Backwoodsman

The Institution

Chapter 1
The Crime

I suppose it was my own fault. I should have waited until I was sure his parents wouldn't be back for ages rather than just assuming they wouldn't. But you don't think of things like that when you're fourteen.

It had started – well, I suppose it had started two years or so earlier when I noticed in the gym that some of my classmates had bulges in the front of their shorts when the material was tight over them. This fascinated me to the extent that I got to know which moves to watch for the best effect. One day we were doing headstands, and we each had a partner to hold his ankles when he was upside down. I can't remember who I got, but he had slim legs, and the legs of his shorts were wide. Upside down, the material naturally rode floorwards, and I could then see his underwear was also quite loose 3; I got an immediate erection, probably one of my first, and was lucky that my own underpants were Y-fronts and quite tight, otherwise someone might have noticed.

Apart from being naturally one of those who was almost always picked on, and therefore isolated from most of the strong characters, those who I found most physically attractive, I had a sexually uneventful time apart from the usual night time fantasies. Another friend – outside school – had already demonstrated what to do about them, one week when we were at camp. And with that I had to be content.

I was standing, talking to someone. My hand was grasping the corner of a desk and my arm was at an angle, supporting my weight as I leant on it. Another member of my form, a few months younger than me, was strolling towards us, listening without interest to what somebody was telling him. He was one of those I regarded as a middle-of-the-road; not overly attractive to me, but quite pleasant in a stocky, tidy sort of way. He was not one whose company I sought, but on the other hand he had never poked fun at me, nor had he joined in when some of the others had. He came to a halt just by the desk I was leaning on, then turned as his companion changed course. He rested his crotch on the corner of the desk my hand was on, thereby resting himself for a second or two on my hand.

I remember being surprised, flabbergasted, pleased, disgusted all at once. I had no opportunity to move because my weight, as I said, was resting on that arm. The weight of his body on my hand stopped any movement. Luckily I wasn't talking at the time otherwise others may have noticed. As it was, my conversation ended at that point. He moved off my hand, and I watched him move over to the bookshelves (we were in the school library at the time). He picked a book off a shelf and opened it. I watched him, still in confusion. He looked up, straight at me, and smiled. My eyes swiveled away immediately – I'd learnt this to be the best way of pretending I wasn't looking at someone. When I looked back he was reading, apparently, but as I watched he looked back at me again. This time I couldn't fathom the look. It wasn't contempt, which is what I'd have expected from anyone who had caught me looking at them with the sort of interest I'd got good at hiding. But it was disturbing, somehow.

The buzzer chimed and we had to go back to lessons.

I thought over what had happened, and the teachers for the rest of the day must have thought me even more dozy than usual. Chris had sat next to me a few times but we had done no more than chat casually. What do I do? He probably wasn't interested in me at all. It must be just chance. I didn't reckon on him, and I was sure he wouldn't on me, even if he were interested in the same sex.

At the end of school he was first out of the form. I can't remember hurrying to see where he went, and certainly soon lost him in the crowds of excited kids hurrying round the buildings toward the exit. I was one of the last out from our age group, and was still busy telling myself that the last thing I wanted was somebody waiting outside the gate for me ready to swear undying love and throw his arms around me. It was not going to happen. I nevertheless half dreaded it, and half hoped that he might be there.

As I swung out onto the pavement I nearly collided with him. We each recovered from the near miss, slightly off balance.

"Well?" he asked.

"Sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going."

"Oh. Is that all?"

"Yes. Or 3;" I wondered if I should, if I had the courage 3;"were you meaning earlier?"

"In the library."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"Did you mean to?"

"Not to start with. Then I thought I'd see what you'd do."

"Oh. Then you didn't mean 3; I mean, I thought you wanted 3; something."

"And if I did?"

"It depends if I wanted it, too."

There was a silence whilst we each, I suppose, tried to fathom out what the other really meant, and what to say next.

"Mum and Sean have gone on home in the car," he said.

"Oh." My brain was working at its usual snail's pace. "How are you getting home, then?"

"Taxi, or bus. Depends where I end up."

I looked at him, two and two finally making a fairly definite four.

I said: "You can come back with me if you want."

My mother was in, as usual, but she was used to my going straight to my room when I got home. I introduced Chris to her, and told her he'd come to help us both sort out some difficult homework, hinting as tactfully as possible that disturbance would not be welcomed. We refused a cup of tea or anything to eat and went to my bedroom which was at one end of the long, thin flat.

I was on my own territory now, and asked again, quite boldly, why he had " 3; you know, on my hand."

"It was there. I didn't think I was going to touch it, just get close and see what you'd do. But I missed my balance or something. I wondered if you'd shout and tell everybody. You didn't, though, so I smiled at you to say thanks."

I was again wondering if it had been an accident after all, and what sort of reaction he'd been expecting. In rising puzzlement again I went and sat on my bed. All the chairs in the room had piles of magazines and bits of model railway and plastic kits on them, as usual. He came and sat on the bed as well, not the usual distance away, but right up close.

"I wondered if, if there hadn't been anyone else in the room, whether you'd have turned your hand round."

The look of puzzlement on my face must have been engraved. I think he got cold feet for a minute, for he said: "No. I think I've made a mistake. You don't want to go further. I'd better go."

He rose to his feet. I though quickly for the first time that day, and said, suddenly: "Don't go. Please."

And wondered at myself for being so brave.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"A bit of fun together," he replied.

"What sort of fun?"

"If you'd turned your hand round – if I'd not crushed it to the desk – where would it have ended up?"

"On your 3; you know."

"Show me."

"I can't."

He reached out for my hand and gently placed it, knuckles towards him, in his crotch as it had been on the desk. For some reason I didn't snatch it away. "Now turn it round," he said.

Slowly I turned my hand toward his trousers so it lay lightly on the fly. Unperturbed, he stretched his legs wider so the material rode up, then closed them slightly. My fingers curled round the outside of a mound under the material. "Feel," he ordered.

Slowly, I squeezed the mound. I moved my hand down, and felt the extent of the mound, although any details were disguised by the thick flannel cloth.

"Nice?" he asked. "Undo the zip."

I couldn't believe what was happening. Slowly I did what he asked, all the way until it stopped. Without being asked, or invited or told, I slipped my hand inside his trousers and could at last just distinguish his penis lying on a separate, soft mound of testicles. It was wonderful, but frightening, doing what I had fantasized about for so long, yet something which was so foreign to what I had been brought up to think about. It was also something I had been led by my and my parents' lifestyle, and by school and other organizations, to believe was dirty, to believe was wrong.

I wondered what to do next. My hand was still inside his trousers, massaging him gently outside his pants. I was still so unsure of myself; I didn't dare lift the edge of his underwear and see 3; Surely his penis was getting bigger? It was certainly more defined now.

There was a stirring under my own trousers, too. I felt his hand fumble at the top of my zip and stretched to make it easier for him to pull it down. No hesitation for him. He not only pulled down the fly but undid the top of my trousers too. His hand was fondling my growing erection, stroking it and my testicles. And I let him do it. All that fun poked in their absence at queers and their actions, and the worry we expressed, partly in fun, that we might meet one, one day, never even occurred to me. His hand was at the top of my pants. His hand was inside them. His hand contacted my swelling penis and released it from the pressure of their containing Y-fronts. Why had I been so slow? Hurriedly I did the same for him, pulling down the elastic until his scrotum was free, and then released it again so it caught under them, pushing them upwards and compressing them against his penis. My hand was on his shaft. His hand was on mine. Both were wet. We fondled, we wriggled to free more of our underwear and trousers. We grasped each other's penises. Our hands soon were slippery wet, and so were our scrotums. I took the plunge. I started working at his penis, fast, up and down. He winced.

