Great Oaks

by N Fourbois

All writing is memory.

Great oaks from little acorns grow (14th century proverb)

I shall never forget that summer, the one between the second and third form at school (Years 8 and 9 in the modern parlance our independent school had refused to adopt). By some freak of the calendar the school holidays were nine weeks long instead of eight as we broke up on the usual day in July fixed since time immemorial and returned on the correspondingly fixed day in September.

Let me tell you something of myself, my family and my background. My name is Samuel Oaks, Sam to my family, friends and schoolmates, that's when I wasn't called by any number of nicknames which will become relevant as my story unfolds, and most irrelevant as it concludes. Financially we were well off, not rich, but with a good family income that allowed us to do and to have all the things that we wanted. We lived on a farm just outside the country town where I went to school and my father had his business, or more precisely we lived in a farmhouse with a little bit of land. By some quirk of fate my mother had inherited the whole farm as the sole surviving relation of the testator we hadn't even known. As we were not of farming stock she had rented the remaining land and outbuildings to a neighbouring farmer who was glad to expand his farm onto the surrounding land. The family solicitor had advised us not to sell, but keep it as an alternative source of income against a lean year in father's business and the villagers were more than content that the land should be farmed by one of their own as there was always the tacit threat that it could be sold for building a housing estate. So we lived in a largish comfortable house that was secluded, yet not too far from neighbours and the usual urban services.

My father had started out by building up his own engineering company which because of its later specialisation gained orders from all over the world, especially since the advent of the internet, and gave significant employment to the townsfolk. He had never forgotten his roots and so the firm included a blacksmith which served the local farming community as well as producing wrought iron work for the tourists and the propertied rich. Being a businessman he had diversified and now owned the local car dealership and car-servicing facilities, but never forgot the local people. Add to that a small fleet of buses and coaches and you have a prosperous family company. He never considered that he worked. His task was to ensure that the firm ran smoothly and he spent his time boosting company and corporate morale among his employees who, he realised, were also bringing in his income while he paid theirs. He knew every one by name, talked to them about their families, their joys and sorrows and insisted that he interviewed every applicant personally, for he felt that was one of the secrets of his success and the firm rarely took on a bad apple.

And so back to me and that dry, warm but not too hot nine week long summer. I'll try and talk about myself as objectively as possible, if that's not a contradiction in terms.

I would be fourteen in September, fortunately before I went back to school. I had an elder sister who was married and worked abroad with her husband, which made me virtually an only child. It also made me question in my mind whether I had been a 'mistake' or whether I had just taken a long time to appear. It was not until after the death of my parents when Joanne - that's my sister - and I were going through family papers that we realised there had been another boy who was still born a couple of years after my sister's birth. Joannne had been too young to know anything about it and was as surprised as I was. It was treated as if it had never happened and had certainly never been spoken about, as well as accounting for that long gap between us. That thought apart, which can niggle away at the mind of adolescent, it bears no relevance to what was happening to me that summer. All I can say is that I was well-loved by my family. Mum and Dad took an interest in what I did and supported me, especially at school. That did not mean I was spoilt and while I did not go without any necessities if there was any 'luxury article' I wanted, it either had to paid for out of my own money, or it had to be 'earnt' although 'earnt' could include doing well at schoolwork or some school activity. My computer was such an example. I could have had a bog standard PC off the shelf as a necessity these days, but I wanted a top of the range AppleMac and the difference in price had to be 'earnt'. That particular time it was by harvesting the fruit in our orchard and selling it.

I loved sport and represented the school at rugby, cricket and cross-country, but by now I was getting left behind by my schoolmates who were growing faster than me, and for sheer reasons of size, not skill, I found I was having to reserve for school teams, or play in the B team, or eventually, worst of all I was not getting selected. Perhaps you are now getting an idea of what my problem was that year and it was affecting my school work. I had won an academic scholarship to my school and as a so-called scholar perhaps I was monitored more closely than the average pupil. Great things were expected from scholars in return for paying no school fees. That had always been made clear from the outset.

By nature I was outgoing and introspective, if that is possible. What I mean is, I like people and their company. I get on well with them, but have always questioned my own thoughts and emotions, which meant I was feeling a little out of character and at that time it was largely dismissed as 'my age'. The next bit is the difficult part about being objective about myself.

Each term on our school reports we had recorded our height and weight. At the end of the first term of my first year I was 4 feet 8 inches, tall enough to be put as second row in rugby. Apart from one thing I hated it and got out of that as soon as I could. That one compensation was binding in the scrum. Rugby players will at once appreciate this observation and see its relevance by the end of the narrative. By the June of my second year I was barely five foot tall. All my classmates had started their growth spurt over the summer between the first and second forms along with the onset of puberty. That was the average time for boys in our days, although as a form of reassurance my father told me that in his it had been between the third and fourth form normally. He and most of his mates adolesced then. It seemed to happen more in the summer - something about sun on the pituitary gland, he said - not to mention the fact that you did not see a lot of them for a couple of months and so noticed the difference. You can probably see where this is leading.

As far as appearance was concerned I had curly blond hair and eyes of an intense sparkling blue. The 'intense sparkling blue' was taken from Colin Westhead's essay written in an English lesson at a time when we had to write a twenty minute composition describing our immediate neighbour in class. Oddly my essay on Colin had dwelt more on his character than his appearance. Colin had concentrated on my exterior and why also became clear at a later date. I wore my hair short, but long enough for the curls to form. I hated the feeling of my hair over my ears or having it droop over my forehead. My face wore a cheerful smile and was outgoing. I was slim in build without being skinny, rather sinewy and naturally muscular with a neat little bottom and below my head there was not the trace of a hair. Again much of this description has been borrowed from Colin.

From day one at my new school I made friends easily. To begin with I was naïve. Not only did my classmates chat easily to me - I did my best to hide the fact I was a scholar so as not to be thought of as a smart arse and it would come out anyway - but also many of the older boys would come and talk to me and it was not until I heard words like 'pretty boy' and 'lush' or felt my bottom being patted or stroked in the lunch queue or in the throng in the corridor that I slowly began to comprehend why and I must admit I enjoyed the attention.

For gym and games we had to change together and shower afterwards. That's where I learnt the phrase 'checking out' and I was as guilty as the rest of checking out the other boys and in my quiet moments I would think about them and even get a bit of an erection at the same time. A bit! That was about the sum of it at the time. I particularly remember one time we were showering after rugby and I felt a semi-hard dick press against my bum. What did I do? Well, I didn't move away and I did look round to see who was doing it. I can't remember whether I was surprised or not. It was my classmate Colin and I needn't mention that over the first two years there we became very good friends. He had straight black hair and contrasting blue eyes, paler than mine, but with mischief written all over both them and his grin. He sported an athletic build, track rather than field events. I reached behind and felt his balls. That was the first time I'd ever touched anyone there. They were loose and as I weighed them in my hand I enjoyed the sensation. He made no move to stop me and no one else seemed to notice.

Swimming was the other activity I enjoyed. The school had it own indoor swimming pool and as with all other activities the school uniform rules were strict. The Headmaster had a philosophy of the minimum of rules, but the few they had were strictly enforced on the basis of 'look after the pennies and the pounds will look after themselves', zero tolerance it is called these days. The school uniform was one of the 'pennies' and by and large the system worked for it was a happy school and it permitted the development of individuality in the pupils. Perhaps being imprisoned in uniform forced the individuality of character to blossom. Still, back to swimming lessons. Uniform meant everyone had to have the identical costume, golden front and back panels with royal blue sides - the school colours - and they had to be Speedos, no boxer trunks, Bermuda shorts or anything like that. They were specially made and only available from the school shop, and also it was part of the school philosophy that every boy should be able swim. It was an essential life skill. I loved checking out the other boys, particularly the senior ones, and to this day I still find a well proportioned packet far more attractive than the naked real thing. Yes, you've guessed it by now. I'm gay, proud to be gay, though I did not feel like that at the time we are talking about.

