul, Hamed and Ghazi, as well as others he’d watched and lusted after in other Houses.
During Pete’s second week with us he received a letter from, of all people, Adolphus Meinherzen (aka Dolly). In the letter was a printout of a digital photo of none other than tight-arse Angus Reid being sucked off by the blond kid who’d caused trouble in the House at the beginning of the year. No wonder Dolly was smirking when we saw him! Pete told us that Dolly and Angus had shared a tent and the kid was quite willing to act as their batman, as well as Angus’s helpmeet in times of sexual need. So, Dolly now had Reid right under his thumb, if not on his cock whenever he wanted sweet relief, since Angus had succumbed to Dolly’s charms as well. I made Pete destroy the printout so it wouldn’t be found by anyone.
At the end of his stay we took Pete back home to a very grateful Mrs Douglas. After the awful weather of the first couple of days we’d managed to spend a good bit of time up on the hills. Pete had ended up with quite a tan and he looked most healthy and happy. While he and Tom were taking his bags up to his room I told his mother she mustn’t worry about him, because he had come to terms with how he felt and that he was determined to go to art school and do well. I said we would keep in touch with him and if she ever felt worried about him to contact us. She said that while they were away she’d told her husband that Pete was gay. He wasn’t angry about it; he loved his boy and wanted the best for him, whatever happened.
Certainly Ghazi was right about Pete’s stamina and output. He was just like the younger Tom, always ready for action and needing to release his tensions several times a day. Tom and Pete got on very well and Tom was very gentle with him, just like a loving older brother. Pete obviously doted on Tom and asked his advice on all manner of things. Then, in bed at night, he discussed everything again with me. He got on well with Aunt Margaret, too, and acted as general clearer-up and washer-up all the time. Just before we got into the car to take him home I was in the bedroom with him. He put his arms round me and hugged me, then told me he couldn’t thank Tom and me enough and he loved us both. We loved him, too.
A few days after Pete went home Aunt Margaret set off on her holiday jaunt. The second surprise came two days after she had gone. There was a phone call in the evening and it was Darryll! He had bought himself a motorbike the year before and he and Michael were doing a general tour of the North of England and up into Scotland. Could they come and spend a couple of days with me? Of course they could! I hadn’t seen either since leaving my old home and coming to Scotland, although Michael and I had corresponded regularly. In fact, they would be arriving the next afternoon.
It was a hot day and I, wearing just my kilt and a singlet, was sitting alone, drowsing, in the back garden. Tom had borrowed my car to go to Fort William on an errand for his mother. Suddenly I was roused by the roar of the bike as it came up the lane to the front of the bungalow. I hurried out and there were the two figures, crash-helmeted, in black leather jackets and jeans, astride the bike. I knew the front one must be Darryll, and it was as. He took off his helmet, dropped it down, and rushed over to me. He stopped about two yards from me and let out a roar.
“God, Flip!” he shouted, “You look like the bloody advert on Scott’s Porage Oats packets!!”
I suppose I did. The young muscled Scot in singlet and kilt putting the shot was just like me! I was a shot-putter… and here I was dressed just like the lad in the picture, even with the long red socks.
Darryll flung out his arms and hugged me tight.
“Oh, Flip, it’s so good to see you after so long.”
Our hug was terminated by me spying over his shoulder the other figure getting off the bike. I was quite unprepared for the young ox who stood there and took off his helmet. It was Michael. A Michael so developed it was quite, quite incredible. He was just on six foot, and oh, so powerfully built. When he took Darryll’s place and hugged me he crushed the breath out of me.
“Oh Flip!” he said. “I’ve thought of you every day, wondering how you were. Look at you! You look marvellous.”
I was overwhelmed, two of my best friends, so long missed, and now they were here. I ushered them indoors into the kitchen and put the kettle on.
“God, I’m so hot,” Darryll said. “D’ya think I could have a shower?”
I said of course, both of them could. I was mesmerised at that moment because Michael took off his leather jacket. He had a tee shirt underneath and if I thought I had muscles, he had muscles on muscles. Darryll caught me staring at him and chuckled.
“Well, what do you think of your nerdy friend, the old seven-stone weakling, eh?”
Michael produced a great shit-eating grin.
“I’ve grown a bit since we were fourteen, eh, Flip?”
I couldn’t have agreed more. The old weedy youth was now a powerful young beast. Darryll was no mean thing either. Sex between those two would be something to experience!
After we downed a couple of cups of tea and about four scones each I showed them the bathroom. I sat on the loo seat as they stripped off. Darryll’s cock swung just as I remembered it from four years previously. Young Michael’s cock was now a formidable length even when flaccid. I reckoned if it expanded anything like mine did he would certainly beat me on both length and girth. He saw me giving him the once over and grinned.
“I’ve grown a bit more there as well, Flip!”