"Slower," he said. "Let me take off my shirt."

I took his lead and stripped off both shirt and trousers. He did the same. This brought us both to our feet and we stood looking at each other. He walked toward me. Our penises touched. They say that a real sexual contact gives you a sensation like an electric shock. That's what I experienced. After all those months of dreaming, here was the real thing. Not, perhaps, with the person who I'd really have wanted, but this boy was better. He was accessible.

We pressed our bodies together, stomach to stomach, genitals to genitals, and slowly rubbed them around. The slipperiness of us together gave me such a wonderful feeling; similar to, but better than, masturbating with a soapy hand. After some minutes he sank back to sit on the bed again, and put my hand back on his penis. I gently started to massage the foreskin, and soon he was doing the same to me.

I can't remember how we cleared up – I think there must have been a box of tissues left over from my last cold. We managed it, anyway. I remember we had made a lot of mess. Before he went we did some homework, for the sake of the thing, and he was just leaving when he turned to me and put his lips to mine. I felt his tongue try to push past my astonished lips, and after hesitating, let him in. I did what he did: my first French kiss.

We took good care not to be demonstrative at school. The next arrangement we made was done casually, once again in the name of homework. Apart from the lack of inhibitions on either part it was a repeat of the first, except that shortly after we'd climaxed we heard the front door slam. We were in his house this time, his mother and brother having excused themselves for a shopping trip. We were both very messy. As soon as they were back, his brother Sean leapt up the stairs and before we had a chance to recover, clean ourselves and get our clothes back on he was at the door and had opened it and come inside. He looked at us, mouth agape. Then: "CHRIS!"

His mother came up the stairs, and that was that. Police, parents, headmaster, all the lot were involved. Don't forget this was ten years ago when there had been the backlash against pedophilia, and then against homosexuality in general, when nobody wanted to know whether the people involved were being forced to take part – that is, raped – or whether they were following their natural desires, or whether they were the same age or with years between them.

I was separated from Chris at the police station, we were interviewed and our stories heard separately. The knee-jerk law had been introduced at the time whereby anyone found having sex with a minor was to be removed from society, and held to be unemployable afterwards. It made no difference how old you were. If you were going to have to live outside working society in future, when you had done your penance, that might just as well be the end of your normal education. You were taken to an institution and taught how to use whatever skills you had developed by that time. It didn't matter that both parties to the act were under age, that both were consenting or anything. In fact I was told by my solicitor about a boy of twelve – physically still a child – who undressed quite innocently one day in front of his ten year old brother before the babysitter had a chance to come and supervise. She told the story at home, her mother called the police, and that was that. They at least left the ten year old with his mother.

Anyway, at that time I had no idea what Chris was going through. The next day the nightmare started in earnest. All my worst fears were to be recognized. I was taken to the school so they could ask if I was known for this sort of thing, and while one policeman talked to the Headmaster another sat with me outside, in full view of all my classmates. The air was thick. Even the policeman was embarrassed. My parents didn't want to know me, or so I thought. In fact we were separated right at the beginning of the interviews at the police station and I only saw them in court. My mother was crying: my father was stony faced.

And yes, I got sent to The Institution. They never were given descriptive names.

I arrived there at night. There had been a car ride from the police cell – yes, I was held, at the age of thirteen and a half, in a police cell – taken to an airport. The long flight was a complete novelty for me, but one I could hardly enjoy at the time. Another car took me from the plane, through streets and countryside with unfamiliar smells – the car windows had blinds and a barrier was between the policeman and me in the back, and the driver in front.

We stopped in the midst of lush, strange looking vegetation. I saw a low building in front, quite extensive, which in the early hours of morning was quiet. A gate in the surrounding fence opened automatically; we walked through and waited at a small door. It opened, the policeman looked at me, with a strange look of sympathy, I thought. Wordlessly I was signed for as if I were a parcel, the policeman, my companion for the last twelve hours turned and went. A tall man beckoned me inside. He led me down a passage. I noticed a strange smell around the place, but then anywhere new smells different from home. Home!

I was still in a state of shock, numbed from the neck up by the cumulative effects of all the things that had happened. I'd been taken from my home and my parents without goodbyes, in the worst sort of disgrace I could ever imagine (It may have been worse if I'd killed, but only just.). I was given no chance to pick up any of my personal belongings; no clothes, no books, none of the more technical 'toys' I was so fond of, things I'd need for the six month sentence the judge had given me. I'd been humiliated beyond belief at my school. I'd been humiliated beyond belief, in graphic detail, in court. I'd lost potentially the best friend I'd ever made, someone who I felt closer to than anyone else in my life, although we'd only shared two experiences together. Is it any wonder that I was just dumbly accepting everything that was happening to me?

We reached a room. The door was opened. I saw a bed and a chair. That was all. My usher said one word in an accent that sounded vaguely Spanish. He pointed to the bed and said "Sleep," and he waited there, watching me. I took off my shoes and socks, and shirt, then hesitated, looking at him. He pointed to my trousers, so I turned my back on him and undid them. He laughed. I whirled round, but he made no move, just looked at my underpants. No, I thought, he couldn't be. They'd not employ someone like that here? So I picked up my trousers, put them on the chair and went to bed. He laughed again, turned off the light and shut the door. A key turned in the lock.

I was awoken at what seemed a very early hour. The door unlocked, a man walked in and just stood there. Dressed in a tracksuit, he was about thirty, I suppose, and looked quite ordinary. I just lay there. I could see another man outside, who edged through the door as the first one spoke to me.

"When I come into a room, boy, you stand up. If you happen to be in bed, you get up and stand up. Remember that, please. You are to shower, then come to my office."

He turned and walked back through the door.

"Please sir," I said, hurriedly getting out of bed, "I've got no towel or wash things or clothes or 3; anything."

He turned. "The monitor will give you what you need."

"Sir, how do I get to your office?"

"He'll show you that, too."

I turned toward the chair with my clothes on it and bent to pick up my trousers. The 'monitor', a thick-set man in his fifties, said "No."

I looked at him. He beckoned, so I assumed that the shower wasn't far.

How wrong can you be. We walked for ages with me just wearing my Y-front, through passageways wide and passageways narrow, passing boys my age and boys older, and one or two boys younger. All were silent, straight faced. None looked twice at me. The only people who did were other 'monitors', for so I assumed them to be, and with some of them I felt a shiver of dislike run down my spine. At length we arrived at a door. He opened it, pushed me inside, followed me in, and said "Shower."

So it was, a small room with four shower heads in it; and under each was what looked like another shower head, poking up from the floor. My 'companion' went to a cupboard, fetched a bar of soap and a towel. He looked at me and said "Pants."

There was nowhere else to go. Something was telling me that to cross him would not be a good idea. I faced sideways on to him, pulled down my Y-fronts. I wondered where to put them. He put out his hand. I gave them to him, still warm, and for a moment saw his expression soften. He held the soap in his hand and said "Here. Take."

