Bobby watched me with his head craned around. When I squirted the clear lube over my cock, he bit his lip and moaned. He closed his eyes and dropped his head. I jammed my cock up into his steamy crack again, so excited I thought I might shoot before I got it inside him. Using my fingers, I found the hole and pulled it open, planting my cockhead at the swollen entrance. I poised for the plunge, staring down at Bobby’s sexy, bent-over body. Then I shoved.
Heated, quivering asshole surrounded my cock as I drove it deep. Bobby was wide open for me, but still his cherry butt-hole was deliciously snug. The lips stretched around my shaft, clinging to it as I prodded deeper and deeper.
“FUCK MY ASS!” Bobby howled.
I rammed all the way home. And then I shot my load. Even while I was cuming inside him, I fucked him. Barely able to stand, I held onto his sexy ass cheeks while I drilled him in furious rhythm for a good ten minutes until a second orgasm rose up to erupt once again.
Bobby muttered and moaned the whole time, his body limp and willing beneath my assault. His asshole was accommodating, steamy and slick with lube. But when I cried out with my second orgasm, he rose up, and gobs of cream sprayed the woodpile in front of us as Bobby shot again.
I stayed an extra two weeks at Granddad’s that autumn, and Bobby and I rocked that woodshed every afternoon.
I had never chopped so much wood in my life.
Down by the Creek
By Wayne Mansfield
When I was eighteen, the only place I felt truly alive was by the banks of a small stream, which ran through the bushland at the back of our property. I would lie there cushioned by the sweet smelling grass that grew tall by its banks and watch the light dance on the water as it trickled by. Every few meters, the shallow stream would deepen, creating decent-sized paddling pools where tadpoles liked to congregate. Even as a teenager, I would gaze in wonder at them as they wriggled through the water, each at a different stage of metamorphosis.
Toward the far edge of the thicket, there was an old fig tree whose branches, thick with large, dark green leaves, spread out above the grass almost to the bank of the stream. I called it “The Fortress” because it seemed impenetrable, in those days. I loved to climb up onto the smooth, thick branches on a hot summer’s afternoon and lie there imagining I was anywhere but in the small town I’d had the misfortune to be living in.
The Fortress was my secret place. It may have been on government land, but in my mind it was an island in a sea of wild bush, hidden from everyone and known only to me. Its bounty, the sweet, succulent crop of figs it produced annually, provided me with sustenance. In fact, I felt I could live here quite happily for the rest of my life, self-sufficient with fresh stream water to drink, figs to eat and no one to bother me.
Summer days could get pretty hot so quite often I would peel off my T-shirt and shorts, leave them hanging safely on a branch in The Fortress and go skinny-dipping. With no one else around, I felt perfectly comfortable walking the dozen or so steps from the base of the fig tree to the nearest paddle pool, slipping into the cool water and pretending that I was the only person in the world.
That eighteenth summer was also the year I underwent a metamorphosis of my own. The smooth, milky-white skin of my boyhood had transformed seemingly overnight into something rougher and hairier. I noticed a shadow of fine hair growing on my top lip, and above my cock, which had also experienced a growth spurt, a forest of black, curly hair had appeared. My voice was deepening, and every morning, without fail, I would wake up with an erection that never wanted to go down and seemed intent on embarrassing me in front of my parents.
One particular morning, I awoke with more than an erection to contend with. There was something else down there, something strange. I put my hand down my pajama pants and encountered a small patch of sticky stuff. It looked like glue and had a kind of starchy smell to it. I immediately panicked. I had no idea what it was. I had never seen anything like it before and wondered if I had contracted some hideous illness during the course of the night. One thing was for sure, I wasn’t going to tell Mum or Dad about it. I decided it would be best to leave it a few days to see if it would clear up by itself.
Somehow I managed to get my pajama pants into the bathroom and sponged off before anyone could see what had happened. I hung them over a chair in my room while I had a shower, that way they would be dry enough to fold up and put beneath my pillow before I went to school.
