I wasn't absolutely certain that Sean had fucked his girlfriend, but I was sure as hell certain that I hadn't fucked Candy! She'd freak every time I even mentioned my damn woody. And there was no way in the world that she was gonna blow me. That's what I couldn't figure. If Steph blew me, and the girl at the holiday park blew me… well, kinda half blew me… why wouldn't Candy?
Anyway, it was the kinda question I couldn't ask Sean 'cause he would've dissed me big time, so one afternoon I hopped the fence and asked my big bro.
"You wanna check something out for me?"
"My dick. I think there must be something wrong with it." I stood beside his desk, and dropped my shorts. "See anything wrong?"
"Looks the same as always."
"Does that mean it's OK?"
"Puts most lighties to shame."
"So why don't girls wanna have it inside them? I'm desperate to fuck a chick."
"It's too damn big, that's why. Want me to bite a bit off?"
"Anyway, I didn't have my first fuck 'til I was fifteen… and that didn't count 'cause she was a whore."
"How come a guy can fuck a whore, but he's not a whore?"
"If a girl fucks around she's a whore, but if a guy fucks around he's a hero. Steve's fucked just about every chick in town, and he's not a whore."
"Maybe it's got something to do with being sexist. You know what W-I-F-E stands for? Washing, ironing, fucking, etcetera."
"Jeez, don't ever tell that to my mom!" I said as I pulled up my shorts.
Most of the talk at school, and later at the beach, was about the Olympics, and Ian Thorpe, an Aussie swimmer we called 'Thorpedo'. Those size sixteen feet of his were like flippers, sending him through the water like a fucking torpedo on a major fucking mission. He was a hero to all the guys on the school swim team, but we'd still all be rootin' for the Safricans, specially after those damn Aussies beat Safrica in the rugger by just one damn point in the last minutes of the game. Phooey!
"Fucked Candy yet?" Sean asked as we were walking home from the skate rink.
"She's thinking about it."
"Well if you're so fucking experienced, smartass, what's it feel like?"
"Whaddaya mean what's it feel like? What's it supposed to feel like?"
"You tell me. You're the one who's always going on and on and fucking on about how you've done it already."
"Well, it's kinda like jacking off only it's hands-free," he grinned.
Kyle was working at his desk as I breezed into his room, then flopped on his bed. "Sean said that fucking a chick is kinda like jacking 'cept it's hands-free."
"That's one way of putting it," Kyle cracked.
"We're getting ready to write 'mock' exams… like a trial run for the end of the year."
"How come you're wearing briefs?"
"For a change."
"Hey, Kyle? Can I try on a pair of your briefs?"
"Hey, bro, whatever blows your hair back."
"Maybe they'll blow my pubes back or something," I laughed as rolled off his bed, then rummaged through one of his drawers. A few seconds later, I'd found a pair of white, narrow-sided briefs. I dropped my boxers, and pulled the briefs up my legs until my balls were sitting nicely in the pouch. "Hey, Kyle, these are way neat!"
"They don't fit me any more… you can have them. Hey? You been putting manure on your pubes or something? They look like a damn bush."
I could clearly see the outline of my boner beneath the white cotton as I paraded in front of the mirror like some teen bodybuilder on stage… flexing my biceps, and pulling in my stomach so that it flowed inward from my pecs, and caused my six pack to become more defined.
"Candy's gonna dig these briefs."
"You gonna parade in front of her like that?"
"Nah… she'll freak. But she sees me in my boxers sometimes if I change when she's around. She won't look at me naked, though. She turns away."
"Told ya… that thing is ugly!"
"Yeah, right. So how come you like touching it? You've probably spoilt it... like when people handle fruit and bruise it," I giggled. "You going for a wave?"
"I'll phone Steve."
Steve wasn't home, so it was just Kyle and me who hit the surf. Between sets, we watched the whales in the bay. They were a fair distance away, but we could still see the pods, and the tall spouts of fine mist that would erupt from their blow holes, then be swept away by the breeze. Anyway, it was against the law to go within three hundred meters of whales. If you did, you could be fined or arrested. But even from where we were, it was a helluva spectacular sight as we sat on our boards and wondered at how anything whose diet consisted soley of tiny krill could be so damn huge!
We surfed for about two hours, then walked home with the tops of our wetties pulled down, exposing our chests and abs to anybody who wanted to gawk.
"If your top was any further down, your dick would be waving in the fucking wind."
"Don't tempt me. Anyway, I like showing off my two little lines… the ones that converge from my hips to my crotch. Have you noticed that I'm losing my puppy fat? Not that I had much to begin with."