That meant I had to walk towards him to get it. I couldn't very well walk crabwise to hide myself from him. So I turned and brazened it out.

His eyes were glued to my middle. He gave me the soap and said again "Shower."

He turned a tap, and water with some force behind it started from the shower heads. And upward from those on the floor. No matter where I stood, if I was to get wet at all, the upward jet hit me on the bottom, between the legs, or on the genitals. At home if the shower at the pool hit my bathing shorts as I showered after swimming I would get an erection, so after a few minutes of this half tickling, half titillating sensation I was stiff as a ramrod and blushing furiously. The monitor watched my every move. I tried to keep my back to him, but after I had showered, with still no sign of my erection subsiding, I had to walk to him to get the towel. But by this time I was so angry at his watchful silence I had given up being embarrassed and almost swaggered toward him. He grinned, still watching my manhood, and handed me the towel. I dried myself carelessly, then stood in front of him with the towel round me.

Of my underpants there was no sign. I asked for them, but he just shook his head and pointed to the door. I was again embarrassed, and must have been a bright beet red as I followed him down the passages to my room. Once again, he entered with me, and pointed to my clothes. Still reluctant, I donned my shirt, carefully pulled on my trousers under the towel before letting it drop to the floor. He laughed again, and said "Follow."

More corridors, more silent people. One boy, older than me, was sobbing quietly to himself, and that really alarmed me. We came to a door marked 'Principal'. He knocked, a voice said "Enter."

At the table was the man I had first seen that morning.

He looked at me for some moments in silence, his eyes flicking up and down me. I started to feel naked in front of him. At length he stopped, and looked out of the window. "Name?"

"Paul Gaston, sir."

"Age?"

"Thirteen."

"Thirteen, sir. I know why you're here, so that answers my next question. Do you know what that was to have been?"

He looked back at me, his eyes piercing into mine. He looked excited, somehow.

"No, sir."

"Come, boy. I know your crime, so do you. My next question had to do with it. We're talking about your age. What conclusions are there?

"Was I old enough to do what I did, sir?" I faltered.

"You did what you did, so you were obviously old enough to do it. What was it you did?"

"I 3; er 3; my friend and I 3; er 3; were 3; um 3;"

"You were masturbating: making each other have an orgasm."

His frankness took me by surprise.

"Yes, sir."

"Then say so when I ask you. Had you masturbated before?"

"Yes, sir."

"Was that with him or on your own?"

"I did it once before with him, and for a long time on my own, sir."

"You mean 'over a long period you masturbated on your own. How often? Nightly?"

"Sometimes, sir. Sometimes two or three times a day."

"I see. Right."

He paused. "Gaston, this place exists to make it possible for you to make a living for yourself and keep you from sponging on the State when you get out. We give you an education. It's different from the education you'd get in a school in England. You know that when you did get back you'll now be unemployable. Firms won't want you, and if they did they'd not be allowed to employ you in case you 'infect' others. For that reason we have decided there's only one way someone like you would be able to earn a living. That's with your body."

He paused to let that extraordinary remark sink in. What did he mean? A navvy? A hod carrier?

"While you're here, therefore, your body will not be your own. You will be required – you will be taught – to do many things you have never done before. Some you may enjoy, some you probably won't. I can promise that nobody here will do anything deliberately to harm you, or to cut or bruise you. We have a method of punishment for offenders which relies on pain, but it is embarrassing and painful, not harmful. So do what you are told, when you are told, and no punishment will come your way. Understood?"

"I think so, sir. But what do you mean about being taught to do things with my body? Do you mean PE?"

"All in good time. You will now accompany me to assembly, which is where everybody starts their day. Your learning process starts there. Just bear with it. The other thing you must know is that we have two types of staff here, teachers and monitors. The teachers' job will become plain to you, the monitors are there to watch and to see that things are done properly, and to do the domestic chores. They are to be ignored unless they have to tell you to do something or to do it better. And there are also prefects, who perform other physical duties when necessary, at the command of teachers."

I still didn't really know what he was talking about, but it was starting to sound ominous. I meekly followed him along still more passages until we entered a room and I was embarrassed once again to find myself the only pupil on a stage, with tracksuited teachers and 'monitors' sitting in rows looking out over a small sea of about sixty boy faces, whose owners' ages must have ranged from 11 to 18 or so. My new schoolmates! But all very subdued, and all clad in brief, loose grey shorts and white T-shirts.

The Principal stood in the centre, having parked me at one side of the stage. He addressed the boys briefly – I was too nervous to listen to the details – before mentioning me. He beckoned me forward and told everyone my name. I thought he was about to tell them what I had done to get there, but he seemed to be sparing me that. I began to feel a little better about the prospects.

He called for four prefects to come up onto the stage. At eighteen they looked quite awesome.

"It is a tradition," he continued, "that newcomers here should have nothing to hide. All those here were told of your arrival last night, along with your background and why you were sent here." Part of my mind shut down in disbelief, and I think I actually swayed on the platform. "None of them have any comment to make on that subject, as all are here for similar reasons to yours."

My mind did a double somersault. What? Were there that many of us around? But he was still talking: "Some were just unlucky, not just to be caught, but to be the innocent party, or so they claim. Nevertheless they are all here, and have to learn the same things. So now," turning to me, "they know about your past. Have you anything else to hide?"

"No, sir," I managed.

"Then prove it by removing your clothes.

Chapter 2
The Humiliation

There was a silence you could have cut. I looked at him, wildly, then around at the monitors who sat impassively watching, and at the prefects who stood, I now saw, in a loose circle around me. Was he serious? Suddenly the behavior of the monitor that morning and the looks of the staff started to crystallize in my mind. I felt more naked, more exposed, more in danger from some sort of unspecified harm than I had ever done in my life. I felt sick. I could not move. I certainly couldn't take everything off in front of a room full of people. So afraid did I feel that my eyes started watering. My shoulders were shaking as sob after sob racked me. I turned blindly to try to run and reach safety and anonymity somewhere, anywhere, but my shoulders were seized and I was turned firmly back to face the crowd. The Principal nodded, and while one prefect held my shoulders, two others held each leg in turn and removed my shoes and socks. The two on my legs kept their grip, whilst another held my arms. The fourth unbuttoned my shirt and pulled it off my unresisting shoulders. Those on my arms shifted their grip to enable the arms to be withdrawn, then it was pulled out of the top of my trousers.

It all happened so quickly that even then I realized they'd done it many times before.

They swapped over, giving another one the job of removing my trousers. I was all too painfully aware that I had no underwear any more. The prefect quite slowly this time undid the waistband and released the belt, then looked up at me from his kneeling position in front of me and to one side. He smiled, then fumbled his hand onto the top of the zip. As it came down the trousers fell away from me, leaving me exposed. He pulled them all the way to the floor, they all let go and motioned to me to step out of them. I did so, and as my penis swung there was a noticeable tension in the monitors around me. I stood there, trembling with shame and tears.

"Now, Paul Gaston, you have two other things you are hiding.

"I couldn't speak. I just shook my head.

"Pull back your foreskin.

"Earth! Swallow me up!

I pulled gently at the skin at the base of the penis. Before I had a chance to draw it back more than a little one of the prefects was there. Firmly he pushed my hand away, put his thumb and forefinger on the end of my penis and slowly pulled back. More and more of the glans appeared, until the skin cleared the widest part and pulled back into the dip at its base.

