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True Blue 5
WARNING:
This story contains descriptions of sexual acts involving a man,
a teenager and two MINOR boys. Such descriptions are an integral part
of the story. While the story illegal videos nymphets may appeal to prurient interests, it is
intended to have serious literary value. As a friend once said:
"Everyone has the right to fantasy. No one has the right to
censor an imagination, or dreams."
With that in mind, know that this story is not true, although it
is based on fact and some real events! Further, it is not intended to
promote illegal acts against minors, but to demonstrate that men and
boys can love each other despite the prevalent attitudes of western
society. It is my goal to help readers appreciate that love. The
sexual acts described in the story are the result of my imagination.
I have not performed these acts, and I do not encourage others to
perform them with minors. If the subject of man/boy love offends you,
if this material is illegal in your place of residence, or if you are
under the legal age for such material, do not read further!
By downloading this story:
"... you implicitly declare and affirm under penalties of
perjury that you are not a minor or in the company of a minor and are
entitled to have access to material intended for mature, responsible
members of society capable of making decisions about the content of
documents they wish to read...."
The story is copyrighted under my pseudonym, Ganymede. A copy has
been placed in the Nifty archives for your enjoyment. The story
cannot be used to derive monetary gain. The story cannot be placed in
archives that require payment for access, or printed and distributed
in any form that requires payment either directly or indirectly.
Any similarity to individuals, living or dead, is entirely
accidental. Reference is also made in context to movies, characters,
and actors that have become part of modern western culture. No other
implication about the true sexuality of the people mentioned or their
private lives is intended.
Now that the preliminaries are out of the way.....
THE NIFTY ARCHIVE:
The Nifty Archive needs your support. If you enjoy reading this
story, please remember that it is available only because of the Nifty
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thing and support it with a donation.
True Blue by Ganymede
Chapter
8
Macksville
was a quaintly historic riverside town, the river being the Nambucca,
surely one of the most beautiful rivers on the east coast of
Australia. The town naked angel nymphet
was far enough inland that going to the beach
entailed a day out, but it was worth the trip. According to Byron,
crescent-shaped Shelley Beach was spectacular to look at as well as
having some truly great waves. However, Macksville was inland for a
reason. It served the farming community of the Nambucca Valley. It
reminded me of other towns that I passed through going west to
Brindajari. Most rural towns of New South Wales were fairly similar,
with streets that were wide enough to drive a board cgiworld nymphet herd litle nymphets bbs of cattle through.
Wrought iron decoration was richly applied to what was otherwise
nondescript architecture. The old corrugated iron roofs were rusted
to a dull red or painted white, very unlike the roofs out west which
staying shiny for decades. Buildings marched along both sides of the
street, seeming to honour the Star Hotel, which took pride of place.
With
gnawing hunger dictating our priorities, we stopped at a
fish-and-chips shop. Then, with ample amounts of greasy, heavily
salted food wrapped up in newspaper, we carried our lunch to one of
the parks along the river. However, as hungry as we were, Blaine and
I immediately hurried over to the public toilet to empty our
bladders.
"Man,
I'm dying for a leak," Blaine muttered as he tugged the front of
his board shorts down.
"Me
too."
I
was also in too much of a hurry to waste time unfastening the lacing
at the front of my shorts. Fortunately, there was enough room to pull
them down far enough to gain access. With bare bottoms and exposed
fronts, we stood side by side and released our torrents into the
black-painted, very smelly urinal. It smelled as bad as the toilet at
Bulahdelah and it was a lot newer. There were names and times, some
with dates, even a few phone numbers scrawled on the wall above.
"Yeahhh.
That’s better," Blaine sighed, exaggerating the relief he
felt. He even put his hands on his hips, allowing his penis to make a
wandering stream against the urinal wall, targeting flies.
"Yeahhh,"
I groaned. "Man, I was ready to burst."
"So,
um, how do you like it, Allan?"
By
then, I was concentrating on aiming at the white disk in the bottom
of the urinal. It was supposed to be a disinfectant, but most of the
time it was a target to be aimed at. My pee splattered off if, but
there wasn’t enough force to move it.
"Huh?"
I
glanced sideways and then lower as Blaine nodded downwards. Until
then, I had forgotten that my testicles had been dyed blue. I could
see a patch of dark blue skin peeking out from underneath my penis as
the lightspeed nymphets last droplets dripped from the tip. I looked toward Blaine. He
was shaking his penis. Realising he had my devoted interest, he
didn't stop. Shaking became fondling, shamelessly bringing himself to
erection before my eyes. I watched it grow, that miracle of a boy's
body straightening out, thickening, stiffening, lifting upward. And
all it took were a few gentle strokes. His scrotum was loose because
of the heat and it sagged into low hanging thin folds that seemed to
make his testicles appear even larger.
“Like
what?” I asked when Blaine didn’t respond.
"
Having blue knackers of course."
"It's
okay.”
“Okay?”
“I
suppose I’m getting used to the idea.”
“You’re
enjoying the trip aren’t you?”
“Yeah,”
I admitted. It was fun, if a little embarrassing, but the best part
was being away from my mother and grandmother.
“Man,
you had a stiff forever,” Blaine said smugly.
“Only
because you were sucking on it,” I replied.
“So?
But you really liked it, didn’t you?”
“What’s
not to like? Anyway, you liked it as well,”I countered
defensively.
“Bugger
off.”
“You
had a stiff most of the time too," I sniggered.
"I
did?” He smirked. “You noticed that huh? No flies on you,
is there?"
He
waggled his erection back and forth, holding it between two fingers
of each hand. We both giggled.
"Get
yours hard too, Allie."
Given
how hungry I was and how smelly the public toilet was, I wasn't all
that interested. Besides, my penis seemed to be slightly swollen,
puffed out and reddened. Perhaps all of the attention it received in
the car was too much for it. It even felt a bit sore where I touched
it.
"I'm
hungry."
"I
am ukrainian nymphet porn too," Blaine added. He smirked and crudely licked his lips.
"You know something? I reckon I could suck your cock all the way
there."
"Poofter."
I regretted saying it as soon as the word left my lips.
"Yeah,
well you sucked mine last night," he reminded me.
I
turned away with a million thoughts clamouring for attention.
"You
sucked my cock too, so what's that make you, Allie?" he demanded
abruptly.
"That
was different," I rebuked.
"How
so?"
I
had to think of a reason, but there really wasn't one. I shrugged
vaguely, implying that there was a reason, but it wasn't worth
sharing.
"So
are you going to answer my question? How is it different? Didn't you
like doing it?"
I
shrugged in response and began to pull my shorts up. It was harder
pulling them up than pushing them down.
"Yeah,
you liked it," Blaine answered for me. He stopped looking at me
and began to pull up his shorts. "What's more, you liked what I
did to you in the car, too. So I guess that makes both us poofs."
"Does
not!"
Yet,
even as I rejected the suggestion I wondered whether it was true.
Maybe I, Allan James Harding really was a poofter.
"Stop
acting dumb, man.” I said with the intention of pacifying him.