It was not until senior school that I had any inkling of my sexuality, but from the first week I seemed to be on a voyage of discovery. Don't get me wrong. I don't want to give the impression that homosexuality was rife throughout the school. It wasn't. If it reflected the probable average of that ten per cent potential found in German and American research, in a school of seven hundred and fifty eleven to nineteen year old boys that would provide a potential of only seventy-five not including the majority of straight adolescents who experiment at some time or the other, and many of those would either be undecided or unaware of their sexuality or deeply within the closet. (You see. I was already using the internet on this subject.) But still there was no lack of choice if you knew where to find it, and as a 'lush' or a 'pretty boy' or a 'tart' or a 'bumboy' I found that the choice came to me. And that quite often is where it ended, although after the shower incident, not to mention the class essays, Colin and I did become best mates. I never minded being called a lush, or a pretty boy, or a tart or even a bumboy. A lush and a pretty boy I certainly was. No one could dispute that. I was even proud of the fact and whether at home, in school uniform or sports gear I took the greatest pride in my appearance. Tart I cannot deny. I knew how to bat my eyelids at an older boy, particularly if he was a prefect I was in trouble with, or even a master if my quick innate wit threatened to overstep the mark into impudence. And it worked! Bumboy, with its implication of being submissive, I never was. For me sexual activity was always on mutual terms. No, it was some of the subsequent names that put me down and while I was going through this rather bad patch I couldn't possibly know that later the name-callers would have to swallow their words. (There could even be a pun there.)

As I have already said, there were about seven hundred and fifty in the school - five form entry from the first to the fifth form and two hundred and fifty in the upper and lower sixth. To combat the dumbing down in education we took our GCSEs in the fourth form, used the fifth form for AS or for the lower orders to repeat and in the two years of the sixth form either proper A-levels or the Internationa Baccalauréat. The School encouraged its pupils to stay on in the sixth form, but also recruited from surrounding maintained schools and the IB was popular draw. Thus it was a powerful institution and the competition to rise to the top was awesome and put immense pressure on people like me and Colin who I found out only by chance was another academic scholar. Accompanying this numbers game was the competition to be selected for sports teams and my fall from grace previously described did little to enhance my self-esteem at that sensitive age.

I spent a very happy first year at senior school. At last I was being stretched intellectually, which I wasn't at my primary school, and succeeding. I was in with a great group of lads who seemed to have the right attitude towards work and play and who whether scholars or not were interesting characters in their own right and my form possessed a great communal sense of humour. We got to know each other that much better with parties and sleepovers. When the warm weather returned we hosted one for my class in our orchard with a barbecue. Some slept over in tents, others went home.

So I completed my first year on a high with a good report - now 4 foot 10 inches and some success in the house athletic and swimming competitions behind me.

We were not at home much that summer. My sister and her husband had invited us to stay with them in New Zealand to see my new nephew before they moved on to another country with his job. I had never really got to know Joanne particularly well. She seemed more like an aunt than a sister. I regretted missing the summer at home, but as it turned out winter on the North Island was far better than the rainy July and August we had missed in England. Consequently it was the weekend before the Michaelmas term began that we arrived back, looking healthier than many of the friends and neighbours we had left behind. It meant a panic for Mum getting me ready for school, but she found that a small price to pay for seven weeks with her brand new grandson and the once in a lifetime experience of New Zealand.

On the first day of term I turned up for school for my second year. We were all pleased to see one another again. The moans about being back at school were simply a meaningless ritual. What did not escape my notice was how much people had grown. Their voices were deeper, in some cases coarser as they were in the midst of breaking. The breaktime conversation turned to jerking off and the extroverts boasted about how often they did it, the introverts blushed and kept silent hoping not to be drawn into the conversation and one or two had even started going out with girls. So far so good. Then after a couple of days the gym lesson came along accompanied by the usual checking out of each other in the changing room as the new equipment had arrived. One or two were sporting new jockstraps, making a fuss of stripping off entirely before putting them on and parading round the changing room and I had to admit (to myself) that they looked good and I was interested, not that there was anything new there. The previous term I had spent more time at athletics and swimming practices checking out my friends and older boys than I had actually training. Now I realised that some of my classmates looked just as good as many of the senior boys I had been admiring. Changing for gym they were getting all the attention and as an admirer I was getting none. That's a statement of fact, not a complaint.

The beauty parade continued after the lesson in the shower. Everybody had hair, pubic hair I mean, but not me, not that that was a worry until Bertram (surname, not Christian name) shouted out

"Hey, everyone, look at Peewee here," and pointed. I was mortified as everything went quiet and everybody turned to look at me. Most noticed the horror on my face and politely turned away again. If looks could kill, Bertram would have instantly drowned in that shower room. All right, I had a cock that was two inches long on a warm day including foreskin, balls the size of marbles and not a single pubic hair. I could perhaps increase it to two and half inches with an erection, but they were few and far between and I only stiffened up when I was tarting or lying in bed fantasising. Although I knew what one was, I'd never had an orgasm, dry or wet. It was not my fault and the previous term many of them had been just like that themselves and one or two probably still were, but they were either hiding in the corner of the shower, their hands covering their groins, or had grabbed their towels and fled to dry off and get dressed before they became objects of ridicule themselves.

I did not know where to put myself and Colin came to my rescue by telling Bertram in particular and the rest in general to piss off. As a result of the shock, the little I did have shrivelled into insignificance as if on a cold day. From that day forth I became known at school as Peewee, except to Colin who continued to call me Sam. That incident put me down for the rest of the day. When I went to bed that night, I lay there thinking. I did not wear pyjamas in bed, but a tee shirt and boxer shorts. I never wore boxers during the day, but briefs or a slip. I liked the support during the day, but lay there wondering now what I had to support. I did, however, like the loose feeling at night though, as I said, I certainly wasn't into jerking off at that time. I touched myself up to get a stiffy. My cockhead was just peeping out as I got out of bed to fetch my six-inch ruler. 2·5 inches. I think I cried myself to sleep that night.

I felt a little better in the morning. As I washed. I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were puffy with black rings under them and my face was drawn. Over breakfast Mum asked if I felt poorly. I suppose I did, but I couldn't tell her why and she certainly wouldn't have kept me off school without a good reason. So however reluctantly, I went. In the car Dad asked what the matter was. I didn't feel like talking then - would I ever? - so I brushed it off.

Twenty-four hours is a long time in school life. Apart from the nickname Peewee everyone appeared to have forgotten about the incident. I later learned that the name came from a character with a similar affliction in a film called Porky's. At break Colin took me off for a walk round the fields as he could see I wasn't my normal cheerful self.

"Was it what happened yesterday?"

"Yes," I said trying hard not to snivel.

"You'll be okay, Sam," he comforted me in that brand new smooth dark brown voice that up to yesterday had made me melt, but which today just made me envious.

"Did you notice anything about Bertram?" he asked.

"Only that he's a complete and utter bastard, and that's not exactly new."

"Nothing else?"

"No."

"He's only got one ball."

"No!" I repeated completely forgetting my own troubles.

"Keep that as ammunition in case he starts on you again," said Colin. It was during that breaktime that I fell in love with Colin. That could be another problem, but after our encounter in the showers the previous term it might yet be no problem at all.

"It's typical of someone who's inadequate," he continued. "Bertram has got to find someone he considers worse off than himself to persecute so that he's not at the bottom of the pecking order, in his own mind. Don't forget. Both your balls will drop at some time in the future. He'll never get a second one, or do I mean a third?"

I felt better already. In the distance the first bell was ringing and we had to get back for lessons. I stored this information in the back of my mind. I wouldn't taunt him with it unprovoked. I'm not like that, but if he started on me again I would certainly use it to reduce him down to size.

