"It's as long as my arm" murmured Steve with satisfaction as he unzipped my fly, inserted his hand into my pants and drew out my eight inches.
I had not seen him for over a year, as I had left school just before my 18th birthday and he had stayed on an extra year to try for University entrance. He lived in the countryside about 90 miles from London and I had set off on my motorbike after contacting him by phone and learning that his family were going on their usual August vacation to Cornwall. He could fit me in for one afternoon, one night and the following morning.
That was good enough for me. The idea of seeing him again came to me because I had to go to London for another reason which I forget now and I was curious to see if he had changed at all. This was just before I started at University and before he was due to start work with a multinational company. At boarding school we had always been mates, though we were never in the same class and we were different personalities. He was a touch credulous and therefore easy to tease, but I always respected his calm temperament and the honest and direct way he had of dealing with things. He never held grudges or got involved in long arguments. He was the same age and height as me (six feet) but thicker set and was the "engine house" in the school's first rowing eight. I was more emotional and highly strung, played racquet games like tennis and squash; and we both represented the school at rugby football. An odd pairing, perhaps, but good friends, nevertheless.
When I arrived I was introduced to his mother and younger sister, we had lunch, and afterwards he suggested a walk in the nearby fields. He took with him his .22 gun for shooting any crows which we might happen upon and soon we were in deep countryside. He spotted a crow sitting on a branch of a tree, but we were both reluctant to use the firearm on it. The sun was shining, the grass was dry, so we sat down and began to reminisce. When you're nineteen and alone with a mate, the conversation quickly turns to sex and it was no different with us. Ours had been an all-boys boarding school so opportunities to meet girls had been confined to the holidays. I asked him if he had a girl-friend and he looked a bit embarrassed and said No - he'd not yet had time to meet anyone. So I asked him if that meant he was still wanking then, and he looked even more embarrassed, but said "Yes". At that time I was wanking about twice a week and was anxious to know how long it was normal for boys to go on doing it as they grew older. It was therefore quite comforting to hear that he was still at it, so to speak, so I decided to ask him how often he did it. Thinking to make a small joke out of it, I said "How often do you do it, then? Twice a day?" But he took me seriously, nodded and said "Sometimes."
I was amazed. "You mean, at bed at night and sometimes when you wake up in the morning?"
He looked directly at me now and said simply "Yes!"
"And how many times in a normal week?"
He thought for a moment and then said "Perhaps ten - or eleven."
I felt the first stirrings in my groin. He did too because we both put hands into our trouser pockets at the same time to hide our rising excitement.
Now it was his turn to ask me. "How often do you do it then?"
I told him "About twice per week" and he said "Is that all?" as if it was the most natural thing in the world to masturbate. Which, of course, it is. And sensing our shared sexual excitement I said "I'd love to see you do it" to which he replied "And I'd love to see you." And that's when he unzipped my fly and put his hand in my pants.
I think when you are young and not very experienced you try to jack off another man by doing to him what you do to yourself. Anyway Steve grabbed my dick with his fist along its middle and started stroking it fiercely. This was not how I liked to achieve orgasm but the feeling of an unaccustomed hand rubbing my dick quickly brought to me to the edge and I said "I'm close to cumming" and took his hand off my tool so that I would not actually cum there and then. "What, already!" he exclaimed, " That's quick!" I sort-of felt ashamed so to cover my confusion and to stop his hand from once more asserting its authority over my dick, I rolled over and undid his fly. His tool was magnificent, shorter but thicker than mine and with a slight banana-shape to it. It was remarkably hard and rigid and I noticed that his foreskin formed a tight ring round the bulbous, concealed glans. When I tried to pull it back he winced and said that it wouldn't go back - like mine.
I wondered how best to proceed, given that I had stopped him "doing" me. So I suggested that we should stop right there and asked him if, instead, he could come to my bed that night after the household had gone to sleep. I had never actually been "done" by anyone else before and reckoned that if my first time was at hand, then bed would be the pleasantest place for it to happen.
