Harry 4

I have recounted, back when I met Harry, how girlie magazines of the day did not feature, indeed were not allowed by law, to show pubic hair and, in consequence, girlie photos tended not to be ‘full frontal’ as the phrase went or, if so, were airbrushed;sometimes more skilfully than others – and a lot easier to do when the photos were black and white.  I had seen pubic hair on boys in the showers at school, my own and, indeed, Harry’s but never seen a girl’s either for real or in photographs.  This was to change not just because the girlie magazines changed and, later, when I got to lower girls’ knickers I saw the real thing, but because Harry had a ‘secret stash’ of magazines from Denmark or somewhere.  Magazines he should not have possessed; magazines with illegal photographs; magazines with eye opening and penis squirting pictures.

“I think these might interest you,” or some such words preceded the opening of not a locked drawer but a locked tin box.  It was a rather fine spring day, yet Harry and I had retired to the shed and in our usual fashion hung all our clothes upon nails.  I recall as we stood there him reaching down and holding my cock, pulling the skin back and me feeling the blood pumping into it as the anticipation of sexual activity caused arousal.  I too reached and enjoyed, as I do now half a century later, the feeling of a cockgrowing in my hand, that pumping, expanding feeling as the male organ grows up to, or perhaps more than, four times its size depending on where it starts from.  Yeah, I now know well that flaccid penis size is no guide to tumescent size.  Appearances can be very deceptive!

What would Harry’s wife have thought?  What would my parents have thought?  Was I being or had I been ‘corrupted’ by Harry?  Looking back, I do not think the whole Harry thing had any bad effect upon me.  I didn’t end up gay (if you see that as a ‘bad’ thing) – hardly.  I didn’t end up some creepy guy feeling up women all the time; rather I ended up with what I would see as a very healthy and enthusiastic attitude to sex which is surely a good thing.  No, I see Harry as one of my  best teachers – I learnt a lot, and all for the best.

Nonetheless there we were, two naked males holding each other’s tumescent penises.  I suppose that thing has lasted, not that Ipractised it for fifty years, but I still do like being naked and erect with other men.  Something I practise quite a bit nowadays.  And I do like holding and stroking another man’s cock.  So, there we were, two men about to have a pleasant wank and release together.

Harry reached down and brought out a battered old tin box and found a key hidden under a candle holder on a shelf.  I was to seek out that key often.

It was jaw dropping – the magazines in the tin were so different.  Pubic hair everywhere but not just on girls, there were men in the photographs as well and not just standing hand in hand ‘full frontal’ with a girl or throwing a beachball to a naked girl at the seaside on the beach.  Not mere naturist shots of happy naked people.  These were men engaged in sex with women, men engaged in copulation, men with hard erect cocks and cocks doing what cocks do, sometimes very graphically.  I remember staring in disbelief at a photo of a man – it was a man, you couldn’t see much of him but you could certainly see his cock, doing very much what Harry and I had done onto tissues, only this was right on, and between a girl’s breasts.  And he was doing it in a remarkably prolific way.

“Shall we sit?”  I expect I sat on the arm of the armchair somewhat stunned – and delighted.  I was seeing sexual activity; I was seeing what men and women do and it was just so exciting.  Harry turned the pages, talking about the photos.  Neither touched our cocks or the other’s.  They were just so rigid.  I was almost coming without being touched – or touching.

There is something about just being hard.  Not doing anything physical to maintain it, the brain doing all of that. Just being with an erection.

And then, as Harry turned a page, came a photograph of fellatio.  I had imagined, had asked Harry about it, but of course had never seen.  As I am sure all boys do, I had tried to self-suck and got nowhere near.  Maybe with a cock the length of Harry’s… but I had not.

There the act was, right in front of me.  Something I had barely imagined.  A pretty Nordic girl with fair skin and hair, lovely lips and with half a cock in her mouth.  An erect cock, not a soft one.  The next few pages were all of her and him in close-up.  The cock upright before her and her just licking; the cock even deeper in her mouth – was that really possible; and then just the tip in her mouth; the cock pressing at her closed lips; a shot of her sucking with hollowed cheeks and a surprised look on her face; andone of her with the cock no more than an inch from her mouth and actually spurting into it – the semen ejaculating in a stream into her mouth; and, lastly, one of her showing her tongue all spermy creamy.  Phew!

And… it showed his pubic hair!

I turned to Harry wide eyed.   ‘You like?’ or some such question came from him.  Would I like to be sucked like that?  Would I like it if she was here sucking me rather than the man in the photographs?  That man had, after all, very clearly come!  Harry said he certainly would and suggested we close our eyes and imagine.  Imagine the Nordic girl swopping between our two cocks, mouthing them both.

Of course I liked the idea!  The pictures showed plenty of sucking but so much other activity.  I liked that too.  The thought, as happened in more than one photograph, of shooting up a girl’s body and between her breasts or, as was shown in many interesting positions, inseminating a girl.  Wonderful explicit photographs I was to return to again and again.

I reached and stroked slowly.  I was so excited, I daren’t apply more than a gentle stroke.  And there was a photo, a few photos of two men wanking whilst looking admiringly at a girl doing very much the same in her female way.  Again, a new sight for me.  A girl with her own fingers in and around her sex.  I reached and turned the page and the scene had slightly changed.  The girlwas now holding both men and wanking them.  Her little hands around their not exactly slim organs.

I grinned at Harry and we swopped hands.  His to mine.  Mine to his.  So good to imagine his hand was the girl’s.  And then came the next picture…

The photographer seemed to have caught lucky.  Both penises ejaculating and the stuff caught in the air, spurting up like… like… two roman candles.  The focus of the shot losing the background and having just girl and the men in focus, worked so well.  And the slightly surprised expression on the girl’s face.  I well remember that slightly open mouth, the lips looking a little damp.  So nice.

Harry asked something again similar to ‘You like?’  Oh yes!   And I felt his hand increase its movement on my erection.  He was going to make me come, just like the girl in the photograph.  And I did just the same to him.

No photograph.  No camera was set up – and I did not in some way inherit Harry’s tin box.  I wonder what happened to it?  But, without either photograph, I remember coming as if it was yesterday.  I was just staring at that photograph, as Harry wanked me, seeing flashes of fountaining cum out of focus in front of the picture.  My cum – his cum.  The orgasmic feeling so pleasurable.  And I remember seeing the aftermath.  No doubt very much as in the prototype photograph – but we were not shown that. Just the spurting, not the aftermath of the men’s penises covered in their falling semen, or the girl’s fingers all spermy.   Or indeed the happy look on their and the girl’s faces.  But that was how the two of us were.  We had not set out tissues.  We had not prepared ourselves.  Our stuff was splattered on our thighs, penises and in our pubic hair.  And our fingers were sticky with each other’s cum.  We looked at each other and grinned.