The term progressed and apart from being called Peewee there was never a mention of the incident which had so upset me. However, it had provoked a worry inside me which was exacerbated as I watched my contemporaries begin to tower over me. They did on the one hand become very protective towards me because of my height, but I was also losing my place in the rugby team, first the A side and then the B side. The rugby master took me on one side to give me a pep talk and said that with the large sides we played against he didn't think he could risk putting me in the team for my own safety, but the subtext was that he wanted to put out as heavy a team as possible. That got to me and along with it the fact that I was not growing, in stature that is, not particularly the size of my dick and balls although that was part of it. When we were weighed and measured at the end of term I was still 4 foot 10 inches. I said to Matron

"Not even ten and a quarter?" She measured again, but caught me trying to stand on tiptoe.

"Not even ten and a quarter," she repeated. Even my other measurement stubbornly remained at 2·5 inches. The saving grace of that term was my deepening relationship with Colin. He lightened my mood and I could entertain him, titillate him and neither of us denied it was sexual chemistry working between us. We talked about doing stuff and he said he was prepared to wait until I was ready and his confidence in me was encouragement and a comfort. That did not stop me giving him the odd feel, especially when I crept up behind him and put my hands in his trouser pockets. That turned him on straightaway. Besides we were intellectual peers and stimulated each other at that level too.

The term ended and my report arrived. It was not good. It was not bad either, just indifferent and my tutor noted that something better was expected of me. My parents did not get on at me. Just that during the holiday Dad took me out in the car and did what he was so good at doing with his employees at work - showing concern and asking if there was anything he could do to help. And because he was so good at it I suddenly let it all out. He pulled in at the next lay-by so that he could give me his full attention. I talked about the difficulties of the term, my great fear about not growing in any department and finally about the Bertram incident, even though over three months had gone by since then. He put his arm around me to comfort me. It felt good and when I had finished crying he drove home.

"Don't worry. Can I tell Mum, or do you want to?"

"You do it, Dad." The circumstances in the car had been right for me to let it all out. I didn't want to go through that again and I didn't think the circumstances could be right a second time.

We celebrated Christmas, just the three of us, although afterwards we did the usual rounds in the village with visits and visitors. Once New Year was over it was business as usual and it was during breakfast that Mum and Dad judged it right to talk to me about my growth. They wanted my agreement to their suggestions which were one, a visit to the doctor and two, a talk to my tutor in that order. I agreed. I didn't look forward to be poked around by the doctor. I never did, whatever the cause. He gave me a full examination, including there as well, and before saying anything he called Mum into the surgery.

"Basically, there is nothing wrong with you, Sam. Everything is in working order. It's just that your body has decided it's not ready to plunge you into adolescence. If you were like this at the age of sixteen I would be concerned. You are normal, Sam, but just not average, and you will know from school that averages are calculated from within a range of extremes. I could refer you to hospital for a course of growth hormone treatment, and as I say, if you were sixteen I might give it a second thought, but there are still fears over its long term effects and I'd rather nature took its course. You're a fit and good-looking boy and you'll turn many a girl's heart before you're done." I might well, I thought, but they won't do much for me. "Mrs Oaks, you can trust me. I'm a doctor." I'd only ever heard that said in films. I almost sniggered. "If you are still worried, do come back and see me." That was the advantage of country GPs. They knew you and they always had time for you. "Have a better term, Sam," and at that he said goodbye to us.

After we left the surgery I suppose I was reassured, but it had done nothing to alleviate my impatience to grow. In the afternoon I went round to Colin's.

We managed to make an appointment with my tutor before term began and all three of us attended that. He was grateful for the explanation for now the School could give me some attention and he would let the relevant staff know so that they could watch out for any teasing. And Mum and Dad had shopped Bertram. Thank God they only talked about my lack of growth in stature and avoided talking about the trouser department.

The Lent term started and things seemed to get back to normal. I was still called Peewee. I would have to hack that, for any protest would just have intensified it. Indeed, I had the impression that I was the only one who remembered why I had been christened Peewee in the first place. The main sport was cross-country. I liked cross-country for although I lacked the length of leg to be outstanding, I had all the other attributes - no excess weight, a sinewy body and large lung to body size ratio. The dress was white tee shirt and blue rugby shorts. I'd have preferred white gym shorts, but blue rugby shorts stood up to washing the mud off better. However, I still checked out the other boys and as they were growing lads they filled their shorts out as they became tighter on them. No one would have bought new shorts until the rugby season in autumn. But it was cross-country that brought about my next humiliation.

On normal games afternoons it was a question of going round the course to beat your own best time, rather than an organised race. For some reason I was late from a lunchtime activity. I checked in with the games master and went into the changing room. In there was just one other person, a senior called Stuart King, Wayne to his mates, or at least he is now, thanks to me. I knew him because he was one of those seniors I would tart in front of, or flirt if you prefer. He was quite a hunk and his school trousers always displayed a noticeable bulge. He was already changed and about to go.

"Hi, Stupot," I said.

"Nice shorts," and I flashed him one of my special smiles.

"Do you want to have a feel, Oaks?" he said seductively.

"How can I resist an offer like that?" and I put my hand between his legs, felt his packet and gave it a good rub which visibly set him off.

"Let's feel yours now." I hesitated. How could I refuse after what I had just done. Fair's fair. I had after all aroused him.

"Okay," I said nervously and he unzipped my school trousers before I could resist and slipped his hand in. "Where is it? Are you a girlie or something?" The cold weather had got to me and made everything smaller than it normally was. I immediately dissolved into tears at which he said "I can't stand girls, especially girls that cry," and he ran out to start his run. I was just grateful I was alone in that changing room.

It took me five minutes to pull myself together by which time I was angry. I changed quickly and started my run at speed. On the course I overtook a small group with Stuart King in it, only for him waggle his little finger and shout "Wheeee!" as I ran past. I just raised my middle finger at him in reply, shouted out

"Piss off, Wayne," and accelerated, spurred on by my anger. I looked back just to make sure he wasn't chasing me when I saw his mates doubling up with laughter, pointing at him and calling

"Whoooo, Wayne King. Is that what you've been doing with him?" Back at school I felt drained, physically and emotionally. I slipped into the shower. Fortunately not too many people either there or in the changing room. My anger had subsided. I just felt sheer humiliation. I could not get out of school fast enough and when I got home I went straight up to my room, threw myself onto my bed and cried myself to sleep.

The next thing I knew Mum had come up to see why I hadn't come down for tea. She saw from my puffy, tear stained face that all was not well, but how could I tell her what had happened when in a way I had provoked it.

"Just a bad headache," I lied. I could see she wasn't convinced.

"You'd better do as much of your homework as you can and then have an early night. I'll write a note for school if you can't get it all done." I was too exhausted to argue.

In the morning I was physically better. I had slept through, but my bedclothes, tee shirt and shorts were soaked from the way I had sweated heavily all night. I was not one to dodge school. I always enjoyed it. I didn't eat much breakfast. Mum decided to keep me under observation and she phoned the school secretary. However, by nine I was feeling better and my temperature was normal. She rang Dad on his mobile and arranged for him to come home and take me into school late in the car.

During the journey Dad said soothingly

"Bad day yesterday, Sam?"

"Yes, Dad."

"Do you want to talk about?"

"Not really as I feel a bit responsible for provoking it."

"What was that?"

"The teasing started again - you know, about the trouser department."

"Do you want me to say anything at school?"

"Not this time. It was partly my fault. I asked for it." I certainly couldn't say how I'd asked for it. We had arrived at Dad's office. I could walk from there, but he took me in and sat me down with a cup of tea. It was just good to have him to talk to although I avoided the teasing topic. I reached school at the beginning of morning break, searched out my tutor to hand him the note and appeared at the next lesson after break.

"Where have you been?" asked Colin with real concern in his voice.

"I'll tell you later," and he jollied me through the rest of the morning as well as he could.

It had been a wise decision to go to school as it took my mind off the other thing. Also I had to save my face in front of my form mates, or I thought so, but no one made any mention of yesterday's cross-country, probably, I thought rather late, because none of them had been around when King upset me. The gaggle he'd been with were all senior boys who possibly didn't even know me.

