CHAPTER 30

Wednesday 31st May 1944

I was awake early and thought back over the last few days.  Quite eventful.  What with Tom's rude (?)  introduction to Ulvescott and then his puzzling behaviour it had been quite an experience.  Then Sam's surprising performance on us both and, yesterday,  the tale about his cousin's school.  I lay quietly holding my balls and letting my now much saggier nuts slide around inside their sac.  I wondered what had triggered Tom's behaviour and then made him forget how he had almost attacked me twice.  Both times it was connected in some way with Piers.  He had called me Piers and I didn't think he realised it had happened.  I had found out that Miles had also died.  What about Gordon Thomas?  Tom was a mystery, but I was determined not to ask him anything but to see if he mentioned it.  I would have to talk about it with someone.  Who?  Matt?  Mike?  I was rather perplexed.  What did it all mean.

     While I was ruminating Tom was waking up and within moments we were holding each other's rapidly hardening dicks.  Without a word being spoken we pushed off the covers and slowly wanked each other off, cum splattering over our bellies and stomachs in that most gratifying way.

     We lay side by side, I was lost in that haze of thoughts which I often had after such a satisfactory wank, and Tom was lazily circling his finger in the pool of cum on my chest.

     “I like it here,” he said softly.  “It's a very peaceful place and I think you belong here much more than Tony.  It might be his one day but I think you should live here.  I like to hear you play all that music and I know Mrs Crossley likes you.  So does that other lady at the other place,   Lady...  Bing.  I'm glad I've got you for a friend, too, because I'm going to miss Dunc dreadfully.”

     I put a hand out and gripped his.

     “I'm glad I'm your friend, Tom.  You'll be OK.”

     Two friends then hugged each other knowing that whatever happened their friendship would last.  However, our hug didn't last long.  There was the usual thump on the door announcing Bran's demand for entry.  I slithered out of bed, still cum-soaked and opened the door.  The bloody dog sniffed me and immediately went to the bedside and put a huge paw over Tom's chest and sniffed him, then licked his face.  I retreated into the bathroom very quickly and could hear Tom talking quietly to Bran.

     I needed a pee and a shit, which I had before I washed myself down.  I must have been some minutes but when I went back into the bedroom Tom was still in bed whispering into Bran's ear.

     He looked across at me.  “I've just been telling him all about you.  I told him he's got to guard you safe and sound whenever you're here and when I told him that he licked my face again.  He knows you're important for this place.  I know and he knows, don't you Bran?”

     That dog.  I swear he knows what you are saying because he came over to me and licked my hand.  I patted his head and, while I got dressed he sat and looked at me.  Poor old Bran, we were going off and I didn't know when I would see him next.

     We had a hearty breakfast and, of course, Mrs Crossley invited us again.  She also said that Lady Bing was interested to hear my friend play.  She meant Tim.  I wondered if he might come over with us in the summer?  Anyway, I had a new bundle of music to occupy myself with in my idle hours!

     We left soon after nine and Bran came to the gate with us.  We both hugged him and I told him to behave himself and then we set off.

     There was quite a lot of military traffic on the way home.  At least three conveys of trucks with soldiers in passed us as well as a couple of long low trucks with what Tom said, very knowledgeably, were Bren gun carriers.  Something was up!  We cycled carefully as some of the lorries were rather wide for the road they were travelling on.  We had many cheery waves but, all in all, most of the soldiers seemed very quiet.

     No one was in when I arrived home.  There was a note on the kitchen table that Ma and Pa would be home by six and I should look in the pantry for some lunch.  I found some bread and some cheese, plus a jar of Mrs Gardiner's pickle.  Then I went round to Tom's.  Dunc was in the kitchen and said he'd heard we'd had a good time and Tom was resting his weary bones upstairs.

     For once, Tom was not lying on his bed.  In fact, he'd remembered he had a load of homework to do, so, good soul that I am, I went through it with him.  I made my excuses after that and left as I had a load to do as well.

     Needless to say, another load was produced that night.

                         *

     Back to school and the tediousness of it over the next few days droned on.  What was interesting was that no mention was made by Tony, nor by Roo, about the Scout camp and certainly nothing about the torture of Bernie Foster.  Even when I bumped into him outside the cloakroom all I got was a wry smile as he hurried away.   I didn't say anything either to any of them and bided my time to hear more.  Even Tom was strangely silent about it all.  Matt didn't mention his trip to Scotland and was rather noncommital about it when I asked him.  He just said it was alright.