The situation was quickly getting uncomfortable.
“I’m
not.” He smiled slyly. “What's the definition of a
poofter?”
“Don't
know.”
“A
man trying to do a woman's job.” He grinned.
“Not
funny.”
Okay,...
How about this one? How do you know if your milkman is a poof?”
“Don't
know.”
“He
leaves cream up your back passage. Get it.” He smirked. I
didn't get it. “By told me that one yesterday,” he added
under his breath.
“No
more fucking poofter jokes, okay.”
“Embarrassed?
You're really afraid you're a poof, aren't you Allan?”
“No!
I'm not. By said it's normal for kids our age to do stuff and it
doesn't mean anything," I said, less than certain that what
Byron said was true.
Blaine
shrugged in response and started out the open doorway. I caught up to
him as he crossed the grassed cricket field. At the pitch, he ran and
pretended to bowl. I followed up with a bowl of my own, and then we
ran at full speed to the picnic table where Bruce and Byron were
eating lunch. Blaine was a much better bowler than I was, but it was
probably because he was able to practice in his backyard with his
older brother and father. Not for the first time I resented not
having a father, a brother, or an uncle like Byron.
By
that point we had travelled about 500 kilometres from Sydney. It was
under 300 miles, but it took most of the day. There were a few times
when Byron was able to drive at 70 m.p.h., but most of time, we were
lucky to average half of that. All that was needed was to be stuck
behind a slow moving truck for a few miles. With about forty miles
still to go before we reached Coffs Harbour, we ate our lunch
quickly, then got back into station wagon.
We
passed through a succession of small towns: Valla Beach, Urunga,
Sawtell, each of them located right on the coast, although the
highway was so far back from the shore that all we ever saw nude nymphets magazine were
glimpses of the ocean. And then, at long last we came into Coffs
Harbour. Our final destination was nothing more than a rushed
shopping trip because there was only the space of a few minutes
before shops began to close for the day. Byron assigned
responsibilities, taking Blaine with him to the grocery store and
sending Bruce and me running to the butcher shop down the street.
They were putting away the meat when we arrived, but the door was
still unlocked. Bruce took over the ordering, but without my
grandmother's expertise, he really didn't know what to ask for. It
came to a head when he tried to buy a dozen lamb chops. The butcher
was ready to cut up a side of mutton when I intervened.
"What
we want is short loin lamb," I said awkwardly. I pointed to the
curved glass window where some meat was still lying out on green
plastic grass.
"Short
loin? No way would I sell you that, fella. This is better. It’s
top grade. I'll cut some nice chops out of this for you boys."
The butcher replied brusquely.
"We
want lamb." I repeated the order that Byron had given, then
adding to it quietly. "That's mutton."
"No
difference, mate. Lamb, mutton, it's all the same when they baa."
I
wasn't about to correct him. There was a big difference between sheep
and lamb on Brindajari. You could tell nymphete girls just by looking at the meat.
It wasn't simply a matter of the size of the chops. There was an
entirely different texture, and taste too.
"We’ll
take these," Bruce interjected. “If that’s okay.”
He
pointed to the window where the lamb chops were displayed. The
butcher had no choice but to give him what he wanted, even though he
hesitated for a while.
"Good
move, Allan. I like my meat nice and tender," Bruce whispered to
me.
What
he did next took me totally by surprise. His right hand moved from
being lodged in the pocket of his board shorts. He reached around and
down to my bottom. He squeezed my buttocks. Maybe it was intended to
be funny. It would have been playful if his hand hadn't stayed there,
cupping my right cheek. Instead, it made me feel strange. All over
strange. Squeezing, cupping, a warm pressure that flowed into me.
Fortunately, no one could free nymphet nudes see because we were standing close to the
wall. His hand stayed there while the butcher counted out chops,
weighed them, and began to wrap them. Eventually, I scowled at Bruce
and his hand dropped away. He smirked back at me.
"Yeah,
now that’s what I call very tender." His voice was very
low so than no one else could hear him.
"You're
s-so w-weird."
"Yeah,
maybe I am,... but so are you." He glanced at the butcher, now
wrapping the chops. "You want to know something?”
I
shrugged.
“You
have a nice bum, Harding," he whispered. "You better be
really careful where you bend over."
'Bending
over' and 'touching your toes' jokes were like 'train' jokes at
school. All train jokes ended up the same way. They all had 'poof
poof' as the punch line. Everyone at school made poofter jokes so it
wasn't the first time that I was on the receiving end of one.
However, compared to some boys, I escaped being the brunt of most of
them.
"Ha-ha,
very f-f-funny," I returned caustically.
His
hand started on its way back to my bottom. I slapped at him.
"Owhh!
Hands off the merchandise huh? Speaking of which,…"
Bruce
stepped up the counter to pay for the meat we had purchased. I stayed
close to the wall, feeling my face getting red and hot, and it wasn't
from being out in hacked uncensored nymphet
the sun. Somehow, Bruce always knew what to say 14 yo nymphette
or
do in order to embarrass me. I was glad when we left the shop. Bruce
handed me the package to carry back to the car. I felt bit like his
servant, although I really didn't mind. We strolled along the
footpath, stopping to check out a store window.
"Nice
board," nymphette pics nude
Bruce said admiringly of the surfboard propped up as
part of the beach display.
"It's
a Shane, r-right?" I was pretty sure it was built by Shane
Steadman even if there was no label in sight.
"Yep.
Not bad at all. You see how the fin is shaped different to a
McIntyre?"
"It's
got m-more curve. It's w-wider too. S-so it g-goes straighter,
right?"
"You're
smarter than I thought," Bruce teased. "Especially for a
cute little bunny. And I was thinking bunnies were even dumber than
sheep."
"Ha-ha."
I pretended to glare at him. I wasn’t about to encourage him.
"You’ve
had enough of the bunny stuff, huh? Okay. I'll stop if you want?"
"It's
okay," I answered before thinking.
The
truth was that I liked him calling lovely nude underage nymphets me names. It made me feel special.
It was no different to Byron calling Blaine ‘Snugglepot’
and me ‘Cuddlepie’. It was all in good fun.
"So,
are you glad you came with us instead of going to Brindajari?"
Bruce asked as we continued down the street.
What
to say? No, I'd rather be sitting in the car with my mother and
grandmother on the long drive from Bathurst to Dubbo, because that
was where I would have been at about that time of day. We always
stopped in Katoomba for morning tea, then in Bathurst for lunch. I
always dozed off for a few hours during the next part of the trip.
Past Orange, it was pretty dull. Was I getting homesick already?
"Yeah,"
I said nymphet art models concomitantly.
Bruce
smiled. "Wait until you see where we're going. McIntyre Beach
has got the greatest fucking surf between Sydney and Surfer's
Paradise, and you know the best thing of all?”
“W-what?”
“Just
about nobody else knows about it."
“Cool,”
I said, not even beginning to grasp the importance of why being able
to surf by ourselves was so important.