After lunch Colin and I went for one of our walks round the sports fields. I told him about the last twenty-four hours. He made no comment, but as no one else was around he put his arm round me. I felt my dick swell in my pants and that and the hug fortified me. I slipped my left hand under his jacket and into his left trouser pocket, but all I felt was his handkerchief. We separated and walked back to school for afternoon lessons.

The end of term came. Easter was early that year which meant a short Lent term, thank God, and a longer Trinity term. My report arrived. Patchy improvement, but improvement at least, with an understanding comment from my tutor, seconded by the Headmaster. Far more important, though, height four feet ten and a half inches! And after getting caught the previous term I hadn't cheated this time when measured. And my self-measurement? 2·8 inches! A victory for self-prescribed and self- administered physiotherapy.

The summer term, cricket and swimming. Little to report there and although I was more settled in myself, most of what I have to say came from my own worries rather than anyone else. First of all cricket. Eleven in a side rather than fifteen as in a rugby team, so the competition for a place was harder. I had to be content with playing in the B team as opposed to the As the previous year, but at least I had a regular place which is more than I could say about rugby. In cricket we had to wear a jockstrap with a pouch for a box to protect ourselves. I didn't wear one for other sports as my brutal honesty with myself convinced me it would have been pretentious. I cannot deny I found them extremely sexy garments on older boys, but they weren't on me. It only occurred to me at that point that I couldn't be too abnormal because of my active libido, even if it was only turned on by members of my own sex. First cricket session, as I got changed, I privately lamented the looseness of the jock's material as it covered my miniscule genitals. I would wear my box throughout the game since it gave my cricket whites some respectability with a rounded regular packet. I had bought the largest size that would fit into the pouch and the padded edging made it stand out more than the standard plastic model.

It was a similar case with my swimming costume. Even the Lycra failed to make it stretch at all across my groin and it looked even worse when it was wet. One of my better memories, though, was changing after a house swimming practice. The water had had its usual effect on me, so I was keeping a low profile. As I was drying my legs, my head was pretty low down when my peripheral vision caught sight of a foreskin hanging down on the right. Never being able to resist, a Pavlovian reaction made me turn my head and my eye slowly followed the curve upwards from the foreskin to the base and the pubic hair. It was the longest trouser snake I had ever seen in my life. I must have stopped drying myself and been staring at it open mouthed for five minutes or so it seemed. I came to, felt myself blushing and hurriedly continued to towel myself down. Luckily I hadn't been spotted, especially as I had risen to my full 2·8 inches, but no one would spot that anyway. I had to see who this god was. I pulled on my slip and stood up to put my shirt on and I could see it Dick Sutton, a fourth former. What an apt name! Of course I had admired his white shorts on previous occasions, but never dreamt that they had contained as much as that. If he was like that without a hint of stiffness after emerging from cold water, what was he like in normal temperatures? I made a mental note to get to know him better. When I got home that evening, I measured 3·0 precisely on the dickometer.

I also took my opportunity to get even with Bertram. It was towards the end of a games lesson. The master, Mr Wheeler, was down at the nets looking after batting while we were round the cradle practising slip catches. As I have said, my voice was nowhere near breaking. I was still singing treble in the choir. I let out a rather high-pitched "Mine" as the ball sped off the cradle at an angle between me and Colin. As I made the difficult catch to the applause of my mates, Bertram had to spoil it by shouting

"Do you have to squeak like that, Peewee, you eunuch?" Immediately I retorted

"Why don't you piss off, Mono!" and as quick as a flash Colin came in and asked

"Why do you call him Mono, Sam?"

"Because he's only got one ball."

"Is that true, Mono?" chipped in someone else and Bertram was red, whether from anger or embarrassment we shall never know because Mr Wheeler came across just at that moment and shouted

"Shower and change boys." Bertram dashed off leaving us to clear away the equipment and as we reached the changing room he was already coming out in his school uniform.

"Have you showered, Bertram?" asked Mr Wheeler incredulously.

"Yes, sir," replied Bertram, the untruth written across his florid face.

"But your hair is bone dry. You haven't even broken sweat this afternoon. Back you go, undress and shower. Then report to me before you go home so that I know you have showered."

"But I have, sir. I just kept my hair dry."

"Then you'll be extra clean because you've had a second one."

"But I'll miss my bus, sir."

"You'll miss your bus because you're standing here arguing. There's always the next one. Go back and shower, Bertram, and show me your towel before you go in." Amidst general laughter from the slip-practice group Bertram lowered his head and shoulders and slouched back to the changing room. Mr Wheeler took up post at the entrance to the showers. Bertram offered him a damp towel. He took it, looked at the nametab and told him to return it to James Green and bring his own. Defeated Bertram brought along his own named towel, which of course was bone dry. Naturally we were all taking our time having our showers. Mr Wheeler thought it was just because we were enjoying the towel incident, but we also wanted to check out whether what Colin had told me was true and Mr Wheeler knew none of this. And it was true as Bertram was forced to parade his mutilation in front of his classmates. Completely humiliated he took his time drying himself and dressing and as Colin and I were ready to go, I said to him

"Perhaps you'll leave me alone in future. I might be small, but at least I'm perfect in every detail and by the way my name's Sam Oaks. You may use either." Those remaining in the changing curled up with laughter when they heard that. Oddly, after that day hardly anyone called me Peewee any more, but Bertram was known as Mono till the end of his days at our school. He only stayed until the end of the fifth form.

That night I could swear that scale on the dickometer measured 3·2.

The Trinity term eventually moved to a close with exams, then activities week. I sang in the end of term concert, treble of course, but I had a solo. This gave me some comfort for I had read somewhere that a boy's treble voice is nearest to perfection just before it breaks. Nonetheless it was still a treble voice. After the end of term my report came. The exams had been my saving grace, and my height? Four feet eleven and three quarters inches. Frustratingly still under five feet, but perhaps the sun was at last getting to my pituitary gland.

In all of the excitement I forgot to mention that Colin's family and mine had come to an arrangement about the holidays. Colin would come to Switzerland with us and I would go to Canada with Colin's family. Then for the second half of August his parents had to go away on business and Colin would be living with us for two weeks. There were still a few days until we left for Canada, so preparations apart I just chilled out at home, for term had been pretty exhausting. Even Saturdays had been taken up with cricket which left Sundays for catching up with homework.

In the morning Mum and I had been shopping for holiday clothes. I was beginning to need longer trousers and my 501s were beginning to fray. After lunch I went up to my room to look something up on the internet about Canada, but before I got as far as booting up my Mac I crashed out on the bed and immediately fell into a deep sleep. Mum said she'd come up to say that she was just off to her Witches' (Women's) Institute meeting, but did not want to wake me. She'd left a note on the kitchen table. When I eventually came to, it was four o'clock and the sun was no longer shining though my bedroom window. I scratched my balls and rubbed my eyes, or was it the other way round? Nothing unusual about that on waking, but the itch wouldn't go away. Worried I dropped my shorts and underpants as I didn't want to have to drop out of going to Canada, especially with a rash 'down there'. I stepped out of my clothes and walked over to the wall mirror and I looked, and looked some more and stared. I couldn't believe my eyes so I ran my finger over it. It wasn't there this morning when I showered, but unless I was still asleep and dreaming it was definitely there now. I pinched myself to make sure I was awake. It was minimal, but it was there all right. My pubic hair had started sprouting I yelled out a spontaneous cheer, but there was something odd about that too. In my excitement I was more concerned with what was down below rather than what was up above.

I grabbed my mobile and pressed the preset for Colin's number.

"Shit! Voicemail" and I cut the connection. I didn't normally use bad language, but I was still elated from my discovery. I hadn't even pulled my clothes back on again. I immediately fetched my six-inch ruler and stroked my dick. 3·5 inches stiff on the dickometer. I booted up my computer and logged the date and measurement. I heard my mother's car pull into the drive, snatched up my clothes, put them on, closed the computer document and encrypted it. Password peewee.

