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You Wont Tell Anyone Will You?
This is from a time in the past, when you had freedoms
but you could not be open about things and the worst label at school you
could wear was ‘Queer.’
"Can I touch you now?" Robert looked up at me, appealing with his eyes. I
looked down at his thirteen-year old body. It was thin and spindly in
places and he was flat chested with two tiny nipples like little pink
buds. His arms and legs were scrawny and hairless, but there was the start
of little wisps of hair under his arms. His elfin face with the unruly
shock of dark brown coarse hair that always tufted up within minutes of
being combed was tense and he trembled slightly.
I watched the tremor cross his flat stomach and felt it’s twitch in my
hand that still held his spunk-coated cock. The pool of semen on his belly
swirled a little as it spread outward, moving to fill his belly button and
one tear of the iridescent liquid was starting to drip down his side,
heading for my quilt cover. Anxiously I grabbed his knickers and dabbed at
the rogue tear, as yet I did not want to wipe away the result of my
exertions. Robert relaxed against my pillow and again questioned me with
his eyes, his left hand dangerously near my groin. I cuddled his scratchy
haired balls and watched as his crotch hair tufted up as his orgasm faded
into his nerve endings. He sighed as I eased back his foreskin to look
closely at his semen-coated cock; the smell was so, so ….I sought for
words alluring. I looked back up to his face, again the pleaded question
was there and his too close hand twitched. ‘What should I do now?’ I
questioned myself and my thoughts went back to the beginning.
It was in my last year of junior school that strange things began to
happen. For a start hair began to appear on my body in places other than
my head. I knew men had hairy chest’s so I was quite proud of my little
darkening line that had begun to cover my eleven year old body, but it
marked me out from the other boys who were still very hairless. My willie
had also changed, it had got longer and thicker; my balls had dropped to
hang further down and they along with the whole of my groin area was
covered with this fuzzy short hair that tickled. At school I dreaded when
we changed for PE, my knickers were not big enough to hold everything and
my classmates would make fun of the lump that bulged out. The worst thing
was when my willie ‘got big’ and whilst holding it felt nice, it didn’t
help it go down. And it would get big at the most oddest and inconvenient
of times.
It helped when it happened at night in my bed. I could hold it, which did
seem very nice and it did help but you could not do that in class or in
the playground. During that summer when I learned to swim on my own in the
local lido, I spent a lot of time face down on my towel to hide the lump.
As I did not know or understand what was going on I took a great deal of
interest in other boys’ and mens’ genital areas. There were no sex
education lessons, there was no older brother to talk and I would have
been horrified to discuss such things with my adorable mother, after all
she was my mother. My unapproachable father remained just that, severe,
aloof, distant and most disapproving of all and any of my actions. My
attempt to obtain a glance at his own genitals when I attempted to invade
the bathroom when he bathed, late on a Friday night produced a withering
torrent of demeaning words. Words that echoed like a slap in the face and
for the first time he swore, ending with that dreadful phrase. "now get
out you dirty little bugger."
Chagrined I turned tail and ran back to the solace of my bedroom where I
took comfort in my willie, which did not fail me and stayed hard as I held
it. It was shortly after that, at school when working away at a model of a
hovercraft that one of my classmates, Eddie, nudged me.
"Cor," he said, "look at your knob, it ain’t 'alf big."
I looked down to see my willie had again hardened and embarrassed I looked
back at Eddie only to see a different look in his eyes. A look of envy and
admiration, he couldn’t take his eyes of my bulge and in reaction to his
look my willie twitched and got even bigger. Eddie then leaned in towards
me so our heads were close.
"Can I see it?" he asked excitedly. I did not know that Eddie was a
younger brother and shared a bedroom with three older brothers. He had
seen their knobs on a daily basis, had grown up with them, he had even
seen them hard, especially in the morning but he had never seen one up
close.
Proud that I had an admirer I carefully because I knew it was wrong,
pulled open the top of my shorts and my knickers so that my prize
possession could be seen, at least the first two inches. Eddie watched
fascinated and I basked in his admiration.
" Can I see all of it?" came the next hushed whisper of awe. I did not
know that I was being favourably compared with his eldest fifteen year old
brother and after a moment’ hesitation put down my hovercraft and adjusted
my willie so that it poked out the side of my knickers and down the side
of my shorts. It hurt as the tight elastic of my knickers cut into the
column of flesh but I wanted to impress Eddie so much that the pain did
not matter and for the first time the tip of my pink cockhead could been
peaking out from its normally puckered shelter.
"Cor!" was all he whispered but an eleven-year-old can have no greater
approbation of his endowment. I glowed with pride. Now the word was out
and over the next three weeks, in class and at the dining room table at
lunch I would be asked, "Can I see…" and I would always oblige. As time
went by more and more of my cock was placed on view and more an more of
the pink tip emerged; then one afternoon at dinner, the boy sitting beside
me wanted to do more.
"Can I touch it?" he asked a total amazed look of awe in his eyes and in
his voice.
I remember my willie pulsed at this request and then all my years of
catholic upbringing were brought into play. Looking at it was ‘dirty; but
‘dirty’ was acceptable just; to actually have someone else touch my prized
possession was so far beyond ‘dirty’ that it was a sin. "No." I said
horror in my voice and put my willie away.
