Usual Disclaimer: If you are not of an age to read this because of the laws of your country or district please desist. If you are a bigot or prod-nosed fundamentalist of any persuasion find your monkey-spanking literature elsewhere and keep your predilections and opinions to yourself. Everyone else welcome and comments more than welcome.
This is a very long tale. It unfolds over a good number of years. What is true, is true: what is not is otherwise. If you have trouble with the English educational system let me know.
ALADDIN'S AWAKENING
By
Joel
CHAPTER 26
Part One:
Wednesday April 26th 1944
First Day of Summer Term
Wednesday arrived wet and horrible just like the day before. I'd promised Tom I would help him with his paper-round on his first day alone. I knew Duncan had helped him on Monday and Tuesday because I'd passed them on my usual run so he should know now which papers went where. Anyway, I was out of bed, on with running togs, no wash, and outside No. 22 at 7 a.m. on the dot. Surprise! Surprise! Tom appeared immediately and cycled off to the newsagent to collect his bag and I was admonished to be in Prentice Road to meet him without delay.
Cheeky bugger! I set off and reached the appointed meeting place just as he came round the corner. Actually it wasn't too bad as the drizzle stopped as we started. I jogged off with three or four papers at a time and the newsagent had kindly put the numbers at the top. Most of Prentice Road seemed to have either the Mirror or the Herald but I didn't have time to peruse any of the contents. We got back at eight so I had to rush to get washed, changed and have my breakfast before haring off to first day back at school for the Summer term.
I arrived just as the bell went and was last in line to go into Assembly. The Head Beak was in a real mood and we were all lectured about the coming examinations; Higher School Cert., Matric, School Cert., mocks, etc. etc. Even the younger ones came in for a blasting and were told that no one would be allowed to be a slacker, especially with the war on and so on. He did say how pleased we should all be with the efforts of the school team in beating Fensham and everyone concerned from youngest to most senior was deserving of praise. I nudged Matt who went his usual scarlet.
He also said the school Cadets had had a very successful camp and then we were instructed that there would be a very special Empire Day parade when we all, repeat all, had to appear dressed in our appropriate uniforms to be inspected by the old Colonel who was Chairman of the Governors. The Head Beak wanted a good show from all and sundry. It didn't end there because, as soon as we got to our form room, Huggy started on us again and demanded homework books. There were one or two glum faces but virtuous me and equally virtuous Matt handed ours in with a nudge and a wink. It got steadily worse.
After lunch it was Games afternoon and it was the dreaded cricket with a still limping Rabbity. Luckily there were sufficient flanneled fools who liked the tediousness of it to make a team against the likewise of 4S so we sensible ones were given the option of either being scorers and scoreboard flunkies or to get ready for Sports Day by doing some athletics training. First, Tom, Matt and I were set the task of sorting out hurdles, javelins, discuses and balls of varying heaviness for the shot putt. Naturally, Tom wanted to know if Matt's balls were as big as either of the two he was holding. That was a bit dangerous as Matt was armed with a javelin and threatened to stick it somewhere where it might hurt.
When finished we were told we might as well go home so Tom and I cycled off quick before anyone could call us back. When we got into our road Tom said why didn't I come in for a chat. I shoved my bike into our garage and wandered back to his house.
He called me upstairs as I went in the back door and as I went through the open door of his room he pounced on me and wrestled me to the ground.
"Try to get out of that," he sneered into my face.
I lay still. If the silly ass wanted to play he should have asked. He pressed down on my chest.
"Come on, see if you can get me off. I'm going to get Dunc down one day and I need to practice," he said enthusiastically and thumped down on my lower body with his heavier weight.
"Ouch!" I said, rather testily, "Get off, I'm not playing around in my school uniform. If you want to practice we'll do it when we haven't got these clothes on."
Stupid me. With that Tom bounced off me and stripped off his jersey, shirt and trousers and, before I could get up, he had unbuttoned my flies and was yanking off my trousers.
"Come on," he said rather breathlessly, "No time like now! Put your feet up and when I've got these off just take your jacket off."
I did as I was told and also took tie and shirt off so I was just in pants and socks. Swiftly he did the same and then launched himself at me. I rolled aside and he crashed to the floor like the great lummox he was. I remembered my wrestling bouts with Mike and rolled back and pinioned him with my legs tight against his thighs forcing his arms over his head. I was quite a bit lighter than he was but my agility was getting the better of him. I pressed down hard on his torso and put my head on his neck by the side of his chin and pressed upwards. He was stuck. He wriggled around but my weight on the top of his legs kept him down. Ah well, might as well have some fun, so I turned my head and began licking him under the chin. Whoops. The effect was almost instantaneous. I felt his hard-on begin to press against me so I dipped my head and swept my tongue down and over his nipple.
"Oughh," he growled, so I did it again.
"Oughhh," he grunted and pressed his body up against mine.