I have often wondered if we made the right choice. It was still eight hours to go before we could meet and in that time the sac of juice that discharges at orgasm refills and we could have shot our loads in that field and been fresh for more at midnight. On the other hand had we gone ahead we might have dulled the anticipation of the night to come. Looking back on it in retrospect I wish we had done it in the field as well as in bed that night. There were so few opportunities for mutual masturbation in those days and one is only nineteen once! Anyway the die was cast and waiting for supper and then for his parents to go to bed seemed to take an age. Even worse was the half hour he deemed necessary for his parents to be well and truly asleep before he set off to join me. I could hardly contain myself for excitement as I heard the floorboards creak (it was an old house) as he neared my room and his opening of my bedroom door was like a mental orgasm! I revelled in the secrecy and the darkness of it all and wondered how an accomplished wanker like Steve would perform.
He got into bed with me and I was soon undoing his pyjama jacket. I didn't wear one and it was great to feel his manly frame lying next to mine. Quickly I undid the draw-string of his pants, spread the fly wide and placed my hand over his thick, firm cock. He gave a sigh of satisfaction as I fondled it and I played with it for a bit, wishing to prolong the moment before the vigorous stroking which would bring him off. He forestalled me, however, by putting his head down under the bedclothes and sliding his hand down my chest and stomach. Then he curled his fist round my dick and before I could fully grasp what was going on he put his mouth gently over my throbbing tool. I had to be careful not to cum at once in his mouth. Thinking about it, though, it seemed a bit unnatural so I drew his head away and whispered to him to bring me off with his hand. He needed no further prompting and so for the first time in my life I let the hand of another work me up to a climax. My cock was rock-hard and I 'came' with terrific intensity and a lot of juice all over my stomach. His hand got liberally dosed too!
Then it was his turn. "Now for the big gun" I said, and I took it into my eager fist and started to pump, holding it low down so as not to stretch the tight foreskin. I kept pumping for far longer than it would have taken me to cum, but eventually I heard a sharp intake of breath and his dick seemed to take on a life of its own, tightening, lifting and twitching - and then, suddenly, it went slack. I released it and put my fingers down to his stomach and there was a veritable lake of spunk. I rubbed my fingers in it and spread it all over his belly. It was a great feeling.
We wiped ourselves dry with the towel Steve had brought with him and he creaked off down the corridor to his bedroom as if he'd just been to the bathroom. I slept very well that night and woke up to hear him taking a shower the next morning. When we met at the breakfast table it was just like meeting as good friends - which is what we were, of course.
That morning we went for another walk in the countryside, taking the gun and looking again for crows but it was fleshier guns and a different kind of shooting we were thinking of. Arrived at the place where we had examined each other's dicks the day before, it didn't take us long to get them out again and to get them working. This time he was content for me to 'do' him first and I was overawed by his performance. When he shot his load it seemed to go on and on and on for ever and his dick gave a little 'lift', going even more banana-shaped, just before it reared to its massive orgasm. Another lake appeared on his belly. I asked him how many spasms he got, including those in which he ejaculated spunk, when he had a really good orgasm, and he said he had once counted up to forty! I'm not sure I believed him, but it may have been true, watching that extraordinary performance. When it was my turn to cum, I was almost embarrassed by how little time it took and how much smaller my load was. But at least I had my length to comfort me!
All good things have to come to an end and soon after lunch I was on my motorbike, setting off on the long haul back to my home. It was only a single cylinder 250cc two-stroke and against the wind on the flat fenlands it could do little more than 30 mph. By the time I was within fifty miles of my home it was evening and I needed a rest. The engine had been throbbing between my legs for many hours and my back ached so I relished the thought of lying down for a few minutes. Seeing a convenient gate at the roadside I pulled in, switched off the engine, climbed over the gate and found a quiet spot in the field. I closed my eyes, enjoying the evening sunlight. What bliss! Thoughts of the morning and the night before flooded my mind and soon a different engine was throbbing between my legs as I relived those events. This time I did it as I liked best, with the edge of my index finger gently stroking with pre-cum the underside of my cockhead. Indeed did I "spill my seed" (plentifully) "on the ground" as it says in the Bible. I reflected, too, that I had learned something from Steve, and not least that I, too, could cum twice in a day - indeed three times in less than twenty four hours! Then back on the bike for the last fifty miles and I was home for a late supper with my parents, where you can be sure I told them all about my trip to London and my brief visit to see Steve. Well, not quite all!
For a long time I never saw him again. Each of us discovered girls but the memories remain - with me, anyway. I wonder what he would think if he could read this and what might happen, more than thirty years later, if we could meet now in circumstances that would allow us to relive the past. Who knows what activity might then take place!