Brad's Rather Strange 'Catch'.

A couple of times, in previous pieces, I've referred to Brad, my long-time friend. We met the day we both began comprehensive school, and we soon became close friends; furthermore, when we hit puberty, our relationship became sexual, but that's another story and not relevant here. I simply mention this now because the story I am about to tell concerns Brad and an adventure he had when he was, I think, about 16. I was reminded of it a few days ago when, on TV, I saw shots of some lads fishing and swimming in a river, and I thought it was a tale worth recounting. This is how Brad told the story to me.   Near where we lived as kids, there was a river and we often fished and swam in it. One Saturday morning, because his other pals, including me, were otherwise engaged, Brad decided that he was going to cycle to the river and do a spot of fishing. The place he chose, one we often visited, was a secluded spot with bushes and trees on both sides of the river, but with gently slopping grassy banks actually leading down to the water. He set up his tackle and was soon fishing in the warm spring sunshine. It was, though, one of those days when the fish were simply not rising so, after a couple of hours, he'd caught nothing; indeed, he'd not had a single bite. A pair of mute swans, with their typical 'whooshing' flight, had flown up the river at one point, and later, he saw a grass snake swimming down river, not n unusual sight at that spot, but there was nothing else to write home about. The only point of real interest had been seeing another teenager appear on the opposite bank three or four times, and on one occasion, when he'd caught Brad's eye, the teenager had waved to him and Brad had waved back. But there'd been nothing else of great importance. Eventually, bored with the fishing, Brad had reeled in his tackle and simply flopped back on the warm grass, enjoying the sunshine.   For some times, he lay there undisturbed, except for the gentle sound of the river flowing by, the hum of passing insects, and the intermittent twitter of bird song, notable the distinctive descending call of a willow warbler he could hear in the nearby bushes. This, of course, had a soporific effect on Brad and he soon drifted off into that pleasant state of suspended animation when you're not fully awake but not yet actually asleep.   How long he remained thus, Brad didn't recall; but suddenly, he was awakened by a voice which cried, in mock-naval fashion, “Ahoy there! Anybody aboard?” Startled, Brad opened his eyes and sat up, and there, to his utter amazement, standing in the middle of the river was the teenager he'd wave to earlier – and he was totally naked! His trainers, tied together by their laces, were slung round his neck, and he had the rest of his clothes, rolled up in his shirt, held above his head to keep them clear of the water. He stood there, waist-deep in the river, grinning broadly. As soon as he saw he had Brad's attention, he called out again, still in mock-naval fashion, “Permission to come aboard, skipper?” Totally nonplussed, Brad simply nodded his head.   The lad called out, “This is the easiest way to cross the river, otherwise it's a half mile jog upstream to the bridge.” Having said this, he then began to wade the rest of the way across and soon, his naked body began to emerge from the water. Instantly, Brad noted (he would!) that not only was the boy well built and good to look at, but that he had a splendid uncut flaccid penis which, even in that state, was a good five inches long. Though he had hair in his armpits, Brad saw that his pubic hair had been shaved off – which only served to make that notable piece of teenage meat even more prominent. As he approached, Brad watched, fascinated, at it swung rhythmically from side to side between the boy's legs as he waded through the last few feet of shallow water to the river bank.   “Give us a hand then!” the newcomer called, and when Brad got to his feet and moved towards him, the lad threw his bundle of clothes to Brad who caught them and placed them on the bank. Brad then went forward and, reaching out his hand, he helped the lad ashore.   Still somewhat taken aback, and struggling to find something to say, Brad blurted out, “How the hell are you going to dry yourself?” Still grinning broadly, the lad replied, “Oh, don't worry! I'll soon dry off in the warm sun. I know 'cos I've done it often before.” And then he added, “I'm Bruce, by the way. What's your name?” Brad told him and again to Brad's surprise, Bruce reached out, and they formally shook hands! To say it was bizarre, Brad told me, was putting it mildly!   Formal introductions completed, Bruce picked up his T-shirt and put it on. Then, with his bare hands, he wiped the excess water from his lower half and his legs and, Brad noted, he gave a special squeeze to his magnificent penis and its accompanying neat testicles. Having done this he sat down on the grass and spread wide his legs so that the sun could begin its job of drying him. Still in some degree of shock, and unable to think of anything else, Brad sat down beside him. Bruce then said, “I saw you earlier, as you know, so I thought I come over and join you. This” - indicating his nakedness - “seemed the easiest way to do it.”   After this, Brad relaxed a bit, and the two started talking, and soon, they'd exchanged quite a few details about themselves.   But, as I say, it was a pleasantly warm day and the boys soon settled back in the sunshine and became silent. Still curious about that splendid penis, though, Brad carefully turned himself on to his side so that he could observe it. It was lying not between Bruce's legs but across the top of his right thigh. The tip of the glans was just peeping through the foreskin and seemed, Brad said, to be looking at him. Any moment, he expected it to wink! For some time, he continued to contemplate it and even found himself speculating what he'd be able to do with it if Fortune were kind to him and granted him access to it.   Suddenly, Brad was startled out of his contemplation of the penis on display before him by Bruce exclaiming, “Yeah, it's not bad is it? You can touch it if you like!” Shocked to be caught out 'peeking', Brad turned round to find Bruce leaning back on his elbows and grinning at him. Clearly, for some minutes, he'd been observing Brad's admiring examination of his manliness. Brad, clearly fluttered by being discovered in his lustful contemplations, couldn't think of anything to say, but Bruce, to save him further embarrassment, laughingly said, “Don't be upset, mate! As its owner, I'm always glad to see that it brings delight to those who see it. I quite enjoy looking at it myself. And by the way, I meant what I said: you CAN touch it if you want.”   