Needless to say my rod was rigid by then. I lifted my head and looked at him.
"All I wanted was a wrestle," he said almost plaintively.
"All you've got is the usual stiff dick," I whispered back.
He grinned and pressed up again. I let go of his hands and slipped my right hand between us and ran my fingers up his firm shank still in his pants.
"Oughhh," he went again, closing his eyes, "I want it quick!"
I leaned back and slid down his legs a bit. I pulled his pants over his hips and out popped his tool. His was growing fast too. It seemed even thicker than on Sunday.
Still, I musn't keep the lad and his lad waiting so I set off at a good pace and he soon shot his load all up over his chest with a prolonged "Oughhhh...!" issuing from his wide-open mouth.
As he lay there I pushed my pants down a bit and lifted his hand to my cock. As I knelt across him, he slowly wanked me and I produced my usual mighty fountain. I leaned back so it arched up in the air and splashed down to join his own spunk on his chest. He let go of my still upright dick and felt below it and held my balls which gradually loosened and dropped. He gave them a gentle squeeze, opened his eyes and smiled up at me.
"Och, who wants a wrestle when we can do this?" he said with a twinkle in his eyes.
"Wrestle you anytime," I replied, "And, I promise you, we'll get Duncan sometime!"
I stood up and pulled my pants over my now drooping cock. I felt the stickiness of the last drop of spunk against the fabric. I retrieved my trousers, shirt and pullover and pulled them on as Tom lay there looking down at himself.
"I think I'm going to like athletics on Wednesday afternoons if it's always like this," he said grinning and idly pulling back his foreskin to inspect his knob.
"Don't bet on it," I replied, "Once Rabbity starts hopping around he'll have us running, throwing and jumping and you'll be too tired for any of this."
"Never too tired for this," he said languorously, gently stretching his skin back until his knob stood out, fat, dark pink and shiny, "It'll have to wait until tonight now though 'cos Dunc'll be home soon."
Crumbs, what with Matt beating his meat at every opportunity and Pat Halloran breaking all-comers' records it looks as if Tom wants to join the race.
"What's your score then?" I asked.
"When I want and when I can!" was the terse reply, as he idly flipped his skin forward to cover his knob. He flourished his dick at me. "Definitely tonight, nice and slow. It'll be a relief after doing old Campion's History homework."
True, I expect I'll need another by then and I had no homework to do! I finished dressing and said my farewells to the still recumbent figure on the floor.
Ma wasn't back from work so I practised my piano pieces until I heard her in the kitchen. I sauntered out to see if there was any food but all I got was a torrent of French and questions about the continuation of the French circle. I said I would ask the others and said I expected it would be useful as we had our exams starting in three weeks. Anyway, we had a good feed that evening and I finished off the day in bed thinking about Tom and just had to have another most exquisite wank as my dick was uncontrollable.
The rest of the week went quickly enough but no helping hands at all. Tom did come in on Saturday wanting help with his homework but as Ma was around, no chance of the usual. However, scores remained at a level two a day. Pa 'phoned to say he was being kept very busy and wouldn't be home until at least next Wednesday. I missed having him around and knew what my friends must feel like with their dads away all the time.
I'd helped Tom each morning with his paper round running on with a bundle of papers and then going on to finish my proper run. He'd paid me the promised shilling on Saturday and then said he would do the lot himself from Monday. I think his Scottish canniness didn't allow him to part with good money! I didn't mind as I intended to continue going for a run each morning anyway.
Monday May 1st 1944
Monday evening at St John's Pat Halloran asked if Matt and I would like to come to see him box on Friday evening at the local Church Hall. We said we would and he arranged with his dad that we could go as official St John Ambulance attendants. Matt did come home with me on Tuesday and we did indulge before I helped him with his maths revision. Though I say it myself I am not unhappy with the recent increase in my size.
Not only am I almost as tall as att but my tool has definitely spurted in another way in the last few weeks. His is just thick, heavy and long - and well-used! He said he did it five times on Sunday, because he had nothing else to do, so my paltry twice that day seems little in comparison.
Wednesday May 3rd 1944
I remembered to take my running kit on Wednesday as I was determined not to be roped in to play cricket and had reminded Matt to bring his as well. We changed and were watching Tom and his cousin, Alan King, throwing the discus. It was odd in some ways, 'cos though Tom and Alan were cousins and about the same age they never seemed to meet up out of school. I would have to find out why!
Just then a couple of Fifth Years, Greg Hall and George Abbott, also in shorts and vests joined us. I gathered from their conversation that they were fed up revising so some beak said they could go and practice on the athletics field.
"We're going for a run in a minute and you run, don't you?" George said after watching for a while, "Coming with us?"
I looked at Matt who nodded and the four of us set off around the perimeter of the playing field at a steady pace. On the far side was a five-barred gate and a track leading off into a wood. We'd been through there on the Run last term so we climbed over the gate and set off along the track.
