Aladdin's Awakening by Joel

On arrival back at home on the first Saturday in September from my extended stay in Suffolk I found more changes. Both Tom and Matt had departed. I hadn't even had a chance to say cheerio to Matt before he went off to Dartmouth and the Naval College. I had sent him a card, wishing him well, from the visit to Felixstowe which I and the boys had made to see their Great-Aunt and her cat, Rajah, again. This time the cat ignored me other than staring fixedly and balefully at the three of us from its vantage point on top of the piano.

However, consternation reigned when Ma inspected me. As soon as I arrived home she eyed me up and down. I explained I had travelled in my now rather short shorts as my school trousers I'd taken with me were far to small for me now. True. Over the last three months I'd experienced another great spurt in growth. I was now six feet tall, long-legged and rather more hairy on my extremities. I had also checked, that Saturday evening, and confirmed what the boys the last week or so had been commenting on. My ruler told me that my erect cock was now over six and a half inches long. Wow! Lachs and Flea had noted both the increase in my height and the lengthening of my rod. They were both pleased also as Flea had put on another inch in height with an increase in his own prick dimensions and Lachs' tool had thickened somewhat. I think we put those crucial increases down to the almost constant erections we sported and the use we'd made of our ever rampant members.

As far as clothing was concerned, luckily there was another pair of Chris's cast-offs, which, with a judicious bit of hem letting-down didn't look too bad. At least I would be presentable in my new Prefectural role! As I paraded before Ma so she could cast a critical eye over her handiwork I was sternly instructed not to grow any more until we had enough clothing coupons to get another pair of trousers for me and it was probably due to all the food I ate. Huh! Not my fault if my stomach rumbled three or four times a day - probably in tune with my need to wank so much!

Pa had grinned when he saw me: his tall, hairy-legged offspring, now with quite perceptible hirsute growth on it's face. I'd tidied myself up several times with the use of Lachs' razor but Pa must have been prepared because, later that evening, I found a small box on my bed containing a new safety razor and a packet of precious razor-blades. Ho, Ho, I was a real big boy now!

Tony said he'd had a rotten summer. His old Gran had been staying with them all the time and he and Kats had had to keep an eye on her as she tended to wander. Because of an increase in business, even though the War was only just over, Mrs Marcham had gone back to work for her husband in the Estate Agency and Roo had decided to leave school and was also now working for Tony's Dad as he wanted to train as a surveyor and valuer. Tony breathed a sigh of relief as he said it meant his mother would be home now in future and would keep the old lady in check. He said he'd also got his Matric Exemption and had a letter from Dr Morris appointing him as a Prefect as well.

Kats was laughing when he said this and remarked that she never expected her big brother to be given any responsibility. She said, to my embarrassment, I was different. I was sitting next to her on the sofa and, as she said that, she put her hand on my leg above my knee. Wow! That did it! As her hand brushed my newly grown hair I felt a definite tingle in my groin. My newly lengthened cock was reacting, quite involuntarily. Luckily I could place the plate with the sandwich on it over my bulge and I willed it to subside. The more I willed, the more it grew! Mercifully, Kats was distracted and leapt up to get more food for us hungry boys. I cowered into the cushions of the sofa and my ever-ready prong softened. Oh my! If a touch like that had that effect, what else?

She hadn't finished, though. As she leant over me to pour another cup of tea she complimented me on my tan and a hand strayed onto my mahogany brown arm. Wow! The cycle repeated itself. Hardening, mental battle, softening. If this went on I would be shooting a load without any effort on my part - my part would do it by itself! I think Tony had an idea what was going on as he had that grin on his face that lads have when a fellow sufferer is going through some agony. Luckily, again, she was distracted and I was able to control myself.

Tony came to see me next morning. He said Kats never stopped talking about me from the moment I left. I grimaced and said I wondered why. He just grinned. He admitted that he was as horny as hell and all over the summer Kats had dogged his every footstep and the only time he had any peace was when he was in the privacy of his own bed at night. He hadn't met up with any of his friends and he let me into a piece of information - that Tom had been playing tennis every day with Betty Briggs - and he wondered if he was getting his end away. I didn't say I doubted it as Tom was, really, a very upright character. No, no, I didn't mean it in that way! I just laughed and said best of luck to him!

Tony remarked on how tall I'd got. I was at least four inches taller than him now. He grinned and said that Kats had said she admired my tan and why hadn't he got one. As he'd spent the whole summer in Kerslake, watching his Gran and getting little sun, no wonder! He was most envious when I described the sailing and learning to swim, but he said, if we could skive off from school on Friday, we could go over to Ulvescott Manor, cycle there and come back Sunday late afternoon. As we then showed our joint horniness by helping each other to an orgasm what else could I do but agree. He also remarked on my new lengthiness but I commented that he was modest as he was still growing as well.

He said he hadn't been able to get to Ulvescott at all over the summer and was desperate to see the place. I said I was the same. I'd had a lovely time in Suffolk but I also wanted to see Ulvescott and to see Hans and Herr Vogel now the War was over. Tony also said Mrs Crossley had 'phoned to say Bran had been mated with an Irish wolfhound bitch at the beginning of August. Wow, again, I hoped there would be a Bran Number two in residence at Ulvescott soon.

If I thought I'd grown over the summer when I saw Nobbo on Wednesday I was even more surprised. I had gone to school, summoned in that letter by the Head Beak, to learn of our duties to be as Prefects. Nobbo had also had the same letter and when I saw him I had to laugh. Nobbo was now more than six feet in height, taller than his brother had been, and he was skinny with it. It was odd. Somehow, over that summer so many of us had changed. I was now in the upper reaches of the school with those friends who hadn't left school for pastures new. I saw the inside of the Sixth Form Common Room for the first time. A hallowed sanctum which no lower being was ever allowed to enter. I made a surreptitious recce and saw the jutting piece of wall with the pencil marks. Pity Matt wasn't still with us, he could have measured himself against that almost eight inches mark of the lad who had died at the beginning of the war. I wondered if my growth spurt would be continued so I could make my mark there as well? I was certainly a true Thomson as I was rapidly approaching my cousins' sizes.

We were handed a list of our duties by the Head Boy. Tom Rankin had left and the new Head Boy was Chris Payne with Johnny Hobbs as his Deputy. I found that only seventeen of our combined Fifth Years were staying on into the Sixth Form. The rest had left for various reasons. I found that as well as Roo and Matt going, Ned Carter was now employed at the City Hall in the Treasurer's Department along with Dave Morgan in the Planning Department. Jim Masters and Pete Fry had gone to an accountant's office and a solicitor's as articled clerks respectively and Martin Bates had gone to work in his father's shop. The old 5S was even more depleted. Alan Foster told me the trio of Alan King, Chris Nelson and his brother Bernie had all joined the Merchant Navy and gone to the training school. So, with the eight surviving members of the new Second Year Sixth we were twenty-five in number.

Just as we were dispersing Van turned up and corralled the five of us down for French and handed out reading lists and translation exercises. As I was the only one doing German he landed me with translating the first chapter of a German novel by next Wednesday. Luckily I noticed from the Sixth Form time table he handed out, both Tony and I were free on Friday afternoons for private study. Ulvescott, here we come!

As luck would have it, I was placed on 'Gate Duty' my very first morning as a Prefect. As luck would have it, I was there on time, five minutes early, for once. What a difference. Me, the usually tardy one, now harrying the new bugs, frightened little First Years, into this new, unfamiliar environment for them. I thought back to my first day at the school and commiserated with them. I had survived five years so far, so would they. The more worldly-wise Second Years and upwards swung off their bikes as if they owned the place, the new Fifth Years looking all self-important. Oh! was I like that, even just last year?

So, school started with a bang, and a bit of a whimper. I spent the rest of Thursday getting the set books together from the Library and trying to pin Van down to say when my German tutorials would be. I also was introduced to Mr Phelps, a new master, invalided out of the Navy, who was to be our Maths tutor. He was short, had a stutter and looked very pale. He said we only needed two main books. Christ Almighty! As I turned the pages of an Introduction to Pure Mathematics I wondered what I had let myself in for. Pages and pages of seemingly incomprehensible formulae and screeds of horrible symbols with headings to chapters like Limits, or the Calculus of Finite Differences. At least I had Pa at home, who I admit wasn't much help when I showed him the book. He just laughed and said it gets worse as time goes on! At least the Principles of Applied Mathematics had a few graphs and diagrams!! Actually, he did say to ask him if I got stuck. If he could help Mike, bugger me, he could help me!!

After a session with Van on Friday morning for French, all in French, with Tony, Tim, Vince and Alan Foster, I felt a bit better. At least I could understand what he was saying. I then had a short session with him, in German this time, where he said I should work on translating as much as possible at first to get vocabulary and sentence construction. I was to make notes on this for every paragraph I read. I then found the book he'd given me was a detective novel, so, not too bad.

Tony grabbed me just as I was going towards the dining hall to join the lunch queue. He said we could have a bite to eat at his, collect my things and then cycle off to Ulvescott tout de suite! OK, OK, as long as I got enough to eat! He said his Mum had promised him sandwiches so there should be enough for both of us. We rushed off before any Prefectural jobs could be found for us.

Tony's Mum was as good as her word. We had time for a couple of good thick sandwiches and she gave us a couple of buns each to stave off the hunger pangs on our cycle ride. We gobbled the sandwiches down and then set off, calling in to my house to collect my clobber. I changed into my short shorts very quickly and poked my trousers with a clean shirt into my haversack. Then we were off.

Tony kept complaining my bike was so much better than his as I wanted to go at a faster pace. Truth was he wasn't as fit as I was. I said he should exercise his legs as much as he exercised his right arm and he might be able to go a bit faster. Silly sod then tried to run me down! He said I'd better watch it 'cause when he had his legs wrapped round me later I'd think he was a boa constrictor. Oh! What had he got planned already?

Actually, we made very good time and Ulvescott Manor gates hove into view with a patient Bran sitting by the small side entrance. He gave a couple of rather plaintive 'woofs' as if to say 'where have you two been?' but he was soon almost bounding along as we cycled up the drive to the house. I wondered if impending fatherhood put a spring into his step?

