Flip's Tale

I must admit from the start that when I was fourteen I had the beginnings of a behaviour problem. At least, that was what the educational psychologist said when the school and my mother referred me to him. Well, I've always had a short fuse and those two Year 11 boys shouldn't have started taking the mick. Being five foot nine and muscled with it, although only in Year 9, I sorted them both out and they went home complaining to their parents I'd beaten them up. I'd had a few flare-ups before that but nothing which the school - an Independent Grammar School - hadn't sorted out with what I see now as tact and diplomacy with my increasingly less tolerant mum.

I suppose I was going through a bit of a rough time. My dad had been killed in a car accident when on business for the company he worked for as an accountancy consultant when I was eight and my little brother was four. Mum, who worked as a solicitor, had a hefty insurance payout from the company which she invested wisely but after a couple of years she got hooked up with some Creep, with a capital C! I couldn't stand the sight of him. Although to be fair to him he never said or did anything to piss me off to begin with, but the main good thing he did was to make me want to be out of the house as much as possible, so I joined a gym and the local Rugby Club.

Me? My full name is Phillip Thomas Menzies, same as my father before me, but family and friends called me Flip as when my younger brother was very little he couldn't say my name properly. I didn't like the Thomas because when I misbehaved my mother called me to order by intoning my full name in a menacing voice. I tried not to piss off my mother too much, I really, underneath, loved her too much, but the Creep was another matter. I didn't want someone else supplanting the happy memories of my dad. Luckily Ray the Creep had his own house, having divorced about four years previously, and he, as far as I knew, never stayed at ours overnight. Still I barely tolerated him and spent as much time out of the house as I could.

The Rugby Club was great. I joined because the playing field backed onto our house and I had been fascinated from the time we'd moved there, when I was six, by the games I watched through the fence. As well as the Senior sides they ran about six Junior sides from eight-year-olds upwards and once I'd been playing for a few weeks I was, at the age of eleven, put into the Under 14's side. This was also fascinating because it was after matches in the showers or communal baths I discovered that the older boys were sprouting decorative hair around their pricks and their cocks and balls generally hung or swung lower than my still boyish equipment.

As I turned out to be a valued member of the team I wasn't ridiculed because of my lack of penile growth or hairy adornment, but I did listen in carefully to the quite startling conversations and the things called out when changing or dressing. One common term of friendly, I assumed friendly, abuse was `wanker'. I had no idea at this time in my life that this related to the most common activity of the fourteen-year-olds in the team who, to a man, had hairy bushes and much bigger cocks than me.

Sometime in that first year I did gather what the activity entailed but my feeble attempts at replicating it in the privacy of my room produced nothing startling other than a frisson, like a minute electric shock, somewhere below my tiny ball sac. I soon gave that bit of experimentation up through sheer boredom but still listened in avidly and observed circumspectly.

In fact, I did pretty well at rugby. We had two smashing coaches, brothers in their late twenties who had played in some big team down South before moving up to the Midlands to work after they had finished at university. They made us work hard and I certainly did. I played at hooker between two hefty fourteen-year-old prop forwards, Justin and Jerry, and I revelled in the rough and tumble of the scrums, rucks and mauls. I soon got renamed as Fiery Phil on the team as I was always up with the ball and I could tackle like a young demon. The other lads didn't mess with me although I was the youngest in the team because there was one particular incident which got me the name.

We were playing this other team from some mining village. They thought they were God's gift to rugby and tried every dirty trick in the book to win. At one point one lad in our team on the wing, who had always had a good word to say to me, was bashed straight in the goolies by their lock forward after a rather nasty tackle. He went down and clutched his nads while the other team just laughed and said there was more of that where it came from. God, I was mad! I saw which of their mob had done the damage and soon after I had the opportunity for revenge. He was a big, lumbering lad and looked more than the statutory age for being in that team but I wasn't scared of him even although at the time I was just twelve and a bit.

Anyway, he fumbled around and picked up the ball not more than three yards from me. It was my opportunity. I launched myself at his substantial thighs and tackled him. I got him down more by luck than judgment. He fell onto my arm and pushed down, no doubt hoping to hurt me. I got even madder. I pushed my arm under him, moved my right hand up, clamped my fist round his basket of goodies and squeezed as hard as I could. From the size of his bollocks he was definitely over age, they felt like two large plums. I squeezed again, even harder, and felt his balls squash against the meaty tube of his prick. Christ, he bellowed! I let go, withdrew my arm, stood up and looked around, all innocence, as if I was wondering where the Bull of Bashen was. Luckily the referee hadn't seen my action as his attention was distracted by some other nefarious act perpetrated by another in that roughhewn team. He blew up and awarded our side a scrum down in any case.

Of course, coach Martin had seen my misdemeanour. Nothing was said until next practice. The two brothers had a good way of dealing with our infringements whenever they occurred. One would pick up the offender - remember although we were all under fifteen some of the others in the team were pretty hefty - turn him over and smack him sharply on the arse citing the offence. He would then bodily throw the miscreant to his equally huge brother who would administer the same punishment before dropping the laughing youngster to the ground. You had to laugh even though two mighty thwacks had reddened your arse cheeks. It was all part of the game and if you couldn't stand that you weren't rugby material.

Next practice was on the following Tuesday and I was standing chatting to the wing, Tony Bull, whose battered balls had started the kerfuffle last match and was told to shut it and pay attention by the other brother, coach Mark. The brothers then quickly dissected the game and set us to replay some of the moves with the intention of improving our manoeuvres. I wasn't paying attention again at some point and this riled Mark who picked me up, smacked me mightily four times, saying two were for not being in command at that moment and two for being Fiery Phil the Bollock Crusher on Saturday. He then launched me skywards.