"I'm home, Sam," mother called up the stairs. I ran down to meet her.

"Hi, Mum."

"What have you been up to, dear?"

"I've been asleep. I only woke up five minutes ago."

"Well do your zip up, Sam. People will think you've been playing with yourself." I blushed and did up my zip.

"Chance would be a fine thing." I said without thinking, but nothing seemed to faze my mother. However, I wasn't ready to make an announcement. She picked up her note from the kitchen table, showed it to me, threw it into the waste bin and got on with getting tea ready. Father came in at about half past five.

We were in the middle of tea when my mobile rang. I took it out of its holster, pressed the button and before I could get it to my ear,

"Is that 'Shit! Voicemail'?" reverberated round the room. I blushed as Mum and Dad made a great display of pretending not to hear, while grinning at one another in mock dismay.

"Hi, Colin. I can't talk now. We're in the middle of tea. I'll call you back in half an hour. Bye."

"Bye," came the reply and I switched off my mobile, put it back in its holster and buried my head in my food.

When the meal was over and I had done my share of the washing up, I disappeared upstairs. I got my mobile and pressed Colin's preset.

"Shit! Voicemail here," I said trying to get my revenge.

"It's all right, Sam. I'm out here in the garden by myself. I thought you might try something like that to get your own back." We both laughed. "What's new then, Sam?"

"It's started."

"What's started?"

"I've got hair, Colin."

"I know you've got hair, rather beautiful blond locks from what I remember," said Colin both being deliberately obtuse and flirting.

"And intense sparkling blue eyes," I completed not allowing the piss-take to be all one way. "No, hair down there. Pubic hair. It started today, this afternoon. I'm sure it wasn't there this morning and it itches."

"Just one?"

"No, you idiot. A whole patch of very small ones, dark, not blond like the hair on my head."

"I thought you were going to say you'd found you just had one until you peed through it."

"Get stuffed, you prick!" As I said, I didn't normally use bad language. Perhaps I felt grown up today. "And it's up to 3·8 on the dickometer."

"Great. Congratulations. You see, you only had to be patient," said Colin. "If you want to make it grow, try some massage on it tonight when you're in bed."

"What? My pubes or my dick?"

"Your dick, of course. You'll make your pubes grow more by shaving them."

"They've only just started. I'm not cutting them off yet."

"And the itching will stop when they've pierced the skin properly. I'll think of you tonight when I'm in bed."

"You usually do, Colin. Look. Can I cycle over tomorrow and show you?"

"Sure. It's Mum's morning at the church bring and buy sale. We'll be alone and I can't be roped in to help. I'll say we've got to discuss the holidays."

"Thanks, Colin. See you tomorrow. Love you."

"Love you too."

"Love you more." (click).

I went downstairs and said

"Mum, I've got to go to Colin's tomorrow morning. He wants to talk about something to do with the holidays."

"That's all right. I've got to be at the church bring and buy sale. I'll probably see his mother there. It'll give you a good excuse not to come along and help."

"That's what Colin said about himself."

I was restless that evening. I really wanted to go to bed. Not to sleep, just to bed, but I couldn't say that, and anyway it didn't get dark until gone ten at that time of year. In desperation I went and helped Dad in the garden.

"You seem worked up about something this evening. Are you getting excited about going to Canada?"

"No. I mean yes, of course I am, Dad."

"Well only a few days now and you're be off. We're transporting the Westheads to the airport and they're going to do the same for us when we go to Switzerland. We'll use one of the space wagons from the garage. It'll be better than a minibus."

"Dad, do you know what? I've started growing pubic hair." Dad dropped his spade and gave me a great big hug.

"I knew you would in time and you're still a year younger than me when I did." I felt great. I didn't know whether I'd feel so great when Mum saw the muddy paw marks on the back of my tee shirt.

I stuck it out in front of the television until eleven o'clock. Why does the news have to be so repetitive? There must be a million things happening in the world that we never hear about. Mum and Dad kissed me good night.

"I'm glad you feel happier about yourself," said Mum. I knew that she knew. I stripped off and got into bed without putting on my tee shirt and shorts. I quite often did that in the warm weather. I picked up the dickometer from my desk and just as I was about to put it on my bedside table I noticed a box of Kleenex had appeared. Funny. I haven't got a cold. I got down to business and stiffened up my cock. Still 3·8 however much I pressed the ruler against my pelvic bone. For some reason that night I couldn't leave it at that. I had the urge to pull my foreskin back over the tip. When it was limp no worries, but now it was stiff it felt tight and hurt a little, but that didn't put me off. I rubbed some spit over the tip and worked it under my foreskin and gradually I could pull it back even farther. It did hurt, but it was a bearable, even enjoyable pain. Then suddenly something appeared to give and I could pull the skin right over the glans, pull it right back and push it all the way forward again. This was ecstasy. I looked to see if there was any blood, whether I had torn the skin. There wasn't. I could hear Mum and Dad coming up the stairs to bed. I slipped under the duvet and put the light out, just in case Mum should put her head round the door to see if I was okay. But she didn't.

All was quiet in the house and I rolled back the duvet, put my bedside light back on and started all over again. This time my foreskin rolled back easily without the pain, but with equal pleasure. I had an idea. I put my dressing gown on and went to the bathroom, but not for a pee. I knew there was a bottle of baby oil in the bathroom cabinet. I poured a blob onto my finger and smeared it over the glans and under my foreskin. It was so sensitive I could hardly bear to touch it. I was still hard and it went even harder. I pushed the flush on the loo for security reasons, washed my hands and went back and lay on my bed. I just lay there fingering my foreskin and glans. The oil helped. Something inside me just made me go on and on until suddenly my whole body shuddered in a sudden rush of pleasure and I didn't want to rub any more. I looked at my cock as it subsided. Apart from the glistening oil, it was as dry as a bone. 'I wonder if that's what they call a dry orgasm?' I thought.

I slept through until eight when Mum woke me. Unfortunately I was sleeping on top of the duvet and sporting the hardest boner I had ever known.

"You'd better get up if you're cycling over to Colin's or I'll be gone and you'll have slept in till twelve." On hearing her voice I rolled over onto my stomach jamming my balls in the wrong position. I gave a sharp intake of breath.

"Morning, Mum. Why don't you knock before coming in?"

"I think I shall have to in future. Sorry, love." She turned round to go, then looked over her shoulder and said "Nice bush, Sam." "Mum!" I shouted blushing deep red, but she had closed the door behind her and disappeared downstairs. My jaw dropped. 'Did I hear right?' I thought to myself. I got up, went to the bathroom, showered and paid particular attention to washing the baby oil off from last night. The itching had stopped, but I found I was getting a positive pleasure from washing my genitals and was it my imagination, or did my balls feel larger, heavier, looser? I returned to my room and before getting dressed stood in front of the mirror. Nothing to write home about, but a noticeable difference. I put the dickometer against my flaccid cock. Three inches.

I ate breakfast, helped Mum clear away and left the house at the same time as she went off to the church sale. It was a brilliant summer's day and as I cycled along the country lanes I felt on top of the world, better than I had felt for months. When I got to Colin's he was lounging in a hammock reading a book.

"Hi, Colin," I said.

"Hi, big boy," he replied. "Have you ever tried one of these?" he said pointing to the hammock.

"No."

"Give it a go." Try as I might I couldn't climb in, but tumbled onto the ground. Finally Colin picked me up and placed me in the hammock and although unsteady at first it was otherwise relaxing. After mucking around there for half an hour I'd almost forgotten the real reason for the visit. Colin said "Come on indoors or Mum will be back."

We went up to Colin's bedroom.

"Let's see it, Sam, this fuzz you've acquired." I dropped my shorts and the slip I was wearing. "My! You've grown quite a bit since I last saw you. Can I touch it?" Before I could say no, he was running his finger over my newly acquired pubes and my cock decided on that moment to misbehave. "Wow! You have grown!" and before I could stop him he was stroking my erect cock. I groaned and told him stop while I went and lay down on his bed. Then the same thing happened as yesterday except my glans was lubricating itself. My body gave a shudder of extreme pleasure and I had to tell Colin to stop. Nothing else and then my dick went limp.

