If They Took That Shot Again

by It's Only Me from Across the Sea

"Stands to reason," Dick told us out of nowhere, "A cock must fit up an arse, or no-one would talk about buggery."

That afternoon it was pissing down, so much that even cross country runs were cancelled. Usually we had to go and do that if Cricket was rained off, and we were on our honour to do it, too. We were in the senior dayroom, lounging about, chatting about everything and nothing.

"Who's talking about buggery?"

"The papers, Paul. And they've been doing it ever since way before they passed that law about queers being able to do it, in private, if they were adults."

"Daily Mail, maybe," said Paul. "They're rabid about anything that sells papers. Try a real paper like The Times."

"Not the point. Anyway that's not what I'm talking about."

"True, that. You said a cock must fit up an arse," Dave said. "Why?"

"Well, it must!"

"No, why's that what you're talking about? Why cock and arse? Why not cock and cunt?"

"Everyone knows a cock fits into a cunt. Jesus, Dave, how thick can you be?"

"About as thick as a cricket bat handle, if you must know."

"Not last time I saw it in the showers it wasn't. Tiny little thing hiding in a birds-nest of hair. It could hardly peep out..."

"That's right, perve on me in the showers..." Dave was trying to get a word in edgeways.

"Nothing to perve on there, mate. But just think. Turds are about the same size as a cricket bat handle, well, some of them. If they come out then a cock can go in."

"Oww! Splinters! Still, at least it's ready wrapped in rubber!" Paul was back in the banter.

"You could always varnish it!" I'd decided it was my turn. Plus I was speaking from experience.

"Varnish a cock?" This was getting hard to keep up with. That was Dick.

"No, Dick. Though we could always varnish you." I was visualising a glossy Dick. Not dick, Dick. And giggling. "Varnish a bat handle! Stops splinters."

"Fat chance of that. It'd ruin the rubber. Anyway look at this bat." Paul had his with him. "The flat end wouldn't go in. You'd need a tapered point like a bell end. Dave, get your kit off, we'll compare it with your dick."

"I'm not his Dick," said the obvious candidate. "He's not my Dave, either."

"I'm not getting my dick out, either. Oh gawd. Cock. Not getting my cock out. You'll just have to imagine it and drool"

"You speaking from experience, Jim?" Dick again. Oh lord. I'm at it now.

"Nope." I was lying. Well you would, wouldn't you. I mean who's going to admit to all their mates that they'd whittled a life size cock out of a bit of wood, sanded it, varnished it and ever so carefully shoved it firmly up their own arse? That would so not be me. "S'obvious, though. Varnish covers the splinters. I 'spect you need something like vaseline to get it in, though." Too bloody right you did, and then a bit of real determination because it had gone in ok, but suddenly a godawful pain had started. I'd tried it dry. Nothing. What arsehole? It was like it'd healed up. Vaseline, though... Mmmmm. Slippery!

"That is so not a 'must try'!" Dave was in stitches.

"Ok. So we reckon a cock will go into an arsehole?" Dick was looking round for confirmation. He got it, kind of. "Paul, why're you wanking your bat handle?"

"Measuring it up against my cock!"

"Huh?"

"Idiot. I know what my cock feels like. So I'm comparing."

"And?" That was me.

"Bat's a bit fatter, but it's near enough. So yeah, I agree. I reckon a cock will fit an arse."

"Why do queers do it, though?" The last thing I wanted to do was tell them I thought I was queer, so I asked the question.

"I reckon it's like heroin must be. If it didn't feel good who'd do it?" Paul said.

"Got to be tighter than a cunt, though. I mean, babies come out of those. They're big bastards, babies, well, compared to a cock I mean. So I reckon it's good for the bloke shoving it in, like gripping hard when you wank. You know, like the difference between pink and purple!" Dave had been telling that joke for years. Never quite got old.

"Yeah, but what about for the bloke it's shoved up?" I knew. Of course I knew. Part of my smokescreen, keeping questions at bay by asking questions.