Greg was running alongside me with George and Matt just behind. As we negotiated a rather muddy bit of the track he slowed down, putting his feet down carefully.
"Watch it," he said, "It's very slippery along here. We were out here on Monday night with the Cadets."
I looked down and could see the imprint of numerous boots in the mud.
"You in anything?" he asked.
"St Johns," I replied rather breathlessly.
He nodded and was silent for a bit. I could hear a murmur of conversation from behind.
"My dad works at the lab where your dad is boss," Greg informed me, "And I'm taking the Civil Service exam this summer so I can go and work at the lab myself after I've done Higher School Cert."
Before I had time to answer we reached a gate leading into a field across which the track carried on into the distance. Greg stopped and leaned on the gate. Matt and George joined us.
"I didn't know your dad worked there. What does he do?" I asked.
Greg put his finger against the side of his nose. "I don't know. But I will if I get a job there. He says I can work there during the Summer hols."
Matt was listening and immediately said "He's in charge of the group dealing with special metals for submarines." Then he blushed violently.
"How do you know?" we both asked simultaneously. "Who told you?" I added sternly. Once again Matt knew more than he should.
"Julia's been doing some typing for his dad and she brought some home to finish on her typewriter. I saw it in her room." He blushed again. Greg and I looked at each other.
"He needs to be taught a lesson," I said, "Nosey little bugger. He could be a German spy!"
Matt looked aghast. "I'm not! Julia didn't tell me anything. I just saw his name on the top sheet."
"You wait Matt," I said, "I'll deal with you later."
"Good job I'm only going to work for my father in his shop," said George, laughing. "Come on, you two can fight your battles later."
He vaulted the gate nimbly and set off without us.
"Don't worry, Greg," I said, "I'll sort him out."
Matt looked very contrite as we three climbed the gate and set off in silence in pursuit of George. I thought it best to change the subject.
"What shop has George's dad got?" I asked Greg before I was too out of breath.
"Oh, the ironmonger's down the road by the cathedral. George says they aren't doing much trade at the moment but it's sure to pick up after the war."
I knew the shop. A double-fronted place with big windows and lots of different tools in it. Then I remembered the last time I'd seen it the windows were criss-crossed with tape and there were sand-bags half-way up them as well.
We did a complete circle and arrived back at the side entrance to the school and ran down into the changing rooms. George was already there.
"No good," he said complainingly, "There's no bloody hot water in the showers."
Silently we parted and Matt and I went to our bit of the room and changed into our school uniforms. By the time we'd finished Greg and George had gone. Matt was in a conciliatory mood.
"Come home with me and you can have a bath there. Mum and Julia won't be in for ages."
Good, I would use the nosey tyke's hot water and I'd make sure he suffered.
We cycled off long before school had officially ended and went immediately to Matt's. We stripped off in his bedroom and made our way to the bathroom. My moment had come.
Matt turned the taps on and turned to face me. I eyed his lengthy dong.
"Crumbs, Matt," I said, all concern in my voice, "What's wrong with your cock. It's got much shorter hasn't it."
Matt's face was a picture. Of course, his cock was exactly the same, it wasn't cold so there was no shrinkage.
"What do you mean?" He looked down on it. "It hasn't, has it?"
"Definitely," I asserted, "It's much shorter and stubbier than it was last week. What have you been doing to it?"
Matt was twisting and turning his head to try and get a better view. There was no handy low mirror.
"Mine's much bigger now, isn't it?" I said confidently. It was too, it had a slight swell on it. "Yours is definitely much smaller than it was."
Poor Matt was really worried. I swear that his cock seemed to shrink a bit. Perhaps I should try a little more.
I dropped to my knees so I could peer more closely at the article in question.
"Your skin's getting very wrinkled and it's not so fat," I stated, enjoying every moment.
Well, well, well! Before my very eyes it did seem to deflate even more. Matt was getting very agitated.
"What's wrong?" he almost wailed, "Am I doing it too much? Will it get long again?"
"Come on," I said in a friendly voice, "Let's have a bath and see how it is then."
Very graciously he let me get in first, then he followed and stared at his cock flopping against his thigh.
We washed ourselves down and got out and dried ourselves on the towels very conveniently laid over a chair. Mine smelt of face powder. Obviously Julia's. I had great satisfaction drying my prick in the middle of it just where I guessed she would be pressing her face in the morning. Matt was drying his cock very carefully just using the edge of his towel.
"Is it longer now?" he asked, turning to face me fully.
"I don't think so," I said, lying through my teeth. The hot water had had lengthening effects on both of us. I reached out and lifted his prick and pulled the skin back.
"It gets bigger when I do this," I said. It certainly did. It gradually rose until it was it's usual full length. "I don't think it goes up your belly as far as it did." My mendacity was improving every minute. "Try mine," I instructed him.