     The weather was very changeable and Pa said he hoped June would be a better month as Summer was on its way.  I went for my run each morning and kept up my daily double outpourings, twice aided by Tom's sturdy hand.  St John's on Monday meant I met up with Pat Halloran who said he was boxing again that coming Friday and Matt and I put our names down to attend as First Aiders.

               June 6th 1944

     Great news tonight!  We've invaded Europe.  That is, us and the Americans.  D-Day it's called.  Pa was very excited and Ma I saw was crying.  So, that explained a lot.  All the troops we'd seen moving about.  Even Uncle Alfred's arrival in the country was no longer a mystery.  I hoped he'd be OK if he was going across with the troops.  I was thinking about all sorts of things when I went to bed.  I had my wireless on in the bedroom listening to the news and fell asleep without my nightly ritual.  What an experience!  An invasion and all ideas of sexual release vanished!

                         *

     Of course, the next day at school was chaos.  Everyone was talking about it.  Even the masters had other things on their minds than imparting gobbets of information to non-receptive minds.  In fact, we got sent home early and Tom and I celebrated the invasion and getting home early with a happy double.  Also, Tom told me that Dunc's party on Saturday was going to be a double celebration as well, for Dunc and for D-Day.

                         *

                    Friday 9th June 1944

     The boxing match was being held in the Catholic Parish Hall again.  Again the portly man was there plus a great gaggle of our Fourth, Fifth and Sixth Formers as it was the Catholic Boxing Club against the Mayor's Gym Club team and several of the boxers were our school members.

     Pat, I noticed from the programme given to me by the portly man, was down to fight Jim McDonald.   Also, Johnny Reed, in our Form, was going to fight some lad in the Catholic team called Brian McCaffey.   I didn't know Johnny boxed - all I knew was he was in the Cadets and was also one of the two still on my list!

     Matt was busy talking to a couple of the Catholic lads sitting behind us who said they'd come to see Johnny beat the shit out of McCaffey who they said was a loud-mouthed bastard.  This said in a loud stage whisper which drew a reproving glance from the portly man.   He turned his attention to me.

     “Usual tonight, like last time,” he said, puffing on his pipe.

     I nodded and was about to say I understood but he went on.

     “Heard you had things to say to young Henry.”

     My eyes must have nearly popped.  He laughed and tapped me on the knee with his pipe.

     “Your Head told me.  He was mightily amused.  Good lad though, young Henry.  Known the family for years.  Good for you, though.  Good spirit.”

     I was nonplussed.  I didn't know what to say.  I just gave a wry grin.  He chuckled.

     “Have to know what is going on in this great city of ours.  Well, small city of ours.”

     I thought I'd better say something.

     “What does the Town Clerk have to do?” I asked, as politely as I could.

     He gazed at me steadily and then he grinned and his eyes twinkled.

     “A lot more than some people think,” he rumbled, “Mainly see that the place runs smoothly.  Keep the Councillors in order and stop the City Treasurer spending all our money.”  He paused.  “Young Carter's in your class isn't he?”

     I nodded.

     “His father is my Chief Clerk and he does most of the work so I'm told.  Young Ted wants to follow in father's footsteps.  What about you?  Scientist like your father?”

     Gosh, how does he know Pa?  Before I had time to answer he went on.

     “Knew your Pa before the War.  My son was in the Rugger Club.  Colts side.  In the Navy now.  Lieutenant.  Out East somewhere.”

     I said I hadn't made my mind up what I wanted to do.  I liked Maths and Science but I also liked Languages as well.

     “Did Greats at Oxford.  Enjoyed that.  Had to find a job so had to do Law after.  Toby's got a place at my old college but he'll have to wait until we finish the Hun off.  Good news this week, eh?”

     I said everyone was excited and had just finished telling him about Uncle Alfred's arrival when one of the Brothers got into the ring and announced the first bout.  Two skinny lads, feather weights I saw on the programme.  They might have been skinny but they knocked hell out of each other.  Flurries of fists and Mr Halloran, the referee, had to keep separating them.  There were cries of “Hit him, Sean!” and “Knock the sweet Jesus outta him!” from the lads behind me and the large Brother in the front row turned and glared.  These shouts must have spurred the lad on as he gave one almighty swing and the other lad went down - winded - and was counted out.  The portly man prodded me with his pipe.