After
leaving Coff's Harbour, the scenery began to get more beautiful. The
landscape was more rugged. Pristine beaches, waterfalls were nothing
short of spectacular and tropical forests verged on becoming jungle.
Blaine and I kept staring out the windows. It was so very different
to the flat plains west of the Great Dividing Range, that it could
have been another country except for the towering gum trees.
Just
a few miles past the turnoff to Moonee Beach, Byron pulled over to
the side of the road, creeping slowly past tall eucalyptus trees that
seemed to reach up to the sky. Bruce turned around in his seat and
looked back at us. He grinned at both Blaine and me. There didn't
seem to be any reason for us to stop there, especially since we had
all used the toilets in Coff's Harbour before we left.
"We're
here!" Blaine shouted. "We're here!"
He
almost climbed over the front seat to look through the windscreen.
There, ahead of us was a small dirt track that would be easily
overlooked by anyone going past. It was all but overgrown.
"Yep.
We're here, boofhead," Bruce confirmed jubilantly.
"Let's
just hope the road is still in one piece. If it's not, you guys will
have to get out and push," Byron said as the car started down
the track.
"Part
of the way we have to go through a nature preserve, Bun," Bruce
explained to me. "It doesn't get any prettier than this."
I
gazed through the window, now goose-pimpled with excitement. The
exotic sounds and smells of the rainforest filled me with wanderlust,
a myriad images of jungles from New Guinea to the Amazon. It was so
very different to the dry dusty plains of Brindajari. An insect
wandered into the car and buzzed around for a while. We crept along,
meandering from one side to the other, sometimes even leaving the
rutted track and trying to find a route that was less bumpy. There
were times when Byron brought the car to a halt and made sure it was
in low gear before easing across washed out sections of road. We
slowly climbed away from a creek bed and the road became slightly
better, that was until we reached a tree that had fallen across the
road. It took all four of us to drag it to the side. It was clear
than no one had driven down that road for several months.
At
the crest of the hill there were openings among the trees that
enabled glimpses of the ocean. We began to descend. On the sea side
the sun and wind affected the vegetation. The rainforest disappeared
whenever it was exposed to the wind, replaced by the typical
Australian bush of gums and wattles and scraggly grassy bushes. We
came to a headland and the track divided. One way led to a rickety
iron ls magazine nymphet pipe gate that swung open on rusted hinges. The other track went
on for a dozen paces and petered out.
"You
can see the beach from there," Bruce said, pointing to the path
away from the gate. "It's one hell of a view."
"We
don't have time today," Byron explained. "But the next time
we'll stop for sure."
"It's
worth a whole year of the shit I have to put up with at school for a
few weeks up here," Bruce said smugly. He had been spending most
of the summer holidays with Byron ever since he was my age. It was
the reason why he was such a great surfer.
Blaine
leaned over towards me. He inclined his head. "Remember what I
said earlier about not telling?" he whispered.
I
nodded in response.
"I
really mean it, Allie. You can't tell anyone about what happens here,
remember!"
He
waited until I nodded, and then he undressed. Right there in the seat
next to me, he started stripping off his clothes. I realised right
away that he wasn't going to stop until he was naked as the day he
was born. Off came his shirt. He put it on the seat next to him. He
spent a few moments undoing the cord of his board shorts. Then, he
pushed them down his legs, all the way to his feet. I had seen him
naked before often enough, but never like that. It was like he was a
different person, freed of whatever it was that made us do the things
we were supposed to do. And no one cared. No one even seemed to
notice what he was doing, except me that is. Byron and Bruce paid
attention to the road, or what passed as a road as we began the
descent to the beach.
"Are
the guys in the buff back there yet?" Byron asked from the
driver's seat. He sounded amused by the idea.
"Uh
huh," Bruce snickered. He didn't even turn around.
"One
of us is," Blaine giggled.
"Hm,
too fucking bad." Byron mused. "I really thought we'd have
two naked boys back there by now. What's the problem, Allan? Don't
tell me you're still embarrassed about showing it off? There's
nothing to worry about, you know, not when we've all seen it. We're
all guys here."
I
glanced at Blaine. He seemed perfectly content to lounge in his seat
without a single stitch of clothing on his body. He smirked at me and
moved his legs apart so that my view was unimpeded. His penis dangled
between his slim sun-tanned thighs. His blue-dyed scrotum hung low,
much lower than mine ever did. The eggs inside were almost touching
the vinyl seat. I swallowed. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do
or say. I quickly looked away again. The temptation to keep looking
was almost too much for me. My mouth was dry.
"Come
on, don't be a dummy. Show us your stuff, Allan," Bruce teased.
He looked back between the seats. "Going nude is what we do
here," he added with emphasis.
I
shook my head abruptly, yet part of me wanted to take my clothes off,
to young ukrainian nymphets
be naked like Blaine. After all, part of the tradition was that we
went naked at McIntyre Beach. Not while we were surfing or when
someone else was around, but at other times when it was just us it
seemed like it might even be fun. The problem was that I didn't want
to undress in front of Bruce, not while he was watching me.
"I
w-will, b-but only if you d-do it f-first," I replied haughtily.
Byron
laughed. "Yeah, good for you. Now that's what I call spunk.
There's nothing like a boy with some spunk.”
Bruce
smirked at me. He didn't say anything. I could tell that he had not
expected me to say that. I hadn't expected me to say that either. And
he said ‘spunk’! Spunk, just like Blaine produced, but
which I still bbs for nymphets had yet to see.
“W-well?“
I demanded. I felt like I had control of the situation for once.
“Fair’s
fair, mate. You know that bare bums are the rule as well as I do,
Brucey. You better get your duds off,” Byron said. It was
almost an order.
Maybe
I was too excited, but I couldn't help it. My heart was jumping up
and down. I couldn't understand why I was so excited. I think part
of it came because I wanted to see Bruce without his clothes on, but
a big part of me enjoyed making him do something that I wanted. I
tried not to look at Blaine, knowing full well that once I saw his
body I would start to get an erection. It always happened when I saw
him naked.
“Deal,”
Bruce answered.
He
twisted around in his seat. For a few seconds I thought nothing was
going to happen. Then, I realised that his shirt had buttons, that he
was undoing them one at a time. His arms and shoulders moved. His
shirt came off. I swallowed, trying to see what was happening in the
sat in front, afraid that he really was undressing and then it would
be my turn. He held his shirt up so I could see it.
“Your
shorts too mate.”
“Gee,
thanks By,” Bruce snorted. Still, he sounded amused. “Your
turn will come once he's in the nude, you know.”
Byron
shook his head mockingly. I risked a glance at Blaine. He was clearly
amused by what was going on. His fingers cradled his still limp
penis. My penis was already as hard as a rock. I wasn't even sure
when it had happened, but I could definitely feel it sticking up into
my shorts. Vaguely, I wondered whether it was because of Blaine, or
his brother, but whatever made it happen it was despite the
unsettling concern of having to take all off my clothes off as well.
My heart pounded from the sheer thrill of what we were doing, of
knowing that within just minutes all of us would be stark naked.