"A regular little ball of muscle. Anyway, you work hard… surf hard, play rugger hard… I guess all that exercise has gotta produce results sooner or later."
"So how come you don't have a sixpack like mine?"
"Too many school canteen pies. Anyway, if you worked as hard in class as you do at surfing and rugger, you wouldn't freak your folks out so much... and you'd be as smart as I am."
It was about ten minutes after I'd arrived home, and washed the salt water off my wettie in the shower, that I remembered something.
"Hey, Kyle! I forgot those briefs. Oops!"
Kyle was sitting by the phone, holding the handset against his left ear, while his boner was getting the big treatment from his right fist. "Aaaaagggghhhhh!" His eyes were squinting big time, and a piece of toilet paper was draped over the knob of his dick. "Fuck, bro," was all he could manage to mumble after he'd shot his load into the toilet paper, which was totally saturated with the damn stuff.
"Is that Steph?"
"Yeah… Ohhh, jeeeez."
So I leaned toward the phone's mouthpiece, and shouted, "Hey, Steph! Your boyfriend's just wasted your babies all over his hand!"
Once Kyle had hung up the phone, and was cleaning his dick, I had to ask the obvious question. "What did you mean when you told Steph that she was a wicked bitch, and that's why you love her?"
"'Cause she cracked totally when she heard what you said, and threatened to do it to you one day."
"What? Gimme phone sex?"
"She's totally awesome, Wingnut. Steph's voice alone is enough to get most guys to offload, but when she gets into her ultra sex mode, she works fucking magic."
"Yeah, right. You were probably thinking about me parading around in your white briefs this arvie. I looked pretty damn cool, huh? Probably made you horny as hell."
Kyle had often referred to me as 'Little Conan', while Mark was simply 'Conan'. The three of us would walk home from school together, with Mark and I constantly niggling each other. I was pretty sure that Kyle was worried that, one day, I was gonna go too far, and get my ass whipped. But I kinda knew how far I could go with Mark. It was like a love/hate thing. A battle of wits. Besides, I figured Mark got a kick outa us both dissing each other, otherwise he would've clobbered me long ago.
It was also a love/hate thing with me and Kyle to some extent. We loved teasing each other, and testing each other. On the Wednesday after school, I found Kyle in the kitchen making himself something to eat. He was stark naked, with his six inches of semi bouncing around in the breeze as he spread peanut butter and honey over his sarmie.
"Haven't you got any fucking clothes? Wanna borrow some of mine? They'll fit. Maybe a little baggy in the crotch, though."
Whammo! He caught me a beauty on my bicep, causing me to crumble to the floor in pain, while holding my arm.
The surf was actually pretty damn gnarly, with quite a few guys out. Typical winter surf… glassy, and sizey. The three to four foot walls of curling water were peaking perfectly, and Sean and I got a couple of totally rave tube rides, plus a green room or two each. Kyle was also having a totally rad session. The only thing that mattered out there beyond the breakers, was the next wave. And the next. So making a decision about when to quit for the day was never easy.
It was almost dark by the time we'd arrived home, and I could hear Kyle's folks next door giving him a lecture about his 'mock' exams, and needing to study books, not waves.
"Dad? Is there such a thing as a guy whore?"
"So what's he called?"
"Doesn't sound as bad as 'whore'."
"I have a feeling that language was created by men, not women." Then he rested his reading glasses on the tip of his nose, and peered at me. "Why do you ask?"
"I dunno. It's just that guys talk about girls who are whores and stuff."
"But not boys who are whores?"
"What's this all about?" mom asked as she came into the living room. "Did I hear the word 'whore'?"
"Yeah. I was just asking dad about whore stuff. Do girls talk about guys who are… what was that word again, dad?"
"Promiscuous?" mom laughed. "Try creep."
"So a guy whore is a creep?"
"That's what we girls call them."
"That doesn't figure. Steve's not a creep. It's the girls who chase him. How can a guy be a creep if the girls are all over him like a damn rash? Hey, the chicks chase me, too, y'know. And I'm not a creep."
"Steve? The boy with the long, blonde hair? The surfer? And what do you mean by the girls chase you? I thought you and Candy were an item."
"We are, but that doesn't stop the other chicks from checking me out. Actually, Candy thinks all the attention I get is totally cool, 'cause she likes all the other chicks to know that I'm hers. Anyway, if guys like Steve and me aren't creeps or whores, what are we?"
"Boys," mom smiled. "Now get cleaned up for supper."
"Boys? So what's that supposed to mean?" I muttered as I headed to the bathroom. "I still don't understand."
"Neither do I, son," I heard dad say.
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