I sailed through the air for what seemed about nine or ten feet and, landed on the shoulder of his brother who proceeded to deliver another four fearful smacks to my bum with the same commentary. However, he ruffled my hair as he let me down more carefully than usual with the compliment that I was a good lad notwithstanding. I blushed but felt very proud even though when I inspected my bare arse at home later that evening there were some very red imprints. So, I was Fiery Phil from thence onward at the club and received many good-natured smacks on my tight shorts together with that epithet from my fellow forwards from that day on as I packed down with them in the front row.

At the gym, of course, coming up to eleven I wasn't allowed to over-exercise but the older lads there sort of adopted me and kept a brotherly eye on me and over the next three years I put on a fair bit of muscle and weight. In fact, when puberty and my growth spurt clicked in I shot up like Jack's beanstalk so that was why I was tall and hefty when those two buggers started mouthing off at me. I suppose they thought as they were at least a year and a half or more older, and both were taller than me, they could get away with it. No way, I stood it for about two minutes flat then I let them both have it. Wham! Bash! Wham! Bash! Two chins and two noses received the full force of my right and left fists.

Why were they tormenting me? Good question. As my surname is Menzies and dad was Scottish, or, more properly 'Scots', he was always correcting people over the correct pronunciation which is `Min-ges' with a hard `g'. So I knew what it should be but never bothered about how anyone non-Scottish pronounced it. However, one of the masters at the Grammar School was Scottish and also called me `Min-ges'. Naturally, some of my more uncouth fellow pupils, mostly out of my hearing because of my fiery reputation, referred to me as `Minge' which I was informed by one brave soul as being a certain part of a girl's anatomy. He didn't repeat that a second time as he got a fist in his corresponding bit of anatomy and rolled on the playground asphalt clutching his more protuberant version of a minge.

One of the mouthy pair had an older brother of eighteen who frequented the gym. I was being coached at the time by a lad, Jimmy Lang, who had taken me under his wing right from the start. When I was eleven he was seventeen and had a body to die for. All sculpted nicely, wide shoulders, trim waist, shapely legs, a nice piece of work. Three years later he was even more tasty and that was the problem. He, like about half of the habitues of the gym was either gay or bi. He never hit on me but he did tell me one day when he was a bit down that the mouthy lad's brother, Terry, secretly fancied him but always made out he was a serious homophobe and put about all sorts of rumours about Jimmy and another couple of the lads. Terry had obviously made some remark about me being shafted, probably by Jimmy, to his brother and that had started the gibes at school.

I hadn't been shafted by anyone. I was, however, into serious masturbation. The earlier experiments at eleven were tried out again when I noticed that at the age of twelve and a bit I was also sprouting my own decorations. Not only that, my balls were getting saggier and bigger and my cock was lengthening. Accompanying these new phenomena was the frequent occurrence of waking in the morning with my four inches pointing stiffly up my belly. I put this down to the fact I needed to pee, but increasingly in the morning had to wait until my rigid little prick softened a bit so I could relieve the pressure and have a good piss. Still nothing much happened when I tried pulling my pud other than a slightly bigger electric shock feeling.

My prick continued to grow until when I was thirteen it just topped five inches. I know, because being curious I had measured it on my thirteenth birthday on the fifth of April of 1995. Later in the year, however, I got a new piece of information from my best friend, Michael, who lived next door. He was exactly the same age as me, well, he was three weeks older, and was as enthusiastic a Scout as I was for going to the gym or playing rugger.

He had been to summer camp in August 1995 and was bubbling over as soon as he returned with the news that he had found out he could `come' as he put it. He was all eager to impart the knowledge, the action and the result, so we went into his garage during the afternoon of the day after his return when no one else was around. He dropped the shorts and underpants he was wearing, pulled up his tee shirt and began to rub his drooping young cock. It lengthened and stiffened rapidly until he had his own five inches in his fist and was pushing and pulling it up and down at an ever increasing rate.

I watched spellbound because as his prick had grown erect so had mine, still confined within my own shorts and pants. Suddenly he gave three great gasps and a streak of pearly fluid flashed out of his piss slit and landed with a splosh about three feet in front of him. He slowed his tugging down to zero then pulled his foreskin back three times very sharply and three more pearly jets shot out, one going even further. He breathed deeply then a real beaming smile lit up his face.

Not to be outdone I shucked off my shorts and underpants and pulled my tee shirt off over my head. I stood just in my trainers and socks. My cock was at full stretch and I hadn't even touched it yet. I grasped it just like Michael had held his. I then gave myself my first proper wank.

The feelings as I speeded up were tremendous. It felt as if hot bolts of burning lava were being manufactured somewhere in the subterranean regions of my balls. On one sharp pull my foreskin was wrenched right back and my hitherto uncapped pink knob was naked and shiny. I leaned back, closed my eyes and nearly missed my climax. The hot bolts moved and became a raging, pounding inferno. My mouth and eyes opened simultaneously as did my piss slit which spewed out a massive jet of thick, white goo which shot across the garage and spattered all over Michael's dad's workbench. I felt weak at the knees and almost collapsed with the intensity of that first coming.

We sat on a couple of boxes for the next half hour while he regaled me with the whole story of his initiation into the ways of boys while at Scout camp. It seemed that all they did other than tying knots, finding hidden treasure, cooking fry-ups and bandaging imaginary fractures was wank, wank, wank. Rarely singly, generally with at least one other helping out, but sometimes, especially after closing down the tent for the night, with six daisy-chaining their efforts until all had shot at least another load of fresh young boycream.