When I was young my father had always shown me that I should do this when I bathed to clean the part that was normally covered. With increasing age and laziness I hadn't done so, probably also because I found it painful, especially when erect. Certainly when masturbating I found the exposed organ very sensitive indeed. So to have this rough treatment inflicted on me caused me a wave of pain I was quite unprepared for. I shouted out, too late to stop it being done, and frantically tried to replace the foreskin over the tip of the organ. It wouldn't budge. I could tell that I was about to have an erection, too. That would make it worse.

Panicking I hit out at everyone who came near me, but four eighteen year olds against one thirteen year old is no match, especially when the bigger ones know what they are doing. One of them put a hand over my mouth to stop me shouting out.

Captive again, I quieted – indeed I had no option.

"I see you have a tight foreskin, boy. We will help you with that."

"I don't want you to. Leave me alone."

"The last thing you are hiding now. You had better do this for him, too."

I was turned with my back to the crowd. Some of the monitors moved away from one of the desks. I was pushed until I bent in the middle, my bum facing the hall. Another hand – a prefects' I suppose – separated my legs, then put one hand on each side of my bum and tried to separate them. My muscles were firmly clenched.

"Relax, you fool," a voice hissed. "It won't take so long then. We're not going to do anything, just show them.

"Somehow I made my muscles go slack. It was the most unnatural thing I had ever done in my life.

He separated me a little more until I thought I would divide, and paused.

"That'll do," came the Principal's voice. I was released. My penis was still painful, but at least the subsequent treatment had made any thoughts of an erection vanish.

"Boys, to your classes." The room emptied quieter than I would have thought possible. The monitors talked amongst themselves in their own language. I fumbled at my penis, trying to replace the skin. One of the prefects came back to me.

"Sorry. It had to be done. Here, let me do it."

Skilfully, before I could stop him, he gasped my penis and, without touching the sensitive surface of the glans, rolled the offending skin back into place. "Thank you," I trembled weakly.

"OK. I should get your skin loosened up, though. It shouldn't be that tight."

I nodded, although I had no idea how to go about it, and the thought of it alarmed me beyond belief. I regained a corner, trying to look unobtrusive, while the prefects left the stage. The last of them was about to leave when he realized I had made no move. "Come on, boy. You're meant to be going to a class to start learning how to use your body."

"Nobody's told me where to go."

"Go to the Principal's office, then."

"But I can't go like this!"

"You can. It's your first day. Your gear won't be given to you until next week."

Next week! He wasn't serious, surely. "You mean I have to be naked until next Monday?"

"That's about it."

"But what happens when I go out?"

"You don't get to visit anywhere unless you're with one of the teachers. If you go into the compound, well, there aren't many people around. We're deep in the country here. Anyway, you'll get used to it."

I was certain I wouldn't. Before Chris I'd never stripped in front of anyone, unless you can count being bathed by my parents until I was eight.

I steeled myself. "Can you show me the way to the Principal's office, please?"

"Don't you remember? Oh, come on."

The corridors were now full of boys and teachers hurrying in all directions. I must have been blushing from head to foot as I was led past some, in front of others, behind still more all the way to the main part of the building where I began to recognize my surroundings.

"There."

He pointed to the door.

"Thanks," I managed. I knocked at the door. "Enter."

I did so.

"Ah, Gaston." Not a sign of surprise at my nakedness. "Yes, I should have got someone to show you where to go. You did well to take the initiative to find me, especially as you have no clothes. Well done. Perhaps you're not as unused to being seen naked as appeared when you were on stage."

I was indignant at this. "Sir, I've never been naked with other people in my life!"

"Not true. The court case proved that."

"That was different."

"Sir."

"Sir. That was one person. This is corridors full of them."

"We'll have to get you used to it, then. You don't get any clothes until a week's time, so that should help. Anyway, I've put you with the beginners here. We had a lot of new ones last week, so we had to put them in ordinary classes first. They're mostly new, too, but there are two younger ones who have been here a month. It's room 5a. Can you find your way there?"

"No, sir. I only got here last night."

"Damn. Well, do your best. Turn left out of here and keep going. You'll turn right after a bit and it's there. Ask if you need to."

And that was that.

Walking along the corridors on my own was much worse than being with someone. Boys kept looking at me; one or two smiled in a friendly way whilst others raised their eyebrows and whispered to their neighbor. One group did this as they passed and I heard a shout of laughter as they retreated down the corridor. I began to feel very tearful again as my embarrassment increased, until by the time I did discover I was lost I was almost incapable of coherent thought. It was like being in a bad dream.

I turned, and found myself face to face with a boy of about twelve. He was just watching me, face impassive. For some reason this released the floodgates, and I turned to the wall and wept for what seemed like ages. After a while I felt his arm round my shoulder, and for some reason this helped.

"It's all right," he said, "there were four of us who started last Monday, and it was bad. It must be awful for you."

I nodded.

"You're with us, now. If you're OK now, follow me and we'll make it together."

He looked questioningly at me. I sniffed, and did my best, then meekly followed him back down the passage, round a corner and on a bit until we came to a door without having seen anyone else. He paused again.

"OK?"

I nodded again. "Thanks."

I followed him in: there were only eight others in the room, but all were clothed as was my guide. Thinking to find desks I started to look for somewhere at the back of the room to hide, but there were only six low, plastic covered divans around the room, and one desk at the head for the teacher. A figure stood there.

"Ah, you've found him. Good. Lost, were you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, you're where you should be now, but try not to be late again. You are obviously new, but you'll be relieved to know that this is the first day that any of the others here have worn anything. It's also the first day they have attended the sort of lesson that we specialize in. Sit down, and we'll begin."

We shuffled our way to the edges of the divans and sat. The plastic covering was uncomfortable on my naked bum which stuck to it. He cleared his voice.

"Boys, your bodies are works of art. They can be ignored, like society wants you to nowadays, or you can use them to give and to receive very great pleasure. For some, the giving of pleasure is an end in itself, and for all of us the receiving of pleasure is certainly sought after. The sort of thing I am talking about is, of course, what each of you has been sent here for doing."

A puzzled look was exchanged amongst us. I started to feel not so left out.

"Society where you live doesn't want the sexual things that you did there done in 'normal' families or 'normal' work places. They forbid you from finding a 'normal' job. Therefore we teach you how to use what you have started to explore in order to earn a living. After very little training you will be able to earn money here, since there are areas of your work here which are sought after.

"But to start with, you must learn about your body. So you start by removing all your clothes again."

Grumbles ensued, and nobody was keen to make a start. The teacher's tone altered dramatically.

"You will each remove your clothes NOW. If you do not I can assure you that not only will they be removed forcibly by the monitors, but you will each receive a punishment commensurate with the amount of resistance you show."

"Come on, boys," he continued quietly, "don't let's start off on the wrong foot."

Reluctantly they started stripping off the shapeless T-shirts. Then, trying to make sure they were not the first to do so, they pulled off the shorts too. They stood silently by their garments.

"Pick up your clothes, and throw them into that corner, then stand in height order with the shortest at the desk."

They moved around, watching who was taller and who was shorter. I was about fourth from the desk. Order prevailed eventually.