"Sorry," the boy said and it took some time; just before dessert, that I
could be persuaded to put it on show again. Those sitting opposite me on
the table had to look under the table to see it and the safest way to do
this was to drop your cutlery. A lot of cutlery was dropped at my table,
both boys and girls alike, wanted to see this apparition and the dinner
ladies were rounding on us not to be so clumsy.
Proud of my new status I became bolder. I went to the local council flats
one Saturday morning and there in the enclosed locker area I actually took
my shorts and knickers off so that my admirers could see how my willie
stood out from my body. I never got a round of applause but the looks of
total amazed envy were more than enough substitute. Then one afternoon it
happened.
My prowess had via the school grapevine buzzed round the school and I was
invited by a select group of nine-year-olds to show them my ‘big nob’. I
remember we had to go into the bushes at the front of the school as this
took place at lunchtime after we had eaten. We sat in a circle, hidden
from the playground and the road and I duly undid my shorts and pulled
them and my knickers down to my ankles. I sat back on my knees so that my
willie, grown bigger with admiration stood out good and hard and let them
worship.
"What the," started the voice, the dreaded voice of the headmistress Mrs
Sharp, "Oh my goodness, why you dirty little guttersnipes, you dirty,
dirty little guttersnipes." My willie shrank immediately but not as much
as I did. Whether Mrs Sharp new any other forms of expressions of disgust
I do not know but one thing I did know, and that was when she used the
word ‘guttersnipe’ she was furious and she’d used it twice. I was in
serious trouble and I knew it, Hell and Damnation a phrase the Priest
often used in Sunday School was about to happen to me. Cowed I waited for
the ground to open up and swallow me. In my mind’s eye I could see and
feel the flames, but as you know reader. It didn’t.
Instead my ear was seized and I was dragged to my feet.
"Pull up your," she sought for words and added a lame hissed, "trousers,"
and duly dressed I was marched to her room. Crying I stumbled alongside
her and at last we were alone in her room. Mrs Sharp gazed at me with her
beady eye and basilisk like I turned to stone. She regained her composure
and I regained my breath.
"Simon Andrew Martin," she began, and I was astounded. We all knew if she
used your full name then you were in trouble, but I had never heard her
use all Christian names; what punishment was I to undergo? She continued,
"In all my born days as a Headteacher let alone as a Teacher I have never
seen such disgusting, behaviour. You my boy are a guttersnipe of the worst
order. To think that a boy in my school could stoop to such," she broke
off and hit me with, "you, you, you guttersnipe of a toad."
I hung my head in shame and between my legs my willie retracted and
shrank.
"If it was just you," on your own she continued once she had got her
breath and composure back, "I would have to send a letter to your parent."
I quaked at this; to have my mother let alone my father made aware of my
crime and to have it written down was horrendous. Oh why would the earth
not open and swallow me now.
"But," she added. But where did the but come in, what torture was she
planning for me now?
"I have to consider the fact that a number of boys were involved," she
said.
There was a girl present. I knew there was girl present, cos she had been
leaning forward, just as Mrs Sharp had discovered us, why was the girl not
mentioned?
"and," she continued. Here it comes now I knew with dread, here comes the
bit about the girl.
"it would mean having to write to all the parents of those present and
that would be very embarrassing for all those concerned, let alone myself
who would have to inform everyone about what I had seen," she shuddered at
this. She took a deep breath, "So I have decided that provided you promise
me Not To Ever put that," she reached forward and none to tenderly tapped
me between the legs, "that," she was again lost for words and then
triumphantly, tapping me again added, "guttersnipe on view again. We will
say no more of this. Is this clear," and I was tapped again.
I looked her straight in the eyes and nodded as did my guttersnipe, "Yes
Miss, S- s- sorry Miss." Trembling I was ushered from her view and went
back into the playground.
Immediately, I was surrounded by the gang of boys who had been involved;
across the playground was the girl who had been present, she was playing
with some other girls.
"What happened?" asked the ringleader anxiously.
"Nothing." I answered wonderingly, "Sharpey told me as there was too many
boys involved and she was am-em-embarrassed about having to tell people
about what we did; she just told me not to do it again. But she was there
too," I cried pointing at the girl.
The boy looked where I was pointing, "Oh," he said, "oh that’s why," and
he began to bounce up and down with relief.
"What?" I asked.
"It’s easy," he said grinning from ear to ear and grabbing himself between
the legs to stop himself peeing added," That’s her niece," and he ran off
towards the bogs.
My salvation was clear. I hurried after him; "do you want to see it
again?" I asked.
I now began to contemplate my willie more and more. It occupied a lot of
my time and at night I was holding it for longer and longer periods. It
liked it and it felt nice. I kept pulling down the bit of skin that moved
and pulling it back up and this made it feel even nicer and then one
Sunday afternoon just before tea I went as usual to use the bog. I did not
want to pee I just needed to stroke my willie and it would have been
thought odd if I went up to my room. I stood there stroking it and
stroking it, it felt sooo nice and sooo nice. The nice feeling would not
stop so deciding that there must be more to this I decided to stroke on
and on until there was no more nice. Instead I found heaven and then I
broke it.
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