Boycream, I liked that term. Apparently it was Maxie's favourite phrase, and he couldn't tire of producing his own or helping others to fire their own teenaged gift from Heaven. I told Michael I knew of Maxie in another way. He was one of the back row forwards in our school First XV. Anyone in the First XV was a God to us youngsters who aspired to that greatness so boycream must be a true gift from Heaven... Even at thirteen I had a poetic streak and Michael, who was no dumb ass either, appreciated my allusion.

Both Michael and I had won scholarships to the rather prestigious Grammar School in our small city. King Edward's had a very good reputation and I thoroughly enjoyed being there even if my reputation as a slight trouble-maker got me into hot spots sometimes with the prefects or masters. Rugby at school was really my saving grace. By the age of thirteen I had been selected for a permanent place in the Junior XV. Being a good rugby player got me out of a number of scrapes with authority and also made me a bit of a hero with my class-mates. I didn't trade on it but it was useful!

Michael and I sat together in all classes but he was, in his estimation, no good at games so that's where we parted company. He had his Scouts and music and I had my rugby and the gym. Still we were the best of friends, helped each other with our homework and he did keep me on the straight and narrow more than once.

The straight and narrow that afternoon was definitely more than once. In fact my cock was up and raring to go by the end of Michael's recital so I started fisting myself while still sitting. Michael was rather scathing about my technique and said I was doing it all wrong. He made me stand up, went behind me and fisted me himself. I must say he was good. I leaned back on him and the volcanic surges soon started again. My second come wasn't so spectacular as the first. A few watery spurts but the feelings!... Oh, those feelings!... I knew at once Maxie was a God, he wanted it all the time. I wanted to be a God in the First XV when I was older and I knew I wanted it all the time now, too.

Fair's fair. I also knew that Michael wanted it all the time so we changed places and I wanked him, holding his dick just as he had held mine. My technique must have improved by that short apprenticeship. He didn't complain. After three or four minutes of steady pumping he came, breathed deeply and then startled me by turning and kissing me full on the lips. Oh Christ! Me the macho rugby player being kissed by another boy!

A few of the things I'd heard and seen at the gym jangled in my head. Even at that age I knew at least two of the older lads were in some sort of relationship from what I had overheard when three of the older boys were discussing other members of the club when they should have been keeping an eye on me straining at forbidden weights. In fact, I'd witnessed the quick peck on the lips when the two muscled blondes in question had met up in the passageway at the gym on arrival one day. One of them had seen me looking and had winked and shrugged his shoulders. Me? The last man who had kissed me was my dad, and that was the morning he went off to work and never returned. I had loved my dad, so what, these two lads must love each other.

I certainly didn't think I loved Michael. I liked him very much. It was odd though, I wasn't repelled by the kiss. In fact, I think it really sealed our friendship. It didn't happen again in our frequent encounters that year but I knew somewhere deep down that I liked boys like Michael and Maxie and the two muscled blondes and this feeling was to grow and grow.

Anyway those two wanks apiece were the start of a very deep friendship over the next year. Both of us were as horny as hell even at the age of thirteen and a half. Both of us needed to squirt our boycream at least twice a day. Both of us revelled in the feel of the other's helping hand on our pricks. Almost every day after school we would get together and do our homework. Almost every day we would wank each other off. As Michael was an only child it was best to do our homework in his room as we could have at least one of our daily ration, as a preliminary to work, sure in the knowledge that we wouldn't be interrupted by my young brother.

My brother Stuart being four years younger wouldn't be into wanking yet and, anyway, as he was that much younger than me and I was always out practising or playing rugby or down at the gym I had little to do with him. I tolerated him, as older brothers do, but being nine by then he had nothing going for him that interested me although he had also joined the Rugby Club earlier and was now in their Under 10's side.

I'd had one or two close encounters with him over my almost incessant need to have a wank. For instance, he had wandered into my room quite nonchalantly one evening because mum thought she'd mixed some of his socks up with mine and although my door was closed he had opened it and ambled straight in. I had a real shock. I had had a sudden urge and was tossing myself off with my cock held in a sock to catch the spunk. Luckily he didn't look behind the door where I was standing so I had a moment or two to drop the sock and pull my trousers back up pretending I was looking for something under the bed.

Another time was when mum was having his room decorated and he had to sleep in my bed with me for four nights. By the third night I was frantic because I was missing my nightly wank-myself-to-sleep session. Thinking he was fast asleep, as his breathing was quiet and regular, I carefully shoved my pyjama bottoms down and was giving myself a slow delight holding my straining-at-the-leash prick delicately between two fingers and thumb.

The little bastard wasn't asleep! I was just about to launch a Cruise missile or its equivalent in boycream when a quiet voice asked, “Flip, what's the matter?” My dick collapsed in seconds. All I could manage to croak out was a throaty, “I've got a dreadful itch. It's OK, go to sleep.”

Oh Christ! I had just got to that point where once the friction had been stopped the build up of spunk somewhere internally causes your nuts to fry, boil or generally behave as if a blast furnace door had been opened making you want to scream out and pound your pudding until blessed release is attained. No way. Young Stuart then wanted to know if he should go and get some Germolene ointment from the medicine cabinet. When I said the itch was better the dear boy then asked should he go and get mum to have a look to see if I had a rash. I felt like raising a horrible red rash on his arse if the little fucker didn't shut up... my balls were aching fit to burst... I needed..... Stuart asked where was the itch, was it on my willy? Oh God, the little bugger must have known I was pulling my wire even if he didn't know the consequences. I was truthful. I said, through gritted teeth, that my willy did itch.