The perfect crime, or at least that’s what it felt like. I had no idea why I felt so ashamed, but I did. Had I vomited over my pajamas, I would have gladly given them to Mum to clean up. But this was different. This was something that had happened “down there,” and I was feeling fiercely private about the latest developments in that particular area.
It was now mid March, and summer was officially over, although nobody appeared to have told Mother Nature. She always saved the most ferocious heat for March. For the past two days, the temperature had peaked at forty degrees, and the weather forecast wasn’t predicting any cooler weather. To make matters worse, it was the beginning of the school year. I was now in my last year of high school, and we had only been back at school for three weeks when the heat wave hit. The only thing that kept me going was the fact that there were only ten months of school left before the end of this year and I graduated. Then I could escape to the city.
I had it all planned. I would go and live with my Aunt Jane, who was divorced and lead a life that evolved around nightclubs and parties and get a job in a record store. Music was my passion and often my only savior. I knew about every band and every singer, thanks to a steady diet of Countdown, Smash Hits, Number One and NME. These were the only qualifications I would need to achieve my dream, and when I had saved enough money I would get my own flat, and I’d have somewhere else to call my own – a place where I could do what I wanted.
But that was in the future. In the present I had to contend with a heat wave, school and a bully nicknamed Bouncer because that’s what he used to do to anyone he took a disliking to – bounce them around the playground. He was the bane of my life. He was five-foot-eleven, athletic, had clipped blond hair and a penchant for making my life hell. He liked nothing more than to trip me up, stick chewing gum in the lock of my locker, hide my school bag or anything else he could think of to get a laugh out of the goons that hung around with him. He was so popular that even the older boys, who thought they were the sheriffs of the schoolyard, let him hang out with them and smoke Marlboros up behind the Pre-Voc shed.
However, this year he didn’t appear to be interested in bullying me. During the first three weeks of school he’d had numerous opportunities to get a laugh at my expense, but he had passed them all up. I expected things to happen and when they didn’t, I was at a loss. It unnerved me not to be picked on by Bouncer.
By Friday of the fourth week back at school, the mercury had climbed to forty-two degrees Celsius. The classrooms weren’t equipped with air conditioners, only ceiling fans, which were barely adequate at the best of times, so the teachers let us go home early. We couldn’t get out of those classrooms fast enough. Many students headed straight for the local pool or to air conditioned homes, but I headed straight for the stream and my own private sanctuary.
After dropping my bag at home and changing into an old T-shirt and some shorts, I was over the back fence and running through the bush toward the stream. My clothes hadn’t even had time to absorb the sweat on my skin before they were off again. I dropped them by the side of the stream and jumped in – the cold water taking my breath away.
The water in this pool was only waist deep, but the hole itself was wide enough to allow me to stretch out and float on my back. I liked nothing better than the feeling of being immersed in the cool water with the hot sun on my face, especially on a day like today. As I lay back on the surface of the water, I dipped my head back and wet my hair. Then I closed my eyes, relaxed and let the sun’s rays beat down on me. Behind me, I could hear the water trickl
ing into the pool, creating a peaceful and calming ambience.
As the sun washed over the front of my body I became aware of a familiar sensation in my groin. I felt myself stiffening under the heat of the sun, and my hand, seemingly independent of my mind, gripped my hardening cock and began to stroke it. I had never done this before, a fact I was surprised by since it felt so damned good. The sensation as I began to rub it was incredible, and as this feeling intensified, I wondered if anything else in the world could ever feel this good. My cock got so hard I felt sure the skin surrounding the muscle would split open.
“Well, well,” came a deep voice from the side of the pool.
I immediately knelt down so the water, which now came up to my neck, hid my erection. I looked up to see who the intruder was and was shocked to see none other than Bouncer standing there, holding my clothes in his hand.
“Got quite a big cock there, Farmer,” he smirked.
I froze.
“Suppose you’d like ya clothes back,” he said, the smirk turning into a grin.
“Yes, please,” I replied respectfully.
“Well come and get ‘em.”