     “Go out with them and see his ribs are alright.  Press gently.  If he screams send him to the hospital.”

     Dutifully, I rose and went out to the room being used as one of the dressing-rooms.  By the time I got there someone had got the lad's gloves off.  With my best air of importance I went up to him.

     “Come to check your ribs,” I announced.

     He grimaced and with one hand pulled up his singlet.

     “Fucking hurts,” he said, “There.”  He nodded down.

     I lifted his singlet up and he wriggled out of it.  He was skinny.  I could count his ribs.  'Dr' Thomson took over.

     “Hold your left arm up, please,” I said as commandingly as possible.  “I'm just going to feel your ribs.  If it really hurts tell me.”

     He had the makings of a bruise appearing.  Where he had been thumped was quite red.  However, I started at the top rib and pressed.  No response.  I did notice he had quite a growth of black hair under his arm.  I moved down, pressing each rib carefully in turn.  He winced a bit when I got to numbers five and six but no screams.

     “You're going to have a bruise there but I don't think anything's broken.  If it still hurts tomorrow you'd better go up the hospital and ask for an X-ray.”

     The lad looked at me a bit startled.   “X-ray!” he said looking puzzled,”What's that for?”

     Crumbs, I thought everyone knew about X-rays.  Apparently not.  I realised I recognised the lad.  He worked in one of the local shops so he must have been to the Elementary school.  I didn't know how old he was - he was older than me, sixteen perhaps.  I glanced down.  There was quite a dusting of black hairs on his legs, almost as much hair as Matt.

     “It's OK,” I said, “They use X-rays to see if you've broken anything.  Doesn't hurt.”

     He looked slightly more relieved and began to gingerly finger his ribs.  He smiled.

     “I'll be OK, just got in the way of a lucky punch.  I've boxed Sean before and we've drawn so it'll be my turn next time.”

     We were interrupted by Sean himself.  He too had shed his gloves.

     “Are ye OK, Charlie?” he asked.  “I hit you lucky that time.  Did I hurt ye?  Sorry!”

     I stood back as Charlie turned and Sean inspected his ribs.

     “Och, ye're alright there, isn't he?”

     This last question was directed at me.  I nodded and said I thought so.

     “Well, you can look at my arm,” he said.  “I cut it this afternoon and it hurts.”

     I asked him how he'd done it and he said on a bit of rusty tin.  I knew there was a sink in the little scullery next to the changing room so I said we should go in there.  Inside  I took him over to the sink and ran the water.

     “Wash it under there and make sure it's clean,” I said, “I hope you cleaned it this afternoon.”

     He shook his head.  “I was too busy at the garage so I just wiped it with a rag.”

     I took another look.  There was a nasty scratch, not too deep but red at the edges.  I thought I'd better get advice from the portly man.

     “Wait here,” I said, “I'll be back in a moment.”

     I rushed into the hall and had a hurried consultation.  He nodded and rummaged in his haversack and brought out a small jar of antiseptic ointment and gave me that and a small pack of narrow gauze bandage, a small pair of scissors and a safety-pin.  He said nothing so I took the articles and went back to the scullery.  Sean had shed his singlet and shorts and was just in underpants and socks.  Charlie was in there too, half-dressed and carrying his trousers, shoes and socks.  He had put on his shirt but still had his boxing shorts on.  As I approached he was just taking them off and was wearing nothing underneath.  I had a quick view of a stubby, quite thick cock with a nice pair of balls hanging below.  He grinned as I glanced at his face.  He'd seen me take in the view!

     I went over to Sean and put the things on the draining board next to the sink.  He looked a bit apprehensive as I unscrewed the lid of the jar.

     “And what's that?” he asked.  “Where did you get it?”

     I explained that it was antiseptic cream and it came from the senior First Aider, who was also the Town Clerk.

     Sean meekly held up his arm and I anointed the edges of the scratch.  He winced a bit but I carefully spread the cream over the cut.  He smiled.

     “Feels better already, it does, it's cooling it down.”

     Never having done it before but working on instinct I wound the gauze bandage round his arm and asked Charlie, who had remained in the state of undress watching my ministrations, to put his finger on the bandage while I cut it and pinned it together.  When this was done I felt very proud of my efforts.  It looked very neat.  Sean smiled.

     “Och, and that's a fine job you've done there.”  He turned to Charlie.  “You want a drop of that to put on...”  He stopped and looked at me.  I saw Charlie beginning to blush.  “...Och, tell him Charlie, he'll know, he's St John.”