"Got to be boring. Boring! Get it? Boring!"

"Shit joke, Dick" I told him.

"That, too," he replied. "That's where shit comes out. The arse's full of it. I bet the cock gets covered in shit."

"Like any of us are going to find out." Paul was laughing with a very superior look on his face. "Unless, of course, someone has a crack – get it, get it – at it and tells us."

"Your fucking jokes are like jokes, but not." Me.

"You crack me up. Ah wait. No you don't." Dave.

"You want cock with that crack?" Dick.

"No, he wants a dick up his crack!" Me!

"Not this Dick!" Dick.

"Gawd, I do not want any sort of dick up my crack," Paul was failing to stifle his laughter.

"Wonder what it's like, though?" Damn. I said that aloud. That was meant to be a thought, that was. "Scientifically speaking, that is." I hoped that would cover it.

"Like any of us is ever going to find out, like Paul just said, Jim," Dave said.

"Bet you wonder, though," I said. "Bet we all do, truth be told. Heck, it's sex after all."

"It's sex, Jim, but not as we know it!"

"You just had to bring Star Trek into this," I told Dave. "Fucking Trekkies..."^*

"Would be disgusting !" came the chorus.

"Would not! Some of those girls are awesome." I was laughing.

"That's the cast, idiot. Trekkies are fans," Paul told me.

"Good point well made, Paul." It was, and I only felt slightly stupid. But I also had a suit of armour to keep wearing, and fancying girls was that armour. "I still bet we'd like to know, though."

"In your dreams I would." Dave was grinning as he spoke. But our eyes locked, just for a moment. And I wondered. Wondered, too, if there was a comma, between 'dreams' and 'I'.

"Nightmares, more like." And I blew him a kiss. An ironic one. I could never make up my mind about Dave, let alone about me. A great body, a pleasant face, not handsome, but pleasant, he was taller than me, athletic, one of those sporty boys with the sporty boy attitude of being just that bit better than other folk, folk like me who were just good at one sport. There was a team picture of us together that showed it. Didn't mean I didn't like him, but I wasn't quite in his circle. It was just the happenstance of school that threw us together.

Dave was always boasting about girls. Heck, we all talked about sex as though we were sex veterans. Is that even a thing? I was willing to bet we were all like me, though. Not wood-whittling me; not-having-ever-had-real-sex me. I mean I remember when I lost my virginity. I was rising 12 and I was the only one present, and that had held true until now, at 17. Loads of sex, often much more often than once a day, and all with myself. Like the others I could talk up a storm.

A couple of days later, Thursday, I was heading back from lunch. "Got a moment, Jim?"

That was a bit unusual. Dave never socialised with me. Too busy being that little bit better, I always thought. He was a decent bloke under the attitude, I knew that much. He'd never made it to my wank fantasy bank. Almost made it, but just missed. Lucky, really, because I was tongue tied with wank bank boys. I could talk to Dave. "About 15 moments. Don't have to be anywhere for any of them."

"I, er, I'm not quite sure how to... Oh fuck it."

"Spit it out. I don't bite." Confident Dave had turned into ordinary Dave. A bit like me. A bit like me trying to talk to a wank banker, I realised. I turned kinder. "Ok, lets wander down to the tennis courts."

Out of the general after lunch hurly burly. "I wonder, too."

"Eh?"

"What you said the other day, that we all wonder..."

"About?" I was treading carefully, and partly it was so new to see him less than confident.

"Nothing." he was looking at the ground as he spoke, though is eyes kept flicking up to look at me, just out of the corner, as it were.

"What I said was something about betting all of us wonder what it's like to have a cock up our arses." I patted him on the shoulder. "It's not a big deal, mate. Wondering doesn't make you queer."

"Does actually wanting to find out make you queer?"

Did it? Was I queer? I'd thought it was a phase, an annoying one, but a phase. "Dunno." I paused. "Hang on, are you asking me what I think you're asking?"

He was blushing now. Well, me too. "Might be." He dared to look at me more.