On the ride over Tony said his father was rather worried about what this new Labour Government might do. He was sure taxes would rise and thought that things such as land might be nationalised. Tony said his Aunt and Lady Bing were worried about the upkeep of their large houses now the War was ended. Both had benefited from the help from the POWs and the income from letting fields and, in Mrs Crossley's case, producing eggs from the wretched chickens. Apparently, Tony's father was exploring some scheme to transfer the title to the land to companies which could control their use. It all sounded rather complicated to me and as I wasn't doing Economics it was really double Dutch to me.

Although the War was now officially over, Victory over Japan had also been declared after those two new bombs had been dropped on Japanese cities, Tony said he was sure things wouldn't get better for some time even though people wanted change. I thought about Captain Harrison's statement. He was sure great changes would be made for the better. Time would tell.

Supper that evening was, as usual, delicious. Tony was congratulated on reaching the ripe old age of sixteen and I was complimented on my healthy looks! We had been despatched down to the cellar to fetch up bottles of wine for tonight and Saturday. We ended up toasting Tony's birthday, the end of the war, Uncle Edward's election, Lizzie Tilson's engagement (poor man!), our move into the Sixth Form, and anything else we could think of. The seven of us at supper that night polished off three bottles of wine between us so an early night for all was decreed.

Although Tony really preferred the Horsebox we had decided to sleep in Piers' old room. When we got up to the bedroom Tony just looked at me and smiled. I was as horny as hell, three and a bit glasses of good wine had sparked off an extra level of randiness. I was stripped, washed and in bed long before he emerged from the bathroom still with that smile on his face. Tony was in a really playful mood. As soon as he got into his side of the bed he rolled straight over on top of me and started to lick and nip at my chin and neck. If there was anything designed to set me off even more it was a tongue on my neck. I was ultra sensitive there and Tony had seen my reactions before. I was truly, truly, rampant. I squirmed and wriggled under his weight and with a heave rolled him over so I was now on top of him. His legs were round my lower back immediately and I felt the power in his muscles. He did have some power! This move on both our parts meant my dick was there, probing his pucker, straightaway.

Crafty sod! No wonder he had a smile on his face earlier. He must have secreted this new jar of Vaseline I found there sometime during the pre-supper cleaning up we'd done of ourselves. It was then a matter of seconds to unscrew the lid, coat my fingers and anoint his rosebud. He was panting even more as I did this and I gave him the same treatment of licking him under the chin and feathering his nipples with my tongue. I pushed and a finger entered. I wriggled it. He moaned softly and shook his head from side to side as I licked him more and pushed my finger in further. I pressed a second finger in and scissored them. His hips began to jerk and I moved my face up so I could tongue his lips and ears. I clamped my mouth over his to stop him moving his head about so much and we panted into each other's open mouths. As I pressed my fingers in and out so we tongue-fucked at the same time and I knew that if I didn't get inside him properly very soon I would be depositing a massive load all over him.

He was ready. I guided the tip of my dick to the entrance of his well-lubricated hole. He grunted and the first inch or so, my fat knob-end, went in. His legs tightened round me and he bucked his hips towards me and as his buttocks came up so the whole of my newly lengthened cock, all six and a half inches and a bit, was deep in him. I didn't last. He thrust at me and I bumped my pubic bone against him and shot. I squirted that first load of the day much deeper into him than I had ever achieved before.

I was almost delirious with the feelings. With Lachs and Flea over the summer we had kept our encounters to tossing off and sucking. Our true friendship for each other had been sealed irrevocably by those final fucks we'd had before and we didn't need to pursue those goals again. The memories of the awesome, intense affection built up at those times powered our comradeship, our brotherliness, our feelings of an unique oneness with each other which were too hard to describe, all these could only be felt. Those acts were not the same as tonight's. Tonight was sheer, unbridled lust on both our parts. Tony and I were friends, good friends, best friends, but what we needed here and now was the pure unadulterated release of our teenage sexual urges. This was fucking, pure and simple! Tony confirmed this.

I'd collapsed onto him after that tremendous orgasm of mine so his voice sounded unnaturally loud in my ear next to his mouth. This must have galvanised me into action again. My prick was still rigid, still deep in him. If he wanted it again, he was going to get it, come what may! I wanted more too! I just wanted to fuck him and fuck him and fuck him!

My basic instincts took over. I matched his thrusts upwards with the most powerful downward plunges I could muster. He moaned and panted and groaned and I was rasping the breath in and out of my open mouth as I rammed in and out of his now slick and slippery hole. We increased the rate of our joint movements until I felt I was ready to unload again. We must have fucked like two demented beings for about ten minutes before Tony started to cry out, an act I quickly stifled by fixing my open mouth over his. I felt his warm boycream spatter over my chest as I arched over him. With six or so even quicker thrusts I was ready for my own climax. It was as if we sang into each other's mouths with our cries. I forced my arms round the back of his shoulders and clung to him, rocking and crooning as my outburst subsided. I didn't want my cock to leave him and he clenched his buttocks to tell me he had the same desire. I had banged my pubes against his butt so hard in those last few thrusts I swear I must have forced another inch of cock into him and I knew a second torrent had been added to that first which was coating his insides.

“Oh, fuck,” he murmured and burbled, “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” at an ever increasing speed and in an ever decreasing whisper. His arms were round me and he tightened his clasp. “Phew,” he breathed out, “If only I could be fucked like that every day! Hunh, oh, thanks, thanks, thanks!” he forced out emphatically. His breath was still laboured. “I've wanted you to do that ever since we set out to get here.... Phow.... I want it tomorrow again, please!”

I must admit that second time had been a most intense fuck. He'd been a most willing and very accommodating receptacle for my seed. As far as I was concerned that was what I wanted and that was what he'd got. I was more than willing also to fuck him again. If he wanted to be fucked, I was his man. His man? At almost sixteen I was big, strong, shaving now, a veritable spunk-producing machine with a good-sized cock and urges and needs which had to be satisfied very frequently. I had already performed twice that night. If Tony wanted more now or later I would provide!

Needless to say it wasn't long before my cock, as rigid as ever, was making waves again in the accumulated liquid already in him. This time it was a much slower fuck. Tony was so far gone he could only make low moaning noises as my prick explored every inch from his hole to the point where my deepest thrust took me. Each time I travelled that path he moaned and he twitched. I was striking something within him which was giving him indescribable pleasure. I remembered those last times when Lachs and Flea had fucked me and the mounting excitement I had as their pricks sought out and pleasured that sacred spot. I forced my cock into Tony as far as I could go on each downward plunge. His eyes were closed and he was savouring every moment. His insides were now so slippery I wondered if things would work, but my end was so, so, sensitive I almost had to grit my teeth as, after almost forty-five minutes of that slow rhythm, he tensed up, his buttocks clenched and he shot another load between us. I carried on, getting more and worked up and must have just passed out as I unloaded a third offering of my semen into him.

Groggily, I made my way to the bathroom, peed and washed my sticky, now flaccid shaft. I sponged my torso, dried myself and returned to bed. Tony was drowsy but I tucked my towel up under his crack as I knew he'd had a substantial fill of my boy-cream. He murmured something or other and snuggled up close to me. We slept like two babes that night. An old simile but it was a sleep of quiet gratification and contentment. I was exhausted, for once, and Tony was truly satiated. I dreamed strange dreams of a river, of happiness, of a smiling face looking down on me, of two golden-haired boys, of sweetness, of light.

It was that bright light which woke me. I realised it was morning and the rising sun was shining straight into the room. No blackout curtains now the War was over. My spirits lifted even further as I thought of that and the wonderful release of all my frustrations, needs, anger even during those intense bouts of the night before. I looked at Tony lying there, breathing softly and evenly, his hair tousled over a still damp forehead. I stretched out a hand and smoothed it back. He opened an eye, smiled and went back to sleep.

I ran the bath and quietly luxuriated in its warmth. I thought of Piers and Miles in whose room we had coupled so energetically just as I hoped they had done all those years ago. I remembered the smiling face of my dream. It was certainly Piers. Watching approvingly I was sure. I knew he and Miles had fucked, like me and the two boys, not through lust, but through an abiding love. Tony and I were different. We knew we were friends and could satisfy each others needs. That was all. If he wanted to be fucked again tonight I would be most responsive and be a more than willing partner, but it would not be with that feeling of everlasting oneness. I was clearly aware now of this great and powerful distinction. Some day I supposed I would have to make a commitment. To whom, I did not know. There were confusions still to be resolved I knew.

I was drying myself when Tony emerged from the comfortable cocoon of the bed. He had a beatific smile on his face. Tony was handsome. He had those sort of features which set some boys apart. But this morning he was spattered with dried cum, scratching at his backside where my spunk was waiting to be expelled fully, his hair in a tangle and sweaty. He was stinking as he leaned over me as I peered at myself in the bathroom mirror and grinned, fully aware of the great satisfaction he'd had.

“You'd better clean yourself up,” he said, with no reference to his own dishevelled, smelly self. “Bet you need to after what you did last night.” He playfully slapped my bare bum. “Got to do something about myself, I suppose” he said, having seen in the mirror the wreck of the Hesperus standing by me. “Ow, can't wait, got to get to the lav!” He rushed off and shut the door quickly but not before I heard him sit down rapidly and heard, I assumed, an expulsion of last night's gifts.

I was dressed and waiting, looking at the photos displayed on the wall again. The room seemed brighter, cleaner, and I realised the panelled walls had been brushed, waxed and polished. It was probably now back to the state that Piers had known. The photos must have been taken down in the process and replaced, but not quite in the order they had been in before. In fact, two of them I saw were new. They were two of those given to Mrs Crossley earlier in the year, two of those showing Piers in teams. Then I spotted a third. I hadn't realised there was a second one of Piers and Miles. I had been given one but here was another copy placed very prominently. I suspect it was one which Mrs Crossley already had which I hadn't spotted amongst the loose ones in the box in the cupboard. There must have been a realisation that the relationship between Piers and Miles was something special. I knew there was and I think the look on their faces in that beginning to fade photo told it all. They had been together in life as they were now in death. When I had told Mrs Crossley the night before of that act of homage on my part at the school she had nodded and thanked me, but it was Miss P who wiped her eyes. Mrs Crossley was proud of her son and his companion and I felt that she was sure he was happy now and she had come to terms with his passing all those years ago. Somehow I also felt I had some part to play in the future.