     Whether I should be equated with the fourth Gospeller was another matter but I was intrigued.  Charlie took a quick look about the room.  Of course, it was empty except for us.  There was a hum of activity from the next room but we were alone.

     “Bit embarrassing,” he said finally,  “Quick, have a look.”  He drew up his shirt and hefted his stubby cock.  He had a long, thick foreskin and as he turned his cock I saw the unmistakable evidence of over-activity.  I'd seen it before - on Matt and on myself!  A small reddish, weeping tear.  I took command and picked up the jar from the table.

     “Hold still, I know about this.  A friend had the same,” I said, not elaborating that the friend also included me.  I dipped my finger into the creamy substance.  “Hold it up a bit!”

     I gently put a dab of the goo on his foreskin and edged it down to go over the tear.  I looked at his face, he suddenly looked most relieved.

     “Oh, that feels good,” he enthused, “It's cool, the bugger was burning this afternoon, that's why I didn't have any pants on.”

     “I can't really put a bandage on it, but if I put a bit of the ointment on a piece of bandage you could put it on yourself tonight,” I said, and then added, without really thinking, “In any case, you'd better not do anything else tonight.”

     Charlie had gone bright red at my admonition.  Sean was almost doubled up with laughing but didn't comment on the second part.

     “Go on, put a nice bandage on it and if you haven't got another pin put a nice big bow on it!”

     “Shut up, bloody fool!” said Charlie, still blushing.

     I thought I'd better enquire further.

     “And how did you know about the damage?” I asked Sean.

     It was Sean's turn to go red and Charlie giggled.

     “We're just good friends,” said Charlie, punching Sean lightly on his undamaged arm, “Aren't we?”  He looked at me and grinned.  “We live next door to each other and he works at Stiff's garage next to the shop I work in.  We've known each other since we were little kids and now we meet up for a chat and a fag....”

     “That all?”  I asked, grinning as well.

     Charlie punched me, perhaps not so lightly, on the arm, at least if that was light I wouldn't like to in the firing line in the ring, and grinned even broader.

     “Not usually....”

     My turn to giggle.  No more needed saying and I left them to complete dressing and said I'd better get back to my vigil.  As I went through the dressing room there was Matt with a lad who had a bleeding nose.  Matt was handing him pads of gauze which the lad was poking up his nostrils.  As I passed Matt raised his eyebrows and I grinned again.  I had something to tell him.  We weren't the only ones who over-exercised their virile members!

     In the hall there was great excitement.  The pair in the ring were belting hell out of each other.  They were large lads and I didn't recognise either.  However, no damage was done and a great cheer went up at the end of the third round when the referee said it was a draw.

     The next match was one I wanted to see.  Johnny Reed and the Brian lad.   This was obviously a match where the Catholic lad was not even liked by his schoolmates.  They even cheered Johnny as he raised his gloves when he was announced.  God, if I thought my previous two were 'knocking the sweet Jesus' out of each other, Johnny and this lad were going at it hammer and tongs.  I winced every time either of them landed a blow.  Both took real thumps to the head and two of Johnny's really shook young Brian when they landed somewhere in the stomach level.  The excitement mounted and they were both hard at it when the bell at the end of the first round went.

     They were both panting when they started the second round and that was just as vicious as the first.  The referee stopped the fight at one point as Brian looked as if he had a cut over one eye but the referee told them to box on.  They lammed into each other, dancing round the ring, right arms straight out keeping guard with their left.  Towards the end of that round they were not hitting each other so much.  This changed for the third and last round.  Johnny came out and landed three punches in quick succession between the lad's eyes, to his chest and to his stomach.  This slowed him right down and the rest of the match was just the two of them circling around.  The outcome was obvious.  The ref raised Johnny's arm as the other lad sank gracefully and, no doubt, thankfully to the canvas (got it right this time!).  He wasn't knocked out, just dazed, but his 'pals' were vociferous in condemning his puny efforts.  The large Brother from the front row got in the ring and quelled the noise with one glance at the culprits.  The portly gentleman nudged me as I was still gawping at the scene in the ring.

     “Get him in the dressing room.  Have a look at his eyebrow.  Bathe it with cold water.  Clean it up.   Stick a bit of this plaster over it.  If it's badly torn send him to the hospital.  He's going to have a couple of shiners tomorrow, anyway!”