"Are you asking me if you want to try it with me, or are you asking if wanting to try it means you might be queer?"

"No. Yes. No. Both. No. Yes." He was gibbering. "Please?"

"Ok."

"Ok?"

"Yup. Ok. Simple as that."

He was still blushing, almost so much I could have lit a cigarette on his cheek. If I had a cigarette. If I smoked. "I was so nervous. I didn't know if you meant it..."

"Honest answer? Nor did I. But I've always wanted to try. I hoped it could be someone I know, like."

"Did you hope... No. Not asking that."

"It was you? Dave, I like you, so lets just see what happens?"

"How do we do this?"

My place was out of the question. So was out of doors. It took a couple more weeks before his folks had to go away for the day to take his kid sister to some sort of music thing. They'd be gone until about 9pm. School was not the place we wanted to try this out. And no, we didn't tell anyone about our plans. The idea was that I'd keep him company during the Saturday, then stay over.

We hadn't really planned anything. Knowing what to do wasn't the same as knowing how to do it. I'd no idea if he knew more than I did. Less, I expected. I had Woody Woodpecker, and it hurt less and less going in each time, but the pain still took my breath away. All I knew was that a static tree trunk was good, at least eventually. I wanted to know what a living, flexible thing was like.

When Saturday dawned I was nervous. This was a big day, maybe the biggest day. I wished I loved him. This was just going to be a technical thing. I didn't love anyone, not then. Maybe I'd never dared, I was still far to busy not being queer to even allow love anywhere near me. Introspective, much?

I rode my bike up his drive, Nothing special, an unpretentious semi⁺ in a street just like ours. No car on the drive.

"They've gone early," Dave said as he answered the doorbell. "Are you as nervous as I am?"

"It all seems a bit mechanical!" Was I starting to get cold feet?

"Do you want to call it off?"

"Not a chance. I've always wanted to know what it was like. I'm a bit nervous, though."

"You and me both. I think I've got what we need, vaseline at least. And washcloths. I reckon we need to be clean, er, down there."

"Bedroom then?"

Which is where we ended up, one staircase later. Stripping wasn't embarrassing, not exactly. We were used to mass showers at school. We'd seen each other starkers hundreds of times. It was the point of it all, no pun intended, that felt awkward. "Do you feel as awkward as I do?" I asked him.

"Fucking awkward, yeah. It's so... clinical ."

"I'm not sure I want it to be romantic, though. I know," an idea struck me, "We could sort of pretend and make it soft and gentle, kid of as if it were romantic, but not?"

"I'm not kissing you!"

We agreed that one easily enough. "Right, underpants off?"

"On 'three'?"

"Three!" I ignored one and two, and dropped my underpants. Well, unhooked them. I may have been nervous but not my cock. I saw Dave tangled up in his, too. When he got them off he looked huge. I mean huge. I wondered how to fit it in. "I want to find out first." Damn, I was licking my lips.

"You're big," he said. "Scarily big."

"Don't think so. I'm always scared in the showers that someone'll say how tiny I am."

"It's not that big in the showers!"

"Nor's yours. You're enormous."

So we compared, and measured. And found that mine was a tad longer and his was a tad fatter. Oddly prudish, we measured our own.

"I've put some old towels down on the bed, the ones mum uses to dry the dog."

"Good idea. Dunno what to expect..." Well, in a way I did. The geometry was a bit baffling though. "I can't work out how to do this. I don't think I want to be on my hands and knees much."

"Yeah, I thought about that. What if I lie down and you sit down on my cock?" He moved into position, handed me the tub of vaseline. You can grease your own arsehole. My cock may be going in there but my fingers just plain aren't."

Aim was not easy. Aiming any weaponry takes practice. I hoped to get a lot of practice. Odd, really. I was aiming the target, not the weapon. Funny what goes through your mind as a cock's about to go through your arsehole. "Missed. Hang on. Damn. Hold it straight."

"I'm trying. You pinged it away!"

"Jeeeeesus" I'd sat down. Hard. I know I said it, through gritted teeth. I heard him say it too, with a sort of "Wow!" afterwards.

"This is amazing at my end, Jim"

"It's. Stretching. My. End." I was panting. "And. I. Love. It!" I could feel it, better than WW, not as long, not so intrusive, a little fatter, and sort of squirmy, out of my control. "Oh god, Dave, this is fantastic."

"You sound as if it hurts? Are you really ok?"

"I'm in heaven. Just gonna stay still for a bit... OK, it did. Hurt, I mean. Not a bad hurt, just all consuming. It eased. Eases, is easing." I experimented, moved up and down gently.

"I'm not going to last long if you keep doing that." Hmmm. That was Dave's voice from somewhere distant.

"We can do it again, if you go off pop. As many times as you like. No, better. As many times as I like." I carried on, up, down, his cock was hitting that place I'd found with WW. Everything faded, strengthened, was concentrated, deep inside me, was the best ever feeling. Then his back arched and he thrust up deep inside me, suddenly. I felt his hips pulse, knew he'd peaked early, knew my turn would come, hoped it would, as the tension went out of him and he landed back onto the bed. What else could I do but sit down?

"Fuck! That was... What was it like to have a cock up you?"

"Bliss, exciting, filling. Er, I think I'll need a wad of loo paper when I get off you."

"Why?"

"Mate, that lot went in. I reckon it'll fall right out again when the cork comes out!"

"Oh, shit."

"Maybe a bit of that as well, who knows?"

"No, I mean I haven't got any."

"Looks like we're washing the dog towels then!"

I'd sorted me out. Luckily no mess, and I got to the loo. I was right about it all falling out. The washcloths were a good idea. I'd brought one in to wipe him off. "Wow,"he said. "So that's fucking!"

"Buggering, strictly speaking."

"It's good."

"Better than I expected, too. Better than wanking, and just from having your cock inside me."

"You liked it?" He sounded concerned. "Your face didn't, at first?"

"Worried?"

"Kind of. I'm not backing out. I want to try it too."

"I want to do it as often as we can until your folks get back.. Ready for your go?"

"Be gentle, please?" Confident Dave's voice was smaller than usual.

"I'm going to start slow. I had a bit of a head start." And told him about Woody Woodpecker. "Which is how I know about varnish and splinters. Now stay on your back. I'm going to do some nice things for you."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I'm going to work you up to being ready for my turn." To be fair, it was for me, too. Apart from looking at mine in a mirror I'd never seen an arsehole. So I got him to lie back on the pillow, knees up and apart. And I started to explore.

"Mmm, that's nice," came a dreamy voice. "I'll give you a couple of days to stop doing that."

"All in the aid of science, this. Wow. So that's what an arsehole looks like."

"Explain?"

"I was expecting a hole, like a nostril, or an ear, but it's not at all. No obvious hole, just ridges and a dent." I touched it as I was describing it.

"Sensitive, too," he said, tensing as I stroked across it. "You're ok with touching it?

"Like it?" I didn't answer the question, it seemed to have an obvious answer.

"I'll extend the two days to a week and a half."

"I need a better position. Two obvious choices; hands and knees or legs in the air like a TV aerial. You decide. No, wait. Lie on your side. Knees towards your nose." Inspirational, that. His undercarriage raised and his buttocks opened. And as I kept gentle stroking there was an almost magical blossoming as he winked at me. "You're relaxing. It winked at me."

"It what?"

"Winked. I reckon in a short while I can have my evil way with you."

Vaseline really isn't as slippery as all that. The must be something better. I couldn't imagine asking dad if he knew something light and delicate that was good for making sex easier. Ok, I get distracted easily. Oh look, there's a squirrel!

"I think I'm ready. Can I just stay here and you spoon into me?"

So I wriggled up the bed, and spooned, and every time I thought I was lined up it pinged me away. "Not gonna work like this."

"Hang on. Move away a sec." He turned onto his back. "TV Aerial?"

"Go for it." I found I was really, I mean really, wanting this. His whole body was a turn on. I got between his legs put one on each shoulder, hoped I was lined up, and pushed.

"Fuck, that hurts!"

"It stops. Then it gets good." My god, he was squeezing me so tight I thought my cock wold be bitten in half. "Try to stop squeezing, just relax."

"I. Can't." He had tears in his eyes. "It's. So. Big."

"Flattery will get you everywhere." I took hold of his cock to try to take his mind off it. "Relax your way through it."

"Think I like it." He was squeaking. "It's easing."

I could tell that. I thought I might manage to retrieve my cock undamaged from the furnace it was clamped in, now less vice like. Didn't mean it didn't feel good, but a little easier still would have been nice. "Want me to stay still, or move?"

"Try moving?"

I'd already worked out with WW how to hit that certain spot,^‡ so I tried to aim, bloody hard when the whole hole thing was new to me.

"Whatever you just did," Dave was panting, "do it again!"

So I did, well, until instinct took over and I was ramming hard and suddenly into him for all of three sharp thrusts before I collapsed on his chest, drained, literally.

"That was..." I was gasping for breath.

"Fucking amazing, Jim. Fucking amazing. I know why folk do that now. What was that spot you hit? Did I hit yours? Or was it just a thing for me?"

I was coming back to myself. "Prostate. Yes. No." Seems I hadn't quite got there.

"If two blokes aren't meant to fuck why would the prostate be inside? Put the bollocks in there, get the prostate out into fresh air." Then "Oh fuck, get off, quick. I need the loo, fast"

I know we both wanted to do it again. I'd found the whole thing momentous, life changing, life enhancing. I knew, knew with a blazing certainty who I was. Dave had made me a complete man, all 17 years of me. Old enough to drive, too young to drink legally, too young to have sex with another male person, too young to vote.^‡ But I knew, then, and with utmost certainty that this had not just been an interesting experimental adventure, but a defining point in my life.

I was queer. I needed to start to embrace it. There was a new word, too, 'Gay'. I didn't quite like it, but I liked it more that queer. Warmer, friendlier, but just as difficult to speak aloud.

Wanting round two and being able to contemplate actually going for round two, those were fish of a very different colour.

I wondered how Dave felt about it. Not about me, but about what we'd just, well, achieved.

"It was great, Jim," he said as we'd come down from euphoria. "You're one heck of a sport. I loved it. Loved it. It's just that I want a wife and kids. Expect you do, too. We'd better not do this again, not after today at least, had we?" It was a final 'had we?', not a rising inflection at the end of the question.

Another defining point in my life: to hide or not to hide. I realised that, with Dave, I had no need to hide. We'd done all the important things two boys could do together. We each carried the other's semen, at least for a while, and in the most intimate place.

"I'm glad it was you, Dave, with you." He started with a 'why?' but I carried on. "I want kids, too, but I don't see them in my life. I'm certain now, wondered before. You probably aren't, but I am. I'm queer, Dave." I was finding it easy yet difficult at the same time, emotions were catching up with me. "You, Dave, you. You helped me learn who I am, you made a man of me today. Remember that picture of the team in the gym, the pairs, the shirtless one? You looked so confident, I looked as though I was wondering why I was there. Today I'd look confident too, if they took that shot again."

"I trust you," I carried on, while I could still speak. My throat was getting tight. "I know we'll not speak of this to anyone else, or maybe, when we're old men and being queer is acceptable, then we may speak of the afternoon on your bed..." and then the tears came, a trickle at first, then sobs, great gasping sobs. Partly relief at actually knowing; partly a sense of panic over how my life was going to be, how I'd find the right boy, man, how I'd get a job. And I knew I'd have to hide my reality. And I cried my heart out.

Dave was on the bed sitting beside me. He had arms around me and let me cry myself out. "If I were too, Jim, it would be you." And for the only time, then and now, he kissed my lips, softly, gently, and with tenderness.

Iomfats.org

If They Took That Shot Again

by It's Only Me from Across the Sea

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