"Can I do that to you now, Colin?"

"I thought you'd never ask and he kicked off his trainers, unbuttoned his jeans, sat on the bed and asked me to pull them off. As I did, his briefs slipped off at the same time. His cock was already stiff, five inches I'd estimated without my dickometer, and his balls looked like two pullet's eggs. I gently started to move his foreskin back and forth with my thumb and fingers. He jumped. "You must learn to warm your hands first," and as I rubbed them together and blew on them he added "and make a fist and use your whole hand." He lay on his back with his eyes closed as I gently worked my fist back and forwards. After a minute or two his breathing grew heavier and he grunted "Faster, Sam," his eyes still closed. Then without warning his body juddered and a stream of spunk shot out and over his tee shirt. "You can stop now, Sam," he said as the last drop drained from the slit in his glans and he opened his eyes and smiled at me. "God, that was better than anything I've ever done to myself. Hell! Hand me some tissues." I grabbed some from the box of Kleenex by his bed. Suddenly the penny dropped. "How am I going to explain this tee shirt?" he said as he tried to clean up the mess. "I know. I'll dunk it in the fishpond and say the wind blew it in." He went and flushed the tissues down the loo. Meanwhile I pulled my shorts back on.

We went downstairs. Mrs Westhead had left us some snacks in the kitchen and Colin poured two drinks from the fridge. After we finished them, we returned to the garden. Colin lifted me back into the hammock, dunked his tee shirt in the pond and hung it over a tree branch to dry before climbing into the hammock and lying beside me. I felt in heaven. We just lay there, arms round each other, idly stroking each other's chest. He helped me take my polo shirt off for easier access. Eventually we dozed off in the warm air.

It was a shout from Colin's Mum that woke us. We hadn't even heard the car drive in. In her hand was a camera.

"You two looked so sweet lying there together in the hammock, I couldn't resist a photo. And now you're awake, smile," and she snapped off another two. Was my face red! "Sam, would you like to stop and have lunch with us? I spoke to your mother at the bring & buy and she said it would perfectly okay, if you wanted to. It's just that we really need to set up an packing list so that we make sure you have what you need for Canada, especially as out friends are taking us up to their cabin in the Rockies."

"You will, won't you?" Colin looked at me pleadingly. I looked back at him lustfully. How could I not?

"Sure. I'd love to, Mrs Westhead."

"Right. While I'm getting the food ready, Colin, take Sam up to your bedroom and you can download these snaps onto your computer. And put them on ours as well while you're at it. I'll look at them later."

We went into the Westheads' study and Colin quickly downloaded them onto the PC. Then we went upstairs to his room and he downloaded them onto his iMac.

"Why have you got a Mac while they've a PC?" I asked.

"I prefer Macs, but Dad's got to have a PC so that he can bring home stuff from work. We get the best of both worlds. I've got a fantastic cyber Hornby train set, but they don't make a Mac version. So I have to use the PC for that. But the graphics on the Mac are far superior and easier to use. You've got a Mac, haven't you, Sam"

"Of course." Meanwhile Colin had the pictures loaded and had opened the first one.

"What's that, Sam?"

"What?" It was a picture of us asleep together in the hammock. Colin took a pencil and pointed at the screen.

"Here," he said circling round the zip on my shorts. "You've got a boner." I blushed, but couldn't deny it. Immediately Colin cropped the picture to make a close-up, drew round the bulge with the lasso and enlarged it.

"If only," I sighed and before I could say any more he'd made an attachment of it, e-mailed it to me and printed it off.

"Lunch is ready, boys," Mrs Westhead shouted up the stairs. "Wash your hands first," and to my horror Colin took the prints down with him to show his mother.

In the afternoon we sat down together to draw up a packing list. When that was done I made my way home again along the lanes and found that too in my e-mail box.

Canada was fantastic, too fantastic to describe fully here. So here are just the relevant bits. We flew to Calgary in Alberta where we were met by the Westheads' friends who took us to our hotel, the Best Western Village Park Inn. Colin and I were in a room by ourselves down the corridor from his parents, but it wasn't a corridor because it was open on one side to the central area of the hotel which contained among other things the dining area and a swimming pool. To our surprise the room had only one bed, a king-size double bed. We both raised our eyebrows at that. I bet that hadn't been thought out beforehand and neither of us had any objections. What did it matter anyway? We'd seen each other completely naked at school (and at home may I add) and after what we'd been doing together it scarcely mattered. Unfortunately we were only there for three nights and what with jet lag we just slept the first night. Colin was convinced that all I needed was 'physiotherapy' and he made sure I got that at least twice, if not three times a day, but it was still dry orgasms for me while under his expert guidance he had me make him show how it should be done. Besides that we had decided there was no point wearing anything in bed, at least while we were in Calgary, because we had complete privacy and it was there we discovered the delights of touching, stroking and stimulating each other's body. The third morning, the one we were to move out, I had a different experience. At that stage we were only into jerking one another off. Still getting over jet lag we would wake early, too early to get up. I was straddling Colin stroking his cock when splat! A particularly powerful orgasm didn't shoot his jizm all over his chest as it normally did, but it hit me in the face. I felt his hot spunk go cold, but I also felt it dribble down my nose and cheeks into my mouth. Previously I would have gagged at the very thought, but in a state of arousal myself I found it a very pleasant sensation and I was astonished I actually liked the taste, nothing like I imagined urine would taste like at all. While it was on my lips, Colin said "Give me a kiss." I lay down on top of him and as our lips met he licked his own spunk off mine. The telephone rang. It was Colin's father to remind us that we had an early start and that we ought to be getting up.

That started something which frustratingly we weren't able to finish for a few days, not until we returned to Calgary in fact. The Westheads had hired a car and later that day we followed their friends (about the same age, but no children, at least not with them) to Jasper and beyond up into the Rockies. We got to the cabin late afternoon. Forget Davie Crockett, that cabin was huge and out on the veranda was a large bathtub complete with jacuzzi. The downside was, although Colin and I shared a room, it was separate beds and because of the layout absolutely no privacy!

We had a fantastic time (apart from no sex). Walking, swimming, canoeing, water-skiing, the wild life, excursions, fishing, barbecues with the fish we caught, pony-trekking, panning for gold, a Red Indian reservation (sorry - first national citizens of Canada reservation). Ten days of great weather, but no sex. The nearest we got to it was in the jacuzzi when we insisted on wearing nothing, or for me one important experience. Because of our enforced abstinence I later found out just in our quiet moments I was getting this odd feeling in my balls and cock. It wasn't a pain. It was a heaviness, a consciousness that they were there, a nag as if they were demanding attention. I even realised I was constantly wanting to re-arrange them in my shorts. I tried to be discreet, but Colin noticed. He said it was only because he felt the same. We'd had a particularly tiring day walking. So we decided to turn in at ten, even though it was still light. I fell asleep immediately and had this vivid dream, almost a nightmare, for I needed to pee (in the dream) and couldn't find anywhere to go until I wet myself. Then I woke up to find my shorts wet. I couldn't have peed myself. There was too little liquid and it didn't smell like urine. Then it dawned on me. I'd had a nocturnal emission, a wet dream. I'd produced seed at last. I felt around for my torch and inspected my shorts and my bed. The residue was sticky and milky. Now I was fully awake and I wanted to cheer. My next reaction was

"Colin, Colin, are you awake?"

"I am now," a sleepy voice groaned.

"Colin, I've had a wet dream," in a stage whisper.

"What's new?" the sleepy voice croaked and Colin turned and went back to sleep. I was disappointed I couldn't share my joy when half a minute later Colin sat up in bed, now wide awake, and said

"You've had what, Sam?"

"I've had a wet dream," I repeated now hoarse from whispering.