     He took another couple of puffs at his pipe and I went to the ringside armed with the instructions and the packages he passed me.  Johnny gave me a wan smile.  He was going to have a shiner as well the next day.  His right eyebrow was swelling visibly.  The other lad looked as if he didn't know if it was Monday or Thursday, let alone Friday.  His second helped him from the ring and the four of us paraded the few yards to the dressing room to a renewed cacophony of catcalls and cheers which even the Brother could not quell.

     I sat the pair down next to each other on a convenient bench.  The second took both pairs of gloves off and the Catholic lad looked as if he was recovering.

     “Fuck me!” he murmured, “You gave me a bloody pasting!”

     Johnny grinned.  “Second time we've pasted each other and I won this time!”

     I beetled off into the scullery and wetted two pads of gauze and when I came back the pair were chatting most amicably, the second having gone back into the Parish Hall with the next pair of contestants.

     “Here,” I said to the Catholic lad, “I'm going to clean up your eyebrow and Johnny can put this other one on his forehead for a minute or so....”

     The lad's eyebrow wasn't really bleeding, just oozing, but I saw it was next to a scar.

     “...Been damaged there before?” I enquired.

     My perspicacity must have impressed him.  He looked at me steadily.

     “Yeah, had to have a coupla stitches in there last year.  The doctor said I had to be careful.”

     I murmured something consolatory which was needed when I pressed the cold compress to his eyebrow.  He winced.

     “You're going to have a couple of black eyes after this,” I said, “Like I had after a rugger match.  Pat Halloran kneed me between the eyes!”

     He winced again and nodded at the same time.  “Not boxing him?”

     I snorted.  “God, No!  That's more brutal than rugby, except if you get in the way of someone's knee.”

     I pressed on the eyebrow again. As I took the compress away he turned to Johnny.

     “Buggers in there hoped I'd get beaten properly, eh, Johnny?”

     Another pair knowing each other, I surmised.

     Johnny turned his cold compress over and placed it on his forehead again.  He laughed.  “Your fault.  Shouldn't have told them you'd win.”

     Hum, I thought, it sounded more than just that.  Perhaps I might find out more later.  I left them to continue dealing with their own hurts and to dress and went back to the hall.  We were nearly getting to the interval now and after that the second match was Pat Halloran against Jim McDonald.  I wasn't called on to be a ministering angel any more as little damage was inflicted by any of the other boxers.

     After the interval - which involved people just getting up, going outside to light another cigarette and come back in puffing away -  I saw some of our older lads from school with furtive ciggies and there was quite a fug of smoke in the hall as the second half started.  I was just settling in when Johnny Reed bumped along the bench next to me.

     “Thanks for dealing with us,” he said, “Brian's gone home though as he says he's got a bit of a headache.  Anyway, I wouldn't mind joining St John's.  Interesting.”

     I wasn't surprised about Brian.  Two lovely black eyes would be his signature tune for a few days.   I said Johnny should talk to the portly man or to Pat Halloran afterwards about joining the SJAB.  Anyway, we sat and watched the next bout and again no damage, so no repairs needed.  Then it was Pat and Jim Mc Donald.  They raised the temperature in the room quite a bit as the pair were really hot boxers.  I was becoming a bit more savvy about the niceties of the noble art and Johnny kept up a running commentary which enlightened me further.  Both walloped each other but Pat won on points and it was a popular decision and Jim shook gloves with him gallantly after Pat returned to his corner.   

     At the end of the evening the portly gentleman congratulated both Matt and me on our work.  I saw Johnny go up to him and they were soon in deep conversation.   As Matt and I cycled off I told him about the lad's predicament and Matt nodded sagely and said none of his wounded were as interesting as mine.  Just as we were parting I remembered something - I hadn't given the portly man back his antiseptic.

     “Here you are, Matt, present for you - just in case!”

     He gave me a filthy look but took the jar!

     That night I was really randy and tossed off twice very quickly before settling to sleep.  I hoped my technique didn't damage my equipment any further!

                         *

                    Saturday 10th June 1944

     Tonight was the farewell for Duncan.  He had to report to barracks up North somewhere on Thursday.  It was a bit subdued but Mrs Buchanan had put on quite a festive spread and even Tom cheered up after seeing and sampling the food.  A group of Dunc's mates came and collected him about nine o'clock.  I wondered if he might end up like Henry but remembered he was a Methodist and didn't approve of strong drink!  Or, did he?