I had a brainwave. Creep, in one of his little forays into wheedling himself into my good books, had mentioned some months before that when he played rugger in his younger days he had suffered from jockrash. Luckily mum wasn't there when he said it as he then told Stuart and me in some detail how he had to get some vile smelling muck from the chemist to anoint his manly parts, as he put it. I translated the term to myself but Stuart looked perplexed so I just said straight out that his willy had the itch because he hadn't washed himself properly. Stuart giggled, Creep shut up and I chalked up one point to me.

I said did he remember Creep, or Ray as we were urged to call him, saying he'd had what he called jockrash. I said that as I played rugby perhaps I had it too. Wrong thing to say! Of course, Stuart remembered that interaction so I was then asked if I washed myself properly down there and should he ask mum to check in the morning. I was very tempted to strangle my little brother but, I suppose, deep down I did love him, so I turned and hugged him and patted him on the back and then felt his hand on my naked dick. Oh Christ again! The only other person's hand, i.e. Michael's, always had an effect, i.e. instant erection. But no, the brotherly hand let go. I didn't stiffen.

I assured him it would. This must have satisfied his curiosity as the next thing I knew he had fallen asleep in my arms and was snoring slightly. That put paid to that night's comforting wank. However, I fell asleep quite quickly myself and woke at six o'clock still holding a peacefully sleeping Stuart but with a raging hardon and a need for instant alleviation.

I managed to extricate myself without waking him and went as silently as possible to the bathroom where I released an accumulated load of hot spunk with a great sigh of relief. Luckily when Stuart woke he seemed to have forgotten the incident and was much more interested in how his newly decorated room was looking. I made sure that evening I discharged two volleys of youthful semen before I went to bed and spent an uneventful and restful night with my young brother's arms lovingly round my neck.

I managed to get through the rest of my fourteenth year with mainly minor infractions of school rules, in my view, until several things came to a head in my fifteenth year. The major one was that just a month after my fourteenth birthday mum announced after supper one Friday night, that, with the permission of her sons, she was going to marry Ray the Creep on August Bank Holiday Saturday. She didn't actually say Ray the creep, just Ray, but I saw red. Red to match my flaming red hair. I went berserk. I shouted. I swore. I called him an effing, cunting, cocksucking, arsehole licking, pissing, shit-faced miserable prick, just as starters. I screamed out that I didn't want the poxy wanker as my father and that I would personally castrate the bastard if he went near mum with his mangy dick. I had only one father and he was dead! Mum went pale and looked at me aghast. Poor little Stuart burst into tears and ran from the room. I finished my tirade, really overwhelmed as I didn't realise I had such an extensive vocabulary of invective, and rushed out too, in a tearful state. I went next door, pushed past Michael's mum in her kitchen and galloped up the stairs to Michael's room. Luckily he was there.

He looked very startled at my sudden entry in floods of tears and stood up from his desk blinking rather nervously. I grabbed him and hugged him and we fell onto his bed. I felt I needed to be close to someone I could trust. I entwined myself round him and very breathlessly told him the news. “Oh shit, shit, shit!,” was all he could say. As I was telling him everything I'd said and how awful I felt we heard the back door close. His mum was obviously going next door to find out what had happened.

Michael was hugging me as I finished and looked at him with tear-stained eyes. He released me and took my arms from around him. His face was a picture. He was close to tears himself. He went to the bedroom door and closed it carefully before coming back to the bed and standing in front of me. I stared up at him and he smiled.

Then he did something quite unexpected. He leaned down and unzipped my trousers and got my dick out from the leg of my boxers. He leaned over me and kneeling down took my soft cock into his mouth. With one hand he circled my shaft and pulled down so my knob end popped out from my foreskin and rested on his tongue. Then he started to suck gently and at the same time massaged my knob with his tongue. With a grunt coming up somewhere from the pit of my stomach I went hard within a few seconds.

I lay back and closed my eyes as soon waves of ecstasy pulsed up and down and round and round my knob and shaft. Michael began to bob his head up and down and my breath became more ragged. My mouth was open and I was gasping in synchrony with his sucks which became more and more intense until.... I was lost. A bolt of lightening struck me somewhere internally. I involuntarily squeezed my buttock cheeks together and fired squirt after squirt of my precious boycream into his willing mouth. He continued sucking and licking until I could stand it no longer. I reached up and gently pulled his head away and, looking straight into his eyes with such love and gratefulness. This time I drew his face close to mine and kissed him full on the lips. His mouth opened and our tongues pressed together with my come pouring out and mingling with my saliva. We tongue-fucked for what seemed like ages until he drew his head back and gulped. There was still some of my come in his mouth but most seemed to be in mine. I swallowed that, too..

I sat up and reached down to get my handkerchief from my trouser pocket but they were now down around my ankles. Michael just smiled and reached into my pocket for me and gave me it. I blew my nose, wiped my eyes and pulled my trousers up and fastened them. I was much calmer but still seething somewhere underneath.

I had to agree, but no way did I want a new and different father. I was determined I would have nothing to do with this intended marriage. And where would the fucker live? I stopped. My thoughts were too intense. I realised what I had just thought. If he lived with my mum then he would fuck her.

My knowledge of male/female coupling was still rudimentary, but even from the sex education lessons at my all boys' school and the garbled conversations I had listened in to, I knew that little boys, and I supposed little girls, appeared nine months after some act which we boys knew was colloquially called fucking. No way could I imagine Ray, with his little bristly moustache, lying on my mother indulging in these actions. No way did I want another little brother or sister. No way!

Mrs Hollis smiled and said that's exactly what she was going to ask me. Did I want to stay? She also said that although mum was greatly upset by what I had said she wanted me to know she still loved me and wanted me back home as soon as possible. I nodded dumbly then asked if Stuart was OK. She said he'd gone to his room and she had put him to bed. She told Michael to come down and get some cocoa and cake and we should get to bed early.