"OK. Now, height has very little to do with the development of your genital area, and only a little to do with the eventual length of your penis, which is what the majority of males are concerned about for the first part of their life. Let's have a look."

He came round to the front of us. "James is eleven. It's hardly surprising then that his is still two inches [5 cm] long and that the testicle sac, the scrotum, is still tight against the sort of turret it's mounted on, if you see what I mean. Come down here if you can't see – it'll be your turn soon."

We all shuffled nearer the unfortunate boy and obediently stared at his undeveloped genitals. He flushed and bit his lip.

"His friend next to him is about a year or eighteen months older, and already you see there are swellings in the scrotum which shows that his testicles are finishing their journey from inside the abdomen where they have been kept out of harm's way during birth, early childhood, and the time when, with our prehistoric ancestors, they would have been damaged had they been exposed. Now, in the beginning of sober adolescence, he is more settled in his movements and is also nearly ready to start using the system for whatever purpose he wants. In case anyone should poke fun at you two for being immature, I should say that you each have as good a chance of growing into well equipped young bucks as all the others here.

"Right, let's see: you, you and you two" – this included me – "come here, in that order. What we have here is what I can only describe as the next stage in almost all its forms. Peter's body has put all its energy into developing a quite extensive penis. But see that underneath the testicles are still quite small. Also, although long, the penis is not very thick. Next we have the opposite in one extreme, a short, but thick, penis, and once again the testicles have a way to go. Next, our newcomer" – me – "has something different. See how the testicles have dropped so far into the delicate scrotum that they have caused it to extend? It hangs down from the crotch by some little way, and swings separately from the penis which, on the other hand is still only a little bigger then that of a boy at twelve."

So that was my summary, was it? My genitalia appeared to be sixteen in one department and twelve in another.

"And now we come to a near rarity, one where both testicles and penis are similarly developing at the same rate. The whole is not there yet, but, and this is important, like all the others, it will be. For all of you are normal, don't worry about that. You four: what are your ages?"

In order, we admitted to being 13, 15, 13 and 14.

"There you are. The other point to be drawn from this is that your body matures in its own time. Some are fully equipped at 11, although it's rare, and some only start maturing at 17, although that's rare too. Anything in the middle is normal.

"Lastly, we have the four on the end. Hmm. Not bad specimens. See, the rest of you, the variety of the male body. We have here the bodybuilder 3;" This of a blond boy, a little taller than me, but with rather well developed muscles, blond, curly hair just visible on his legs, but a little darker in a triangle over his genitals. He was very well proportioned, slim where it mattered. I hadn't noticed him when I came in.

I thought of him as a young god, and now had difficulty tearing my eyes away.

Beyond him were three other, older boys, quite large, one thin and one with rather too much fat on him to be interesting. The last was a medium height, older boy, with an unremarkable face and body. Then the face moved, he caught me looking at him, and gave me a knowing, sympathetic smile which told me of the possibility of a friend if I needed one. If I needed one!

"Right. Go and sit down, two to a couch please. We'll pair you up later."

We all settled down.

"Right. The next stage of learning about your genitals. Who can tell me of the fluids which can be got from the human body, the male human body, without any kind of surgery?"

This was a new departure. We started slowly, like any class. Someone said "blood", then little Jimmy piped up with "Piss, sir", which got a general laugh. The teacher accepted it, but corrected him to 'urine'. After a pause I mentioned sweat, somebody thought of tears, and then there was an embarrassed silence.

"I know you all know one other. Look, there's no room here for embarrassment or mincing words. This is not the school you were at: we teach you to use your body, not to hide it like they would. If you need to talk about penises or anuses or urine or feces or semen, or any of the slang words used for them, then you must do so. It all exists. Hard work is one thing that gets sweat. A cut is one thing that gets blood. Masturbation is one thing that gets semen. So give me one other thing that the male body produces."

There was a chorus consisting of "semen", "spunk", "cum".

"Right. Those are other words for semen. Anything else?"

Silence.

"How about seminal fluid?"

Silence.

"It's also called pre-cum. Anyone experienced it?"

Silence.

"Oh, come on. You've all masturbated, I assume. Has anybody not?"

Silence.

"Have you?" pointing at the large boy at the end with the nice smile.

"Yes, sir."

"Speech at last. Good. How about you, Jimmy?"

We watched in silence as the little boy's face slowly crumpled, and the shoulders shook. I wanted to go and comfort him, but I didn't dare. Nor did anybody else. Silence reigned, and slowly his tears subsided. The teacher looked at him still.

"Well?" he said, quite gently. Jimmy shook his head.

"OK. All in good time. How about you?" He asked me this! Didn't he know why I was here?

"Yes, sir."

"Right. Have you ever stopped before you came to orgasm – that's when you come, in case you didn't know. It's called an orgasm, not an organism; please be careful. Have you ever paused and noticed that the end of your penis was wet and slippery?"

I thought back. "Possibly, sir, but I thought it was just the last bit of er 3; urine 3; er 3;"

"From the last time you passed urine, you mean. No. It's a tube inside the penis. Residual urine is replaced by the pre-ejaculate fluid, and acts as a lubricant. That's the first fluid we're interested in.

"Now this is important. None of these fluids will harm you if they touch your skin, except urine which can give you nappy rash if it stays there for too long. Remember that. And don't be worried about it when it appears or when you touch it. So apart from you, nobody else has seen or felt seminal fluid, then?"

"Yes, sir. I think I have." This from the boy next to Jimmy who was only just entering puberty.

"I'd be a bit surprised, young man. How did you get it?"

"It was when my step-brother was playing with me. He got a hard-on, and he got very wet. Then my step-dad came in and accused me of messing about with his son."

The teacher showed no sympathy at this tale, but continued.

"Right. Anybody else?"

Silence.

"OK. A demonstration is needed."

WHAT?!

Chapter 3
Learning Starts

As soon as he pressed the buzzer the door opened and two prefects came in. They must have been waiting outside for the cue.

"Right, gentlemen, clothes off, on a couch, and one of you is to make the other wet."

They nodded, stripped off with no embarrassment at all, and looked at each other. The bigger one shrugged his shoulders, crossed to a couch and laid on it, hands under his head, and his legs apart. I had never seen anything like it – they must both have been 17 or 18, and from the perspective of a 13 year-old they were very big indeed.

"Gather round, the rest of you. You are here to watch."

One prefect knelt on the couch between the other one's legs. Bending his back slightly he touched his subject lightly just above the knees with two fingertips, and gently ran his hands up toward the boy's hips. He repeated this, and after two or three strokes his subject's penis started to swell, then to lift, to swing round, until it was pointing up his belly. I watched, amazed and awed as the organ changed from being a normal sized, though quite thick, 11 cm [4½ inch], to being a sausage-shaped, acorn headed ramrod of some 18 cm [7 inch] long and 3 cm [1¼ inch] wide. Two other things I noticed; the boy who was operating was also having an erection, and my penis had grown stiff as quickly as if it had been inflated. Hurriedly I looked around. To my relief, I saw that all my classmates were effected, too.

The kneeling boy continued with his upward strokes, but now his fingers were stroking a little nearer the inside of the thighs. As we watched he gradually moved his fingers around until they were right inside, between the legs. The stroke had shortened, probably, I thought, so he didn't touch the testicles. Something changed, and we craned to see what it was. The fingers were now spread out, so that the stroking was around a full quarter of the thigh.

