Written by nicensteady
11 Jul 2009
30 Years of Stories (Part 5)
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He didn’t seem that alarmed that I had caught him “in the act” he just casually buttoned up the top of his cargo pants and staggered to his feet. Propping himself up against the wall with his hand he slurred the word “hullo” He asked me why I had locked the door to the bedroom and if I was living in there? I explained that it was a den and the door was nailed shut. “Can I see it?” he asked. He could barely stand and how he didn’t fall down the stairs I don’t know but moments later he was sat in an arm chair opposite mine in the comfort of the den.
We talked for hours and I didn’t want him to leave. I was lonely in the den, all my mates were at school and I had no adult company these days, and besides which his cock was still hanging out of his pants. A seasoned piss head he never got hard and didn’t even realise he was putting on a show for me. We both picked up on the sexual tension however. I had had this feeling before, last summer whilst sat on Steve’s wall. I remembered the feeling and I was more experienced now. I wanted him to make a move. I wanted him to give me a green light, I wanted him, full stop. I looked at his cock all the time that I was talking to him, that’s probably why the tension was growing. But my attention on his manhood didn’t make anything else grow. The pauses between our conversations grew but nothing else did. He eventually fell asleep.
I must have sat there for another hour or so staring at him in the glow of the two bar electric fire. His masculinity excited me. Ex army, his frame was still impressive even after two years on the piss with the sado’s from the village. His white round neck T shirt under his khaki shirt could not hide the hairs from his chest and they sprouted proudly over the top of his neck line. I imagined what it would be like if he undressed and I was allowed to run my fingers through that carpet of chest hair, to slowly kiss my way down his stomach, to unbutton his cargo pants and take his cock in my mouth. I imagined it growing in my mouth and sucking him, taking my time to explore his cock with my tongue. I imagined what it would taste like. I imagined him Cumming in my mouth. I imagined how much spunk there would be and I exaggerated the quantity and I imagined the taste.
He was sleeping quite heavily now and I willed myself to take him in my mouth. But, then I imagined him waking up and kicking the shit out of me and telling my mum and all the other piss heads in the village. I went home. Returning to the den a couple of hours later my “army man” was gone. I was disappointed because I had decided that I had to have him even if he did kick the shit out of me. I settled for a wank.
Another summer rolled by and still I had only seen two cocks, a limp one and my own. I had accepted that I was attracted to blokes and frequently made them the subject of my wank sessions. I refused to accept that I was gay though. John Inman was gay (and camp) Larry Grayson was gay (and camp). I wasn’t camp and therefore couldn’t be gay. As far as I was concerned you were either camp and gay or straight. I began to think either I was different or it was just a phase I was going through. My desire for anything sexual was reaching epic proportions. I was getting more and more frustrated as the weeks passed by. I began to worry that my mates might be able to see my interest in blokes and think I was gay. I decided that my best option was to beat up or bully anyone who showed any signs of being effeminate. They only had to have their school tie in a perfect knot and I would make their life a misery.
A lad I knew called Andrew Smith was branded “piff the puff”. The names botman, queer, bummer were frequently used by me and my comrades at school. Secretly I was watching these victims, evaluating them and comparing them to others. I tried hard to identify exactly what it was that made them different to the other kids. The trouble was that I couldn’t get to know them better or I would be one of them and probably get a beating. I discovered that if I was the one doing the bullying the less chance that my mates would think I was different too. If I was caught staring at one of them every one thought it was because I was planning to get them at home time.
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