Actually, it was on the Wednesday after my fourteenth birthday so it was just over four weeks previously. I was at the gym and it was a particularly quiet evening. In fact by eight o'clock there were only two of us still there exercising, Darryll Matthews and me, and the chap who ran the place. As he trusted us he said he had to go and see someone and we should lock up as soon as Darryll had finished his session on the weights where I was spotting for him. Darryll had been late that evening for some reason and although he was seventeen and in our First Year Sixth Form and in the First XV with Maxie Carter he didn't treat me as a kid. All in all we got on very well together as I would spot for him and he would spot for me and chide me if I tried to do too much. He had a very winning smile and had already joshed me about my new sweats I had on which mum had bought me for my birthday so we were in a happy mood as he finished off with another dozen reps.

He said he was ready for a shower and we both headed off for the locker-room but he went back into the gym as he'd forgotten to turn off the lights. This meant I was already under the shower when he came in flexing his muscles. I wasn't at all fazed by any of the others at the gym seeing me nude in the showers as I'd had plenty of experience of seeing my team-mates and players from sides we played at our or their Rugby Clubs.

Until I was fourteen, those few weeks before, the owner always made me and two other youngsters shower separately and we'd happily seen each other many times, but this week I had been promoted to the senior shower room and Monday night I'd had a shower with three of the older lads. No big deal, they eyed me and I eyed them and that was that. I memorised carefully, however, what I'd seen which gave me food for thought in bed later!

I hadn't seen Darryll in the nude before and was rather surprised as his dick didn't look much bigger than mine. I was trying to soap my shoulders as he came in and he saw me glance at his equipment as he turned his shower on. Also, although he was seventeen he wasn't much taller than me, probably just half an inch or so, but, my, he had a powerful set of muscles! As he soaped himself I unabashedly ogled him. His muscular body glistened under the cascading water, I wished mine looked even half like that. He must have read my thoughts.

Frankie was a huge twenty-five year old who boasted he'd taken every pill in Christendom and elsewhere to get his body. Although I'd never seen him nude either, the common story in the gym was that his balls were the size of peanuts, even if he'd got muscles the size of an elephant's leg.

I said nothing. He grinned at me and dropped to his knees. Next thing I knew was the whole length of my shaft disappeared into his open mouth and terrific suction was being applied most rhythmically. He hugged my legs to him and started to move his head back and forth very rapidly. What with that and the violent sucking involved, my seminal floodgates opened and I shot a huge load within half a minute straight down his throat. He didn't even gag. He swallowed. My still erect prick popped out of his mouth. Immediately he started rapidly wanking his own short stubby cock and after very few pulls he also launched a mighty jet which sprayed all over my chest and was rapidly washed away by the still flowing shower.

We finished showering, dried off and dressed. We switched off the lights, shut the door on the dead lock and both left on our separate ways whistling. Unfortunately, until tonight I hadn't had the opportunity for a second encounter of that sort. Darryll was either among his usual group of pals early on or not there as he had to swot for some exams he was taking at school. However, he had whispered to me a couple of times when he was spotting me on the weights that I was a lucky boy to still be growing.

Of course, I hadn't any pyjamas so I stripped to my boxers and was about to get into bed with them on when I saw Michael had shed all his clothes and was getting into bed in the altogether but bearing a towel. He looked at me and made `pulling down boxers' movements. I complied and got into bed next to him. He reached over and switched off the light.

I knew what I wanted. I slid down the bed, pulling the duvet down as I went, so I could see Michael's torso in the gloom. I aimed straight for his prick and enveloped that in my hot mouth. I gave him the Darryll treatment. Twice or three times as intense as the wonderful suck Michael had given me. I got my reward very quickly. Michael's spunk splashed all over my tongue, the roof of my mouth, the back of my throat. I tried not to gag but the sheer force and volume of his spunk took me by surprise. I swallowed as best I could and waited while two or three minor squirts of cream followed that major effusion. I swallowed most of this extra amount too and tentatively licked his now naked knob.

I hoped his parents didn't hear the noise he made than. The nearest description I could think of was a recording of a wolf I'd heard once on a televison nature program. Oh God, to shut him up I scuttled up the bed and covered his mouth with mine. This wasn't a real kiss but it just turned into the most intense tongue-fuck with me sharing the remains of his boycream with him. No sooner had he had his fill of that than he also slid down the bed and impaled his mouth on my prong. I came a second time that day in my dearest friend's mouth. In fact, that night Michael came four times and I managed five. We ended up for the final two in a frenzy of simultaneous sucking as quite independently of the rest of the world we re-invented the process of sixty-nining.

Needless to say we both slept soundly after that and it was mid-morning before we woke. I glanced at my watch. Nearly eleven o'clock! I had the final match of the season to play that afternoon! Michael came and watched the game for once and cheered us on as we trounced the opposition. At half-time I was praised by both Mark and Martin for the way I heeled the ball back in the scrums. Not only that, I raced up and down the pitch and managed to tackle at least two lads who were on their way to getting a touch-down with no diminution of my stamina. If five comes in quick succession aided my rugby playing Michael and I were going to have some joyous Friday nights!

I stayed at Michael's for that Saturday night as well. I didn't feel like facing my mother just yet. Stuart came to see me after I got back from rugby and didn't say anything but looked at me with a woeful face and then rushed off again. I was pretty low when we went to bed.