Rather reluctantly, for him, he held my dick between thumb and two fingers. I was determined to get the maximum length out of it. I squeezed my buttocks in rhythm as he drew my skin up and down. My shaft thickened and lengthened admirably. I tried to pump it up as much as I could. My erection exceeded all expectation. Matt let go and I stood leaning back slightly to show it off as fully as possible.
"Yours isn't much bigger than mine, now," I said. Gosh, what I hadn't realised was that it wasn't. What had been at least two and a half inches longer and a good bit thicker a few weeks earlier was now no more than two inches longer but still fatter.
Poor Matt, he looked back and forth, or rather, down and across.
"Yours is bigger," he conceded, "But what about mine?"
"Definitely not so big as usual," I said. "And your knob's not so fat," I added for good measure. "Come on, let's see if it still works." I got behind him and grabbed his tool and began jerking him off.
That really did it. I must have rubbed him up and down for about five minutes and he was panting away, his buttocks twitching against me but he didn't come. I let go of his dick and whispered.
"You'd better do it to me."
He was a bit slow in responding so I grabbed his hand and put it on my cock. I only needed about twenty strokes before I shot my usual load fully across the bath, splashing the tiles on the wall the other side.
Matt was breathing fast and jerkily.
"Oh, please, Jacko, what's gone wrong?" he quavered, his voice rising at least an octave. "My dick's shorter and I can't make stuff, what's the matter with me?"
I thought I'd better let him down slowly, or at least finish wanking him slowly. Another surprise. His dick had drooped in the short time he was tossing me off and now really did look shrivelled. I thought I'd better continue `just a wee bitty more', as Mrs Buchanan would say.
"Yeah, Matt," I said, looking down at his less than elephantine trunk, "You've got a problem there. Let's see if I can cure it."
I only knew one way of curing Matt so I dropped to my knees again and touched his foreskin capped end with the tip of my tongue. I put out a hand and drew his skin back a bit and licked the end of his rather sticky knob as he had produced the usual drop of lubrication. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I opened my mouth and, pushing his skin back over the swelling object, began to suck it. It had the desired effect. The mighty shaft thickened and tried to rise but I had it fast in my mouth. I sucked at it for about a minute before Matt put both hands on the sides of my head, opened his mouth and produced a long `Aaaaagh' and shot his load.
He held my head for some time as I swallowed down his sweetish come. "Thanks, Jacko," he breathed out at last and let go.
I got to my feet and he reached down and held my still rather stiff dick.
"Do you want it again?"
All I could do was nod. He wanked me quite slowly but it wasn't long before I shot a second load, just hitting the wall tiles this time but with most falling into the bath water.
"I don't want it again, yet," a rather disconsolate Matt said huskily, "I'll wait until this evening and see then."
My nasty side continued. "You'd better measure it tonight and make a note and do the same every time it's stiff, then you'll know how much it's shrinking."
Matt produced a feeble smile. "Yeah, I'd better. That's a good idea. Then I can show you, can't I?"
I murmured some pleasantries and looked round for my clothes. While pulling on my shirt I was amused to see Matt using Julia's towel to clean up the spunk splodged tiles. As well as wiping her face on the place where my dick had been there would also be a patch of spunk stained fabric on which to dry her hands.
Matt was rather too preoccupied with the possible fate of his appendage to carry on with any conversation so after tying my shoelaces I said I would see him at school in the morning.
When I got home I was still giggling to myself and thinking serve him right for letting on something I suspected was a real secret. I then wondered if Julia should have had stuff like that at home anyway. There was no way I could say anything to Pa who arrived back from London just before supper, but I would warn Matt again to keep his trap shut!
Bed that night was most enjoyable as I thought of Matt measuring himself and making notes and wondering if he made himself come just like me, quite easily.
Matt was very quiet in class next day and hardly said a word to me, or anybody else. Still, I wasn't going to let him off the hook yet. Cleggy got us all in trouble because Campion said he was a cheeky boy and as someone else laughed when he said it we all got a hundred lines. Cleggy was chased round the playing field at afternoon break and though I could have caught him easily I wasn't going to get myself mucky giving him a rugby tackle. Last I saw of him he was in the cloakroom after school surrounded by several of our class who were demanding he did all their lines, or else. I rode home with Tom who wanted to know what all the fuss was about. He said would I like to come in for five minutes. Of course, we both came within five minutes after I'd told him about Matt and his worries about his shrinking dick. Ours certainly weren't!
That evening I tied two pencils together and got through the lines in record time - 'qui facit per alium facit per se'. What a waste of paper! Anyway, in bed I thought of poor old Matt measuring his dong with one hand and writing out Campion's impot with the other while I used both hands, slowly... Aaaaagh.
Friday May 5th 1944
I was up and out for my run by seven o'clock. I thought that if I did most of it I could help Tom with the last part of his paper round. As it happened, he was a bit late so I helped him do at least half and still got home by eight o'clock.
Ma reminded me I was on duty at the boxing match that evening. My first time in public! So don't be late home from school!