I
didn't see Bruce actually take his shorts off. I was afraid that he’d
see me looking. Suddenly, his red and black board shorts landed on
the seat between Blaine and me. Like us, Bruce wasn't wearing
underpants. From where I sat, I could see his long darkly tanned
thigh. Until then, I hadn't noticed how hairy his legs were. They
weren't smooth like Blaine's and my legs were. The hair was like
half-inch strands of glistening gold and there was a lot of it.
“Now
it's your turn,” Bruce directed.
It
was my turn and there was no getting out of it. I took a deep breath
and lifted my arms, taking the hem of my shirt with it. It was loose
enough that it came off easily. I balled it up and tossed it at
Bruce. It hit him in the face. It didn't stop him from laughing. He
pretended to smell it.
“You’re
a sweaty little bugger aren't you? Now, off with your shorts. Drop
them so we can see Harding junior, again,” he taunted.
I
rolled my eyes and contemplated saying 'no way'. However, something
inside me said that it was more fun if I took them off. I took them
off, unfastening the knotted cord so that I could slide them down. I
didn't stop at my feet. I held them up high, proudly.
“There!
Happy now?” I called out.
“Now,
there's two boys sitting in the back seat,” Byron joked. “And
they're just the way I like them. Both of them have bare bums.”
“You
got it,” Blaine giggled. “Hey, you guys, you got to see
this. Allan's got another stiffie.”
“Look
at that hard little dong,” Bruce shouted.
"He's
not the only one," Byron called out jovially. "Is he
Bruce?"
"Geez,
By! Give it a rest, okay."
"Man,
you kids ought to see the fucking whopper Bruce has up here,"
Byron teased.
"I’ve
already seen it," Blaine guffawed. Before he could comment
further, he shouted, "Hey, Allan, look!" He pointed out the
window at what appeared to be a ramshackle shack. "That's it!
That's By's place!"
What
interested me more than the beach shack that Blaine had drawn my
attention to was the surf that russian nymphets naked
crashed onto the white sandy beach
directly ahead of us. Lines of breakers seemed to extend out to the
ocean as far as the eye could see. It was a surfer's paradise. There
was a fair rip, judging by the way the surf was breaking, but it was
nothing that I couldn't handle.
"Wow,"
was all I could say.
"Not
bad, huh?" Blaine commented from beside me.
"It's
awesome."
"Man,
just look at that fucking lip on that wave! It's way better than most
of last year’s waves," Bruce top teen nymphet
shouted.
It
stayed a clean wave for as long as any wave that I had seen, a vast
wall of water that came to a curl at the very top and hung there as
if it wanted to become a pipe, but just couldn't make it over the
crest. Finally, it pitched and the wave burst into white turmoil. A
moment later the roar intensified. I had never seen such a beautiful
wave, not even at Narrabeen or the few times the McIntyre’s had
taken me to Cronulla.
"We
get some pretty good ground swells this time of year," Byron
said over his shoulder. "There's a nice reef break on the
point," he pointed towards the distant headland. "We'll
have you offshore and working it like a pro before you leave, Allan,"
he added.
The
roar of the surf was louder than anything I'd ever heard, perhaps
because there were no other sounds. Wave after wave pounded ashore,
sending white foam boiling high into the air when they first broke.
There was a channel where the waves reformed, allowing for some good
inside waves before they became shore slop. Despite what Byron had
just said, I suspected that was where Blaine and I would do most of
our surfing.
The
track stopped right outside the collection of corrugated iron and
bleached-grey wood that had aspirations of being a building. Byron
turned off the engine. The roar of the surf became almost deafening.
It was also reassuring in its own way, a perpetual sound that seemed
to echo in my ears.
"Fuck!
That was one hell of a long drive," Byron declared with a
mocking voice that was accented like the ABC announcer in the
mornings.
Suddenly,
we all started to laugh. It had been a long drive and Byron’s
imitation was perfect. We had been sitting in the car for the best
part of ten hours.
"Okay,
you dick heads, stop giggling like a bunch of sheilas. Everyone out
of the car," he continued. "We have to unload and get set
up before it's dark."
"We
will,... after you strip off, By," Blaine snickered. “Fair’s
fair.”
Byron
laughed. "You get yours tonight, Mister," he threatened in
a friendly tone. "You might find sitting down a bit
uncomfortable afterwards."
Jokes
about 'sitting down' or 'taking a shit' fell into the same category
as 'poof-poof' jokes. I wasn't at all sure what was so funny about
it, but Bruce burst into laughter that wouldn't stop. He laughed
while Byron took his clothes off. Unlike the three of us, Byron was
wearing briefs, not white cotton 'Bonds' like the ones that Blaine
and I normally wore, but bright red and skimpy. Sitting behind Byron,
I couldn't see what was happening until he held up his briefs and
waved them around triumphantly.
"Okay,
you bare bums, it’s time to get busy," Byron said
good-humouredly. “We’ve got some unloading to do.”
All
four nymphets bedroom doors opened simultaneously and we spilled out onto hot sand
that would have burned our feet had we not kept our thongs on.
Because I had been sitting behind the driver’s seat, Byron
stood right in front of me, his back facing me. It was like looking
at a sports god. He had broad, brown shoulders, tapering down the
knobby ridge of his spine, and very firmly muscled legs. Even his
bottom was sun-tanned. Yet, as handsome and athletic as he was, there
wasn't the same thrill that I felt when I saw Blaine's body. The
difference was startling. Byron was a man, the very first man who I
saw fully naked for more than a few seconds in the changing room at
the beach. While I was interested, I wasn't unduly affected by what I
saw. There was no weird thrill, no surge of overpowering excitement
that made my skin instantly form goose bumps, and my penis certainly
didn’t become hard.
He
stood there for a few moments, allowing me to gaze at his nakedness.
He stretched back, flexing his arms, kicking up sand, feeling
wonderful.
"Yeah,
that sun feels damned good after all this time," he announced to
no one in particular.
Suddenly,
he turned around. I saw his penis, long, thick, dangling down from a
dark nest of hair. It reminded me of wire, tangled up into a ball. I
stared, feeling strange.
"You
like what you see, mate?" he asked boldly. He gave me a moment
to think about it. “Hey, you
heard the one about the guy from Leeds? He didn't wait for me to
answer.
“There
was a young man from Leeds, who swallowed a packet of seeds, and out
of his arse grew a bushel of grass, and his
balls were covered in weeds.”
“He
was hairy like you, huh,” Bruce chimed in.
"You
got it. Hey, Why are pubic hairs curly, Allan?” He looked right
at me, giving me an unimpeded view of his crotch. “So they
don't poke you in the eye.”
He
smiled and I averted my eyes awkwardly, aware not only that I'd been
caught staring, but that Byron didn't mind at all.
“So
what you reckon, Cuddlepie? This has to be the most beautiful
beach on the north coast, or what?" he added smugly.
"It's
awesome," I said, spontaneously looking back again.
Despite
the view, which was superb, fetish nymphets I found it very difficult to look away
from his penis. That man-sized penis was unlike anything I had ever
seen. It was so much larger than mine or Blaine's that it was almost
frightening. He did have a lot of hair as well.