The boy on the couch was breathing quite deeply, I noticed. His eyes were closed, and he had a dreamy expression on his face. It made him look younger than he was, and very attractive. The boy stroking took one hand away from its work, looked round at us with a smile, and then very gently touched his subject's scrotum.

I was so surprised that I looked round at the teacher. He was watching intently, though, and gave no sign there was anything wrong; nor did any of the others. I looked back, and to my amazement found that his hand was now encircling the scrotum completely, gently squeezing it and massaging it. The other hand now had ceased its stroking of the thigh, and as I watched it started stroking from the tip of the penis, all down each side to the bottom of the shaft.

The windows were open, and there was a gentle breeze blowing through the room. Although it wasn't cold I could feel a slight chill in the end of my own penis. I looked down to where it pointed straight up at my face. The end was wet. I carefully shifted my eyes to the boy next to me, the blond god, and looked at his. A droplet had formed and was about to fall onto the floor.

On the couch the kneeling prefect had gripped the bigger boy's foreskin and was pulling it slowly back. It resisted as it stretched over the widest part, then settled back into the groove below. God, how I wished mine would do that! It would avoid the need for the 'special treatment' they had spoken of. The left hand was still gently massaging the testicles, but the right hand now went to the base of the penis. With the third finger on top and the thumb below he squeezed carefully, then continued the stroke all the way to the end of the foreskin.

From the eye in the end of the penis a large drop appeared. He repeated the stroke, and the droplet grew bigger, until there was too much there and it dropped onto the boy's belly. The boy on top looked enquiringly at the teacher.

"That's fine, boys. Well done. Would you care to show that the fluid is harmless?"

The boy kneeling dipped his finger into the little patch of wetness on his colleague's belly and held it in the air. Then to the amazement of us all he held it to his lips and licked it! The other boy sat up, smiled at his friend, took his penis in between his fingers and squeezed upwards, so producing a droplet at the end which he, too, proceeded to lick. We stared, aghast.

"OK, thank you. You may go."

They picked up their clothes and without bothering to put them on, left the room.

"It just tastes a little salt and rather like olive oil," explained the teacher. "And I'm sure that watching that will have produced a similar effect on all of you. What you are to do now is to pair off. We'll have similar ages together, I think, apart from the two youngest, so starting from the eldest, that's you two, you and you 3;" He paired us off, not in actual ages, I noticed, but with similar stages of development together. To my surprise I found myself given young Jimmy, who was looking very sorry for himself. I raised my eyebrows to ask him why, but he wouldn't meet my eyes.

"OK. Take your partner, and go to a couch, and face it."

We did so.

"Except for Jimmy and the one who's only a bit older – what's your name, boy?"

"Peter, sir," he said.

" 3; Peter. The one on the right is to lie on the couch. Go on."

It was obvious to us all what was about to happen. Nobody could see a way out of it, not even the blond bodybuilder who, I would have thought, should be good with his fists. He was on the left, though, and would be the one doing the stroking.

"Hands behind your heads, each of you, and they are to stay there until I tell you to move them. Legs slightly apart. Ah, yes, you – Jimmy and Peter. You are to operate on your older partners, this time. So you and you, on the couches, please."

I wasn't sure about this at all. As I settled myself to lie still, hands behind my head, the last thing I wanted to do was to separate my legs. I still felt more naked, more vulnerable, than I had done on the stage that morning. Although not as humiliated. Here we were all in the same state.

"That's no good. Separate your legs more. He's not got the span to go either side of you so he'll have to kneel in the middle."

"Sir 3; it feels 3; strange, sir."

"Well of course it does. That's why we are doing it, to show you what happens, let you feel it for the first time, and get you used to it. Right, Peter and Jimmy; up you get, and kneel there."

I could see that Jimmy was looking a bit brighter now. Perhaps he realized that he wasn't to be expected to produce fluid. He looked at me, and at my penis which had become flaccid again. As he did so I could feel it stir again. The teacher's voice cut in.

"You saw what the other two did. I want you to do the same. The one who is lying down must relax completely, and think of whoever he usually dreams about at night. He must not move his hands from behind his head. If there is a problem you call for me. Understood?"

Silence.

"Understood?"

Mumbles of "Yes, sir."

"Those on top; remember, you are trying to produce a result. Under no circumstances are you to use any force whatsoever or to play about with your subject. Remember you are dealing with a very sensitive part of his body, and when it is your turn you will want to be treated as gently as you are to treat him. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"When you think he is ready and can produce fluid, stop and tell me. Do not try squeezing the penis yourself. Ok, you may start."

I laid back fully and tried to relax. It is not easy, with your legs apart and someone you have only just met kneeling between them, even if he is only a child. I felt him hesitantly put a finger on my knees, straighten his back to bring his body over mine, and slowly trace his fingers up to the creases at the top of my legs.

"Do you mind?" he whispered.

"You've got to do it," I whispered back. "No, I don't mind if you're gentle."

He was very gentle, my little friend. He followed what the older boys had done to the letter, and my penis, which had started being aroused when he brought himself upright on a level with my knees, was soon standing up again.

"Can I move my fingers around yet?"

"Yes."

The sensation was certainly more than pleasurable. At one point, finding himself still too far back to reach easily, he carefully shuffled his knees further up inside my thighs. The gentle movement of his knees as they pressed against me there was very intimate. I found I was concentrating on him and what he was doing for me, and had forgotten everyone else.

His hands had moved round to the inside of my thighs, and his strokes were shorter because his knees were in the way. When he spread his fingers, he once again started by my knees, then gradually increased the number of fingers he used on my thighs until he arrived at just under my scrotum. It was a wonderful, gentle sensation, and I wished that Chris and I had discovered it rather than just going straight into making each other – what was the word – orgasm? – straight away.

Suddenly one of Jimmy's hands was off my leg and I opened my eyes in surprise. I caught him looking at me with such a tender expression in his face that I felt an almost immobilizing rush of emotion for him. He quickly smiled, to hide any embarrassment, and gently put the freed hand on my testicles. I nearly fainted with the sensation, but I wanted to see something. I lifted my head to look, lowered my eyes to his genitals, and was glad to see a small shaft standing up between his legs. Good. He was enjoying it, too. Very gently, as though handling eggshells, he squeezed me and released, squeezed and released. It was so warm and caressing that I thought it should go on for ever. His other hand moved off my other thigh and just as gently stroked up the base of my penis, from root to tip.

Now, my foreskin, as I said, is tight. It's also rather short. So during an erection there's quite a bit of unprotected glans appearing at the top. Jimmy's hand was occasionally touching this, something which I had been careful never to do because it was so sensitive it hurt. But now I was so aroused, more than if I had just been masturbating or even when Chris had done it for me, it was no longer painful but just very, very stimulating. I was still unconscious of anything else in the room in any detail, but I could hear some sound in the background. Jimmy continued working on me, now switching back to my thighs, then to my testicles, then to the penis, until he bent over me and whispered.

"You've made some."

I smiled back at him, weakly. I didn't want him to stop.

"I've got to tell him."

Oh yes. The teacher. Oh damn.

"Please, sir?"

He was by us in a moment. "Are you ready to try? Oh, I see. I told you to stop before he was ready."

"Sorry, sir. It just came."