Matt still seemed to be in a fairly silent mood. As usual, I got to school just as everyone was lining up but he did manage to grimace at me as I joined the end with prefects barking at the late-comers. As soon as we got to the form room I reminded him about being on duty at the boxing-match. He said, rather haughtily, he hadn't forgotten and he had something to tell me at break. Huggy swept in so I couldn't enquire further.
At break I found Matt chatting to Tony and Roo in the playground. Tony said they were having a week's Scout Camp at Ulvescott at half term. Matt was even more downcast as Tony was saying he and I could stay at the Manor while they and the rest of the Scouts would be camping somewhere in the grounds. Matt was explaining that he and his mother were going up to Scotland to see his dad that week so he couldn't come.
Tony asked if I still wanted to go to Ulvescott and I said I did. Then I asked whether Tom could come with me if Matt couldn't. Tony thought it would be OK and he would get his mum to ring Aunt Mary. I went off to find Tom who was talking to Phil Crowe. I told him he would probably be able to come to Ulvescott with me at half-term. His face lit up and he said he would like to very much. Phil said he was going there with the Scouts and there were ten of them going.
By that time break was over and I still hadn't heard Matt's news. However, he grabbed me as we left the classroom at the end of the morning.
"Want a word with you," he said menacingly, "You really got me into trouble this morning with Julia."
"Oh yeah", I said, all innocence.
"Yeah, she stormed into my room before I was up and she was in a real mood and she pulled me right out of bed," he said, all in one breath.
I did the wrong thing, I grinned.
"Don't grin at me, it's all your fault," he said, his voice rising in loudness and in pitch. "She was waving her towel at me and said she didn't want me using it for my dirty habits and I nearly said it was your dirty habits, and then she swiped me with it and said if she found me using her things again she'd tell mum. She flung it down on my bed and rushed out."
"Was it mucky? And why didn't she notice it yesterday?" I asked, suppressing a gust of laughter.
"It certainly was mucky and she had noticed it but I'd gone off to school before she was up yesterday and she was out late!" he said fiercely, "It still had your stuff on it all in the middle and all caked up."
I thought it couldn't have been too bad, but then, I did shoot a lot in the two goes.
"But she thought it was yours," I said, "You should be proud there was so much to make her notice it."
This was lost on Matt. He looked even more fierce.
"But it was your bloody stuff!" he almost shouted, then realised there were a couple of interested Second Years looking and listening. "Piss off, you two!" he said, directing his venom at them. They scuttled off, in the same way I had in my first year to the same injunction from Big Jim's pal.
I thought it would be best to cool him down.
"Hey, Matt, why don't you come round before the match tonight 'cause it's at the Catholic Parish hall and you'd have to pass our road. Anyway, Ma and Pa are going out so you can tell me all about it then."
He calmed down immediately and agreed and we spent the rest of the dinner hour quite amicably. I didn't raise the question of the possible decrease in the size of his prick but I certainly would tonight!
Ma and Pa were ready to go by six o'clock and left me with the injunction to clear up, wash up and make myself smart for the evening.
Matt arrived just after they went and he did look smart. I, of course hadn't even started getting ready. A large amount of Brylcream had been applied to his mop of black hair and his forage cap was perched precariously on the crest of the waves. His grey St John's shirt had been beautifully pressed and his white belt was immaculate. I must say he seemed more relaxed and once we got to my bedroom he was chatting along as if his spat with Julia was well in the past. My uniform was laid out on my bed so I proceeded to strip off my school clothes. Matt's uniform came off at the same time and we were holding each others rampant cocks in seconds.
"I'll do it to you first," he said, breathlessly, "All over your towel."
I spread my towel on the floor and soon deposited my load on it. We changed places and a second load very shortly joined mine.
He bent down and picked up the towel. He looked at me and said in a dead-pan voice.
"And Julia swiped me round the ear with all your stuff on her towel."
He made as if to swipe me but I ducked and moved to the other side of my bed.
"Come on, Matt, don't play about or we'll be late, let me get dressed."
He put the towel over the rail and turned, his long cock now deflated.
"What about that?" I asked, pointing at the floppy object, "Is it smaller?"
"It's been the same each time I've measured it since you said about it," he answered confidently.
"What's that?" I asked.
"Just over seven and a half," he replied with a hint of pride, "I think it's OK now."
Oh, God, mine wasn't even six and Tom's was even shorter.
"Are you sure it wasn't longer than that at Easter?" I asked innocently.
"Couldn't care less, as long at it stays like it is now. Anyway, it's a lot bigger than yours!" he said pointedly.
Oh crumbs, I'll have the bugger.
"But you don't make as much stuff as I do, and you don't shoot as far!" I responded tartly.
Couldn't care less," he reiterated, "My cock's the biggest in the class and it's bigger than most of the Sixth so Tom Rankin says."