That night we lay and talked for ages. I had to tell Michael the whole story again. He was sad for me too and we comforted each other as we talked by just, very slowly, caressing each other's hard cocks until our warm spunk finally jetted out over each other's chest and stomach within moments of each other. Ever practical and thoughtful Michael had placed a towel between us so no tell-tale cum stains would appear on his sheet. In the end we drifted off to sleep with me resolving, somehow, to patch things up with mum.

It was rather difficult the next day. Mum was in a terrible mood. I knew I had done wrong in saying what I had said. Mum had been so startled, not only with the vehemence of my response but also with the range of foul language I had used. She actually said she would find it very hard to forgive me but for my sake and for Stuart's sake she was willing to forget the whole incident. In all of this, Ray the Creep's name was not mentioned. I wasn't going to ask about him but mum certainly wasn't in the mood for any more shenanigans from me. That's why my encounter with the two mouthy youths sealed my fate.

I was just walking out of the main door of the school the next Wednesday afternoon having been in detention for a minor infringement of some rule or regulation, probably caused because I was still thinking about mum and me, when these two Year 11 yobs, who had also been in detention as well, followed me out.

ginger Minge isn't he. I wonder if he's got naughty ginger hair round his little minge.” Then the other one, who I realised was rumour-monger Terry's brother, laughed and started in a louder, sing-song voice, “Eh, sweetie-pie, Ginger Minge, can you heeear me? I've got a big prick you can have right where you liii-ke it, right up your sweet little ginger minge!”

That did it. I turned in a fury and two bloody noses later I felt a lot better. It shut them up except for threats of family reprisals. I didn't care. Those four blows had got rid of ninety-five per cent of my teenage anger and frustration. I went home and straight round to Michael's where the other five per cent was assuaged by a very intense joint wank. I went home after that feeling quite at peace and really tried to apologise to my mother. She was still very iffy about it all and said she was going out with Ray (the Creep in my mind) that evening and I really had to apologise to him as she had had to tell him all the things I'd said. Fuck me! No way! My dander was rising again. I wasn't going to ever speak to that arsehole again! And what was my mother doing repeating that language!

I went up to my room and almost slammed my door. But that would have shown I wasn't under self-control. In fact, I even played a game on Stuart's Nintendo that evening with him to show he was still my favourite brother but I vented my pent-up anger later in bed by whipping my innocent dong three times to climax in as short a time possible.

On Thursday the shit hit the fan. Reprisals came swiftly. Complaints were made straight to the school by two outraged fathers. I was called to the Head's study during last period the same day. He said he'd heard about the incident and wanted to know my side of the story. I just told him it was just a boyish squabble but he wasn't buying that. There was a 'phone call home to mum that evening.

I found out the next day, when mum had been asked to come to the school and we were interviewed together by the Head, that I'd broken both boys' noses and the parents were after my blood. My behaviour record at the school told against me. When mum launched into an account of the row we'd had on Friday night, with her repeating just a few of the choice expletives I had used this, I thought this would also count against me. The Head didn't bat an eyelid at all this, though even I was shocked and embarrassed to hear my mother say `cock-sucking' and `arse-licking', but he did go on to say my excellent academic progress and my rugby prowess counted for me. In fact, the Head said, if it wasn't for the fact that I was in the top three in class and was a good team member I would have been disciplined severely before now. I think he meant by that statement that I would have been out on my ear! Anyway, he had a solution. Would I be willing to be assessed by the local educational psychologist who would advise on the next steps to take?

What could I do? Some poxy shrink was going to assess me and I would be chucked out. I had to agree. Mum agreed too, much too promptly I thought. In fact everything moved very quickly. I was told Monday morning that I was to be at the Education Offices at a quarter to ten the next day to see Dr Williams. I wasn't going to be given any time to contemplate my fate I was to be up before my judge in the morning!

Things did work out OK in a couple of ways later which cheered me up somewhat. First, I went home with Michael and told him my worries. He grinned and said I would survive. I survived the next five minutes although he said he was fed up wiping my spunk off his wardrobe mirror. Then when Mrs Hollis came home she invited me to stay for supper. I told her I had to go to see someone called Dr Williams tomorrow. She didn't say much then but something was afoot because during supper Michael's dad said he didn't have to be into his office before half nine in the morning and I could go into town with him. Unusual. Anyway before I went home Michael reminded me that his dad was also one of our school governors.

I usually went to the gym on Monday evenings but missed out. When I got home from Michael's I just relayed the information that Mr Hollis would take me into town the next day and went straight up to my room and went to bed. I must admit I cried myself to sleep that night. I didn't even want to wank, I felt too depressed and low. In the morning it was the same. No morning stiffness. I washed, dressed and had my breakfast like a zombie. I was ready and waiting for Mr Hollis at nine o'clock and, sensing my mood, we didn't talk on the way in.

I found the right entrance to the Council Offices in the huge city centre building and asked a receptionist for Dr Williams in the Education Department. She flashed me a smile which did cheer me a bit and said third floor, room three hundred and ten. I found it, knocked tentatively and a voice inside told me to come in.

I was rather startled to see a very comfortable room, not like the Spartan sort of office mum worked in. A desk was pushed against one wall and there were bookshelves overflowing with books and papers. Four low easy chairs were in the centre of the room and a tall, bearded, powerfully built man rose from one of them wreathed in a cloud of smoke from a very aromatic tobacco he had in the pipe clenched in between his teeth.. He advanced towards me with one outstretched hand while waving away the cloud about him with the other as I shut the door behind me. I winced a bit as he crushed my hand in his. He motioned for me to sit in one of the chairs. We both sat and he looked rather gravely at me with piercing blue eyes.

“You know my nephews, Mark and Martin, don't you? They think very highly of their Fiery Phil. And I ought to tell you your Head and I were fellow students at University and he thinks rather highly of Flip the scholar. So who are you today I want to know?”