"Let's see." I switched my torch back on and Colin got out of bed. "Wow! You're right," and without my expecting it he kissed me full on the lips. "Congratulations. You're a man." I glowed at realising the implication of what he'd said. "Here are some tissues. You'd better mop it up before it stains. They'll think you've been playing with yourself."

"But I haven't."

"That's the point. It would be an unjust accusation." When I had cleaned up Colin climbed into bed with me and we slept till first light when he returned to his own. It was comforting having his warm body next to mine.

After ten days in the Rockies we returned to Calgary. Same hotel, the Village Park Inn, different rooms, same layout and furniture. We had one night there. In the morning we would check out, go to the Westheads' friends' house and out to the airport late afternoon for what would essentially be an overnight flight back to England. One night and one morning to ease that ache between our legs, one night and one morning to do what I had been yearning to do since I first savoured Colin's seed on my lips and tongue and since my first and only wet dream.

We were all tired from the drive back to Calgary. We unloaded our luggage at the hotel. Mr Westhead, now through the laid back mores of Canadian life called Adrian by me (and Mrs Westhead likewise Janice) took the hire car back with me and Colin and were dropped back by Jack and Ruth, their friends, and we went our separate ways for the night. The four of us had dinner at the Keg Steakhouse and returned to the hotel and our beds. Colin and I undressed, showered and with our privacy returned climbed naked onto the king-size double bed.

"We've got some unfinished business. You think you're a man. Now we're going to prove it beyond all doubt." He kissed me on the lips to reassure me, but this time our mouths opened and our tongues touched. I had an instant stiffy.

"Do it now before I burst," I whispered in his ear. He swiftly, but gently slipped his right hand down my body and inbetween my legs. I shuddered with ecstasy. As he held me he whispered in my ear

"You know your balls have grown over the last ten days? They're almost filling my hand and they're heavier." I glowed with pride. He put his fist round my shaft and slowly pumped my foreskin up and down over the glans. It didn't last long before that orgasmic shudder of my body came, but this time it was accompanied by an intense squirting feeling in my cock as my seed shot up in the air and fell back on my chest. I lay back with a feeling of great satisfaction and relief and looked at Colin. I scooped some of my spunk up on my forefinger to taste it, but before I could Colin took hold of my wrist, drew it towards his lips and licked my finger clean. "You've heard of blood brothers. Well, we're now spunky brothers," and I wanted to kiss him, but he pre-empted me and I got to taste my own seed.

After cleaning up, feeling invigorated, we watched television before embarking on our second adventure of that night. I wanted Colin's cock in my mouth.

We both woke as it was growing light. We were determined to make the most of this, our last opportunity of sharing a bed There was so much we wanted to do, so much we had to learn, but Colin insisted that the most important matter of the moment was that I should learn to wank myself off properly now that I knew I could do it. We cuddled and snogged under the bedclothes to get into the mood. That didn't take long. Then he laid me on top of the bed with a pillow under the small of my back and gave instructions. I played with my balls with my left hand - they were heavy and loose - while my right fist slowly eased my foreskin under natural lubrication backwards and forwards over the the glans. It was so sensitive I could hardly touch it, but I persevered.

"Now close your eyes, Sam, and dream." I don't know how long it lasted. It seemed an eternity, but finally that prickling sensation in my cock exploded and my body writhed with out and out pleasure. I opened my eyes in time to see my young seed shoot onto my chest to be avidly consumed by Colin.

"Hey, leave some for me." Before getting up we had time to cuddle again and this time Colin came by just rubbing his dick against me.

"What were you dreaming about, Sam, when you wanking?"

"You, of course. What else?"

With a tail wind we arrived back in England an hour early at eight o'clock, though it was nine before we got our luggage and cleared customs, but our body clocks were set at two am. Mum and Dad were there to meet us and we had a communal hug. As we walked to the carpark Mum said

"Sam, there's something different about you."

"I've got a suntan?"

"Yes, but I've seen that before."

"You can't have grown in just over two weeks," said Dad.

"I know what it is," said Mum. "Your voice has broken." Of course the Westheads wouldn't have notice it changing because they were with me all the time and I wouldn't really have noticed either. I was overjoyed and as if to prove it I tried to sing a treble scale. I lost it. I'd lost my singing voice. Temporarily or permanently, I wondered.

On the journey home I was in a dream, a dream of contentment, partly though dozing and partly daydream. We dropped off the Westheads amidst profuse thanks for happy holidays and transport and went back to our house.

"You'd better pop up to bed, Sam. You'll feel better for it. Just lie on your bed if you don't feel sleepy and I'll call you for tea." I took my case up to my room and popped back downstairs with the presents I had brought for Mum and Dad and after a hug and a kiss went back upstairs, kicked off my shoes and went to sleep in my clothes.

At about four o'clock there was a soft knock at the door. I woke up and said

"Come in." It was Mum with a drink. Then it dawned on me. She'd knocked, not only that, she'd waited for the 'come in'!

"Take your time, dear. I'll get tea for about six when your father gets back from the office." I felt grotty. I was all right in myself. It was just that my clothes were sticking to me and a bit smelly. I took my time, but eventually I stripped everything off, put it in the linen basket and went for a long, refreshing shower. I now had all my senses about me. I looked at myself in the mirror and suddenly I remembered the dickometer. 4·1 inches limp. I gave myself a rub. It didn't take long before I had a rampant stand. I reapplied the dickometer. My jaw dropped. 5·2 inches! I could never even have dreamt of that. I took my digital camera out my suitcase and took a snap of myself in the mirror, switched on my computer, hurriedly put some fresh clean clothes on and loaded the pictures. I carefully separated the last one and put the Canadian pictures in their own file. I tidied up the picture of me, flipped the mirror image, and encrypted it, encrypted the following message: '4·1 limp, 5·2 full size', opened Outlook Express and wrote an e-mail thanking Colin for a great time and sent the two encrypted attachments. Colin and I shared a special password for when we wanted to send private stuff.

I went downstairs. Dad had just got in.

"You really have grown while you've been away, you know, Sam," he said.

"I know," I replied in my brand new, smooth, dark brown voice, "but I don't think we were talking about the same thing."

It wouldn't be long until we were off to Switzerland. The trip to Canada had bound Colin and me together emotionally. We hung out together whenever we could. We were more than friends, but the word boyfriends never passed our lips. Boys always have a special mate, though in view of the way our relationship was developing perhaps mate was not happiest choice of words. When there were no adults around, we did stuff together. We were on a learning curve, particularly me as Colin had had a year's headstart. We weren't furtive or secretive. We just felt it was no one else's business and we didn't want to cause embarrassment, to others as much as ourselves. By now my pubic hair had grown into a neat little tuft with curls limited to above my cock and I would comb it after every time I showered.

The day arrived and accordingly the Westheads took us to the airport in the space wagon belonging to Dad's company. We flew to Geneva and rode the train (now that's a Canadian expression!) to Berne then Interlaken where we were going to stay. The hotel was very different from the one in Canada. No way was it modern, nor less comfortable for that. Again we had a room to ourselves, but on a different floor from Mum and Dad's. This time it was twin beds along with television and an en suite toilet and bathroom. As soon as I unpacked I realised I had left something at home, the dickometer. It had to be that six-inch ruler, not any one, and if I bought one in Switzerland it would be metric. There were plenty of activities for kids in and around Interlaken. We wouldn't be bored because we both easily accepted what was on offer and were prepared to find our own amusement (and I'm not referring to our sex life) if need be, and we welcomed the opportunity of trying out our German. With my new found confidence between my legs we went swimming a lot and I'd only packed my school Speedos. We did a lot of walking in the mountains and it was interesting how we got there. We had a go-anywhere ticket. You just took trains, buses and boats wherever and whenever you wanted and except for the high mountain railways you didn't have to buy a ticket. You even got a reduction on the cable cars.

Our sexual development continued now that I was a fully paid up member of the spunk club and we were determined we'd get into oral, which we did. But there was one final frontier we began to explore together, more by accident than design as we discovered the erogenous zones. Towards the end of the stay our fingers started to stray into our own and each other's butts, but we never got as far as penetration. I think we were a little scared, especially as we had read it can cause pain or damage if you don't go about it in the right way.