I thought hard, who's Tom Rankin? I know, he's in the Sixth Form but how does Matt know him?
"Who?" I asked.
"Tom Rankin, I went round his on Saturday with a message from Mum for his mother. She wasn't in so we got talking and he wanted to know what I thought about the Fensham match so I told him and said about me being in disgrace with Duncan."
"You told him all that?" I said incredulously, "What did he say?"
"Oh, he knew about the others 'cause he said he'd heard about lights out and the scramble and, anyway, Andy Symes had told him about me."
"Sooo.., did you?"
"Yeah, and then that's when he told me mine was bigger than all his pals, except for Andy and that Donald Duck. Mine was bigger than his, too!"
Another little secret of Matt's. First he'd let on he'd been jacking off another Sixth Former! Three so far!
"He told me Andy Symes calls him Rank the Wank, but I wasn't to tell anyone else. He's rather proud of that 'cause he said he feels it's up to his eyebrows most of the day. So you see, I couldn't care less as long as it stays like it is now!"
I had nothing more to say. I couldn't deflate Matt any more than his cock was deflated at the moment so, I suppose, I should let it rest. I liked Matt too much to let any little feud rankle between us. I finished dressing in silence and although I didn't use any Brylcream on my hair we did look a very smart pair as Ma had pressed my uniform beautifully as well. I did consign to my memory more confirmation that even much older boys such as Tom Rankin were just as horny as us fourteen-year-olds. Thank God it carried on! Mike, Billy, Duncan..., who else? Tom Rankin of course, Andy Symes, all those others who were at Fensham for the game... The list seemed endless.
We got to the Parish Hall well on time and were ushered to seats almost by the ringside with a rather portly oldish gentleman in St John's uniform.
"First time, eh?" he asked. We nodded. "Don't worry, when the little buggers bleed just press some wadding on and hold it there. I'll deal with them if they knock each other out."
He gave us a small rectangular bag which we explored while he sat back and puffed on his pipe. In the bag were several packs of wadding and some bandages and not much else. Still we looked efficient even if we didn't feel it.
The room steadily filled up with a motley assortment of men and boys. There were a couple of groups of girls who giggled together. I saw Mike and two or three other older boys come in together. He spotted me and gave a thumbs-up. There were also a few of our Fifth Year sitting together across the other side of the ring. The portly man passed me a sheet of paper. A rather badly typed list of the bouts was on it giving the list of names of the contestants and their fighting weights. The portly man pointed all this out in a throaty whisper. I noticed that as well as Pat Halloran being on the list there were also the Prosser brothers and another Sixth-Former, Jim McDonald. Both the Prossers were down as heavy-weights in their age groups and Jim McDonald was down as a light-weight. Pat was against some lad from Troutbridge Boys' Club and they were fly-weights. I didn't know what all this meant but I knew I wouldn't want either of the Prossers sitting on me!
One of the Brothers got into the ring and said he hoped we would have an exciting evening as he knew the boys were raring to go and the first referee for the evening would be Mr Joe Halloran.
The first match was between Johnnie Prosser in our Fifth Year against some equally large lad from the Catholic Boys' Club. They slogged away bashing each other until Johnnie caught the other lad square on the nose and the blood began to flow. Mr Halloran beckoned to us and att took it upon himself to take the bag, got into the ring and pressed some wadding on the boy's nose as he sat on the floor. Or canvas, as I learned later. In the end Mr Halloran signalled that the match was over and the lad, attached to Matt and his lump of wadding, climbed out of the ring and disappeared. I looked at the portly man and he winked and puffed on his pipe again.
The Brother stood up and announced in rather an aggrieved tone that John Prosser of the Kerslake Boys' Boxing Club had won. So the evening went on. There was a short break half way then another man took over as referee. Matt did not reappear so when another lad began to bleed the portly man nodded towards the ring and I had to climb into the ring to administer wadding to a cut eye. Then, a bit later, there was another bloody nose to be dealt with as Matt still hadn't reappeared. The portly man sat and puffed his pipe throughout. Pat's match was the last but one and, my, didn't he scrap. He belted the other lad mightily until his legs gave way in the last round and he sank none too gracefully to the ground, I mean, canvas. Pat had won, on a knockout. I prodded the portly man who had dropped off to sleep. He awoke immediately and lumbered into the ring, gathered up the recumbent figure in his arms, climbed out again and also disappeared. I was on my own.
The last match was big Chris Prosser who looked mountainous until I focussed on his opponent who was hu..u...ge! Chris began by circling the other lad who flailed around missing him by feet. They got closer and both landed a few hefty punches on each other until the other lad got up very close, jabbed at Chris with his right hand and landed him one straight in the goolies with the other. Chris sunk to the ground gloves between his legs his face contorted in agony. The referee hadn't seen what had happened but everyone my side had and there were quite a few from our school who proceeded to stand up and shouted and howled `Foul, Foul, Foul'. The referee started to count Chris out then realised something had happened and waved his arms and declared that the fight was over with Chris's opponent disqualified.