Partly to cover his confusion, and partly because he very MUCH wanted to touch it, Brad propped himself up on his left elbow and reached out towards the desired object. But he didn't immediately take possession of it; rather, he placed his hand on Bruce's flat, muscular belly and began a gentle circular massaging motion, especially over the area where his new friend's pubic hair would ordinarily have been. (Believe me, Brad was a much too experienced operator to rush in with all guns firing. He knew that even the most promising situation can be improved by a little preparatory foreplay. Believe me, I know – from personal experience!)   He massaged gently back and forth, allowing his hand to drift up as far as Bruce's navel, and then to slip, tantalisingly, down between his tight testicles and the inside of his right thigh. He was rewarded by hearing Bruce croak, “OMG, I've got someone who knows how to serve 'starters' before he puts the 'main course' on the table! Go for it man: it's all yours!” And with that, Bruce lay back and surrendered himself to Brad's ministrations.   Brad continued his gentle stroking, and he also took hold of that delectable foreskin and slowly drew it back to its almost full extent and then, equally slowly, rolled it back again over a glans already wet with pre-cum. And a second time, a third time, and a fourth time he did this. Then he took that plump penis between his fingers and squeezed it until it began to harden and stiffen.   Having observed, from the earliest moment of their acquaintance, that Bruce's penis, even when flaccid, was at least 5'' in length, Brad had assumed it would achieve near monstrous proportions once it began to erect. Imagine his surprise, therefore, to discover that under his enthusiastic caressing, when it reached its hard, throbbing and fully erect state, it was only a shade over 6''. He'd not realised that Bruce was a 'shower' and not a 'grower'! But, Brad assured me, it was still a plump, magnificent cock, well worth encountering in anybody's universe.   By now, all embarrassment passed, Brad had warmed to his task and was giving of his best to Bruce's pulsing flesh. Soon, he had it in his mouth where tongue and lips did everything possible for it, especially the engorged glans, purple with desire. Bruce was soon writhing around on the warm grass, gasping and groaning, and obviously delighted that he'd made his watery crossing from the opposite bank.   For good twenty minutes, Brad kept drawing him to the brink of orgasm and then, at the last moment, pulling him back. Suddenly, he gasped, “Oh, stop, Brad, or my balls will explode!” Then quickly turning round, he rolled Brad on to his back and began to unfasten his belt. Once that was done, he grasped Brad's zipper and had his jeans undone. Moments later, they, and Brad's briefs, were round his ankles, and Brad's – by now – wet, stiff and throbbing penis was out there for all the world to see. Bruce pounced on it, rubbed it vigorously for some seconds, and then buried it deep in his mouth where his lips and tongue did for it what Brad's had been doing so successfully for him only moments before.   Soon, positions changed again. Both naked by this time, Brad and Bruce took up the time-honoured '69' position – and the next phase of the excitement began.   But even this didn't provide the mutual satisfaction for which both yearned. So, another change of position. This time, they faced each other, knees upraised and, with Brad's legs over Bruce's, they managed to sit, testicles against testicles, and each able to hold and manipulate the other's rampant, throbbing and (by now) free-flowing penis. Both now desiring nothing but satisfaction for the lust racking their young bodies, each grasped the other's penis and went at it with a will.   Bruce shot his load first, sending a fountain of semen into the air and landing, largely, on Brad's chest and belly; and a minute later, Brad exploded and off-loaded his juices on to Bruce's body. They carried on rubbing until each one was satisfied and their penises ceased to throb and began to soften and shrink; then, legs still entangled, each fell backwards and just relaxed until the breath returned to their bodies and their hearts ceased to race.   When the world returned to normal, both sat up and looked at each other, grinned, and grasped handfuls of grass and wiped themselves clear of all traces of their excesses. This over, Brad drew out the package of sandwiches and the flask of tea he'd brought for his picnic-lunch, and these they shared – still naked! Afterwards, they sat side by side, exchanging pleasantries, and simply enjoying the shared intimacy.   For over an hour, Brad says, they sat there side by side, and then Bruce said that perhaps he ought to be heading off to the nearby farm where he was staying with relatives. Yes, Brad agreed, he too ought to be thinking about moving. “But, you know,” Bruce said, “we oughtn't just to part without a little more action. Can't we rally the troops for another session?” Yes, Brad agreed, that should be possible. So, settling side by side, each took charge of the other's tackle to bring it back to 'action stations'. Once that was achieved, and in a quite measured and even leisurely way, a ten minute stroking session again brought both to climax, with Bruce again passing the finishing post first, but with Brad a close second. Perhaps not quite as mind-blowing as their first orgasms had been, but nevertheless they were still well worth remembering.   Again, there was a 'cleaning up' session using grass, and then both boys dressed. For a time, they sat around chatting, neither really wanting to break up and depart. But at last, the parting became inevitable and – believe it or not! - with a shake of their hands, they departed, without any suggestion of meeting up again. Bruce walked off down the riverbank, and Brad packed up his fishing gear and rode off home on his bike.   And the two have never met again!   I've always felt a bit sad for Brad – and for Bruce too, though I never met him – that there was no follow-up; but that was Brad's story and that's how he told it. So that's the way I tell it to you.