And so we arrived back in England to be picked up by the Westheads after another incredible two weeks together. It was bedtime by the time we were all safely deposited at home after the goodbyes. After I showered I had one more task to do before going to bed - the dickometer. Carefully applied 4·5 limp, 5·6 erect! I looked in the mirror. It always looked bigger in the mirror that when you looked directly down your body at it. What I noticed now was not so much the length, but the thickness. I must get Mum's tape measure tomorrow. I'll e-mail Colin in the morning.

The school holidays were going fast and the days were becoming noticeable shorter, but the sun still shone and the days were warm and the nights a little less warm. Three weeks left before school began and Colin was due to start his stay with us the following day. A fortnight while his parents were away on business.

"Sam, what do you want to do about sleeping arrangements? I could put Colin in the spare room or bring the spare bed into your room."

"Don't say anything to him, Mum, but Colin's a bit scared of the dark," I said in a tone of voice that would have fooled no one, especially not my mother.

"So you want him to sleep in with you, I take it?"

"I'll put up with it," in a considerate tone of voice , but with a cheeky grin.

"All right, Sam, but you're not kidding anyone." I hope she didn't mean what I thought she meant.

Colin duly arrived, but we found we were under the same restriction as in the log cabin in the Rockies. We did use the internet rather a lot to begin with. We really wanted to get into butt sex and we found a lot to help us: how to avoid pain and damage, the importance of lubrication, the function of the prostate gland and personal hygiene. Then I hit on an idea. We would camp out. That would be no problem and if we set up the tent at the bottom of the orchard, we'd be far enough away from the house, even if we screamed at orgasm, not to disturb anybody. We set up the tent in the morning and took all our stuff and put it in it. One problem lubrication.

"Spit," said Colin.

"No. That's if push comes to shove."

"That's not an appropriate saying, Sam." I giggled when I realised what I'd said.

"We can't take the stuff in the bathroom cabinet. It'll be missed. I know. We'll go for a cycle ride this afternoon, into town. We'll go to the supermarket, split and I'll buy the vaseline and you buy the baby oil and we'll meet back at our bikes."

"Okay," said Colin. "What about paper handkerchiefs?"

"Mum will take care of them. She's gone mad with handing out Kleenex since my balls dropped. I don't know what she thinks I get up to."

"When we get home, we'll hide the stuff in our sleeping bags."

I'm not going into details, but we consummated our friendship that night. I won't say it was perfect. It was not without a lot of fumbling in the half light and trying to get into a comfortable position. We did it both ways and afterwards slept in the same sleeping bag. We both walked a bit awkwardly at first in the morning and neither of us wanted to go for a bike ride. We spent the rest of Colin's time with us in the tent at night, but we didn't try a buttfuck again for some weeks and that was in the comfort of Colin's bedroom when his parents had gone out. With Colin there I forgot all about the dickometer, but as soon as he had returned home I applied it again: 4·9 and 5·9 respectively and I no longer had marbles between my legs, but veritable ducks' eggs (only slightly exaggerated).

At tea that evening Mum said

"Sam, we're going to have to go into town tomorrow and get you some new school uniform, you've grown so much over the holidays."

"How tall do you think I am?"

"We'll have to measure you," said Dad. "We'll go up your room and measure you against the wall and we'll put a mark on it and you can compare."

"And when you've done that, can you go through all your sports kit and see whether you need anything new there?" Dad came upstairs with me, a steel tape measure in his hand.

"Take your shoes off and stand against the wall. Now give me a ruler." I passed him the dickometer. "No, you'll need a foot ruler." 'I suppose I will soon,' I thought, meaning my dickometer. The deed over, I said impatiently

"What is it, Dad?"

"Five foot three." I nearly fainted.

"Are you sure?"

"Try it for yourself." and it was.

The next day Mum drove me into town and we went to the outfitters for the school uniform. That done I said

"I do need some new sportsgear, mainly upper body kit like a rugby shirt and a gym vest, and rugby boots and a j..." but before I could finish Mum interrupted and said

"Would you like to go and get those yourself? I never like going into men's shops. I'll just pop across to Marks & Sparks, then when you're finished, I'll come and pay for them on the credit card." All my shorts still fitted though I filled them a lot better. I bought what I needed including two jockstraps, a cricketing model and an ordinary one. I felt I was qualified now. After the sports shop we went for a cup of tea.

"Sam, you ought have some new underpants. Now your older you'd better buy them yourself. You'll know what's fashionable and what's comfortable. Eight pairs. They don't have to be all the same. You know your waist size, don't you?" She handed me two twenty pound notes. "I'll stay in here until you're ready. There's no hurry." I avoided M&S. Too unimaginative for me. What I did find in the department store were Hom HO1s with a horizontal fly. I felt myself harden up as I looked at them. And 20% off special offer for today only. Mum'll be pleased about that. Then I found four bikini briefs I liked in different colours. I'd wanted to buy a thong, but I wasn't that brave. I took them to the counter and they came to more than £40. Not to worry. I still had some holiday money on me and Mum will probably give it back to me anyway. I met Mum back at the café and shopping done we drove home. After the weekend it was back to school. The night before one last measurement on the dickometer. I was nice and warm from a bath. 5·2 inches (rub, rub, rub) and 6·0. I threw the dickometer onto my desk. I had outgrown its usefulness. A quick e-mail to Colin before going to bed. What better birthday present, though belated, could I have hoped to receive?

I was pleased to get back to school. I needed the mental challenge. There were even a couple of lads that didn't recognise me and thought I was a new boy. They couldn't get over my brand new voice, which was beginning to settle down. The following day we had our first gym lesson.

"Right. I'll show them," I said to Colin as we walked across to the changing-room and he grinned. Phil May, an amiable oaf, said

"Hi, Peewee," as we went through the door. 'So it's still Peewee, is it?' I thought.

"Hi, Phyllis," I replied in falsetto. Water off a duck's back. I kept him talking as that would make him come and change next to me. I climbed up on the bench and started to get undressed. I was completely naked before even starting to get my kit out my bag. It gave them all a good chance to check me out.

"Plastic surgery over the holidays?" shouted one wit.

"Brain transplant over the holidays?" I countered.

"Hey, that's chunky, Sam," said Phil. I pulled my new jockstrap on, took time adjusting myself before putting on my white gym shorts.

"Chunky, eh? Now that's a nickname I could answer to." Perhaps I should have bought new shorts, but the bulge brought great satisfaction to me, not to mention Colin, and several others.

That Michaelmas term I exuded with confidence. In rugby Mr Wheeler remarked how much I'd grown. He wanted to try me out at scrum half. I hadn't been put in that position before, but I played my heart out. First match I was selected for the B team. That was a start. Colin of course had kept his position in the As. Second match B team. The A side was away, but Colin rang me that night to say their scrum half had broken his ankle, a stretcher job. I suppressed a cheer. I wouldn't even wish that on Bertram.

"But he'll be out for the rest of the term and his replacement wasn't very good." It had cost them the match. Third match at home - I was the A team scrum half and Mum and Dad were there to watch me. So were the Westheads. And we won. I not only kept my place for the rest of term, but was awarded colours and they weren't given lightly.

I still tarted in front of senior boys and now I was in the third form some younger ones as well, but I never touched them or let them touch me. I didn't need their approval. I had Colin now. Tarting was more an intellectual stimulus. Colin knew me too well to be jealous. We organised sleepovers at each other's house. In fact our parents became almost like step-parents to the other son, we spent so much time together. But the two scholars' time together also stimulated our intellects. Half term we were barely separable. End of term came too soon. My report was the best one I'd ever had. Height? Five foot six inches! Great oaks will from little acorns grow.

Talk about this story on our forum
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily. Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.

[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. If the email address pastes with %40 in the middle, replace that with an @ sign.]