     Tom did look a bit forlorn as we said our goodnights - he was going to miss his big brother.  I thought about both of them in bed that night.  I had one wank thinking of Tom gripping my cock and then lay wondering about Duncan.  I knew that Matt and he had indulged on the Rugger Tour but Matt had never told me much about Duncan.  I didn't have any real mental images as I gave myself a second most satisfying wank and fell asleep immediately afterwards.

                              *

     On my run next morning I deliberately made sure I met up with Tom and helped him finish off his paper round.  He said Duncan had come in after midnight - and had obviously imbibed something other than crystal clear water!  He said he hoped he'd be OK as there was a farewell parade for the Boys' Brigade that day.

                              *

                    Monday 12th June 1944

     School was hectic.  We were having the rest of the end-of-year exams this week and everyone was panicking.   That evening at St John's Matt was moithering on about Geography and would I help him with Maths on Thursday ready for the exam on Friday morning.  I said I would and got on with bandaging up some poor sod who was supposed to have a sprained hand.  I didn't ask how one got a sprained hand but my fevered imagination came up with at least one reason.

     I was just tying a neat knot when Pat Halloran came up.

     “Got a friend of yours in the office wants to join,” he said, “Seems keen - saw him Friday knocking hell outta young Brian McCaffey the wee sod.  Got two lovely shiners, serve him right, your pal's got a lovely one too!”

     I said I knew Johnny well as he was in my Form at school.  Pat nodded sagely and said he thought he was a good lad.  With that Johnny came out of the office with Mr Halloran and I was asked to go through some of the bandages with him.  Johnny was very quick on the uptake and finished with a good example of a spica bandage on our guinea-pig, Matt.  He said he was going to join and would talk to us at school about what else he had to do.

     No time on Tuesday for talks.  We had the French exam in the morning and English in the afternoon and I was ready to get back home quickly after school ready for History revision for Wednesday.  Nobody had liked the English exam.  Not too bad on Wednesday morning as the material on the Great Fire of London and Sir Christopher Wren was just what was needed for one question.  I wasn't too happy about the one asking about William and Mary but did mention the founding of the Bank of England.  At least on Wednesday afternoon we were told we could either do something on the sports field or do more revision.  Almost everyone opted for revision.  I noted the rest of the exams were Science, Maths and Latin so that was that.  Matt just looked at me blankly when I said I was going for a run and sod the studying.  Matt was in turmoil.  He said he'd remembered nothing about History and managed to get Australia muddled with Canada and wrote about sheep being the main produce of Canada in Monday's Geography exam.  He said he had to go to the Library and do more revision, especially for Maths and Chemistry.  I went off and got changed into my running gear.  A couple of other non-studiers went off with the discus and a couple of javelins then Johnny Reed entered the changing room.

     “Matt said you were going for a run, can I come with you?   I'm bloody fed-up with swotting.  I'm not too worried about the Maths and Science and I don't suppose you are, eh?”     

     I agreed to both questions and waited while he stripped down to underpants and then pulled on his shorts and rugger shirt.  Of course, tying his plimsoll laces took time but I had a good chance to look at his quite muscular legs and the developing hairiness of his thighs.

     “OK, ready now!” he announced as he stood up and tested the tightness of his neat bows by flexing his feet, “Where do we go?”

     I explained that I usually went into the copse beyond the playing field and followed the path there which went off into the country and then doubled back after a couple of miles or so.  He made a face and said something about not being used to running that far, he preferred cycling and his boxing.  I supposed the cycling explained the muscly calves.  I asked if he belonged to the Cycling Club and he said he did.  He said he was pretty busy what with that, boxing at the gym, a paper-round, Cadets and now SJAB, but he liked to do as many things as possible.

     We loped off across the field and waved to the discus throwers one of whom, unsportingly, threw the object in our direction.  He wasn't all that good as it fell well short of us.   We didn't run fast so we kept up a bit of a conversation though I could see that even by the time we vaulted the five-barred gate he was panting a bit.   Funny, if he was as energetic as he seemed to be he certainly wasn't a runner.

     As we went along the path we dropped the conversation until we came in sight of the path leading off to the hut where the Sixth Formers had shouted at me and my previous compatriots and to the shed where I'd had further adventures.  We slowed down.

     “That's our Cadet hut down there,” Johnny said, “Want to have a look?”

     I said I hadn't seen it in detail and told him about the Sixth Formers using it for a study base but didn't mention the shed and the wanking session.  He laughed.