“It's OK, Flip, I only know all about you by asking people questions, though I'd actually heard about you before when my nephews were telling me about the teams they coach. Crushing a bully's balls on the rugby field is very much the same as bloodying a bully's nose in the playground in my opinion. What do you think?”

I agreed but wondered what would happen next. I was going to get the biggest surprise of my life. He looked at me long and hard for almost a full minute taking several great puffs at his pipe and producing even more clouds of smoke. I stared back at him. At last he spoke.

“Have you watched Blackadder?” he asked. I nodded, not knowing which way this interview was going to go. Seeing my nod he smiled. “I'm like Baldrick because I have a cunning plan.” He paused again. “I'm not going into all the ins and outs of your minor infringements, or major ones in some eyes, but you can always come and talk to me whenever you like if can stand the stink of tobacco smoke.” He leaned forward confidentially. “The Council has a No Smoking Policy but I can't abide all that political correctness so you're welcome if you want to come and see me, just follow the blue cloud.”

He puffed at his pipe again before continuing. “How would you like to go to school away from home?” he asked. “I'd better explain in detail and I won't mince matters. Your Aunt Margaret lives up in Scotland. She's willing to act as guardian for you if you go to boarding school up there. Your mother is adamant she is going to marry Mr Adams and the parents of those two broken-nosed toads want you expelled, so I think the best thing is for you to have a complete break from down here for the rest of your school life. I know it's a shock but I'm afraid it's the best I can do. The Head backs you and you are lucky one of the masters heard and saw what happened last Wednesday so you are covered to a certain extent by that. But?...”

It did make me blush but I knew they liked me, the ruffled hair, the smacks on the bum and now the reminder to be at the practice session tonight wouldn't have been given to someone they weren't comfortable with. Anyway, I had much to cogitate on. When Jennifer left I asked Dr Williams what sort of school would it be. He said it was a boys' boarding school, a minor public school, in Scotland about thirty miles from my aunt's village. He said he highly recommended it and had spoken to the headmaster already that morning and he was willing for me to have a place a year later than normal on the basis of my school marks and assessments. He did make the point that it would take me time to settle in but my aunt would be fairly near at hand if, and he said this with a grin, there were any crises.

Unknown to me all this had been set up at the weekend. Phone calls all over the place and I got the impression that my Aunt Margaret was a pivot in all this. I liked Aunt Margaret. She was dad's older unmarried sister and was a doctor. She lived in a village on the West coast of Scotland, would never come down to England although she had partly trained in London, and rushed around the countryside to see her patients in her Range Rover. I had stayed with her during the summer after dad had died and I found her to be very much like him.

Dr Williams then told me the plan was for me to go to Scotland as soon as the summer term ended. I could spend the summer holidays at my aunt's and join the new school in September. I would, of course, have to visit the place to see if they liked me and I liked them. He said I had plenty to think about but not to worry and I could come and see him again on Friday afternoon.

I went home and mooched around there for the rest of the day. I was going to miss my friends at the Rugby Club and the gym. I was going to miss Michael especially. I thought I would cope with not having mum around and even more so if the Creep was to loom larger in our family life. I worried a bit about young Stuart but thought he was perhaps more tolerant of the Creep that I was. I relieved some of my anxieties by making up for the fact I hadn't wanted my nightly wank in bed the evening before. I made up for that twice by the time I saw Michael next door arrive back from school.

I went to talk to him and told him what I had heard that morning. He looked very upset at the prospect of losing his friend so, really to console him, I laid him back on his bed on which we were sitting, undid his trousers and nuzzled his cock through the fabric of his pants. His boy scent was so aromatic and heady to me I went stiff in seconds.

My simple action caused his length to harden in moments. I was so wound up with what was happening to us I almost lost control of my senses. I managed to calm myself slightly but still pulled his trousers and underpants off quite roughly. However, I knew within me I wanted him to have the best of me so I forced myself to suck him as slowly and sensuously as I could until his fresh boycream gushed out freely into my mouth. I relished the taste of his come. It was both sweet and salty, but, before I swallowed it, I took a drop from the tip of my tongue on a finger and rubbed it across his lower lip. He smiled at me and licked it and asked me what I would like. I told him I'd already come twice since twelve o'clock. He just grinned and said that was nothing for me. My trousers and pants were soon off and after fifteen minutes of exquisite pleasure I too spilled my load which he swallowed eagerly.

We talked for ages after this act of friendship. Michael said he was going to miss me so much but he would still think of me as his closest and dearest friend whatever happened. He said he wanted the best for me and that, perhaps, going away was the best plan. I said I wouldn't forget him and that we should enjoy our time together as much as possible before I went away.

Actually, the next couple of months weren't too bad. Things started well even that night at rugby practice. Although neither Mark or Martin mentioned they knew of the altercation, or the aftermath, news had travelled fast so much so that even the older lads on the team kept their distance for a while. This didn't last long and by the time the hour and half was up everyone was back to normal. I was still a very much accepted member of the squad. Mark did say to me as we came off the field that he'd heard from his sister that I was going away to school but, he said, I was to continue coming to practice until I went and that he hoped I would come back anytime I wanted. I was so overcome by his sincerity I could only nod and whisper a thanks.

I stayed at Michael's quite a bit until the end of term. Mum didn't question me at all if I didn't come home to my bed. Mrs Hollis never complained about having two ravenous boys at the breakfast table or panting for their supper. Mr Hollis never commented but was a quiet steady presence in the background. Michael certainly didn't complain. In fact, he made sure we assuaged our teenage lusts at every opportunity especially when I stayed overnight and slept with him. I always let him initiate the love-making. It wasn't just boy sex it was more, there was passion and commitment and we both realised that if we were not careful we would both suffer badly when we parted. We did manage to discuss this a few days before I had to leave and we knew that both our lives had to be managed separately. I think, looking back on it, we showed a maturity way beyond our years.