I couldn’t believe this was happening. If I stayed in the water to hide my hard-on, he might get bored and take off with my clothes. On the other hand, if I got out of the water, not only would he see my erection, but he could still take off with my clothes. In the end, I decided to risk getting out of the water to retrieve my clothes. I figured the humiliation I’d suffer would satisfy him enough to return my belongings.
I stood up and took a couple of steps towards the edge of the pool. My hard cock slapped against my legs as I moved.
“Shit man, you’ve got a fuckin’ hard-on, homo!” he jeered.
I dropped to my knees and tucked my erection between my thighs to hide it. It wasn’t possible for me to hate him any more than I did at that moment, not only for humiliating me beyond belief, but for doing it here, in my secret place; for trespassing into the only place that was mine. I felt tears welling up in my eyes, but I was determined not to let him see me cry. I blinked them back and looked him straight in the eyes, although it was difficult not to be distracted by what looked like a large bulge in his shorts. Suddenly I wasn’t afraid any more.
“What are ya lookin’ at?” he snarled.
“Nothing,” I lied, averting my gaze.
“You were lookin’ at my cock, weren’t ya?” he said accusingly.
Suddenly, a dark look came over his face. He dropped my clothes, tore his shirt off and came storming towards me. I turned to run but he leapt into the pool, landing on my back and pushing me face first into the water. I came up spluttering as he grabbed me around the neck with his arm. He held me in a vice-like grip. My hands went up to try and wrench his arm away from my throat, but of course it was useless.
“Stop it, Bouncer,” I managed to say. “I can’t breathe.”
“You were lookin’ at my cock, weren’t ya?” he repeated. “Tell me, and I’ll let ya go.”
His grip tightened, and I could feel my face turning red.
“Bouncer, I ... can’t ... breathe,” I gasped, starting to panic.
But then I became aware that I could feel Bouncer’s cock against my naked buttocks, and it was hard – rock hard – and straining against the fabric of his shorts with all its might. I had an idea.
“If you let me go, I’ll do anything,” I struggled to say.
Bouncer relaxed his grip a little.
“What?”
“I said if you let me go, I’ll do anything you want me to.”
Bouncer let me go, pushing me against the far bank of the pool. I got up and turned to face him. I saw for the first time his toned abdominals and pectorals, lightly tanned and covered in a mat of fine, golden hair. Tiny drops of water clung to each hair and glistened in the sunlight. He looked like a Greek god, and in an instant I forgot that I hated him.
“You wanna see my cock, don’t ya, faggot?” he asked.
I was not a stupid person. What Bouncer was really saying was that he wanted to show me his cock. So really I had no choice. If I said no, he might lose face and give me a belting, so I said, “Yes.”
He looked about to see if anyone else was around, but there wasn’t. Our house was the nearest building, and that was quite a long way through the thick bush from where we were. Satisfied we were alone, Bouncer began to lower his shorts, revealing a thick black bush of his own. As his shorts came down his cock slapped up against his hard stomach with a sharp thwak!
“There ya go, faggot. Ya like it?”
“I guess,” I replied, not knowing what the etiquette was for talking about your bully’s penis. “It’s big.”
“Yours is bigger.”
“No way,” I said, feeling more and more comfortable.
“Let’s measure them then. Come over here.”
I couldn’t believe what was happening. As I neared him, he held out his hand, grabbed my cock and pulled me closer to him. He put our cocks together and noted that they were approximately the same size. Then he looked at me in a way that made me want to melt. He closed his eyes and leaned in to me. I had seen this in movies, and without any experience whatsoever, my lips touched his, and we kissed. His hot breath on my mouth made me tingle even though we were standing in icy cold water.
Then I felt his hand come down and grip my hard-on.
“Has anyone ever played with your dick before?” he whispered.
“No.”
“How many times have you cum?” he asked, his lips still on mine.
“What?” I asked.
He broke off the kiss.
“You do know what cum is, don’t ya?”
“Nup.”