     “That's not all they use it for, nor us!  Come on, let's have a look and I'll show you round.”

     HuHn, I thought, I can guess!.  However, we slowed down to walking pace and stopped at the end of the hut.  It was much bigger than I'd thought - it had a wide verandah round it and it was on this where Billy and his pals had been sitting when they were studying and shouting at us.   Johnny rooted around under the hut.

     “Someone's taken it.  There's usually a key here but Sergeant Moss said too many people knew where it was and we weren't to tell anyone else so I bet he's taken it off.  Come on, we can look in the windows.”

     I dutifully peered through a surprisingly clean window.  There were several shelves with books and it looked like gas-masks on them as well.  Didn't seem very interesting.  Johnny led me round the other end of the hut where there was another locked door.

     “Can't get in, but this is where we come to do map reading and so on.  No electricity - we have to have Tilley lamps.  Then afterwards we often go down there.”

     He pointed at a path with a fork in it.  I knew one way led to the shed but he was pointing to the other arm of the fork.  So 'down there' was a path leading much further into the copse.  Falling straight in I asked what was 'down there'.

     “Come on,” he said, grinning, “Let's have a look.”

     About thirty or so yards on was another clearing.  It was a bit like a the one where Matt and I had indulged first with Georgie and Greg.  There was a rough-hewn bench and a table of sorts and several tree stumps used for further seating.

     “Must have a sit-down,” said Johnny, “Too bloody hot to run.”

     He plonked himself down on the bench and I sat beside him.

     “You soon get puffed running,” I said, “I've already been out for a run this morning and ended up helping Tom Buchanan with the rest of his paper round.”

     He grinned at me.

     “Yeah, I don't mind long cycle rides or even the boxing, but running just isn't for me.”

     I looked at his face, his black eye was quite distinct.

     “Boxing,” I said, “I couldn't do that.  Look at you.  Your eye is almost green today and I dread to think what that other lad looks like.  You really pasted him.”

     He laughed.  “All in the course of duty.  If I hadn't pasted him he would have given me even more.  He's a real little bastard - I should know - I've boxed him before.”

     “His pals didn't seem to like him”

     “No, he's cocky with it too, bit like Cleggy but more so they tell me.  Always getting the class into trouble with those Brothers.  God, and are they strict.  They use a leather strap on the boys if they step out of line.  Last time I boxed him Sean showed me his backside and he had three great welts on it.  Said he didn't dare tell his father or he would have given him the same.  He couldn't care less, though, tough bastard as well.”

     I winced, not from the idea of three welts but because some insect had decided to make a meal from part of my leg.  I was scratching the inside of my thigh and Johnny was eying me intently.

     “Got an itch?”

     “Bloody gnat or something's bitten me.”

     “Let's have a look.”

     What an opening gambit!  He reached over and pulled up the leg of my shorts.  I was sitting with my legs open so my balls encased in my jockstrap bulged out.

     “Bloody hell,” he exclaimed, “You've got a real pair of bollocks there!”

     His hand went further up my shorts and peeled back the pouch of my jockstrap so not only my balls were exposed but my cock flopped out.  We looked each other in the eyes, black or not!

     “Ready for it, eh?” he said.

     I nodded and simultaneously we both shucked off our shorts and undies.  Within seconds we were both erect, matching very nearly in length and thickness - he was only about a month older than me.  I grabbed his cock, pulling his foreskin right back very easily and said I'd do him first.   He shot a goodly load very quickly and if running made him pant so having a good wank did too.  As soon as he got his breath back it was my turn.  Seeing him really enjoying what I had done to him made me very randy so I shot my load in quick time too.  It was a load, even I was surprised at the amount.  Johnny was too, he whistled as four thick ribbons shot out of my slit in quick succession, spattering over the edge of the bench.

     “Fuck me,” he murmured, “That was bloody good!  God, you don't half make some stuff!”

     I grinned apologetically and winced again, not from the gnat bite, but because he was still gripping my rod and he was squeezing it very hard.

     “God, your dick is hard,” he said, clenching his fist even tighter, “I don't think mine gets as hard as yours.”

     I assured him his had felt like a rod of steel which pleased him somewhat.

     We sat down again, sans pants, jockstrap or shorts.  The sun was quite hot.  He idly reached out and held my now limp prick.

     “You liked that, didn't you?”

     “Why ask,” I replied, “So did you.  I like it every time.”