"You
know the best thing about my view?”
“Huh?
No, what?”
“The
boy in the middle of it,” Byron jibed.
“Huh?”
“Don’t
be shocked. You have a nice body, Cuddlepie. It’s a real
pleasure to look at you.”
That
I had a nice body was probably more or less descriptive because I was
well-built from playing a lot of sports and growing up on Brindajari,
but no one had ever said something like that to me before, not even
my mother or grandmother. I wasn't at all sure of nymphet models site
what to think.
“ You're
sexy too,... you know that, don't you mate?” he added quietly.
I
think my mouth dropped open, or I gulped at that point. There was a
strange feeling in my stomach as the words sank in. At the time, I
really didn’t believe my ears.
"Yeah,
you’re one really spunky kid," he continued softly. “Don't
go getting uptight about it.”
It
was said so quietly that only I heard him, and that was all he said.
He said I was 'sexy', and if that wasn’t enough, he’d
added ‘spunky' too, which was the same thing. The words
resounded. To make it even more confusing, he had not said it
off-handedly. His tone of voice and the way he said it was anything
but casual or teasing. Despite his intonation, it wasn't even a
question. It was a statement of fact as far as he was concerned. I
stared at the view in the awkward silence that followed.
After
a moment he reached up and unfastened one of the bungee cords that
secured the surfboards to the roof racks. There was no way that I
could have reached them. Instead, I stood idly by, watching this
naked man, trying to understand why he found my boy's body to be
interesting, because that was what the tone of his voice
communicated. Me, Allan Harding, a mere eleven-year-old boy, was
‘spunky’. That was what girls were, or were supposed to
be. And more, it had been said with such an approving tone, that I
could tell that he meant it. tits nymphets models Fortunately for both of us, only I heard
it. It would have been very embarrassing otherwise. After a few
moments of thought it struck me that it was almost as if he didn't
want Bruce and Blaine to know that he was admiring me. And the
expression on his face? It was as if he was somehow gratified merely
by looking at me without my clothes on. It made me feel good inside.
Blaine
and Bruce worked on the surfboards on the other side of the car. I
saw occasional glimpses of them. Both of them were naked and carrying
on as if not having clothes on was perfectly normal for them. I began
to feel less exposed. The late afternoon sun warmed my body and
touched parts that hadn't seen sun for several months since the last
time I dared to undress and swim in the creek.
Again
and again I glanced down self consciously, half expecting to see my
penis in an aroused state. For once, Allan Harding Junior appeared to
be relaxed about the whole situation. My penis drooped down, a little
pink thumb flopping against my very-dark-blue pouch. It was vaguely
amusing, knowing that Blaine and I were marked in same way, like
initiates in some arcane ritual of growing up. Finally, Byron passed
me my surfboard to hold while he unfastened the other somewhat larger
board that was still secured to our side of the roof racks. I carried
my board to the rear of the car and waited there, watching Bruce and
Blaine.
Undressed,
and from behind, Bruce looked a lot more like Byron than his younger
brother. For the first time in my life I realised that there were
some big differences between men and boys that couldn’t be
accounted for by the difference in size. No matter how handsome
Bruce was, it was still Blaine's body that really fascinated me. I
liked how he was slender and smooth, how the only hair, at least
noticeable hair was on his head.
Bruce,
like Byron, had tufts of reddish hair under his arms when he reached
up to remove the surfboard from the roof of the car. There was hair
on his legs too, not the fuzzy down like Blaine had from just below
his knees to his feet, but darker, thicker hair that extended all the
way up to his buttocks. And then even as I looked, Bruce climbed down
from where he had been standing on the door sill and turned to face
me. He grinned nonchalantly at me and posed so that I saw the front
of his body.
From
the front, he looked just like Byron, only his penis was not quite as
large. Not that it mattered. It was still huge to my inexperienced
eyes. For the second time that day, I stared at Bruce’s penis
and butterflies fluttered around in my video nymphette underage
stomach. It swung like a
pendulum, back and forth. It even bounced against his thighs whenever
he moved. In the daylight I could see that the end of it was fat and
rounded and dark in colour, not small and bluish-pink like Blaine's
was. It wasn't like Blaine's penis at all, and yet it was. I could
see definite, undeniable similarities. It was like looking at Blaine
when he was a few years older, at the man he would eventually become.
At the time I had no realisation of what attracted me to Blaine. All
I knew, and even then it was a vague inclination, was that seeing
Bruce naked was no different to Byron, and in the same way, I did not
find it particularly interesting to look at him.
It
was all unsettling. Standing there, watching Bruce, thinking how
strong and capable he was, about how he was able to do things that I
could only dream about. Perhaps it was what my grandmother called
‘puppy love’, or hero-worship, but I found myself hanging
on every word that he uttered, nodding my head enthusiastically when
he held his board up over his head and suggested we should get a few
'fucking' waves in before it became too 'fucking' dark. True, I
didn't like him swearing whenever he opened his mouth, but it was all
in good humour and my inhibitions were in full retreat. We were
laughing, joking, talking back and forth about surfing, even about
getting our dicks stuck in the car door. It was male camaraderie of a
type that I had never known beyond the far more restrained situations
that occurred when I visited Blaine's family. I even used the 'f'
word myself a few times, but only when Blaine could hear me.
However,
there were other priorities that day and surfing would have to wait.
We carried the surfboards to the side of the hut where they were
carefully placed out of the way. The waves beckoned, demanding my
constant attention. I wanted to charge across the sand and paddle out
through the breakers. I wanted to find out what it felt like to ride
my own surfboard, even if it was still unwaxed. Instead, we began the
somewhat thankless task of emptying the station wagon and moving our
belongings and food inside the place that I was to call home for the
next few weeks.
The
more-or-less ‘l’-shaped hut consisted of three square
rooms around a central fireplace. It made of welded sheet metal and
daubed with rust and peeling paint, although why there was a
fireplace at all one could only guess. Maybe Byron used the hut
during the winter? There was a kitchen-come-eating area with just
enough room for the four of us to sit down at a rickety table, a
sitting room with a threadbare floral-patterned couch that converted
to a bed, and a bedroom that consisted of a large mattress lying on
the floor. There were no closets or chests of drawers. We would have
to live out of our bags. Instead of a fourth room to complete the
square, there was an open deck that was littered with half a dozen
aluminium-framed outdoor seats and a table that had been blown up
against the handrails.
After
moving three old twin-fin surfboards outside from where they were
occupying the middle of the floor, Byron led us on the guided tour of
the ‘Mac-shack’. The first thing I discovered was that
there wasn't an indoor bathroom. Instead, there was a wood-planked
walkway that led out over the sand dunes. It ended at a small
platform partially enclosed by a wood slat wall. A shower nozzle held
in place by wire indicated the intended purpose even if there was no
apparent way of getting water to it from the storage tank. Byron said
something about having to ‘fix’ a few things. Located
behind the wall was the toilet. I had smelled worse on the trip top nymphet 100 and
it was probably better that going off into the sand dunes. There
wasn't much privacy, but by that point I was beginning to realise I
would not need much privacy, not when I was already naked and was
likely to remain so for most of the time I was there. No one else
seemed to worry about it.