After they’d showered and dressed in just shorts we went into the back garden and caught up on all the news. Michael had been working out relentlessly at the gym and had also made the Junior side at the Rugby Club. He had been keeping an eye on my brother, Stuart, who was also attending the gym and playing rugger. Michael and Darryll, like Tom and me, had made a commitment to each other, and he was going to move in with Darryll in Sheffield where he was starting his degree course in September—exams permitting. Darryll had finished his degree course and now had a job with a firm of structural engineers. Of course, all my pals at the Rugby Club were also growing up and dispersing but the Williams brothers were still the coaches for the Junior sides. We chatted on until the sound of the car and a toot announced that Tom had returned.
The sight of a second large young Scot in shirt and kilt was too much for the lads; they just stared goggle-eyed when Tom marched around the side of the bungalow. I made the introductions and Tom and my old friends got on like houses on fire. I’d instructed Tom to get the biggest pizzas he could find while he was in Fort William, so we went into the kitchen where I heated them up for our supper. Tom also produced some bottles of beer and we sat and talked for hours.
Michael and Darryll were pleased about Tom’s and my commitment, and we showed them the rings Ghazi had given us for when we made our vows. I said we’d decided to do that at Christmas, and I wanted all of our friends to be present. They promised they would attend. Somehow, I had a sneaking suspicion it might be a double ceremony.
That night the guests insisted on sleeping on the floor in my room. Not for long, though. My double bed wasn’t really made for three large lads like us but, after a few minutes’ silence—the first since they’d arrived—two huge figures loomed over me and joined me, one on either side. Then it wasn’t long before Darryll’s tongue and lips were working on my rod and I was discovering the new dimensions of Michael’s meaty tool. Actually, it didn’t lengthen much. His was no longer than mine, but the circumference of his shaft stretched my mouth considerably. And the load he produced beat my usually copious outpouring. I managed to catch all of it without choking or gagging, and thought back to the first wonderful times when we pleasured each other in that way.
Shortly after I had made Michael come I fired my wad, which Darryll expertly retained in its entirety. It was then my turn to show my love for Darryll. I sucked his cock for the first time, remembering that wonderful time when I was just fourteen and he’d given me so much pleasure.
Once more that night we made the rounds and then in one enormous heap snored the night away.
The next morning they wanted to experience how we spent our days so Tom and I took them on a trek down Loch Sheil and up Beinn Odhar Bheag and wore the buggers out clambering up the tussocky slopes. That evening the four of us celebrated the day with Tom being introduced to two new proud cocks. If he hadn’t had a home to go to he would have willingly stayed the night!
What was interesting was that Michael and Darryll had not ventured further than either oral or manual stimulation. Neither of them seemed at all interested in taking things further. They were intrigued to hear how Tom and I had first fucked and how we had taken Ghazi’s virginity at his request. I could see Darryll’s point when he said he was quite satisfied with what they did, as I wouldn’t have liked Michael’s fearsomely thick shaft attempting to enter me without lots and lots of preparation.
They stayed for four days. Tom and I took them to various beautiful places and spent one day by the sea near Glennancross. On the last day Michael told me there was some trouble between my mother and the Creep but he wasn’t sure what it was. Stuart was obviously upset but wouldn’t be drawn when asked. Michael said his father had looked very worried the previous weekend, and I was left wondering.
Time passed and the date for the exam results arrived. Tom and I both managed to get top grades in all subjects, so our places at medical school were assured. There were phone calls all over the place. Everyone seemed to be most satisfied with their results. Aunt Margaret and Tom’s parents celebrated by taking the two of us to that good restaurant in Fort William. A good time was had by all!
One long phone call was from France—mainly from Ghazi, although the other two were allowed a word or two. In the Clyde’s case it was more than a word or two. He was most voluble and said all three would be in ‘Edinboro’ for Christmas. Ghazi said he was missing me and Tom, but the young French lad had spent a month there with his mother and Ghazi was going to spend the next fortnight in Toulouse with him before leaving for London. From the hints he gave I surmised that the lad’s peach had now become Ghazi’s property as he had learned to swim the river!
During the next week I had a letter from Little Dick from the farm where he was working. He congratulated me on my results in a short, carefully written letter. He enclosed a photo. A grinning Little Dick, clad in only a disreputable pair of cut-off denim shorts and work boots, looking lean and very healthy, was holding a rope. Attached to the rope was a huge bull looking straight at the camera with Little Dick stroking his nose. The bull had the most massive pair of bollocks I had ever seen. On the back in Little Dick’s neat writing was the legend: This is Philip of Macedon. He is a Red Poll. I call him Flip. Cheeky bugger—I only wished I had balls that size to keep up with Tom’s incessant demands on my spunk production!
The third surprise—more a bombshell—was an urgent phone call from my mother to my aunt. She and Ray the Creep had split up. I managed to discern that she had discovered from a solicitor in the next town that Ray the Creep had been enquiring whether it was possible to break the trust which held the money for Stuart and myself. Although all client information is confidential the solicitor, who knew mum very well, was so worried that he had contacted her ‘without prejudice’. Apparently there was a furious row and Ray the Creep had been booted out. Good riddance to bad rubbish. I felt vindicated for all my hatred of him, but that left poor Stuart suffering.
Mum was sending him up to stay with Aunt Margaret for the rest of the holiday, with a view to his staying and attending school up here. Phone calls were made and a place was found for him at Tom’s old school. So, one late August morning Tom and I drove to Fort William station to meet my brother. Mum was going off for a break with a friend from the office to get away from things, so my little brother was landing on the doorstep.
I hadn’t seen Stuart for four years. He’d sent a few snaps of himself, plus the usual school photo where he was all washed and brushed, but I had no real idea what he was like.
The train drew in almost on time. Tom had stayed with the car. My little brother got off the train, but he wasn’t my ‘little’ brother. He was five foot ten, just as I was at the age of fourteen and three-quarters. I couldn’t mistake him. I looked at him in the mirror every morning. We were so alike. His hair had more my colour now than I remembered. He had the same blue eyes and the smile on his face when he saw me was so wonderful. He dropped his bags as I rushed up to him and we hugged each other in greeting. My brother was home with me!
Of course, all he knew about Tom was that he was a great friend and we were going off to medical school together. Revelations would have to come later. Actually, Stuart took one look at Tom and I knew they would be friends for life. Tom had another young brother to go with Pete!
Aunt Margaret fussed round him and said to me that he was so like I was at that age—something I had to agreed with, because he was a mirror image of me. Naturally he wanted to know if Tom and I wore our kilts all the time. We said we did as much as possible. I had been wearing my father’s kilt for the past two years so I gave Stuart the kilt I’d been given by Mr Ferguson. He laughed when I made him take his underpants off after he’d buckled the kilt round himself. That evening at supper time we three boys were all formally attired. Tom’s father and mother came across as well to eat with us, with Sergeant McLaren also wearing his kilt. In fact, he had some very good news. He was being promoted to Inspector but, unfortunately, he and Tom’s mum would have to leave the village.
Stuart insisted that he wanted to share my room—and the double bed. I was so used to just stripping off and getting into bed in the raw with whoever was in the room I had forgotten that the last time I’d had Stuart in bed with me was that time his room was being decorated.
I saw Stuart note that I was naked as I slipped under the duvet. He had put his pyjamas on the pillow but these were discarded and pushed onto the floor as he got into bed. We turned to each other and continued the exchange of gossip and chat which had not diminished all day. I was aware that Stuart was edging towards me. There was a moment of silence.
“Flip,” he said, “You know that time at home when I had to share with you?”
“Hmm,” was my reply.
“You know how you had that itch?” he paused a moment, then said, “I have that itch every day!” He burst into a giggle that was so reminiscent of Ghazi. He put his arms out and round me and pressed himself against me. His shaft was rigid and pressed into me. “Do you know how to cure it?”
That night we cured each other’s itches twice each—the second time after I’d told him how I’d healed Tom’s poor skinned dong and showed him the cure. It was the first time Stuart had been sucked. And after he’d shot his sweet tasting load into my mouth he insisted on doing the same to me. He wasn’t at all worried about tasting and swallowing my spunk and said he and Kenny, his computer nerd friend, wanked each other off every time they met up at Kenny’s house, but they hadn’t done that… yet.
The next few days were quite idyllic. We took Stuart around, introducing him to all the crofters and the villagers we had come to know during the past four years. We tramped the hills and we three lay and talked and wanked and sucked during the long afternoons outdoors. After asking Tom what we should do, one afternoon I told Stuart of our commitment to each other. His eyes sparkled.
“You didn’t have to tell me,” he said, smiling and holding out his hands to us, “I guessed within a day. You must be a real daft pair if you think Aunt Margaret and Tom’s mum and dad don’t know either.” He laughed. “I suppose I’m the one who’ll have to carry on the Menzies dynasty now!”
So my little un-gay brother accepted his big gay brother and his partner. That night I made sure my little brother experienced the most intense pleasurable feelings I could give him. He might be straight but he took pleasure from those things that only boys can know and give.
The end of the holidays came. Tom and I were packed and ready to go and start our new careers as university students. The night before our departure I sat down and wrote several letters. To Little Dick, with a photo of Tom, Stuart and me against a backdrop of a favourite mountain; to Ghazi in London; to Hamed and Clyde in France; to Dr Williams and to Mr McCrae thanking them for all they had done for me.
There was a final one, which began ‘Dear Mum…’
Copyright © 2002–2025 Joel
Posted at AwesomeDude 2007
Updated 1 October 2025