"I see. Right. Remember what happened in the demonstration? Fingers round the base of his penis, one above, one below. Now, squeeze. No, a bit harder; you're trying to push liquid up the tube that's inside. That's better. Now, maintaining the same pressure, pull your fingers up, right to the tip and stop when you're just on the bulge there."

It was a bit like being milked. When he had done as he was told there was quite a good amount of fluid lying on the tip of the organ, held in by the surrounding foreskin. I was quite proud, although the feeling was coming back that what had just happened – what was still happening – was totally foreign to me.

The teacher was talking to Jimmy. "Ok. Now he's made it for you, put your thumb and finger either side of the fluid and scoop it up between them."

I was worried about this. Surely he didn't expect someone as young as Jimmy to do what the prefects had done? Jimmy wasn't sure either, I thought. He slowly brought his hand down to me, looked at me, and lifted as much of the fluid away from my penis as could be gathered between his fingers. He sat there, looking at his wet fingers for a moment. I could read nothing in his face. A quick movement closed his eyes; he put both his fingers into his mouth and closed his lips.

I was amazed, and I could see the teacher was surprised as well. Jimmy opened his eyes wide and announced: "I DID it! I didn't think I could, but I did it!" He paused. "It's a bit salty, but not horrid. Can I try again?"

"Yes," said the teacher. "Not everyone is ready yet. You can have another go, then we'll break for a while."

He looked at me again as the teacher walked away. "Do you mind?"

"No. You're not hurting me."

He looked down at my penis again. It was losing its stiffness so he had to hold it steady before trying to scoop some more fluid from it. There was none left, but his touch inevitably brought me back to a full erection again. He tried squeezing more up from the base again, but none appeared.

"Shall I start again?"

"If you want."

"You don't mind?"

"No, it's nice."

And it was. He started right from stroking my thighs again, and this time I was soon producing drop upon drop of fluid. He didn't need to 'milk' me at all. When he had gone through the procedure of massaging me he stopped, head on one side, and looked at my wet organ. He encircled its base with his thumb and forefinger, squeezed, and 'milked' me all the way up to the tip. My foreskin managed to come together at the top, and so deposited quite a little pool of fluid on his fingers. Without hesitation he lifted his hand to his mouth and licked it all off.

He sat there, smiling at me, and I smiled back. It seemed we were there for a long time.

Eventually the teacher called for a break. Jimmy climbed off the couch, and I swung my legs round.

"Just before you go, two things. Some of you will want to go to the toilet, and you have obviously just had an arousing experience. For some, there will be a temptation to masturbate. You are not to do so. If you are suspected of this we shall check on the video tapes to see whether you did or not. Yes, every room you go into has a hidden camera. So we shall know, and you will receive a punishment. The only times you may come to orgasm when classes are on is when you are given permission. You may go."

It was a silent group of boys who made their way along the corridors. They had all forgotten their clothes, and I was certainly not going to remind them as I didn't have any. They were all used to being naked after the previous week that the lesson had driven the thought out of their minds. It wasn't until we were almost at the dining room that one of the more shy ones stopped them and they retreated. I carried on, and to my surprise so did Jimmy. We sat in the dining room, unworried. It's easier to be naked when you're sitting down at a table. We had only just started our drinks when the others trooped in, still unclothed.

"Wouldn't he let you get dressed?" I asked the blond god.

"Bastard's locked the door and wouldn't unlock it. Said if we couldn't remember our clothes it meant we could do without them."

Jimmy and I looked at each other and stifled a laugh. "I wanted to keep you company," he said.

"It's not so bad being naked if there's more than one of you."

I couldn't agree with him. I thought it was grossly embarrassing being naked with other people when I didn't want to be. It was all right for him, I thought wrongly, he's so young and undeveloped that it doesn't matter. I said so.

"What?" he asked indignantly. "Do you think I go round naked at home? Or at school? Of course I'm not used to it, just as you're not." He paused. "You have got more to show, though."

We watched as more and more of the pupils from other classes filed in. Some of the older ones were unconcernedly naked and chatted easily amongst themselves. A few of the slightly younger ones were with them, and looked as though they were putting on a show to keep up. Others, clothed, looked as ordinary as if they'd just come from normal classes. Which, I learned later, they probably had. Some of these were casting sly glances at the unclothed amongst us.

Still others came in late, with suspiciously red eyes, and a few of these were older than me by two or three years. One was walking awkwardly. I wondered what he'd done.

Eventually a bell rang and there was a mass exodus. We found our way back and found the teacher waiting for us.

"Right," he said when we had settled down again. "How many of you found what we did before break was in no way at all an enjoyable experience?"

Two hands went up, from two of the older contingent.

"So the other six enjoyed either doing it, or having it done to them?"

There were nods and mutters of agreement. The two who had raised their hands contrived to look both disgusted and worried.

"Ok. So we'll shuffle you around a bit. You two" – this to the pair who had put their hands up – "can be together. Jimmy can be the subject for 3; yes, you."

My little friend was put with the oldest in the group, the boy who had smiled at me earlier. I was pretty certain he would be all right, but Jimmy wasn't, and I could see his face drop with apprehension. The older boy crossed straight to him, though, pulled him down to sit beside him on a couch and talked quietly to him.

I was paired up with the blond boy. I would have to run my hands over him. He was so attractive I started trembling at the thought. When we were told to start he lay down on the couch in the authorized position and closed his eyes. Well, at least I could feast my eyes on him as I worked, I thought.

I tried my very best to massage him as I had seen and as Jimmy had done so well to me, but no matter how gentle I was and how long I went on for his organ remained obstinately limp. I even gave up massaging his thighs after I could see there was no effect and started on his testicles. He opened his eyes and glared balefully at me.

"Well, queer boy, I suppose you like doing this, do you? You're no good at it, though, are you?"

I was crushed. His hand had been one of those which went up to show he had enjoyed the morning's work. What was I doing wrong? I still massaged his testicles, and thought I would try his penis as well to see if I could stimulate it.

Nothing. Just then the teacher came by.

"Why are you doing that? Don't you know you start on his thighs to get an erection first?"

I explained that I'd tried that, but nothing had happened although I'd been doing it for ages. I could feel my subject glaring at me, and as I finished my explanation I looked at him. He was looking furious.

"I see," said the teacher slowly. "And have you any explanation for this?"

"No sir."

"Have you been masturbating?"

"No sir."

"I think we'd better check. Wait there. You can keep on trying to arouse him while I've gone."

He left the room. My subject just had time to hiss at me: "You bastard. You should have said nothing, I had a wank at break and now it won't go up. You wait 3;" when in walked two of the monitors. They took up station at each end of the room, and watched us as we all paused in what we were doing.

"You will continue," said one. It wasn't what he said but how he said it that sent a shiver up my spine, silenced us all, and made us work on avidly. Stolen glances in the direction of the nearest one to me showed him watching us like a hawk. Inevitably I looked down at his crotch and was surprised, gratified and then disgusted to see the material was distended in a straight line upwards and sideways, and a patch of wetness was coming through the cloth.

He had an erection. Worse, he was very aroused. Worst, he was about 60, heavy, and very ugly. I could get no reaction from Blondie for ages, but as the teacher returned to the room I detected a stir, I thought. The monitors wordlessly left. They were walking rather carefully, I thought.