I was still going to the gym four nights a week and on Saturdays as there were no matches now the summer season was upon us. I even got Michael to come to the gym with me. His dad grumbled good-naturedly about what he called the colossal fees but he was happy really as he pulled Michael's leg by saying he wanted to get a bit of muscle on his skinny bones. Mum had never minded paying my membership fees. I always felt it was a small price for her to pay to get me out of the house so she could spend more time with the Creep. Poor Stuart was very much pig in the middle. Luckily he had a good friend whose mum didn't mind how much time he spent fiddling with some crap computer with her nerdish son.

Michael actually enjoyed his efforts at the gym To begin with he was very apprehensive. He wondered what the others would think of his puny body as he put it. Seeing everyone swathed in sweats immediately put paid to his worries and the older lads soon took to him and, as with me, chivvied him along and kept a good eye on him. He did gape a bit when he saw Frankie for the first time doing his posing routine in a minuscule thong. I whispered about his peanut balls but said we never got to check them out as he never showered at the gym.

Soon after our first blow-jobs together I'd confessed to Michael that his hadn't been the first. He laughed at my contrite expression and said he didn't realise I was so far ahead in my experience so he was very jealous because he'd learned about them at Scout camp but hadn't experienced any. He wasn't really jealous or angry and Darryll and he became good friends and when I left to go to Scotland Darryll promised to keep an eye on his progress. Although I showered with Darryll a number of times before I left we never indulged again. He knew that Michael and I were too great a duo to risk parting us before the time for me to go.

I went to see Dr Williams about six times before the end of term in July. He talked me through my frustrations and my behaviour. He explained that the loss of my dad was the root cause of how I felt and that this happening at the age of eight meant I wasn't able at that age to really come to terms with it. We discussed all sorts of intimate things too. In fact, in one session I blurted out that Michael and I were having sex regularly. He questioned me carefully about this and was very relieved that this only meant wanking and sucking and nothing more. He never asked me anything about my orientation but gave me good advice about protecting myself in the future. Never a word of condemnation, just careful advice, all delivered in a haze of blue smoke. I felt really sad when our sessions came to an end but he said that if ever I needed him he was at the end of a 'phone.

School continued. I returned the next day after my first session with Dr Williams. The broken-nosed sods didn't appear full-time for another three weeks. I heard later they had come into school on days in between to take their GCSE exams. My reputation, in some ways, soared and a couple of my classmates even congratulated me on dealing so effectively with two well-known bullies.

At the gym there had been a bit of worry in case the mouthy lad's brother retaliated in some way. Both Darryll and Jimmy Lang were obviously keeping a weather eye open in case of any trouble but Terry and I kept our distance. But then, after about a month, just as I was coming out of the shower to go into the locker room he cornered me. I was straight on the defensive within a second. There was no one else around. My adrenalin was racing and I was ready to give as good as I thought I was about to get and to counter any move of his. There were no moves. In a quiet voice he said he wanted to apologise for his brother's behaviour and said he'd given the little bugger the hiding of his life so he would have something else to remember. We shook hands and he smiled and said he really admired what I had done because his brother was a real little shit. It wasn't long after this occasion that I saw him and Jimmy leaving the gym together one night laughing and joking together. Perhaps, I thought, he'd also come to terms with something inside.

I knew as term came to end I had come to terms with myself and my inner, unrecognised feelings. Over that summer term I became much more in control of myself and my continual flare-ups of anger. It didn't mean I could tolerate Ray the Creep any better. It was probably irrational, but having lost one parent, I suppose there was the deep down fear of losing the other. Mum would still be there but would belong to someone else. I did try to talk to Michael about it but it was too personal. I knew Dr Williams understood and I valued his friendship and advice. Michael in some way was not yet ready to have to wrestle through these subtle, internal battles as he was lucky in not having yet experienced loss. Michael was, however, a constant and tolerant friend and inside I knew I now respected him deeply.

However, I had by this time alienated mum completely, perhaps through my initial outburst but more so because of my complete unwillingness to compromise over Ray the Creep. I admit I had been a somewhat difficult son. Several times she'd had notes from school about my altercations with authority or other pupils. The animosity I felt towards Ray the Creep was the last straw. She couldn't understand why and I thought, refused to try. An impasse which separation might cure. She was determined on her course and with me out of the way... Well, time would tell.

School ended. I was off to Scotland within a day of the end of term. My classmates wished me well. A couple of masters said they hoped I would like the school, it had a good reputation. I said a sad farewell to my friends at the Rugby Club and especially at the gym. Darryll in his usual jokey way said I wasn't to do anything he wouldn't do, but, if I did, to do it often!

My few possessions had been packed and sent off before me. Michael and I had a tearful but very active last day together on that Friday in July. We disappeared off to the Rugby Club first thing in the morning and hid ourselves in a back room to which I had purloined a key the week before. My mother had taken the day off from work and sent Stuart looking for us. He didn't find us although we heard him outside calling our names. As both our mouths were full at the time we couldn't very well answer.

We did reappear for lunch, where mum seemed even more pissed off with me than usual, and spent the afternoon mooching around town looking miserable. Michael came to supper with mum, myself and Stuart. It wasn't a happy meal although mum had tried to get all the things she knew I liked. Michael and I had a final wank together in his room when I went round to say cheerio to his parents and so we sealed our friendship in our boyish way.