"This
will be your bed, Allan," Byron explained on the return trip
through the sitting room. He gestured to the convertible couch.
“Okay.”
"Um,
if you don't mind,… you'll share it with Bruce. I promise he
won’t snore too loudly."
No
doubt, it was supposed to be funny, because both he and Bruce
grinned, but I didn't smile. The confused expression on my face got
his immediate attention. I didn't understand why I couldn't sleep
with Blaine if we had to share beds.
"I
think putting the two of you together will be best. That way I'll
have Blaine in the bedroom with me."
"Why?"
I asked abruptly. I knew I sounded rude, but I couldn't help it.
"Hm,
well,…” He took time to think about his answer. “Let’s
just say that I don't get to spend much time alone with him, not when
his mom’s around anyway." Byron winked meaningfully. "This
will be a good chance for us to catch up. You don't mind if I borrow
your best friend at night, do you?"
I
shook my head slightly, but I didn't mean it, My head was full of
thoughts about the previous night, of being naked with Blaine, of
reaching out and touching each other where we weren’t supposed
to. Although I would never admitted it to Blaine or anyone else, I
wanted to repeat what I had done the night before.
"Good
boy. Besides, I reckon you'll have a lot more fun in here with
Bruce."
"I
guess," I said reluctantly.
I
wasn't at all happy about the sleeping arrangements, not at all. It
didn't make any sense. Why couldn't Byron and Bruce share the
mattress? There was plenty of room for the two of them.
It
was as if Byron knew what I was thinking. "Hey, Bruce could
hardly share my bed, could he? Now he's grown up and all, people
might think we're a couple of poofters." He finished with a
laugh.
I
shrugged disdainfully. Beside me, Blaine smirked. I didn't see why he
was so happy. Part of me wanted to wipe the smirk of his face. It was
the second time in my life that I thought about wanting to hit him. I
swallowed. I felt angry. I felt envious. I felt alone. My confusion
seemed to press down on me until I wasn't sure of anything any more.
"Hey,
Bunny, no sweat. It'll be fun," Bruce said from behind me.
I
glanced back at him.
"Yeah,
r-right. A lot of f-fucking fun."
He
grinned at me. "It's not like I snore, at least it’s
nothing near like what Blaine does."
"He
doesn't snore."
"It’s
just for the night. You and Blaine can be together all day.”
I
shrugged, pretending ambivalence.
“I
know what he’s sulky,” Blaine chipped in.
“I’m
not sulky.”
“Hey,
if you're worried about not getting your cock sucked, don't worry
about it," Bruce joked. "You guys can have sex whenever you
want to."
"Fuck
you!" I said viciously.
With
that, I turned, ready to rush outdoors. Byron grabbed my arm and held
me tightly. My mind was churning angry thoughts. He wouldn't let go
even though I dragged against him. I wanted to get away from him,
from Bruce, even from Blaine.
"Shut
up, Bruce!" Byron ordered loudly.
He
twisted me around, then took my shoulders in hand, holding me away
from him so that he could see my face. I glowered at him.
"Allan,
listen to me. If you really want to sleep with Blainey, it’s no
problem. You guys are best mates. If you want to have sex with him,
it's okay by me. No worries, mate."
I
glared at him. "It isn't that! What makes you think I want to
have sex with him," I countered defensively.
"Look,
Allan. Bruce was way out of line for saying that." Byron smiled.
"Maybe it's true, maybe it isn’t. I want you to think
about what we talked about in the car. It’s no one’s
business but yours."
"I
don’t have to. It's not like that," I interrupted swiftly.
"Okay.
I believe you. It doesn't matter. Just remember what I said in the
car coming up. It's normal for guys to mess around with their
friends. We all do it."
"Yeah.
So what?"
Byron
smiled. He took a deep breath. "You want me to teach you how to
surf, don't you?"
"Yeah,"
I ventured warily.
He
was quiet for a few moments. "Okay. I'll make you a deal, Allan.
I’ll teach you how to surf like you won’t believe,…
but only if you do something for me. You sleep in here with Bruce
and,… don’t sweat it,…. and I promise you'll be
surfing just like him by the time you go home."
I
think my mouth dropped open in shock. Bruce was almost the state
champion. I wasn't sure if I believed my ears. Yet, something,
intuition perhaps, said that I wasn't being lied to.
"Like
Bruce?" I finally managed to get out.
"Yeah,
like Bruce. Maybe even a bit better than Bruce,” he added
quietly. “You’ll have to work hard, though. Maybe I'm
wrong about you, Harding, but I don't think so." he winked at
me. “I’ve always been able to pick them.”
"Huh?"
"There
you go with the fucking huhs again." He laughed and shook his
head. “You’re really something else, Cuddlepie. I think
I’m getting jealous.” He glanced at Bruce as he rubbed
his hand through magazine nymphet bbs
my tousled hair. "We'll find out tomorrow
morning, I guess."
"Find
out what?" I demanded.
"What
you're made of," Byron replied as he nodded thoughtfully. "I'd
bet the fucking farm you've got what it takes to go places. You’ve
certainly got the body for it."
"Well,
I told you that, didn’t I?" Bruce said. "I watched
him at Dee Why a couple of weeks ago. He’s already pretty good,
By."
"Yeah,
I'm sure he is." Byron released my shoulders. His right hand
caressed my cheek, turning my head to the nymphet non nude
side. "Goddamn, Bruce!
He's a real cutie."
My
ears burned. "If you really want me to sleep in here with Bruce,
I will," I muttered self-consciously.
"Will
you? See, I'd really like that, Allan," Byron said quietly. "The
thing is, see, I'd like to spend some time with Blainey, alone,...
just me and him,.... you know what I mean?"
I
didn't know what he meant. I wasn't about to ask. There was too much
at stake. I merely nodded.
"No
matter what happens while we’re up here, he'll still be your
best friend, Allan," Byron continued. He glanced at Blaine and
Blaine nodded slightly at me, encouragingly. "If you guys want
some private time together,..." Byron gestured behind him, using
his extended thumb to indicate towards the bedroom he was going to
share with Blaine. "Don't even ask. I understand what it’s
like when you get the urge. Whatever you two guys do together, it's
okay by me."
Chapter
9
As
late afternoon became evening and the sun moved behind the hills to
the west, long shadows stretched out towards the horizon. With the
sea to the east, there wasn't the glory of a sunset over water.
Instead, there was a kind of mystery to the approaching gloom. It was
as if the world was being swallowed up by darkness until it was all
gone. For a long while, until it became almost too dark to see what
we were doing, Blaine and I played on the outside deck. We were
naked, just as we had been since our arrival, but by then we were
blissfully unaware of anything except the need to win at the game of
Scrabble that had appeared from somewhere deep inside the rear of the
station wagon. For once I could be next to my naked friend and not
worry about getting an erection. My thoughts were focused on finding
words, words that Blaine could not steal simply by adding an 's' or
an 'n'.