As Chris was still writhing on the canvas I climbed into the ring accompanied by much shouting and whistling. The other lad and the referee hoisted Chris up and helped him out of the ring, still with him clutching his goolies, and I followed them all to the dressing-room. This was filled with the previous pairs of boxers who on hearing what had happened to Chris started a real rumpus. There were three others from the big lad's club and two of them soon found themselves stretched out on the floor. The big lad fended off several blows and caught one of the Kerslake boys a real cruncher which flattened him. The new referee was joined by Mr Halloran and the portly man who separated the warring parties and told them to get changed and to go out into the hall.
This took a few minutes and in the end I was left alone with Chris who was still grimacing and pressing his gloves against his lower parts and the now recovered knocked-out lad who was sitting on a bench some distance away. Neither Pat nor the portly man were in evidence.
"Get me gloves off, lad," he instructed me, thrusting up a colossal brown fist. It was much bigger than the wank-preventers we had found at Ulvescott. I undid the tape that bound it and pulled it off his hand. The other one was a bit more difficult as the knots were peculiar but, at last, both hands were free. He stood up and pulled his singlet up and his shorts down. He then lowered his jockstrap and his cock and balls tumbled out. He lifted his large thick prick and his wrinkled left ball was very red and looked quite swollen.
"Sod caught me full on the left one and I wasn't wearing a box," he exclaimed, "What can you see?"
I peered more closely.
"Looks rather red and swollen to me," I said, with a professional air. "I don't have anything to put on that kind of injury," I added. "Probably a cold water compress would be best," I said remembering Mike's tale of swollen balls.
Chris looked grateful for that piece of advice and acting on my statement I fished out a folded bandage from my bag and went and dunked it under the tap in the scullery. On return I held it against his left bollock while he pulled up his jockstrap and adjusted the even bigger bulge in it.
"Ta, that feels better already," he said quite gratefully. "I'll kill that sod when I see him again. I'll ram his balls up his arsehole for him!" He moved over to where his trousers were hanging on a peg. He wriggled out of his shorts and sat on the bench and proceeded to take off his plimsolls.
"Seen my brother, eh?" he asked, "He went off earlier to the hospital with that lad whose nose he broke. Is he back yet?"
I said I hadn't seen him since he got out of the ring after his fight.
But that explained Matt's absence. He must have gone to the hospital with them. How did they get there? Chris answered that thought.
"Me uncle went off with them and that other St John's boy in his car," he explained. "He's in 4K with you isn't he?"
I said he was and that it was our first outing as First Aiders. I added I hadn't had to deal with cuts and blood before.
"Nor with sore balls either, eh!" he said, laughing for the first time since his painful thump, "You've had a real baptism tonight."
By this time he'd got fully dressed and several others had filtered back into the room.
"You OK now?" I asked as he stuffed his kit into a haversack.
"Yeah, thanks," he said, "You did a good job. It only throbs now."
"Hope he hasn't damaged anything," I said without really thinking.
Chris guffawed. "I'll find that out all in good time, won't I?" he said, giving me a wink and thumping me on the back.
If that was a friendly thump I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of one of his real punches! The portly man and Mr Halloran came through the door just as we reached it.
"You and the other lad have done a good job tonight, eh Joe?" he said, addressing this last to Mr Halloran and wiping his moustache with a large, very white handkerchief. "Had a quick pint with Joe just then," he explained. "Where's the chap young Patrick walloped?"
Chris went off through the door with Mr Halloran and I returned with the portly man to where the boy was sitting.
"Are you OK now?" he said.
The lad looked up and nodded.
"Can you stand?"
The boy got up rather unsteadily and I put out a hand to steady him.
"Need a bit of fresh air now so go outside with young Thomson here and take a few deep breaths," he instructed.
I held his arm and led him out. So the portly man knew my name but who was he? He said he would be off now and he'd let the Superintendent know we'd done well. He disappeared into the darkness.
The lad and I stood outside for a minute or two until he said he was feeling much better so we went back inside and he started to get changed. I asked him where he was from and he said Thorncombe, which was the next town. He said he'd left school and had an apprenticeship in a factory there and had been boxing with the Troutbridge Club since he was fourteen and so far hadn't lost a fight. He said Pat was much too good for him but he wasn't going to give up because of being knocked out. During his conversation he'd removed his shorts and I noticed he hadn't been wearing anything underneath. It didn't matter because his prick and balls were very small, really just like mine were a couple of years ago. A scrawny snail-like dick just curled out of a bush of dark hair and, although they swung about, his bollocks were about the size of small acorns. He'd stopped talking and reached up to unhook his trousers from the peg and caught me staring at his equipment.
"My brother's just the same," he said in explanation, "And he's nineteen!"