My reverie was shattered by Tony coming into the bedroom from the bathroom, still in the nude, and an urgent thumping on the door by Bran. Tony let him in and he surveyed us in turn. Dressed and undressed. I swear the dog summed us up. “Typical!” He flopped to the floor and also waited as Tony, slowly and deliberately got dressed. We were ready for an early breakfast. Gosh, I was hungry. My efforts last night had expended enough energy to boil two kettles and I needed my boiler stoked!

Anyway, Bran was impatient. He nudged me as I stood up having finished a third cup of tea as well. Tony grinned and said something about time to make a move. Dora had put a covered plate on the table and said it was something for that boy, meaning Hans. Whoops, perhaps Flea was right and she did have the hots for him. Too bad. She must have been, I don't know, old, in her thirties, or fifties, twenty-five? I couldn't tell. At fifteen, rising sixteen, anyone over seventeen is ancient! Even Hans was twenty-two or even twenty three now. But Dora? I didn't know.

The meeting with Hans was quite emotional. Herr Vogel wasn't there as he was now working all the time for Lady Bing at Ashburn House. Hans was so pleased to see us. I translated for Tony as he poured out all his pleasure that the War was now over and saved his venom for that Trockenwichser Hosenscheisser, Grosster Fatzke aller Zeiten, that dry-wanker, trouser-shitter, greatest fool of a Hitler who was dead and gone, Herr Jesu! He wept openly when I hugged him and said I hoped he could go home soon to his family. Tony was very touched and said he was sure all would be well. I found he had written home but hadn't had a reply yet through the Red Cross. He said how happy we had all made him even though he was German and he hoped that whatever happened we would remember each other. From what I knew I said I was sure his part of Germany was in American and English hands and not where the Russians were.

We complimented him on the way all the things had been done to Ulvescott Manor over the summer. Mrs Crossley had said she'd had so much help and I'd noticed other things than the refurbished bedroom had also been done. Hans went through a list of things. Painting, staining, polishing, new window frames, and all sorts of other repairs that needed urgent attention. The main work had been done by another POW who had been a wood carver. He had worked with his father in a small village in Bavaria and was overjoyed when Mrs Crossley said she had visited the place when she had holidayed in the area in the early 1930's. Hans grinned and said the Manor should be watertight now as he and another POW had scrambled all over the roof replacing tiles and mending gutters, pipes and lead flashing.

Although I felt very happy and relaxed at Ulvescott I was also aware of other changes in me which seemed to be coincident with the rapid body changes over this last summer. I realised I was experiencing changes of mood and seemed to get angry for no apparent reason. A couple of times at Pin Mill I had to bite my tongue and contain my rising temper over quite trivial incidents with Flea in particular, who teased me unmercifully anyway. All right, it was harmless fun, but once or twice he seemed to touch a raw nerve and it was all I could do not to flare up, snap at him and give him a whack - not in play but in real anger! I was sufficiently in control of myself to contain the rising tide but I did think how did Lachs cope with the little bastard? Of course, as soon as I had these thoughts I was contrite but this only served to make me bottle up my feelings.

I knew I was becoming more aggressive. This showed itself in last night's activities with Tony. I needed to release my spunk and I needed to release it more violently than before. Tony's own height of acceptance aided this almost brutal outburst of mine. Not once, but definitely the first two times. Fucking Tony like that was the ultimate release. I fucked him hard with an unaccustomed fierceness. He did remark as we were going down the stairs to breakfast that he was rather sore and asked if I was! OK, my dick felt warm and well-used but I could put up with that if I had release like that! I knew that night the whole process could be repeated and if Tony wasn't willing, who knows what I would do to him to make him comply with my needs! I had to stop and contemplate that. If Tony was unwilling it would be like rape. Like the thugs and that poor kid. I didn't want that but I had his feeling I had to do it on my own terms and make sure I was fully satisfied.

That evening I fucked Tony again three times. Tony was more than willing, he begged me to be rough. I complied. I pounded his arse as hard as I could. I stifled his screams as he came. I bayed at the moon as I shot a torrent into his bowels that first time and I was almost as vocal the second time. I collapsed, exhausted again, the third time and we clung together, sweating, cum-soaked, fixed together by my still inserted prick and fell asleep. I woke about four o'clock, erect again and inside him. We must have rolled apart and I had ended up behind him at some time. He had accepted me then although we were too far gone to realise and remember it. I fucked him slowly again as I lay spooned against him, thrusting deep. We moaned together as he came in my hand as I wanked him at the same time as I was pressing myself as far as possible inside him. My climax was intense and I was relaxed again.

He did remark as we rolled out of bed together just before seven o'clock that he was surprised he could walk and that Roo wasn't so rough with him! I asked him, rather curtly, if he was complaining. He laughed and said he wasn't and took back what he'd said the previous night. I bristled but he said, Jacko's roughness he could cope with, perhaps, twice a week. He did admit the feelings he'd had were so intense as I'd been hitting on that secret spot in him. But, it was too much of a good thing to be able to cope with it like that every night of the week. I thought, thank you matey, get yourself fucked in future by winkle prick Roo if that's what you want. But be assured if you want a good hard fuck that's how I want it and I'll deliver the goods my way!

Over the next few weeks I was more and more aware of these almost constant mood swings. I got angry, or felt frustrated, over the most insignificant, unimportant things. I took it out on myself. My morning run became a punishing ritual, especially after the lad who had taken on the paper round from Tom had declined my help the first morning I saw him. He was only a kid of thirteen, at the Elementary School, and probably thought, the big, hairy Grammar School boy in his short shorts and singlet was going to cart him off into the park and rape him, or, at least rob him of his earnings. Poor kid! He didn't know his quite polite refusal of my help sparked off a feeling of anger at being rejected.

My run each morning got longer. I was awake and up by six each morning and steadily I got up to at least five or six miles a day. I wasn't finished then. As soon as I got back to my bedroom, hot, sweaty, exhilarated, I stripped off and had my first wank of the day. These were also a no holds barred affair. My favourite stance was in full view of my wardrobe mirror. Rampant cock in hand, foreskin well back and flailing away until, bending back, I felt the full rush of my spunk ready to leave. I stared at myself, my face contorted, with teeth bared and clenched in a rictus of excruciating terribleness, as my cum jetted free from its storehouse within me.

I always seemed to need to squirt my spunk fast and hard. If I was home from school in the afternoon or quite often as soon as I arrived back, I would be stripped off, facing the mirror, prick in hand, pounding my pud with the fervour I had pounded the streets of Kerslake earlier in the day. Even a hard wank then most often than not didn't really satisfy me. My nightly wanks, one or two depending on their intensity and whether I'd jacked off in the afternoon, were of the same order of ferocity. Even lying down in bed I gripped my poor cock tightly, revelling in the pain of a tautly pulled back foreskin, urging my orgasm forward with a show of great strength, clenching my buttocks, squeezing my balls, or rubbing my nipples, with my free hand, both of which actions I found to be so erotically arousing. My poor balls quite ached often after I'd come as I'd rather overdone the gripping hand and I made my left nipple bleed one night in my frenzy. Not to worry. If it was so enjoyable at the time I could put up with that!

My overwrought wanks during the day were quick affairs. I often timed them. Thirty seconds was good and fast, forty seconds meant I got plenty of feelings and a whole minute was so slow, but overwhelming it its climax. At night I tried to slow down but, even then, four or five minutes of slow pummelling at my prick was often enough to send me over the edge. Quite often I was so desperate I couldn't contain myself and thrashed my poor rod harder and faster, until, sweating profusely, an even bigger, throbbing, pulsating orgasm, spunk coating my face, chin and chest, would send me reeling. I needed it. I wanted it. I got it!

As well the energy expended in the running and the wanking I was also lifting the weights Mike had given me. Even after an afternoon wank I would take myself to new limits by hefting the weights, now at least a hundred times a session. My upper torso was developing fast. My shoulders were broadening and my chest was getting more defined. I did my Charles Atlas routine, posing in front of the mirror, flexing my biceps and liking what I saw. When I got bored with studying I would lift the weights until my blood was flowing again and I could get down to reading a bit more of La Rabouilleuse or tackle another of Mr Phelps' nasty Maths problems.

On my sixteenth birthday at the end of September I took a good look at my body. As I had noted, the summer had wrought many changes. My prick hairs and my leg hairs were now quite dense, showing up because of the general blackness of my hair in any case. I could flex my quite muscular thighs, built up by my constant running, and my calf muscles were large and meaty. However, my dick was my pride. It jutted out and down at rest and stood straight up my belly when at attention. Flea had nicknamed it my little soldier and said Lachs would be proud if all his squad stood at attention like that! Not only that, I was sure there was still growth in that area to come. There was also no doubt my balls were in full production. They were now like two balanced plums in their wrinkled, saggy sac. I guessed I fondled those treasures fifty times a day. Perhaps a few times less, but I never tired of exploring the whole of my tackle which gave me such pleasure so readily and absolutely.

All in all I wasn't displeased with what I saw. My face was fairly clear of the dreaded spots, a few pustules appeared and I tried hard not to squeeze the goodness, or badness, out of them. I did, though, have the makings of a crop of the little bastards across my shoulders. Flea had remarked on these too. He said I probably had the pox and I pointed out if I had, I had most certainly either caught it off him, or had given it to him, and said I hoped his mangy cock would shrivel and rot and drop off. I effected a cure for him, though, which he willingly reciprocated and got Lachs to join in as he would no doubt have the pox too as he was so old and decrepit, by taking his sweet young length into my mouth and drawing out any poison in him. His protests that his creamy boyspunk was certainly not poisonous only set off further explorations to gauge its toxicity.

My growing body had been noticed elsewhere, too. Dick Collins, who was now Captain of the First XV, persuaded me to play in the team, cajoling me by reference to my size and strength, as Rabbity and Van had contrived to arrange a number of matches with schools in neighbouring towns now the War was over. I hadn't minded running the line or even playing in House matches but this was different. Actually I was secretly glad he had asked me. I wanted another outlet for my pent up feelings of anger and frustration and what better way than getting stuck into rucks and mauls on the field. I was assigned to be a second row forward in the scrum. Height and strength dictated this. I would also be useful in the line-outs as well. Flattery persuaded me. A bit. Bloody hell, was my thought, I had a duty to scatter the massed ranks of the opposing side.

The first game, against a moderate side from the Grammar School of a town about twenty miles away provided me with plenty of opportunity. I kept up with the game very well. I shoved hard in the scrums and leapt high in the line-outs. I tackled a couple of the opposing side and ended up, hot, breathing hard and feeling much better. This was good. I rushed home afterwards, muddy, sweaty, unshowered and wanked myself almost raw, watching my nude body, tensing my muscle groups, until I shot a most generous load of that precious boyseed of mine.

About three weeks later we played another school, this time on their pitch. I also had a most interesting occurrence. Their team was much more practised than the other one. I think we were better too as we'd had a couple of strenuous practices the previous two weeks. Rabbity was a good coach but had to shout instructions from the touchline mainly as his ankle was still giving him problems. Anyway, I was away as soon as the first whistle went. I was there, up with the ball, trying to tackle any other-side player who got near it. Scrums were my joy. I pushed and swore with the best them. We managed to get the ball back a good bit of the time. Then, some way well into the second half, a scrum was awarded against the other side. We shoved and the ball was heeled back under me. I didn't hesitate. I left the scrum as it began to break up, some of the others still pushing away, grabbed the ball and hared off down the field. I was going like the merry clappers and outpaced a couple of the other side who immediately tried to tackle me. I evaded their backs and their full-back and landed up straight between the posts scoring a try. In fact, my first try ever!

As I landed, my hands pushed the ball onto the ground as I touched down. I felt a great sense of exhilaration but, as I placed the ball, I realised something else had occurred. I had shot a load! I had got so excited, weaving my way past all those grasping hands, and somehow those feelings of power had connected with sexual release. As I lay there panting, I had a vivid feeling and memory of how my cock felt deep inside Tony squirting in the throes of a tremendous climax. Oh, dear God, I staggered up, still clutching the ball, but with a warm, damp feeling between my legs. I booted the ball down the field and realised I had a jockstrap filled with cum. Cum still oozing from my rapidly deflating prick. What was I to do? If all was well, the cotton pouch would mop up the bulk of the outburst. What I didn't want was a wet patch on the front of my white shorts, nor did I want drips of stringy spunk emerging from the legs of my shorts, either. As usual it wasn't a meagre amount. In fact, in deference to my intended role in the game and wanting to conserve a little strength, I hadn't succumbed to a greatly desired wank that morning. So, there was plenty. Nobbo and Cleggy would have been pleased if I'd added that batch to my data! However, not to worry. I was pretty sweaty anyway after the exertions, plus that run, so any liquid evidence could be assigned to that cause. The smell of newly expended spunk was another matter. But again, by this time all the scrum were pretty sweaty and the smell of hot youth masked my secondary odour.

After the game ended and I was congratulated all round for that superb run culminating in a try which Johnny Hobbs was able to convert easily I rushed into the changing room to get my shorts and jockstrap off before anyone saw any evidence. I mopped myself with my damp shirt, rolled my wet garments in it and scuttled under the first shower saying I was muscle sore and needed plenty of hot water. The sluicing water washed away any remaining spunk and rid me of any smell. Somehow, I didn't want my fellow players to know what had happened to me. Actually, I was rather confused. Was this a usual occurrence? I'd never heard of it before and I'd seen plenty of other boys score tries. As I showered I grinned. Was every try accompanied by a load of cum? I shook my head. If that was so everyone would know about it.

The need to vent my unnecessary frustrations and other feelings of aggravation and annoyance were pretty constant. I was able to assuage these in various ways. Because of Rabbity's ankle troubling him he got the Head Beak to allow Sixth Formers not having afternoon tutorials to help out with Games afternoons with the lower Forms. I was assigned, with three others, to help with the Fourth Formers' rugby on Tuesday afternoons. As several were in, or aspirants for, the Junior XV, there were groups who needed special coaching. Although I was a forward in the First XV I was also fairly speedy and could have been on the wing so I took half a dozen or so of the Fourth Years for ball passing practice, tackling and also for place kicking.

One particular afternoon I was feeling quite aggressive with myself over some piece of work I wasn't too pleased with. To crown it, two of the little buggers in the group weren't paying too much attention and, in my opinion, not putting their backs into the set pieces and moves I was coaching them on. I exploded silently and vented my feelings on the little sods and their, no doubt, wank-happy companions. I set them all off passing the ball, up and down the field. I harried the little, and not so little, fuckers, running with them, catching the ball and passing it along and giving any who dropped the ball a hearty smack on their generally pert young bums encased in their tight white shorts. A couple slowed down a bit. That did it. They got a real stinger of a wallop apiece and for the next twenty or so minutes they all were hounded back and forth, passing the ball until, woe betide anyone who dropped it, I was satisfied with their progress. In truth, until I had worked off my irritations. In fact with the constant pressure they got better and were passing the ball quite competently at the end. So there was satisfaction on their part as well.

I told them to get to the changing rooms before I changed my mind. Gratefully they almost sped off the field well before any of the other players had finished whatever they were doing. They were all hot, sweaty, red-faced and panting from their exertions and all were badly in need of a cleansing shower. I was, too. I went into the Sixth Form changing room, separated from the one they used by a substantial partition which didn't quite reach the ceiling. I sat on the bench leaning against the partition, unlacing my boots and I could hear them clearly in the adjoining room.

“And so's his, even more so, have a look at it!” came a deeper voice. I had smacked almost all of them at least once to waken their ideas up but I knew a couple had been on the receiving end of several stingers each as they had fumbled much more. Whether through nervousness with me shouting at them or being general butterfingers I didn't know, or really care. At least, by the end they were all getting much more proficient. The voice continued. “You want to watch it. He probably fancies your arse, Collins, he kept following you and Fishie and he's after his as well. Huh, he was up and down the field behind the pair of you all the time giving you little slaps!” The voice went up an octave. “Please sir, I dropped my ball, give me a slap! I like it” The pitch dropped. “You loved it, smack my arse, please! Eh, Fishie?”

A deep insult. Beckett's own balls were on the line if I got my hands on him. You don't mention your fellow class-mates's sexual growth deficiencies or differences. You notice them, praising the Supreme Being that your cock is a tenth of an inch longer, or you have five hairs above said now-wankable object while your best buddy, or otherwise, has a mere three. Watch, notice but do not mention, as laddo over there has a man-sized prick a-dangling and your's is just unfolding from being the snail you were born with, and, what's more, he's a whole month younger than you. Ow!

Collins, Collins? I wondered if this was Dick Collins' young brother? My meditation was interrupted by the sound of a minor scuffle next door. From the argument which then started it sounded as if young Collins was giving as good as he was getting. There had been a muffled “Ow” which sounded as if from Beckett after the sound of a towel being whipped at vulnerable parts of anatomy. I hoped it was his balls not his bum which received the stinger! Unfortunately Collins had been too kind, it had probably been his bum but he was suitably incensed.

Anyway if I didn't hurry up the others would be with the rest of the horde and the hot water would quickly go. I showered feeling a bit more content, but hell's bells, I needed a wank! No good here. Imagine my fellow Sixth Formers seeing me indulging openly in that delightful habit. Notwithstanding everyone likely to shower in this room had willingly wanked me or been wanked by me sometime in the past.

“Used up all the hot water, Jacko,” asked Danny Ross, stripping off his shirt and showing off quite a muscular torso on someone who would be seventeen in a few week's time. I knew he went to the Mayor's gym club and I wondered if this was what those kids had argued about. I said I hadn't but he'd better get under it quick as the little sods next door would be using it all up soon.

As he stripped off completely, showing a now well-developed cock as well I said I'd come in early as I felt shagged out chasing the little buggers up and down the field. Danny said he'd noticed and he bet the little buggers were shagged out too.. “Keep them busy like that, stop the little bastards shagging each other, no doubt,” he said with a laugh and slapped me on the back. However, the spirited defence of two of the little buggers for each other after the accusations whetted my curiosity.

My mood swings, coupled with all these nagging feelings of agitation, came out in other ways, too. I had one particular release, other than my serial wanks, and that was my piano playing. I could lose myself in the intricacies of scales and exercises. I was pitting myself against myself so whatever I did had to be perfection. Just as I punished myself in my runs and weight-lifting so I made it a principle that I wouldn't give up until I had satisfied myself I was note perfect. I also reduced feelings by pounding away, especially at the Beethoven Sonata I was so fond of. There was something about those ominous passages, those sudden runs, those dramatic pauses and final bunches of wild chords which stirred all sorts of primal urges in me and I gratified them by my really over-enthusiastic performances. Pa did remark, which annoyed me somewhat, that he knew Beethoven had been deaf and he bet he didn't need his ear-trumpet to hear my renditions. I was in a real surly mood. For the first time I swore in the house. I said the old bugger's dead so I'll play as I want. There was a silence. Pa said nothing.

This was sometime just before an incident where I'd got stuck on a Maths problem. I'd gone downstairs fully expecting Pa to be ready and waiting to pander to my every whim, ready to solve any problem for his dear son. I burst into the study without any ceremony. Pa was at his desk immersed in a pile of papers with the smoke from the pipe clenched between his teeth wreathing a blue haze above his head. Without waiting for his attention I thrust the text book in front of him.

Bloody hell! Rejecting his son. If he could spend so many fucking hours giving Mike the benefit of his mathematical knowledge why the screaming fuck couldn't he deal with a simple problem for me? I grabbed up the book and strode out without another word. If truth were told it looked more as if I flounced out in a real girlish pet! Fuck it! I thought. If he was like that I'd interrupt him more. I was about to go into the front room, where the piano was, to knock merry hell out of poor old Beethoven again, when I thought, why the hell should I give him the satisfaction of knowing I was annoyed? I stamped off up to my room in a real temper. Not helped by looking at the page of the text again and seeing, immediately, that I hadn't taken into account a suffix to one of the terms. So, I was annoyed even more. I managed not to speak to Pa for the next three days to punish him for his dismissal of his son. I also wanked myself so savagely that night in bed I lay awake for ages trying to calm down. When blessed sleep came I had wild dreams which didn't help and had to get up before six in the morning for an even longer run.

A bit later I was very surly and complied with his request with ill-grace when he wanted help with some work in the garden. The garden and the huge vegetable patch was his pride and joy. I was the willing recipient of his labours in terms of the vegetables he grew but why the fuck should I be party to the digging, hoeing, weeding or any of the other myriad tasks which occupied his little spare time? I did as asked but in silence, grunting rather than replying with any civility to his questions or statements. All this was keeping me from gratifying my urges for a good wank and the relief that would bring. I did feel some satisfaction in hefting the bags of spuds and other weighty items as it did give me an opportunity to try out my burgeoning muscles. Still, I needed a good set of biceps, especially in my right arm, to raise me to those heights of passion and climax at regular intervals! My cock, wanking, and coming, were getting to be almost constant thoughts. Fuck everything else!

Towards the end of term we had a match between our First XV and that of the Catholic School, St Brendan's. Their school had had an influx of new pupils over the past couple of years so they were able to field a more than average team. Not that many of their lads were big and brawny but they were wiry and fast. Pat Halloran was their Captain and I had a great respect for him - not only because we'd had a couple of sessions together, but I knew he was a tenacious scrapper as evinced by his boxing prowess.

So, from the starting whistle we were chased around the field. Every time one of us tried to run with the ball at least three of them would be snapping at our heels. I thought, fuck this, so, at the next line-out I caught the ball and set off towards the opposing goal. Two of their forwards were in my way. Head down, I shouldered them off so aggressively one of them stayed sprawled on the ground. Another figure approached. I was in full flood, I was fearless, indomitable. I stuck up a hand and caught the figure full in the face. As he recoiled back, stunned, I realised it was Pat. I stopped two more of their side in their tracks by the sheer force of barging them and kneeing one very forcibly in the thigh to the accompaniment of oaths from both of us. At last I was brought down by a concerted tackle by three of them. I was livid . I was incensed. I was white-hot, incandescent! I lost the ball and let fly with both fists within the mass of flailing bodies over and under me. I must have caught one of the lads square in the goolies as there was an agonised groan and his body collapsed on me. I then received a none too gentle thump in the same sensitive area. I jack-knifed, booting some other poor bugger and my knees connected with soft tissue belonging to another. As all this was going on the whistle was being blown continuously by the large Brother who was refereeing the game. The mayhem broke up and I and sundry other battered, bruised and maddened hooligans were lectured loud and long in a strong Irish accent. I was blamed, rightly, for the fracas and a penalty was awarded against us. Their full-back took it and got it straight over the bar, winning the game. I knew I would not be very popular!

I had to wait until Monday before I could say anything to Pat at our SJAB meeting. He still had a bit of a bruise on his cheek. I apologised to him. He laughed. “You young fellahs have got to feel your oats someway!” He touched his face. “I've had worse in the boxing but I get belted by my own weight there, not by some rampaging ox.” He must have seen my contrite look. “Och, I got me own back.” He grinned and stepped back. “You've got nice soft parts down there. Responded to a good tap, didn't they? Made you grunt!”

A second incident, small in itself, when I nearly lost my rag came about the same time but the outcome also made me think. There were four of us in the Sixth Form Common Room waiting to go off to Van's French tutorial. Tony swaggered in and hunted in his locker for his books. “Wonder what old Matt's doing now,” he said, apropos of nothing in particular, “Walking the plank, swinging from the yard arm, splicing the cabin-boy's main brace or whatever sailors do, eh? Huh, Mr Midshipman Easy, that's Matt, easy come and easy go! Bet it won't be long before he's promoted to Rear-Admiral! Tra-la-la!”

I was missing Matt. I was missing Tom. Both had been good, staunch friends. Now, here was fuck-happy Marcham maligning Matt. I tensed, I was about to fly off the handle in his defence and give Tony a piece of my mind. Who was he to talk? He'd wanked, sucked and been fucked more times than.... Before I had a chance to open my mouth Vince said, very quietly, he'd had a card from Matt, as I'd had as well, saying he was enjoying the course although it was tough. My intended outburst was defused.

A third occurrence was fairly near the end of term. I was not happy that I, albeit a junior member of the Prefectural team, had been put on Gate Duty twice a week. I fumed to myself thinking it was some bastard who'd arranged the rota trying to get back at me as I was always, in previous years, one of the last to arrive, generally just in time to squeeze through before the Prefect on duty closed the gate. Fuck it, I thought, if someone thinks I have to pay for the past, then the little fuckers coming along at the precise moment were going to be in the book, getting detention. Not a second over! It also narked me that I, the almighty Jacko Thomson, had to be there, beside the gate, book in hand, well before the main contingent of the school arrived.

I got quite a reputation over the weeks for booking, and placing in detention, the late-comers. No matter how hard they pleaded, if I said they were late because I'd closed the gate, they were late, final! They got an admonition to wake their ideas up and a couple had received well-aimed kicks on their backsides when they didn't hurry themselves up getting to the bike-shed. Two others had received double detentions for “lewd language” concerning me which I heard clearly as they commiserated with each other over my strictness.

This all came to a head after one new lad in the First Year had been put in detention three times in as many weeks by me, the scourge of late-comers. He was a quiet lad and just looked at me resignedly as I entered his name in the book. What annoyed me was that he never came up with some lame excuse. I had heard them all. “Had to find the tortoise and give it some food”, “My cycle chain was loose and came off”, “Had to wait while mum ironed my shirt”. Christ! Why didn't the little buggers own up and tell the truth, “Please, I'm late 'cause it took longer to toss off this morning as I'd done it five times last night!”

As I said, my reputation was growing and what I didn't realise was the also growing tide of resentment amongst the lower Forms who bore the brunt of my severity. Then, this particular morning, very near the end of term, the quiet lad cycled up just as I was about to shut the gate. The gate wasn't shut. I was stymied. I had to let the idle little bugger in, but I gave him a real roasting, telling him to wake his ideas up as he was in the big school now and not at some silly little school where the babies go. I told him he was lucky this time and if he was late again it would only be his fault if he got a double detention and a kick up the backside to help him remember.

Naturally, I was even more annoyed as a couple of errant Fifth Formers cycled in, late, as I was haranguing the child and hadn't closed the gate. I was smoldering. At that moment Chris Payne, the Head Boy, who had been marshalling the rest of the school before their entry to assembly, came along and stood chatting to the lad. He must have overheard my rather loud raving but, instead of also giving the lad a piece of his mind, he was talking quietly and smiling at the same time. In the end the lad nodded and went off, pushing his bike. I was even more incensed. Not only had the child listened to me, he hadn't attempted any backchat so I could have given him another earful, but now, the Head Boy was talking kindly to him knowing full well his tardiness.

“There's this lad,” he began, “Who unfortunately is often late for school. There is a good reason for it. His mother was injured in the Blitz in London and they moved up here. His mother's in a wheelchair. The lad has to help his mother in the morning as well as after school. Sometimes it's difficult and it takes more time. He hurries but....”

He didn't have to go on. My head drooped. I was deflated. I knew I'd changed. What I'd always thought had been an easy-going me was now.... Oh, what was I to do? I had realised that all these changes were also associated with this last rapid spurt in my growth and development. My strivings to reduce my feelings of anger, surliness, moodiness, were only serving to consolidate them. My unrelenting running, my uncompromising weight-lifting, my ferocious wank sessions, my need to reduce my tensions by inflicting hurts on others, even when fucking Tony, or playing rugby, even ranting at little late-comers, were all part of a pattern which was taking me over.

I must have looked a bit astounded, I wondered if I would ever be in Dick Collins' good books after my lamentable display. Chris patted me on the shoulder. “Don't worry your reputation isn't all too bad. Dick's young brother Mark thinks you're the bee's knees! Keeps saying you don't half make them work in the training sessions but he's learned a lot and you've shut that Beckett lad up and he's OK now.”

I thought back to that session of ball-passing training and the way I'd run the little buggers into the ground, plus the intriguing information I'd gleaned from their altercation the other side of the partition. It was odd because the next Tuesday afternoon, which I wasn't particularly looking forward too, feeling I was probably wasting my time dinning these skills into the little so-and-so's, as soon as I appeared on the field the same six I'd given hell to the week before were all waiting with one of them, I assumed to be Beckett, grinning on the end of the line and positively leering at a couple of the smaller lads in the row. That did not improve my temper.

I thought we would have a go at practising a different skill - this time passing the ball and tackling. I set them off in three pairs. The front runner of the first pair had to pass to his opposite number of the next pair and the second runner in each pair had to try to tackle him before he passed the ball. I told them they were not to be rough but just to go for their opponent around the knees. I had paired them off in about equal weight and height pairs. After a couple of runs up and down the field, exchanging members of each pair after the first run, I noticed Beckett was using his weight to really floor the other lad in his pair. Oh, better give him a taste of his own medicine, I thought, and said I would demonstrate a flying tackle.

Beckett went bright red. The other five were in stitches. They must have realised I'd overheard the comments the previous week. I was mollified somewhat because they had turned up expecting me and they had joined in wholeheartedly, so I lifted Beckett up and slapped his backside, gently. “Mustn't damage it too much,” I said winking at the others who were watching closely. I then said to Beckett “You're doing well and I bet this group'll be in the First XV when you're needed. Come on, better get you ready for the great call!”

The response the rest of the afternoon was phenomenal. Any angry feelings on my part were dissipated completely and towards the end I grabbed the ball as it was being passed and was tackled jointly by Beckett and Collins. Hunh, as I lay flat out there was a significant pause as neither let go of my legs. In fact, one clammy paw was rubbed up and down the back of my hairy thigh. I lurched up and bent down to retrieve the ball. As I did so I felt three hearty smacks on my bum. Christ Almighty! I turned to find three lads, Beckett, Collins Junior and Fisher - alias Fishie - standing in a row looking as if butter wouldn't melt in their mouths. Behind them, at a respectful distance, the other three stood, Clowes, Hunter and the gravelly voiced Hawks, grinning their heads off. Honours were even.

Apart from the good outcome of the training sessions, as the next week there were nine of them lined up waiting, I had to find out more about myself. The bodily changes over the summer had been so marked. My sudden growth in height, my emerging facial hair and my hairy legs and the now considerable tufts under my arms. I had been ribbed a couple of times when changing into shorts before games about my dark tan - 'chocolate soldier' - and I had noted the appraisal of the dense undergrowth now on my thighs and shins without these attributes being commented on. As you don't mention deficiencies and differences so these other things are private, only to be mentioned between friends, only at the proper time. Being black-haired the increase in hirsuteness was that much more noticeable and I think I was getting near to beating Matt in the hairy-legged stakes. Naturally, with my now quite substantial genitalia, as I compared my equipment with my fellow players after every game, I was not averse to sauntering into the showers showing off all I possessed. I suppose I was rather vain as well!

Of course, I reasoned, I could ask Nobbo and Cleggy our resident Biological founts of knowledge! I'd heard Benno Crabbe, who was also taking Biology for Higher School Cert, saying he was amazed at the stuff they knew already, much more than him and the others - and I knew he was no slouch. He had commented that they'd said they had spent the summer reading through more of Dr Clegg's medical books, too.

Actually, I was also rather concerned about something else. I'd noticed, over the last month or so, that despite shedding two or three loads of my boycream every day, that even when my cock was flaccid and tucked into my pants, there was often a bit of spunk which oozed out during the day. I knew it was spunk. I had tasted it and had no doubt. In fact, some days there seemed to be more than others and it came out of its own accord. No stimulation - OK, plenty of thoughts during the day but this dribbling happened even when I didn't have a hardon. I had noticed it last the evening before, because, when I went to pee after working on Maths problems, there was a sticky residue around my cock-head.

Both of them greeted me jovially. Neither had played in the game against the Catholic school and so hadn't witnessed that last humiliating performance of mine. I watched as Nobbo prepared a slide of something or other and had put the two books I was carrying down on the bench as I watched. Cleggy came out of the storeroom with some piece of apparatus, plonked it down and picked up the two books. Nobbo straightened up as he finished his task and did a thumb's-up sign to Cleggy.

Cleggy came over and looked quite solemn. I think he sensed I was serious about something. The young doctor's bedside manner was beginning to show itself! We sat at the end of a bench on three lab stools and I went through the whole story of how I'd grown so quickly, especially since Easter. Nobbo laughed and said what about him. His mother called him 'Bean-pole' now and he was taller than Billy. I said about the growth of hair and they nodded and Cleggy said he was envious of my hairy legs, even if I did look like something that had crawled out of the plughole in the bath. Huh. Bedside manner? I gave him a less than playful poke in the thigh for that.

I then went on to describe my feelings of anger and how I had to try to resolve feelings by forcing myself to limits. I described my runs and the weight-lifting. As I knew the pair of them so well, I did confess that I pounded my pud with the same ardour that I pounded the streets of Kerslake. I didn't mention I'd had the heights of pleasure pounding Tony's arse both at the beginning of term and on our visit to Kerslake at half term. I was in full confessional flow when I noticed they were looking at each other and nodding sagely.

“Christ, Jacko!” blurted out Cleggy, “What d'you think's happening to us? Sod all? You're not the only one. Mum threatens me all the time because of my bad temper at home and that all I do is grunt and slam doors! You name it, I do it!” He grinned, “Perhaps I don't flog it so violently as you describe but...” he paused, “...I leave that to your imagination.” He made rapid wanking movements. “Actually,” he smiled, “I asked Geoff about what was happening to me. Only time he's useful is when I'm in trouble!”

Nobbo tapped me on the arm. “It's your hormones, lad, that's what Geoff told him,” he said quietly, “It's all those little chemical messengers swimming around in your blood stream, making your willy rise as well as your temper and making you hairier than a coconut.” He laughed. “Not that I've seen a coconut since before the War! And, you know, lad, it's a 'reet booger' ain't it? I feel like bashing young Hal to a pulp some days and I can see why Billy used to get shirty with me. It's our hormones, we're growing boys, that's what it is!”

They sat and grinned at me. I had no idea they had experienced anything like me. I thought I was the only person in the world to feel like it. I had plenty to think about. Chris had said he'd 'been through it' and now these two were telling me the same. I had to get this sorted out. I was rather in turmoil by now, trying to equate hormones with growth and feelings. Ah, but I had another problem!

Nobbo stifled his giggles. “You're lucky mate. We've been reading up all about pubertal development in one of his Dad's books. Did you know that's what it's called, all about little boys growing up, just like us?” He waited a moment while I took this in and nodded my assent. 'Pubertal' - interesting word! He grinned and cocked his head to one side. “In fact, you're lucky, you've got what is described as 'an excess of sperm'. Now, what's its name?” He turned to Cleggy. “Tip of my tongue.” He grimaced. “Yes, it's like diarrhoea...,” He laughed, “....except it's spermatorrhoea. It's just that you make too much and it has to go somewhere.” He looked at me through squinty eyes. “Think of it as a daytime wet dream!”

That diffused everything. I felt a great sense of relief as we three burst into laughter. Over the next ten minutes I learned I wasn't to worry. My 'seminal discharge' would probably disappear as soon as my hormones settled. And, bonus of all bonuses, I was no different from any other growing boy - perhaps just a bit more under the influence, as whatever was pouring out of my glands was in excess, or a bit more potent, than, perhaps some other lads.

I felt so relieved as I cycled home that afternoon. I went into the front room and practised the piano and I was still playing when Ma and Pa came home. Pa said nothing but Ma did remark how well I was playing now and it was a pleasure to listen to me. I smiled inwardly and resolved to try to constrain myself. It might not be easy but at least I now had reasons for how I felt. I would try. In any case my two friends, Matt and Tom would be home for Christmas and I couldn't show signs of anger or resentment towards them.

I tried hard and I think I succeeded. Pa spent a lot of time with me on several evenings after school finished going through some of the harder problems I was tackling. I actually initiated more conversations with Ma in French or German and tried to tone down my furious sessions with the weights. I also tried to moderate my wanking sessions and not make them so violent and really enjoyed what I was doing more and more. That is, I relished seeing my cum spurt even more after a much slower but more exquisite wank.

I had plenty to think about in any case. This last term had been very busy and I sat and reviewed the last few months as dispassionately as I could one morning. I actually made some notes to remind me of plus and minus aspects. A great plus was that I'd received a card from the two boys for my birthday and Andrew had added, probably without Lachs knowing, that Lachlan was now Head Boy and was also second-in-command of the Officer Cadet Corps. So, that's what Cartwright had meant when he said to Lachs he would need more help and gifted him with Milverton as a second fag....

Another plus on my birthday was that Pa and Ma had bought me a new watch, a real Swiss one. It must have cost a bomb! They said it was both for my birthday and because I had shared, with Tim Parker, the Rotary Prize for highest marks in the Matric exams. For once I had beaten Tony. It wasn't just that Tim and I had taken a further subject each, Music for him and German for me, but our aggregate marks averaged out were equal, two points higher than Tony's. The twenty-five pounds in book tokens divided between us were presented to us by the old Colonel. I waited to hear his usual faux pas and was not disappointed. He praised all the brave boys in the services for winning the War for the benefit of the nation and said if it wasn't for all those upright young men, the Empire would have come to a sticky end, with the Jerries subjecting our young men and women, to bow the knee and kiss the feet of the now defeated Nazis and what other unspeakable horrors might they force upon boys, such as these, indicating a now blushing Tim and me, if they had the whip hand and subjected us to their depraved and sadistic ways. The old boy was getting quite worked up and in a brief pause in his rant Dr Morris stepped forward to thank him for his stirring words. Stirring! I know Tim and I were often upright but I would love to have known what unspeakable horrors he envisaged being perpetrated on us while we bent our knees, especially with the whip!

I must say Tony wasn't miffed at all. He'd done very well and had the next highest average. He had arranged for us to go over to Ulvescott at half-term. This was memorable and a great plus as being relatively peaceful for me, in between pleasuring Tony with large-scale insertions of Jacko's engorged shaft and the expenditure of copious amounts of Jacko's exceptional boycream. No, I knew I was being cruel thinking of it in that way. Ma and Pa said nothing when I announced Tony had got me another invitation. Anyway, Pa was very busy and Ma was immersed in writing another book so I supposed there was an advantage for them not to have their surly son around for a few days.

Tony and I and Tim, who was staying in the village to visit Lady Bing, cycled over on the Friday afternoon - skipping school as none of us had any tutorials that afternoon. Tony said we needed the break. I think we all did. Even after six weeks I knew Sixth Form work was no doddle. Each of the subjects was being taught at a much higher level of thinking and conception than up to School Cert. I was not use to analysing texts at such depth nor dealing with much more abstruse mathematical concepts. I must admit I had been scared wondering if I could cope and this, of course, made me angrier still. But I was finding all this new material so, so fascinating. Some of the new concepts in Maths were a bit hair-raising at first glance but I was determined I wouldn't be beaten. I suppose my anger helped.

On the ride I found the other two were in the same boat. Tony said his English studies were more difficult than he had imagined but he was going to carry on and if accepted would study English at University. He was determined that was where he was going and he wanted to specialise in nineteenth century English Literature. Tim was so immersed in his Music he said he was having to struggle with his other two subjects and he hoped I would help him with any sticky bits of French and, already, he and Tony had paired up for preparing essays in English. So there was a plus there as each of us were struggling in a way and we realised it and were willing to help each other.

Thinking more about it, I suppose we seemed a studious lot. Nobbo and Cleggy had mapped out what they wanted for their careers. Benno Crabbe had also said he intended to try for medical school, but was more of a loner. Johnny Reed and Alan Foster had said they wouldn't mind teaching - both had laughed and said there was a steady supply of new material and a pension at the end! Johnny Wills had been to the labs to see Pa as he was taking Physics and Applied Maths as two of his subjects and I knew Pa had advised him to take a Physics degree if he could. So, what was little - I, mean big - Jacko going to do? I didn't know and that made me tense as well.

Tim Parker told us he was glad his father had been elected as an MP for part of Kerslake. But, and he said, it was a big but, he and his mother were fed up with the way his father was being harassed by the real lefties, or as he put it 'the ranting commies', who kept visiting his father or heckling him at meetings demanding that he should be tougher for the 'working man' and 'free the people from the yoke of the oppressors'. Tony laughed and asked what the hell that was and Tim said he didn't have the foggiest, as far as he was concerned it was some catchphrase. He laughed and said he and his mother always had a giggle when they saw one particular man approaching the house and called him 'the Yoke' as he was the leader of the ranters and Tim and his mum felt oppressed when he appeared.

We parted company as we arrived in Ulvescott, arranging to meet up some time, no doubt, at Lady Bing's. Bran, as usual, was waiting at the gate and led us up to the Manor house. It was all becoming a familiar pattern - a relaxing and comforting one. I felt much calmer as we went up to the house. Mrs Brown was waiting in the kitchen and plied us with tea and cakes and said dinner would be ready for seven o'clock and the ladies were very busy with a new hatching of chicks.

After a quick wash and brush-up Tony went down to the library to read and I remained in the bedroom. I wanted to look at the photos again on the walls. I wanted to know how Piers and Miles felt about each other and whether they had had the angry and disgruntled feelings I was experiencing so often. That photo of the pair of them showed a quiet contentment. If they'd had feelings like mine that photo showed they were all resolved.

I also knew their relationship was much closer than mine and Tony's. We enjoyed each other's company and I knew from the hints he'd dropped he wanted to be fucked again. Just thinking of it set my own lustful sensations going with the usual stiffening of my rod. I wanted a wank but resolutely willed myself to wait. Tony was going to feel the full force of my craving tonight without fail.

“God!” he expostulated, “Don't you read anything else but those cheap French novels? Trollope, Antony Trollope,” He waved the book again. “He wrote loads of books and I'm afraid he doesn't seem so strictly Victorian as people think.” He opened the book, “Now, listen to this.” He scanned the page. “'He's a great big naughty boy, said she to the child, and we must send him away to a great big romping school, where they have great big rods and they do terrible things to naughty boys'.” He grinned at me. “What do you think of that? You'd be good at that school with your great big romping rod, eh?” He laughed. “Don't look so po-faced, Jacko! Ohhh!” He flung the book on the bed and flopped down beside it.

“Oh, Jacko, I don't mean you're a second-best friend! It's just everything's so different this year. We've all divided up. I only see you when we have French together or for five minutes between lessons and as for those thickos, bloody Prosser and Wells in English they make me puke. Two fat slobs. The only reason they stayed on was to play rugby!” He paused. “Oh, I know you play rugby but you're different. They get my goat. They don't read the books and they rely on me to do all the talking. Brendan Fisher's not much help. He's so shy and Old Mother Riley scares the pants off him.”

It seemed as if Tony was having the same sort of feelings as I was. I lay down beside him, picking up the slim volume and whacking him on the leg with it. I knew what he meant about Prosser and Wells - our prop forwards - large, and prone to spending time in the Common Room arm-wrestling and farting. They didn't bother me, but they tended to make Vince Hare cringe with some of their dirty jokes. I didn't want to get on to an analysis of my schoolmates.

All thoughts of Kats were thrust out of my head after that. I stepped out of my shorts and Tony reached out and grabbed me round the legs. I was on my back on the bed with my underpants down round my knees in a trice with Tony's mouth guzzling my prick. My prick was hard in seconds as Tony sucked me to a tremendous outburst of a day's-worth of cum. It was just what I wanted and I was gasping for breath as I shot that load straight into his waiting throat.

That was only the start. We had a good dinner. Only Mrs Crossley and Miss P and Miriam were there but we stuffed ourselves solid. Mrs Crossley said she'd had a very nice letter from Captain Harrison thanking her for the lion skin. I'd mentioned about this when we were there at the beginning of term and Tony and I had folded it carefully ready for it to be packed and sent to the school. Captain Harrison said it would be a good replacement for the rather worn tiger skin their bass drummer had. That was a plus for me, too. I had done something for the kindness shown to me on that visit.

Tony and I said we were a bit weary, ha ha, after our bike ride so wended our way up the wooden hill just after nine o'clock. By midnight I had fucked Tony twice. After the second fuck which, for me, was even more violent and satisfying than the first, Tony was almost whimpering as I gave him the quickest and most vicious wank I could. I was still erect and in him deep as his spunk shot in all directions from his piss-slit. He clasped me tightly and wouldn't let go and the pair of us dropped off into a deep sleep.

After having a quick wash down I crept back into bed beside him. I felt good. Tony had wanted to be fucked hard last night. He'd implored to drive into him as deep and as hard as I could. I complied with his demands. I was in my element. I was a spunk machine and I flooded his interior twice with as much as I could muster. My cock was my master and in its way it mastered him.

As usual we were awakened by the thump on the door. I turfed a bleary-eyed Tony out of bed to let Bran in and to get him to the bathroom to clean himself up. I was gratified to note that as he retreated into the bathroom there was visible evidence of my spunk in and around the crack of his bum. Bran came over and sat by the bed looking straight into my eyes. I was amazed. There was a hint of sadness in his eyes as if he was saying “What have you done?” I dismissed this thought as just a fantasy of my overactive brain. I had fucked Tony because he'd wanted me to and I was truly satisfied with my performance. So there! End of story. If he wanted it again tonight my trusty prick would be waiting!

Hans was sawing wood when we went round to the barn after breakfast to find him. He stopped and immediately went to his jacket which was hanging on a nail. Without saying anything to either of us he handed me a letter. It was from his mother. He had tears in his eyes and Tony went up to him and held his arm as I read through the letter and translated it as best I could into English. The writing was beautifully formed, but in the old German Gothic script. His mother said how pleased they all were that he was well. She said both she and his father were well but he was very busy with the farm work. His younger brother had arrived home but they didn't know where the other brother, Friedrich, was. They thought he was alive but were waiting for news. His two sisters were well and their children also. Both husbands were in transit camps run by the Americans and hoped to be released soon. His mother finished by asking him to tell Mrs Crossley that she was so grateful for the kindness she'd shown her son. He asked me to tell Mrs Crossley that. Tony took over and said he should bring the letter up to the house at four o'clock and I would read it to Mrs Crossley.

Lady Bing was pleased to see us as well. Tim and I had to play three of the Spanish Dances for her. Luckily we'd practised them at school so my contribution was deemed to be OK. I came away with several sets of music with the injunction to practise hard. Tim looked so pleased as he played through, what seemed to me, to be some very difficult pieces. Lady Bing nodded each time he finished and then went into a long and very detailed analysis which bored Tony but I listened very carefully.

We didn't ask but we assumed Jeremy was the fiance. I just went on to say that Canon Tilson obviously thought Tim was going to be a good musician because Tim had told us that he'd also got him permission to practise on the cathedral organ when Dr Baines wasn't there. I was rewarded with another sniff and, luckily, Miss P mentioned something else so the conversation was diverted.

The rest of the time went quickly. I did comply with Tony's request and tried to be a bit more gentle. I think I started each session in that way but after that we two boys rutted like stags in a Scottish glen. At least, that was Tony's description when he was washing his very sore hole on the last morning. But, he did admit he was going to miss the wonderful feelings in his lonely bed at home.

Those few days had quietened me down somewhat but the underlying feelings soon re-emerged once I got home. In fact, I positively relished the sight of two of the lads at the boxing match in the Drill Hall I had to attend in my SJAB capacity that Friday evening. I almost felt I was in the ring with them as they battered each other without compromise. Kanga and I had to dress two rather bloody cuts and a dripping nose when they had finished knocking hell out of each other. They were both sixteen themselves and I wondered if this was their way of getting rid of some of their feelings.

At the beginning of November Ma's first detective novel was published. She had a good review in one of the national newspapers and it said it was a good read. Mr Blane, the publisher, wrote to say sales were good. Ma gave me a copy inscribed with all her love. I felt very proud. It also solved my Christmas present problems. The lady in the bookshop was very amused when I bought six copies at three and sixpence each and I had to say I knew the author. I didn't let on it was my mother. Actually, I enjoyed the book and never guessed until the last couple of pages who the villain was. Mr Blane said he though Inspector Buck would become quite well-known if Ma's other books - books! - were published.

As term ended I had given much thought to my own emotions so I bottled up my pride and apologised to Pa for swearing about Beethoven in front of him and being a not very helpful son. He just puffed on his pipe and said if I hadn't shown signs of rebellion and gluttony and he didn't know about any drunkenness, he would have got worried. There was no danger of me being stoned to death. I know he must have told Ma I'd spoken to him as she gave me two boiled eggs for breakfast the next day and said, in French, that I was her loving, growing son. For Ma to say something like that was too stupendous for me. I just stood up, now towering above her, and hugged her tight. My Ma!

Anyway there was all sorts of other news at the end of term. I had asked Vince how Mike was getting on in the seminary and he shook his head and said he didn't know. He said he thought students were not allowed to have any communication outside for two years or until they left. I was missing Mike as well and this seemed so pointless. Why? Then, on the last day of term Vince turned up looking much happier. He handed me what he called a Mass Card, just signed 'Mike'. He said Mike was allowed to send his family and close friends these at Christmas and Easter and on his Saint's Day and I was on his list!

Then there was a request from Aunt Della. Could Flea come and stay over New Year because Lachs was going to stay with his old friend, now Lieutenant in training, Cartwright? Of course he could. Even Pa grinned at the news. He was rather rude and said he wondered if the Flea was five feet yet! I said he was taller than that the last time I saw him. Pa laughed and said we would be like Uncle Edward and Andrew's father, the Long and the Short. I said he wasn't to say anything like that as I knew both the boys were sensitive about their lack of height. Pa said that as far as he knew Angus never was.

So, great expectations and no disappointments! Tom turned up, now six foot and broad with it. He looked very smart in his Army uniform and was full of tales about his fellow apprentices. He'd decided to specialise in Signals and, for someone who had taken ages to work out Ohm's Law, he was bristling with new knowledge. Matt was even more dapper. His beautifully cut Naval Cadet uniform fitted him to perfection. He had a new, much more positive bearing, not the old, rather hesitant, Matt. He had even got into the college rugby team and had several bruises to show for it from their last game again a Cornwall Grammar school. Then Duncan appeared, clad as last year in his Black Watch kilt, with two pips now and with the news that he had to report in the new year to a barracks in London where there was to be a detachment to be inspected by the Queen who was Colonel-in-Chief of the regiment. He said her brother had been an officer in the regiment and had been killed in the First World War.