     He laughed a throaty laugh.  “Same here.  Like the rest.”

     That was the end of the run for that afternoon.  We sat and exchanged all sorts of confidences.  He'd been initiated into the joys of masturbation by an older brother, now eighteen and in the Air Force, when he was eleven and had spied on his brother flogging his donkin in the garden shed.  On pain of the threat of instant death his brother had demonstrated the useful art and although he had tried manfully, or boyfully, to copy the actions he'd only experienced the slightest puff of ecstasy.  Still, he'd persevered and had imitated his brother's nightly efforts.  As he slept with his brother who now had no reason not to wank in bed at night the ritual became a once a night habit until just after his thirteenth birthday when he'd been rewarded with a few drops of boy-juice, much to their mutual delight as his brother was a bit fed-up with his moaning that nothing happened to him.  Since then, he said,  he'd exercised two or three times a day without fail.

     He said he missed his brother very much as they'd always  compared times and amounts and he was proud his cock was even now almost the size of his brother's.  I found they'd only wanked each other off on special occasions - birthdays mainly - as they both found perfect satisfaction in their own efforts.  Naturally he'd experienced mutual joys with a number of pals but whistled when I told him I thought my total so far was about twenty-eight!  He'd heard of the competition and said he knew I only had Johnny Pearson to conquer and he said I wouldn't have to fight hard to get him to submit.  He said he and Johnny had been pals since Junior School and he'd told Johnny about what he and his brother did when he was twelve.  As Johnny only had sisters he'd been more than grateful for the information and they'd wanked each other many times - in this very area!  He grinned and said that seemed to be the main purpose of the clearing although, officially, it was where Sergeant Moss or Henry Gale did map-reading with them.

     I suppose we must have talked for close on an hour.  We were both ready then for another wank and did each other much more slowly this time and for much longer.  I didn't shoot so much this time but I outdistanced him by at least two feet.  Jacko's howitzer would have made a good weapon to quell the nasty Germans!

     I thought of that very satisfactory encounter that night in bed.  The inevitable, a most satisfactory third wank of the day!

                         *

     Thursday morning I made the deliberate effort to help Tom do quite a bit of his paper round.  He was not in a happy mood.  Duncan was off that morning to the training camp so when we arrived back at his house after school there was no one around.  We went up to Duncan's room which seemed strangely empty.  In Tom's room, on his bed, was a note from his brother and a parcel.  The parcel contained a new Boys' Brigade uniform jacket and forage cap.  Poor Tom, my tough-guy friend, was again reduced to tears.  We sat together on his bed and then he led me into Dunc's room again.  

     “You'll be my friend now Dunc's away?” he asked.

     I said he knew I would be.  He turned and hugged me.

     “I need a friend,” he said, “I need someone I can talk too, 'cause things happen and I don't know why.”

     I couldn't draw him out on this but wondered if he meant things like those happenings at Ulvescott.  After I'd asked him what he meant and he didn't really give a sensible reply I hugged him in return.  This led to lying together on Dunc's bed and then to two friends sharing the sort of joy only boys can bring to each other.  We both giggled as the joint outflowing had been carefully caught on an old rugger shirt of Dunc's.

     “Better put that in the laundry basket,” said Tom, now happier and grinning, “If Mum finds it she'll think it was Dunc's last farewell!”

     On Friday, after the final Latin exam onslaught, Campion, who'd been invigilating,  announced that we'd better get on with one of the English set books for the School Certificate exam and as we had at least half an hour before the end-of-school bell went we could continue....mean old sod!  Actually, we had set off reading the Hardy book before the exams and I rather liked it.  Just before the bell went there was quite a hilarious moment when Jim Masters put up his hand and asked what a `paradiddle' was.  It was some passage about the drummer.  Campion peered at him then looked at Nobbo.

     “I think Clarke will be able to enlighten you.  He is an accomplished drummer.”

     Nobbo went a bit red behind the ears but explained it was a way of playing where each stick hit the drumskin in turn.  Campion nodded and Jim seemed satisfied.  Then there was a giggle and a snort from Tony and Roo who were sitting together and Tony was scribbling something in his English notebook.   Campion peered at them.

     “Something to add, Marcham?” he enquired.

     “Nothing, Sir, just making a note.”

     Campion was just going to make another comment but just then the bell went.  We were all itching to go so he just dismissed us with a sour look on his face.  I bet he would mark a few scripts down when he got to certain persons' efforts!