The
endless roar of the surf eventually became a reassuring drone,
constant and loud. It seemed to come from just beyond the first row
of sand dunes, yet it quickly became something I was always conscious
of, but not to the extent of becoming a disturbance. Whenever I
looked up from the board, I always looked towards the beach. Perhaps
it was to convince myself that it wasn’t a dream. When I was
certain it was real, only then did I give some thought to the
adventure that lay ahead. The last time my attention was diverted,
just before we went inside to eat dinner, the sky was so dark that I
could barely make out the waves. The burst of white as the breakers
crashed, and the fluorescent trails as the wave came ashore were all
that could be seen. The time that I spent outside with Blaine that
first evening was one of my strongest memories.
It
was right after a much delayed dinner, that the sleeping arrangements
also became the kitchen-duty assignments. It turned that I would work
with Bruce and Blaine would work with Byron to do whatever needed to
be done, taking turns every day. We drew cards for the first night’s
cleanup. Bruce and I lost so it was our duty to clean up after dinner
and straighten the kitchen. Having just two items on the dinner menu
hardly qualified the meal a feast by any stretch of the imagination,
but when someone was as hungry as we were that evening, it didn't
matter. I ate ravenously, more than enough for my grandmother to have
made a disparaging comment about my appetite, or to leave something
for other people had she been there. I got through three barbecued
short loin lamb chops and two ears of corn, but it was still one chop
shy of Blaine's four chops.
With
their bellies full, Byron and Blaine retired to the couch in the
adjoining room. After some fiddling with the dial, the radio was
tuned to one of the Coffs Harbour radio stations, the ever friendly
2-CHR. At that time of the night, it was 'surf's up'. As Bruce washed
the plates and cups in luke warm water and I dried them with a
tea-towel that had seen better days, I could hear the beat of the
Chantay's Pipeline. It was all I could do not to pretend to play
along. That song really got inside my head. It was easy to imagine a
pipeline, the Banzai Pipeline in particular, because it was the wave
formation that Bruce Brown immortalised in 'Surf Safari' about ten
years earlier when a surfer shouted 'banzai' and was caught on film.
I could imagine the ultimate wave cranking, bursting forth with the
intense energy that only powerful waves can have, the blue sky
replaced by a blue-green roof of water arcing overhead, being inside
the tube and looking outward into the face of the wave before it
curled over. In the car, Byron talked about surfing at Ehukai
Beach Park. It was dangerous because the waves broke hard on a
shallow reef. His first time, he walked away with some lacerations.
The same day another surfer had one of his legs broken and two
cracked ribs. People were killed there. The danger was part of the
lure, Byron said.
"You
like that huh?"
I
looked up at Bruce. He was grinning at me. I hadn't realised that I
had stopped wiping the dishes. I was transfixed, dreaming of the
world's most spectacular
tubed surfing break, listening to the music, the crescendo, the long
gliss of the lead guitar at the refrains.
I nodded when it ended.
"It's
really c-cool."
"So
is your dick," Bruce quipped without a moment’s
hesitation.
Before
that day I would never have imagined Bruce saying something like
that, never in a million years, but he winked at me. It was all in
good fun so I shrugged at first, and then I smiled back at him.
Indeed, it wasn't the first time that evening that he had commented
on my penis or dark-hued scrotum. He seemed to find it a source of
amusement.
"Ha
ha!" I replied sarcastically. "You're j-just j-jealous."
With my one free hand, I wagged my penis at him.
"Jealous
of what?"
He
had me there. I had to think. If anything, I was the person who
should have been jealous. "B-because y-yours is all h-hairy,"
I answered finally.
"Hm,
am I to assume that you don't like big hairy dicks?" he teased.
He
turned to face me, his hands on his hips, his legs apart, giving me a
close look. My eyes dropped instinctively, taking in the maleness
that was so much larger than mine.
I
managed a feeble shrug, furrowing my brow momentarily. I had never
thought about it before. The more I looked the more I realised that
there was hair everywhere. It began as a fuzzy patch on his chest,
but it really started a few inches below his belly button. I shook
my head slightly.
"D-do
you?" I asked with boldness that surprised even me.
It
was all I could think of to say. The reason why I asked him was
because I could think why anyone would like to be hairy like that. I
didn't want to look like that! It was hardly an epiphany, but it was
an important episode in my life. I liked the way that I looked, and
Blaine, and my friends from school. Bruce smiled slightly as if
acknowledging my audacity to ask him the same question that he asked
me. For a long while his eyes were fixed on the region between my
belly button and knees. He stared until I felt uncomfortable.
Finally, he looked up again. Our eyes met.
"Na,
not much, I guess. Blaine does, though," he said quietly.
He
raised his eyebrows to imply something. Not surprisingly, I didn’t
understand.
"I
reckon if I had choice I'd rather have one like yours, Bunny,"
he added teasingly.
I
shrugged, not really understanding anything except that I felt the
same way. For some reason I didn’t find his hairy groin
attractive, or interesting, or anything. It was manly and vaguely
threatening and it was right there in front of me. Even more
threatening was what did he mean about Blaine? I was about to find
out.
"I'll
finish up here," Bruce offered agreeably. "You go see what
they're doing. If By wants to play cards tell him I’ll be right
in."
I
expected to find Blaine reading one of the hundreds of comics that
had accumulated in the shack over the years. There was an abundance
of my favourites, in particular, 'Scrooge McDuck' and his nephews. I
thought they were the 'bestest', a term that upset my grandmother
almost as much as my reading comics. One thing was certain. I didn't
expect to find what I did.
Blaine
was still lying back on the couch in much the same position as he had
been in when I last saw him. Like me and Bruce, he was naked. He was
also reading the same comic as well, or maybe it was simply open in
front of him. His attention was very much focused on something else.
Byron was kneeling in front of him. He was wearing the same
resin-stained tee shirt that he had put on to cook dinner. For a few
seconds, I wasn't sure of what was happening. Maybe I should have
made a quiet exit and gone back into the kitchen. Instead of saying
something, or going further into the room or doing something to
announce my presence, I stayed next to the fireplace. I watched
quietly, aware that something important was happening, something
that maybe I wasn't supposed to see, or maybe I was.
Blaine's
eyes were closed to slits, his mouth partially open. His hands were
by his sides, palms up. He squirmed a little, then quickly settled
back down. The sound he made was very familiar. Any boy who
masturbated knew that sound. I knew that muted sigh, almost a
whimpering sound because it felt so good. I stared, knowing what
Byron was doing even though I couldn't actually see it. Perhaps they
weren't aware of me. Perhaps they thought I was still working in the
kitchen with Bruce. Perhaps they knew I was watching. Perhaps they
didn't care.
"Good
huh?" Byron asked quietly.
"Yeah!"
Blaine murmured. " It’s good. Go faster."
"Not
yet! I want this to be your best one ever."
"Ohhh,...