Christmas passed quickly and Flea arrived. He had grown. Five feet three inches now and sporting a full six inches plus of cock! Cocksure as well. He said Lachs was very popular as Head Boy and was doing very well as a Senior Under Officer. He said he'd blotted his copybook a couple of times because he and Titty, the red-haired terror, were always playing up. Once, they had set off thunderflashes when there was to be a rather important inspection and Captain Harrison was not pleased. I could imagine Captain Harrison being not pleased! Flea said that the pair of them had been on extra duties for a whole week each time and he'd had to promise Lachs he would quieten down. I said he was a big boy now, he was sixteen and should know better. At that moment I was handling his big boy prick, before engulfing it for mutual pleasure, and he said he was proud he was a big boy now and if I didn't watch it he'd soon be bigger than me. We checked the next day - rulers out - and I was six tenths of an inch longer, so there!

Stupendous news! Pa was very cheery over Christmas. Then he dropped the bombshell on New Year's Eve. He said he hadn't been allowed to tell us beforehand and produced a letter from Downing Street announcing he had been awarded the OBE for his contribution to the War Effort and it would be announced on New Year's Day. Order of the British Empire! He did whisper to Flea and me later in the evening - after he'd had several glasses of whisky - that people said it stood for Other Buggers' Efforts! And me apologising for swearing!!!

Time sped by. After saying farewell to Flea the snows came and we had a very cold spell. Most mornings I couldn't go running so concentrated on the weights. I worked very hard at school and found out an interesting fact. It came about by accident as Phil Crowe came in one morning and said his father was home from the Navy. He said his father wanted to know if Sub-Lieutenant Phelps was at our school. We found out then that he'd been a navigation officer on a support boat on the Arctic supply route to Russia. He'd been on a boat that had been torpedoed with many men lost but he'd been rescued but had lost two fingers by frostbite. That explained why he always wore a black glove on his left hand. What with Chris with his shoulder wound and Mr Phelps I wondered what I would hear next. It made me think about Hans' younger brother Friedrich, aged twenty now and missing.

Another interesting thing was that at the first meeting of the St John Ambulance in January, Kanga turned up with three new, prospective members. 'Red-bum' Beckett, Collins Junior and husky-voiced Hawks. Of course, they were in his Form at school and they turned out to be three most enthusiastic, hard-working members. As Matt was no longer around, Kanga had attached himself to me and they, in turn became part of our team.

Then there was even more bad news. No. I don't mean worse than Ma's broken bone, but we heard the Maundy Thursday rugger game at Fensham was cancelled. The school was in quarantine of some kind because of an outbreak of flu, or swine fever as Johnny Prosser unkindly said. Here was I, a reformed member of the First XV, no longer the rampaging ox, but a tough (in my view), hard-working forward and I wasn't going to savour the pleasures associated with playing at the school. I had already got myself assigned with Johnny Reed and a hunky-looking lad in the Fifth Year, Peter Foster, to be in the room with three of the St Brendan's mob. Pete was turning out to be a good player, and was supposed to be one of the reserves on the trip. From the looks of his well-developed tackle, inspected at a distance when he was showering after one of our matches, I think he would have been an interesting companion. So, I missed out on whatever high jinks the six of us would have got up to. I was looking forward to a combined wank, which seemed to be the order of the night, according to what I'd heard of previous trips. All we had was a scratch game against the St Brendan's team as recompense. At least I did get to gaze on Pete's cock in the showers afterwards and remembered one of Rhys' little jokes about the crowded underground train. When the train stopped at a station near the end of the Piccadilly line a plaintive female voice called out, 'Is this Cockfosters?' and a battered and crushed by the crowd male responded, “No dearie, it's mine, but you can have it as soon as we get off this train!”

So, by Easter, I was ready for a break. At least I didn't have any exams this year and I was more settled in myself. I sat the Grade Eight piano exam just before Easter and I was pleased with my playing. The only thing I wasn't pleased about was that from the time Flea left at the beginning of January I had only myself in bed, or anywhere else, every day. Not to say I didn't enjoy myself. I had plenty of mental images to keep my randy thoughts going as I pumped steadily at my more than ready prick. But I yearned at times for the steady beat of another's hand, and even more so, the sensuousness and the massive climaxes I'd experienced when fucking Tony. I wondered if Mike, having chosen a celibate life - I'd discussed this with Vince at some stage - still had sexual thoughts. I knew from the knowing looks on Monday evenings that Kanga and Johnny Hawks must be frequent wank-mates and I had a growing suspicion that Beckett and young Collins helped each other in other ways than just practising neat bandaging. And what about Foster and a lad named Dickens who always cycled off with him after school. Dickens even came to watch us play when Foster was in the team! My! My! Another generation! Boys will be boys! But there was poor Jacko, squirting millions of unwanted sperm, every night, most mornings, alone, in solitary splendour, my now six and three-quarters inches of prime Thomson cock pulsing with teenage ardour..... Oh, Oh, Oh!

Easter couldn't come fast enough and I was ready to come in any way, shape or form. The boys came and stayed for the Easter weekend before carrying on up to Chester. Flea still teased Lachs but now in a more subdued way. Not really subdued, but in a more grown-up way. They complimented each other so well. Lachs was so protective of his brother and Flea adored his older sibling. I was in the middle and I felt so at one with both of them. Flea was full of their last parade when Badger Browne - with an e - had appeared in the new lion's skin, banging the drum for all he was worth.

Next day we went round to see Tony and have tea. While Kats was chatting to Lachs, much to Flea's amusement, I asked Tony, sotto voce, if he knew about Elinor Glin. He laughed and said he certainly did. He slipped out of the room and came back a minute or so later with a folded slip of paper. He raised his eyebrows and I put the unread slip in my pocket.

Kats then turned her attention to me. I was plied with more tea and sandwiches and she then plonked herself down on the sofa by my side, squeezing her leg against mine. Wow! I looked over at Lachs who was squirming slightly. I knew the reason why, as Jacko's cock started to stiffen. Flea was grinning his head off. We wouldn't hear the last of that, I thought.

Flea didn't mention it on the way home and I wondered why. All was revealed later when we were getting ready for bed when Lachs asked Flea if he'd had difficulty standing after tea. Lachs had noticed, but I hadn't. Young Flea had also reacted in the traditional way to the female touch. Gosh, Kats would be proud. Three hardons in one afternoon!

I said he shouldn't impugn his fellow school-mates with his own desires and habits and no doubt he'd do the same in Snellie's place. Lachs and I had to restrain him and between us we stroked his tawny mane, both on his head and also that growing dark golden patch a bit further down. We found out an interesting thing. It wasn't only the female touch which hardened his resolve, as Lachs put it, and, also, we found young Flea' erection lasted nearly three-quarters of an hour before he pleaded with us finally to let him come. All just by erring on his other fur!

Tony and I cycled to Ulvescott the day after the boys went to Chester. My oh my! On arrival at the gate there was Bran and, by his side, looking all eager, was a much smaller version of himself. Bran was in charge. As soon as we appeared he led the puppy to the gate. Puppy? Even at about five months old he was quite big. Bran sat on his haunches and nudged the puppy who did the same. Dad and son! We had the usual greeting and Bran watched as we both tried to teach the puppy to shake paws. It didn't quite work but we resolved to try every day. The puppy scampered along in front of us as Bran walked most sedately and a little stiffly by our sides. We tried calling his name, “Finbar” and he was beginning to respond.

Our six days were filled by walks with the two dogs, chatting to Hans and enjoying the peacefulness of the Manor and its surroundings. Nights were more frenzied. Not so violent and hasty as on recent visits. Now, with my desires more in check, we were able to pace our sessions so much more. We both gave each other the maximum pleasure we could. Each of the seven nights we were there was prefaced by a slow prelude of talking and reviewing our day. This was interesting as we spent the days talking and planning our lives ahead, but here we were consolidating our friendship. Then our lustful natures took over. We were both advancing on seventeen and were perpetually horny - I was, most certainly and Tony wasn't far behind, if not in front at times! We sucked and I fucked Tony. He said he didn't want to fuck me, he preferred it, if I didn't mind, with him as the most willing recipient of my seed, that way. Who was I to mind? All my lonely nights at home and now this! Bliss!

Hans was rather restless. There was still no news of his brother although he was sure he was alive somewhere. I had made a mental note of his address in Germany and had sent his parents a Christmas card. He was so delighted because a letter from his mother told him they had received it. He wanted to go home but the repatriation business was slow. He said two of the POWs didn't want to go back. They knew their part of Germany was in Russian hands and, anyway, contrary to all rules and regulations they had got friendly with two girls from the village and two of the farmers they worked for had offered to let them stay on. But Hans wanted to go home. He said he wanted to be an engineer and he was sure there would be plenty of work after his training.

Just before Easter Pa had the command from His Majesty to present himself at Buckingham Palace in June. I was allowed two days off from school and Ma and I watched as the King pinned the medal onto Pa. Uncle Edward was waiting for us as we came out of the forecourt of the palace and took us to the Houses of Parliament where we had tea on the terrace. Mr Parker was there and I shook hands with Mr Attlee the Prime Minister! That was a day to remember, especially as I had a new blazer and trousers for the occasion!

The school year came to an end. The boys were going to be at Pin Mill House and their Great-Uncle and Great-Aunt were moving in. I was invited to stay and we spent four weeks sailing, swimming and sunning. I suppose I'd better add sinning as well! This would be Lachs' final visit as a school boy. He was off to the Military Academy in September. Eighteen and five feet five of young manhood! On the last night at Pin Mill House we three pledged that whatever happened in the future each of us could rely on the others to do anything for us. Solemnly, we each pricked our hand with the point of the dirk that Senior Under-Officer Lachlan Cameron-Thomson had been presented with on the last big parade and mingled our blood to seal that pact.