Looking back, I can’t believe how naive I was, but it was true. I didn’t know what cum was. I had few friends and kept to myself at school, all of which meant I had little or no opportunity to find out about these things in the school yard like most other teenagers.
“Come over here,” Bouncer said, leading me to the side of the pool by my cock.
He lay back on the grass and pulled me on top of him so that my back was firmly cushioned on his well-developed chest and stomach.
“Now just relax,” he told me. “Relax.”
I did as he said and let my body go limp. I felt him grip my erection and start pulling it. My breathing became heavier. I couldn’t believe how much better it felt when someone else was doing it. I closed my eyes and let my other senses take over. I could feel his hard cock nestled neatly in the crack of my ass. I could hear him breathing and feel his hot breath on my cheek. He began to lick my ear, and I began to make little moaning noises. My body felt electric; so unreal that at any moment I thought I would float off into the sky.
“How does that feel?” he asked, puffing into my ear.
“Mmmmm. Good,” I managed to reply, wondering how the hell he came to be so good at this. I didn’t have a clue about wanking.
But it was better than good. It was incredibly good. Inexplicably fantastic! I wanted this feeling to last forever and ever. I wanted his hand to keep pumping my cock until the day I died.
“Feel good?” he asked again.
“Oh yeah,” I moaned.
And then I could feel an almighty sensation building up from deep inside me.
“I think I’m gonna piss myself,” I confessed.
I couldn’t believe that at such a critical moment I was going to urinate over us both and spoil the whole thing. However, it didn’t seem to bother Bouncer, who instead of stopping, began to pull my cock faster and faster until I reached the point where I thought I was going to explode. And then I did. All over his hand and my stomach.
When he stopped wanking, I looked down and saw the same sticky, white stuff I had discovered on my pajama pants a few days earlier.
“What is that stuff?” I asked.
Bouncer laughed and told me that it was cum. Mystery solved.
He rolled me off him, and I discove
red that he, too, had exploded – all over my ass. He put his finger in my crack and ran it along my hole, flicking strings of cum off onto the crushed grass. He did it again, and I felt a little tremor pass through my body.
“If ya tell anyone what we did, I will fuckin’ kill ya,” he threatened.
“I won’t,” I promised.
And that was where our passion began and ended. Bouncer stood up, wiped his cock on my T-shirt and disappeared back into the bush. I lay down on the grass where he had lain, completely relaxed and breathed in the smell of crushed grass and sex. I couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day, and from then on, whenever I saw Bouncer, I couldn’t help but wonder if it would ever happen again, if he would ever take my cock in his hand and stroke it until I blew. Unfortunately, it never did, although there was one consolation. Bouncer, the school bully, soon found someone else to pick on which meant he left me alone. I sometimes wondered if he ever did the same thing with his new “victim.”
Last Chance
By K. Appleby
Joe hurried down the path passing the music block on his right; the off key notes of some want-to-be musician assaulting his ears. The terrible playing was soon drowned out by the sounds of heavy machinery as he neared the brick tech building to his left. Someone was busily putting the last minute touches on some object, probably a bookend or wooden pencil case.
Joe continued down the footpath between the tech building and the schools boundary fence. The golf course on the other side was pristinely green and isolated. Joe had never actually seen anyone playing golf there, not in all the years at this school.
It had been a long time, from that first apprehensive day he had stumbled in confusion and fear around the huge high school. The school was filled with large sprawling buildings holding many classrooms that seemed to have no order or reason to the numbering system used on their doors. There was added culture shock after being the big kids at primary to being suddenly surrounded by taller, older students. Joe had learned to be tough but fair. He would stick up for the little guy, remembering what it was like being the new kid. Of course, he had grown since then, now it was the last few days of year twelve. Joe was now eighteen, and to his horror, he was still a virgin. Perhaps not a virgin in the traditional sense of the word, he had had girlfriends, but Joe had kept a secret from everyone. He was gay. There were some attractive guys in his year, but none had ever shown any sign of being like him, and besides he always had a huge crush on his former best friend Ash.
Boys Will Be Boys - Their First Time Page 2