Oh man. Yeah!" Blaine's hips lifted as he groaned, almost coming
off the couch. His hands closed, clenching. "Faster," he
demanded through gritted teeth. Blaine always liked it faster at the
end.
From
where I stood, I see Byron's right arm moving. Suddenly, it began to
move even faster, jerking between them. Blaine groaned again. His
legs strained, pushing down towards Byron. His breathing was suddenly
ragged, quavering gasps.
"I'm
close.... Yeah, yeah,... faster By,.... Oh fuck! Do it faster."
I
gulped, not wanting to believe, but taking it all in nonetheless. My
mind teetered on the truth, rejecting, resenting, gnawing anger
distorting my vision. Jealousy and the raw thrill of watching them
prevented a rational response. Perhaps under other circumstances, I
would have backed away and remained silent. Instead, I tried to stop
what was happening.
"What
are you doing?" I blurted out.
Byron
stopped what he was doing. He glanced over his shoulder at me. His
expression was not one of dismay, or shock, or even surprise.
Instead, it was a 'what do you think I'm doing' look.
"What's
it look like?" Blaine gasped. "He's playing with my fucking
dick."
Suddenly,
I became more self-conscious than I had ever been. I was the
interloper. I wasn't supposed to be there.
"It's
wrong!" I retorted.
"Is
it?”
I
nodded back at Byron. He studied me, then he smiled right at me.
“There's
nothing wrong with a wank between friends. You ought to know that by
now, Allan. You've wanked Blainey off often enough to know he likes
it. Do you want him all for yourself?"
I
shook my head. Instinctively, I understood his point. I didn’t
own Blaine even if he was my best friend. He could do whatever he
wanted to. To make matters even worse, there was an insistent voice
inside me that said that Blaine was much closer to Byron than he was
to me. And worse, even though we called each other best friend, it
would always be that way. The sense of loneliness was overpowering.
"Blaine?"
I beseeched. I wanted it stop. I wanted us to continue to be best
friends.
"Don't
be dumb, Allan," Blaine said cruelly. He seemed to smirk. He
licked his lips. He was breathing through his mouth, still breathing
hard.
"I
thought we were best friends," I muttered.
Blaine
lifted himself from among the pillows. He rested one of his hands on
Byron's shoulder, guiding him to move away. Only then did I see,
really see, what they were doing. Blaine's penis was hard and
straining upwards. His penis tended to become reddened like mine if
was rubbed too hard. It practically glowed. Byron's right hand was
underneath it, holding Blaine's testicles. I could see bits of blue
skin between Byron’s fingers. His thumb stroked along the
stretched shaft, each time reaching to the tip and smearing over the
rounded knob. It was shiny and it appeared to be wet. Each time he
did it, Blaine quivered. Whenever we masturbated each other he didn't
let me touch him on the tip like that. He said it hurt too much. It
was how I liked it the most. It was more than I could stand.
“We
are.”
"I
don't care what you do," tiny nymphets bbs I said, trying to mean it, but falling
a long way short. Instead, I sounded mean.
Byron
slowly shook his head the way that adults do when they're
disappointed in you. "You know what we talked about today,
Allan?" he asked without turning around.
"Yeah.
I know. It's cool. It's no big deal." I tried to shrug. Instead,
my shoulders slumped down.
"That's
right. It’s no big deal. We were just having some fun together
while you guys were cleaning up in the kitchen," Blaine added.
"Yeah,
I can see that." I sounded supercilious, a lot like my
grandmother except for the ‘yeah’.
"What's
the problem?” Blaine challenged. “It's never a big deal
when you and I do it, Allie. You don't want me doing stuff with
someone else?"
"It's
not that," I grumped, even though it was.
"Then
I don’t know what you’re pissed about. You already saw
him wank me when we were in the loo," Blaine reminded me.
He
sounded callous, but what he said was true. And I had been jealous
then as well. It made me think that what happened in the toilet
earlier in the day had largely been for my benefit.
"Yeah,
so?" I said bitterly.
"So,…
we were just finishing off what we started then, boy-o," Byron
added with a smirk. "If you'd rather do it, you can, Allan."
"I
don't care." If I sounded resentful it was for a good reason. I
started to turn away to go back to the kitchen.
"Don't
you want to watch?" Byron teased. I glared back at him. How did
he know that was what I was thinking? “If you want I’ll
make him spunk for you.”
"Don't
be a wanker, Allan." Blaine leered at me as if there was nothing
for me to be angry about. "If you must know, I want him to do
it, okay."
"I
don't care what you do with him," I rejoined.
"Yeah
you do.”
“Do
not!”
“Do
too. He does it differently to you," Blaine said with a nervous
giggle.
“How?”
"Do
you angel nymphet pic think we should show him, By?"
Byron
didn’t answer. He kept watching me even as his right hand moved
from holding Blaine's blue-dyed testicles to taking hold of his penis
again. He held it differently to me. Instead of using his whole hand
the way I did when I rubbed Blaine’s penis, he used just his
thumb with two fingers on the other side. There was no room for more
fingers. His left hand came up from below, replacing where his right
hand had been. One finger seemed to be reaching back underneath
Blaine's bottom. Blaine's feet were braced against the couch,
readying himself for sensations that only boys who have been properly
masturbated can appreciate. Byron's right hand squeezed the hard
shaft, then his left hand clasped Blaine’s testicles. Blaine
shifted slightly, wriggling, almost wincing, and Byron hadn’t
squeezed that hard. He glanced at me, then back to Byron. He took a
deep breath.
"Not
too far, okay," Blaine muttered. "I've got to get used to
doing it again, remember?"
Byron
nodded slightly. His left hand pushed up underneath Blaine slightly.
"Just a bit more. That's far enough. Feel okay?"
"Yeah.
That’s nice."
Then
Byron's right hand began to move, rhythmically travelling up and
down. It was much the same motion that Blaine and I used on each
other except that Byron's fingers kept going up to the tip where my
fingers weren’t allowed to go. Each time, Blaine tensed up and
then relaxed. Byron's other hand was squeezing gently, rubbing too,
moving back and forth under Blaine’s bottom. From where I
stood, I realised that his extended finger had to be very close to
Blaine's anus, maybe even touching it.
"Yeahhhh!"
Blaine sighed. "Oh man. That's feels so fucking good, By. I’d
nearly forgotten how good."
He
stretched his arms back behind his head, laying back into the couch,
assuming the same position that he had been in before I interrupted
them. And I stood still, a silent witness to them, thrilled by their
shameless pleasure. It was very unlike when Blaine and I masturbated.
The expression on Blaine's face was startling, revealing shameless
lust , anything but the mischievous boy who I was used to.
Once
the initial shock wore off, I was excited by what I saw. It was
impossible not to be affected by what they were doing. A man and boy,
totally at ease, uninhibited and unrestrained, so engaged in the act
of giving and receiving pleasure that it became something of a
spectacle. They were showing off and I watched with growing
fascination, m


Ubicación:New York
Último acceso: Friday, 11 de October de 2013, 03:05  (1445 días 16 horas)