What Are Best Friend's For!

Posted by: Author: Age: 56 now Posted on: 1 comments
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This is a true account of my teenage experiences. They may not be full of sex but I'd guess they'd mirror that of lots of my generation-if so, I'd love to hear from you.


When I was growing up sex was still very much a mystery to most of us until well into adolescence. In my early teens I had one great friend, who I'll call Henry. From my point of view by far the best point about Henry was that, although the same age as myself, he was much bigger than me and I thrived on any pysical contact with him.

And while most of my friends in those days loved fun wrestling matches on Saturday afternoons I felt that it was only me who got real joy, not to mention an increasing number of hard-ons, from having a bigger guy straddle my chest and force me into submission.

To be honest though, Henry was not a part of my usual bunch of wrestling buddies, but instead we would end up on numerous afternoons after school alone in his front room; and, quickly abandoning a stamp swopping session, go in for a no holds barred wrestling session. These always ended up with his greater bulk and height forcing me onto my back, with him straddling me and forcing me to submit just to escape the glorious crushing pain created by his strong thighs crushing my ribcage.

Anyway, by about fourteen these matches began to drop away as, despite both attending the same single sex school, they no longer felt quite the right thing to do. By now, of course, most post-school talk was about sex - a subject about which both of us were only aware in theory rather than practise, with the exception, of course, of masturbation.

I can't now remember exactly when our endless talks about wanking moved on from mere talk to real mutual hands on experience. However, I well remember the exact routine that came to replace our post-school wrestling afternoons.

Now, myself and Henry would settle down in facing armchairs in his dining room, while his mother worked away in the adjoining kitchen. It would all start simply enough by one of us throwing a small eraser at the growing bulge in the other's regulation grey school trousers. After maybe half a dozen goes apiece both would be sporting one of those glorious rock-hard cocks that are the greatest joy of adolescent youth, and we would rush past his mother into the garden and up to his father's tiny garden shed.

Once there we would kind of kid each other that we were really interested in producing some minor piece of engineering by use of a soldering iron etc. However, this would rapidly deteriorate into a constant series of grabs for each other's bulging crotches - contact being guaranteed in that tiny, confined space.

This in turn quickly led to the growing conviction in both of us that, unless we set free our aching members, then we were likely to end up blasting the insides of our white Y-fronts with copious quantities of teenage spunk. This now meant a rapid return into the house, and an even more rapid passage past his mother and gallop up the stairs and into the tiny box room at the front of the house.

There, with enormous relief, we would both slump unto the floor - one of us with his back against the door and another against the one free wall. Now began a relatively prolonged game of dare. Who would dare to pull down his own zip ..his mate's zip .. allow that glorious bulge in his briefs to finally stick through the gap etc. etc. Inevitably Henry, as the dominant male, would take the lead in each of each of these activities.

Soon we would both be about panting with desire, and sheer fear of having to present our mothers with briefs plastered in dried pre-cum meant that inevitably our rampant members would have to be allowed to escape their pain inducing prisons. When this point came my own reward was by far the greater. Where I had/have an average 6' uncut cock, Henry possessed/possesses (?!) a phenomenal monster of a thick, 8' cut cock, topped by the most glorious purple knob I have ever seen in the flesh or in pictures. I worshipped that cock! Nothing since has given me the erotic charge of seeing that massive rock-hard phallus sticking skyward from the tight gap his straining white briefs.

Now the end-game began. At first it was just solo wanking, but who could resist reaching across and giving a helping hand to your friend in his hour of need? There would soon follow numerous whispered instructions of 'faster', 'slower' .. and then 'oh, yes', 'oh, yes' ... 'stop' ... 'stop'!

By that point in the proceedings this tiny, tiny room would be positively reeking with teenage pre-cum. (His mother must have known what was going on but was wise enough to let us get on with it.)

Sadly, I would love to tell you that these sessions always ended in some fantastic orgasmic mutual toss-off. Instead, Henry would suddenly jump up and insist that he should rush off to the bathroom to 'finish off' as he would call it. And, as for myself, I somehow would have to hold off until all the way back to my own home before I'd get the chance to blow my load.

Finally, not only do I deeply regret not enjoying visible mutual orgasms, but that also our innumerable wrestling sessions never developed into sexual activity of any kind. I simply don't believe that I was the only one to get a rigid dick in my trousers while we ground our bodies together, but if Henry did he has never admitted it to me.

Forty years on we are still the best of friends. The only difference is that he is a married man with two grown-up children and I am a lone gay guy. But 'yes' I do still lust after him and above all that monster member of his-a national treasure!



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