What could I say because at that moment in came Matt, big-dicked and big-bollocked, and there was this older lad with minute tackle and a brother who apparently matched. Matt must have also caught sight of the display and, though he didn't say anything, his lips pursed up. I turned to him.
"Where have you been?" I asked rather tetchily, "I've had to deal with all the other wounded except for..."
The lad said, "I'm Ted."
"...Ted here who got knocked out by Pat...."
"I know, I know, I'm sorry," Matt said, interrupting, "But I had to go to the hospital with Eugene as I had to keep stopping the blood from his nose. He's still there and I said I would collect his clothes and take them up there. Johnnie's still there and I said I would cycle back with Eugene's things. Would you come with me?"
Eugene? Then I remembered he belonged to the Catholic Boxing Club so it must be a saint's name, or something. I said I would, picked up the equipment bag and followed Matt who had Eugene's clothing under his arm.
When we got to the hospital the Sister on duty was Nobbo's mum. She explained that Eugene had a broken nose and had needed it packed but he was OK now and he was sitting in one of the side rooms and Johnnie Prosser had gone off with his uncle.
I thought I'd seen Eugene before when he got into the ring. Thinking about it I realised he was one of the boys in Mike's photo of the Catholic Rugger team. So, he was good bit older than Johnnie Prosser who was just over fifteen.
He was holding a new piece of wadding against his nose so we helped him put on his shirt over his rather bloody singlet. As one hand was engaged he tried to get his shorts down with one hand but I had to assist him. His pants also came down and I was confronted with my third set of equipment of the evening. Eugene was black Irish! He had a mat of jet black curly hair round his well-formed cock. His hair was also growing quite thickly up his belly toward his navel as well. Oddly, he had white, hairless legs. He grabbed his pants as he wriggled to get his shorts down completely and his cock flopped from side to side showing off his quite unevenly sized bollocks. His left one was much bigger and hung much lower than the right. I hoped Matt was taking note!
As soon as he was dressed we went along the corridor and said goodnight to Mrs Clarke who wanted to know how Eugene was going to get home. He said he would walk so we rode along the road a bit with him. In the end he said he was OK and would take a short cut and we rode off. Before parting we agreed it had been a most interesting evening.
Nothing much happened over the weekend. I really wanted to discuss the sizes I'd seen with Matt, or perhaps Tony, but I contented myself by retrieving the photos from my hidey-hole and scrutinising the equipment on show in them. I think mine will stand up to examination, to coin a phrase, when I'm as old the ones in the photos. However, I kept up my run once a day and my other score twice daily and practised the piano as well.
On Monday at St Johns Mr Halloran thanked Matt and me for what we'd done on Friday night and Benno told us he'd had a good time at the football match as he'd got his brothers in free. Pat Halloran was very chipper and kept giving me playful taps on the arm and said I should take up boxing ... `a fine feller like you would look well in the ring'. Some hopes, I don't mind assisting the wounded but I don't want to be one myself!
Tuesday May 9th 1944
I hadn't been home long on Tuesday afternoon before there was a ring on the back doorbell. It was Mike. I hadn't realised Pa had arranged to give him some more maths lessons before he took his end of year exams. While I put the kettle on to make some tea he wanted to know what I'd thought of the boxing on Friday. I said I could think of things less painful to do to pass the time. Then I told him about the fracas in the dressing room after Prosser got whacked in the nuts. He laughed and said it served them all right and he'd only gone to see how Pat got on and he was very glad he'd won. I recounted my trip to the hospital to take Eugene's clothes to him. Mike laughed and said he looked a real sight on Sunday up at the altar serving with a plaster over his nose and a black eye.
I said he wasn't very sympathetic and how would he like a smashed nose and painful goolies.
"Not much!" he said, laughing again, "But they obviously like getting beaten up and they do it voluntarily, at least, some of them do but some of ours are made to do it by Brother McNally."
"Why's that?" I asked, rather puzzled.
"Oh, quite simple, if anyone `steps out of line too far', as he puts it, they're given the option of a caning or joining the boxing. If they transgress more than once they have to join the boxing team and his word's law as he's our Master of Discipline!"
'Master of Discipline', what a title. I didn't pursue it but asked, "What about Pat?"
"He just likes scrapping - he's just over-active!"
I knew that to be true, given what he'd told me about his score on other things.
"I like Pat," I said, "He's a nice bloke."
Mike agreed and said he'd been round the evening before so Mike could help him with his homework. I would have liked Mike to help me with something urgent right now. Luckily we were sitting at opposite sides of the kitchen table as I had a hard-on up to my eyebrows. But, just as I was going to suggest on some pretext that Mike came up to my bedroom I heard Pa coming into the back porch. Nothing like a little shock like that to deflate one's ego - if that's a good term for it. They disappeared off to the study and I retired to my bedroom and had a lonely, quick wank over the sink to relieve the tension. Needless to say I had a second in bed thinking of Mike and imagining his hand on my shaft.
To be Continued: