TheTackle Shop
by N Fourbois
Simon and I looked around nervously as I pressed down on the handle of the door and we entered the shop. We were greeted with the tinkle of the doorbell and a friendly smile from a man in a white coat. That was one embarrassment less...; at least it was a man.
"Can I help you young gentlemen?"
"We're looking for some new equipment."
"Did you have anything in mind?"
"We've got something particular in mind," said Simon "but we would like to see what you have in stock or can recommend."
"Have you seen our catalogue or our website?"
"No," I answered. "We didn't realise you had one."
"You were highly recommended to us by one of our friends at school," said Simon "and he's very proud of the equipment you provided."
"He's always showing it off whenever he gets the opportunity."
"We depend a lot on personal recommendation," said the man in the white coat. "Would you like to walk this way?" Simon and I giggled and gave each other a look and a nudge as we were suppressing the temptation to say out loud the Pavlovian response of 'if we could walk that way we wouldn't need the equipment'.
The adviser - he was too well qualified to be called just a salesman - led us through to the showroom. It was brightly lit with display cabinets along any spare wall space. A large desk with a computer made it into an office as well. The glass display cabinets were filled with full-size models of the various pieces of equipment.
"Before you start selecting, may I give you some explanation?" said the adviser. Each piece has a reference number. The C or U in front refers to cut or uncut. Unless it's modelled on a celebrity, we can usually manufacture each model in either version. The first figure is the size when not in use, the second figure when it is in use, and the third figure is the actual catalogue number."
"Do you take part exchange?" I asked more in hope than expectation.
"We have a scheme in which we store the old equipment and if we can recondition and sell it, the former owner receives a percentage of the selling price. You will find reconditioned models, and their catalogue number ends in R. If you young gentlemen would like to have a look at the displays to get an idea of model and price, I am here to help you." The adviser sounded so pleasant that I felt I could put my trust in him. "You said you have something in mind?" he added.
"Yes," replied Simon. "I have, but I'd rather look round first."
We made our separate ways round the display cabinets. Although through our own observations at school we knew that there would be a variety of sizes we had not come to realise how many different shapes and designs there were. Simon and I met at celebrity corner. Two models particularly struck us, firstly the Daniel Radcliffe model, but that only came in the cut version and medium size I would estimate, secondly the Ralph Woods model which was huge. I saw Simon licking his lips at that and then noticed that I was doing the same. That was always a sign of interest.
"Yes," said the adviser "nearly all our clients linger over that one. Although we can supply it, we don't actually recommend it. The size and shape is impressive." It had a U/8/10 prefix. "However, I don't know whether you have seen any videos of Mr Woods, but while has no difficulty enlarging into the ready for use position he does have difficulty in gaining or maintaining full rigidity. Also for technical reasons, which our researchers are working on, we can only give a warranty until your thirtieth birthday while the warranty on most of our products lasts until your fortieth."
"Wow," I uttered involuntarily.
"We also have plans for a brand new Tom Daley model, but our design team is waiting for his return from the Olympics. Our company will be sponsoring him for the 2012 games in London."
Simon was still looking, but I was ready to talk to the adviser.
"I want something with a 6/6 prefix, probably U/6/6. Is it possible to have a trial run with C prefix equipment? I've never had any experience, so I don't know whether I'd like it or not."
"We can arrange that for a small extra charge, but it will have to reconditioned equipment."
"Okay. I want to try that, but basically I want a size 6 length with the wide girth, large tight close fitting appendages that force the rod to a 45° angle."
"Young sir has been doing his research." The adviser went to the computer and tapped away at the keyboard. The image appeared and for me it was ideal. Another couple of taps and the computer produced 3D images. More taps and the U version changed into the C version. Apart from the C or U decision my mind was made up.
The adviser asked me to go into the changing room.
"I want you to take all your clothes off for me." (Ugh! That ethic dative more beloved of women than men.) "Then we'll take some shots of you naked to get your body shape and size, which will be fed into the computer. That will ensure a snug fit and you will be able to see the final result before completing the order form. Meanwhile I shall attend to your friend. May I ask a personal question? Are you two young gentlemen in a relationship together?" Our blushes would have been sufficient to confirm that, but we managed to squeak out an embarrassed yes. "In that case may I suggest that you select different models. It will enhance your...; ahem...; enjoyment."
"We agreed to go for the same size. We felt more comfortable with that and then we're not size queens in competition with each other."
I went into the changing room and stripped off. The adviser's voice came over the intercom and told me to stand in front of the camera full front, left side and right side. I was frightened I might stiffen up during the process or, even worse, shrivel. The latter was my main motivation behind buying new equipment. Even though it worked I thought Simon deserved something better. While I was dressing Simon was coming to a decision.
"And which model has young sir decided on?" Simon pointed to one in the display cabinet with a U/6/6 prefix. Unlike my choice it was low slung. When I came out of the changing room Simon showed it to me. My imagination ran riot as to the possibilities and I quickly encouraged him to go for that model. He went into the changing room for his computer fitting. While he was dressing the adviser filled in my order form.
"There will be a non-refundable deposit." I fished some ten pound notes out of the secure pocket in my trousers. "And also your parent's consent before we can proceed."
"I can get that and bring the form in this morning."
"We shall be able to fit your trial cut version if you come back after twelve. Our workshop will pick up the order from the computer. It won't be a perfect fit, but you should be able to use it later today if you let it bed in first and perhaps after the weekend you could confirm which model you prefer." I felt thrilled at the prospect especially as I had arranged to sleep over at Simon's on Friday and Saturday night. I could see if he liked it as well. It was now Simon's turn to have his particulars taken down. We each took our own copy of the order form which was headed Prostheses®Us.
At one minute past twelve we were both back with our consent forms duly signed by our mothers. I was pleased to have Simon with me for moral support. I was invited into the changing room where I had to strip all my clothes off and put on a gown, then into the fitting room. The fitting was slick and painless and as soon as I got dressed I could feel the difference, particularly the weight. I would need to change my underwear at home to see if briefs would be more comfortable. I immediately sensed the chafing of the end against the inside of my trousers. Simon and I parted at his house and I went home for lunch.
"All right?" enquired my mother after we'd said hi.
"Don't know yet. It just feels different." I would need to carry out some experiments, but they were off limits until nine that night. I popped a boner while watching the Olympic diving on TV that afternoon. That was a good sign the equipment was bedding in. The fact that it happened when Tom Daley was showering off the chlorinated water after one of his dives had nothing to do with it whatsoever. I had to use all my willpower not to put my hand in my pocket and start playing with it.
That evening I made my excuses - something about feeling tired and that the next night at Simon's would be a late one, all the things that parents usually said, not children, and went up to bed. My brother gave an untimely and knowing guffaw when I said that.
"Would you like me to bring up some cocoa?" my mother enquired. Graciously I said that would be nice although I knew it would prolong the agony until I could give my new equipment a test run. After my cocoa had been delivered and duly drunk, I went to the bathroom and cleaned my teeth. I took my mug downstairs to forestall any interruption and at last removed my clothes so that I could look at myself in the mirror. I quite liked what I saw, but I would have to wait for the hair to grow back for a complete impression and I could not get used to the bare tip. I liked the the pointed rather than round end my old equipment had. It gave it a hungry, searching look. I must remember to mention that when I finalise my order. But now to work. I folded back the duvet and made sure the box of Kleenex was within reach. I bolted the bedroom door, put a full screen view of me and Simon together on the computer and had just my bedside light on. As I lay on my bed and started caressing my rod, it stiffened instantly, but I immediately missed having something to roll back and forth over my glans. I tried the palm of my hand, but the tip was too sensitive, even when I spat on my hand, even when I rubbed in the precum which this equipment produced more copiously than my old model. I had to stroke the lower shaft which was not as satisfying and when I eventually did come the feeling was dulled. I cleaned up, pulled the duvet up over myself and fell asleep.
I woke up several times that night (a bad thing), each time with a raging stiffie (a good thing), each time my glans chafing against the bed linen (a bad thing). Even when I finally got up and put on a pair of shorts it didn't help (a bad thing). Finally I slept through till morning and was awoken by a knock at the door. Thinking it was my mother with tea and biscuits I put my dressing gown on to hide my morning wood (a good thing, but not just at that moment) and unbolted the door. Instead it was my brother who boisterously entered.
"Come on, Pete. Don't keep it to yourself. Show us." By now my wood had subsided. "Is this like the final version?"
"A bit, not much. The cut bit is on trial. I've got to let them know on Monday which I want."
"Looks bloody ugly to me." He gave it a tug.
"Hey, leave it out. I'm dying for a piss. That hurt."
I had to get myself organised that day for my two night sleep over at Simon's. We'd been friends since starting secondary school. That friendship became deeper until we discovered or admitted first to ourselves and then to each other that we were gay. It happened after a PSE lesson that was dealing with same sex relationships. Throughout it we were feeling uncomfortable because so much of it fitted us and the way we thought. We spent a lot of time together and when we became adolescent we started doing stuff together. It was just innocent fooling around, but gradually it became more meaningful, more emotionally charged. There is a difference between two thirteen year olds pulling plonkers together and two fourteen year olds who were learning to kiss, caress and slowly stimulate each other's body, who couldn't bear to be parted and who had deep discussions about the meaning of life, or their lives at least. The emotional bond had become very strong and after that PSE lesson we had a heart to heart. I remember well that we got into trouble the next day at school, for the previous evening, when we were strolling idly together in the local woods and discussing the PSE lesson, was so emotionally charged that we had neglected to do our homework. Ironically one of those pieces of homework was from the PSE lesson. Whether our parents knew about us, we didn't know. If they'd attended that PSE course they couldn't have been in any doubt. We didn't even know whether my brother and Simon's sister knew. We just didn't talk to them about it.
As it was summer and the weather was set fair we were going to spend the night in a tent in the garden. It wasn't real camping, but as far as we were concerned it was a good excuse for us to sleep together. We had all the conveniences of the house such as meals with the family and the bathroom, and it was no difficulty to rig up an electric extension so that we had light without messing around with torches and camping gaz lamps, but the most important thing of all was that we could indulge our sexual desires with little risk of interruption once the family had gone to bed. That was certainly our intention for these two nights and until the rest of the family was settled in bed with all the house lights extinguished we contented ourselves with exchanging kisses. Simon's mother called
"Good night, boys," from the kitchen door. We called back and waited ten minutes. We stripped off and lay naked on our sleeping bags which for our comfort were supported by air mattresses. Simon had a good look at my loaned equipment. I could see from his face that he wasn't over keen on it, though he didn't say anything. In the end he couldn't get to grips with it and that night all the action had to come from me. In the morning I said to Simon
"My mind's made up. I'm going to tell them today." We called into The Tackle Shop on the way to the swimming pool. On the second night I managed to persuade, or perhaps seduce Simon to suck me, but we agreed that it wasn't enjoyable for either of us.
The following Friday morning we were due to go for a fitting. That and the following night we planned it for Simon to sleep over at my place. I had a big bed and so we had all the comforts we needed although Si would bring his sleeping bag for appearances' sake. This was the last weekend of the summer holidays. School on the following Tuesday. At 9.30 Simon pressed down on the door handle of The Tackle Shop. We were a little more brazen than we had been ten days previously. The kindly adviser greeted us and asked us to sit down in the waiting room while he was talking to another client. After two minutes he asked us to go into the changing room, take off our clothes and slip on a gown each. While we were doing that we heard the other customer leave. Clad in our gowns we were shown the final product by the adviser. We were both impressed, better than anything we'd imagined after seeing the plastic models. I was taken into the fitting room first, the fitting took place and I returned to the changing room. I admired myself in the mirror and there was something to admire, even if I say so myself. My, how much better it felt to have a foreskin again. I pulled on my clothes and had to admire again what I saw in the mirror, this time a bulge in my shorts. I must have taken ages for now Simon came into the changing room and my jaw just dropped when I saw his arrangement. He had chosen low hangers and I felt my new rod stiffen in my shorts as I thought of taking them into my mouth that night.
Before we left we made honest men of ourselves by paying the balance on the cost. In return we received a certificate of guarantee valid up to our fortieth birthdays unless we happened to contract an STI in the meantime, and a booklet of useful hints, instructions and FAQs. I've no need to tell you that we had a fantastic weekend together and if our new equipment was going to fail it had plenty of opportunity to do so then. When we returned to school the following week we were the objects of many a checking out and inspection, not to mention admiration. We should have asked for a discount for the number of recommendations we made for our fellow pupils to go The Tackle Shop.
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