"Everybody stop" ordered the teacher. There were one or two groans from a few of the subjects who had been enjoying the treatment. Blondie sat up and pushed me away, despite a noticeable increase in the size of his penis.

"Listen, all of you. I suspected that this boy had disobeyed me and had ridded himself of the strain of this morning by masturbating, in your terminology by wanking himself off, during break. I have examined the video tapes from the nearby toilets and have found that I was correct. Tomorrow morning, therefore, we shall play that tape for the whole school to see and you, boy, will receive a punishment. So far as the rest of this morning is concerned, as you are not likely to be able to react as we want, you two will change places."

Oh dear, I thought. After the way he spoke to me I'm not sure I want this.

"Please sir," I piped up, "he started to react just now."

"Shut up, you 3;" Blondie hissed at me.

"That's of no importance now," said the teacher. "My decision has been made."

Somehow neither of us was prepared to argue. We swapped places. Because of his inability to become aroused, and his words to me, I was also flaccid. Once the teacher had moved away he took hold of my testicles in one hand, leaving the other on my thigh to make it look good, bent over me and said "if you start crying, or shout out it'll be the worse for you."

I had always been in awe of him, just as I would have been had he been in my class in an ordinary school. But then he would have been admired from afar, because all his friends are likely to have been superboys like him. But here he was accessible, by command if not by his design, so my strong longings for his body near mine had been tangible. But now, like a pin bursting a balloon, I was suddenly scared of him rather than eagerly anticipating his touch.

He squeezed my two testicles together, gently at first, then harder and harder. I gasped. He released momentarily, looked up to where the teacher was standing – I couldn't see – smiled, adjusted his grip and squeezed hard again. The ache in them felt as if I'd just been hit there. Then he suddenly pulled down. The ache was so awful that I gasped again. He let go, looked up again, then looked at me with no smile but a warning in his eyes. Gently he put his hand back on my testicles and gently massaged them, then did what he was meant to have done in the first place. He stroked the sides of my legs right up to under my scrotum and even traced circles on the plateau between it and my bum. He even felt the beginnings of my cheeks. I heard the teacher say: "that's the way. That's good," as I started to get hard again. He walked away. My penis was now receiving the treatment with one hand, a tracing of its length from base to tip, and was once again very hard. After some minutes of this he paused at the end of an upward stroke and put his finger and thumb at the tip.

And pulled my foreskin all the way down in one movement.

My scream brought the teacher running. I was holding my erect, stinging penis, uttering high moans of pain, struggling to get up, to get myself as far away from my assailant as I could. I felt as if I was going to split. I couldn't get the foreskin back up, it was too hard, too tight and the glans too dry. Gradually as I hopped about the pain subsided a little – or was I getting used to it? – but I wasn't going to let on about that. My tormentor was going to believe that I was in serious pain, and accept the consequences.

After a long time my erection died down so that I could ease the foreskin back over the ridge. It was most reluctant, because I was still dry and it kept wanting to stick and roll over on itself. The feeling of this on the exposed end, most of which had never seen the light of day, was strange and painful. Annoyed that I couldn't rectify matters the teacher called in one of the prefects. He learned from me what the problem was, and took a look.

Then he knelt down, put his lips around my penis, and licked it. As he pulled away I pushed the foreskin up, it slid into place perfectly, and my ordeal was over. The turmoil in my mind caused by anybody being prepared to take the most private part of my body – or any other part, come to that – into his mouth was a minor consideration compared with the relief from pain. I looked at him. He looked blankly back at me. I thanked him. He said it was OK. He turned and left the classroom.

Blondie, who I now hated as much as I had been attracted to him before, was taken to the side of the teacher's desk and told to stay there. I was sent to the other side. The rest were told to sit on their couches and be silent.

He turned to me. "You have been assaulted. He knows, as you know, that such a thing is not permitted. He did something that I didn't require him to do, and caused pain, deliberately, by doing so. That is wrong in any society. Anyone who deliberately causes pain without a good reason and in an uncontrolled way is sick. Here, we punish that sort of sickness severely before trying to cure it."

He turned to the blond god who still looked unrepentant. "You are to receive one punishment for spending your semen having been told not to. You will receive a far greater punishment for deliberately causing pain to your colleague who you knew from this morning to have a tight foreskin. You will receive a further punishment for disobeying me. Further, you will be dismissed from this beginners' class and put into a more advanced class where they have already undergone the basics. You will find that painful yourself, to start with. And if there is any retaliation on this boy or in any other way, be assured we have ways here of causing you so much physical and mental pain and discomfort that you will wish you were miles away.

"For the moment, your victim can have his revenge." He turned to me. "You can do what you want to him, so long as it causes him no permanent physical damage."

I looked at him, then at my assailant. I could grab his genitals and pull, or I could hit them, I could just punch him, or do anything. But if I did – and I wanted to – he would always have a chance of revenge himself. I couldn't make up my mind if he was, like most of us, interested in his own sex. A thought came into my head: "Love your enemy." What would happen if 3; ? Well, they couldn't laugh at me, not in a place where we had just been taught to give each other erections.

I started walking round the desk. "Just a minute," said the teacher, "I need to approve what you're going to do."

I returned to my side of the desk and told him, very quietly so my enemy couldn't hear. He looked at me in astonishment, then, to my surprise and disquiet, I noticed that his eyes seemed wet. Why would a grown man cry at something so simple? What was so special about it? He dashed his hand to his eyes, and curtly nodded to me.

So I walked round the desk again and looked at Blondie. He had the grace to look apprehensive, scared, even, for the first time. I said, calmly: "Don't do that to me ever again." Then I bent forward and kissed him on the lips.

Chapter 4
Special Lesson

After the applause of the class, which pleased me, had died down and Blondie had been marched away to be locked in his room, the first session was spent with me as an observer as we were now down to nine people, and because the teacher thought that I might still be in pain to start with if I was a 'subject'. I started off by watching my prospective friend, whose name was Colin, very gently work on little Jimmy, who I was feeling rather protective towards. He had caused an arousal, and it made me have one of my quick, hard erections immediately. Jimmy seemed to be enjoying the attention, though at his age there was probably no chance of his producing any fluid. If it was made by the testicles, which I suspected, then his hadn't grown yet. His scrotum was held close and tight to the base of his belly.

He opened his eyes at one point and saw me watching him, and just smiled so languorously that my heart went out to him. I was glad he was enjoying it. Colin saw the glance and smiled at me too. His own erection was impressive, and I suddenly longed to be with him, on my own, or with Jimmy. After all, there wasn't much that Jimmy didn't know about either of our bodies, was there? Then I thought back to why I was here, and just what my mind was running away with, and how I had carefully avoided any possibility of getting involved in contacts like this. Until Chris. Poor old Chris. I wondered what he was going through. Were there other places like this he could have been sent to? Could he possibly be enjoying himself? I doubted it. Like me, he had seemed a private person, one who had given nothing away about himself before we had 'met'. I wondered when – if – I'd see him again

My attention turned back to the bodies in front of me. Jimmy was wriggling and trying not to laugh as Colin traced his fingers over his testicles and down under his legs. He was young enough for the sensation still to be a tickle, and little more, although as I watched he grew quieter, more still. Colin, who by now, some ten minutes into the treatment, was himself appearing quite shiny around the tip of his penis, switched his hand to the small organ in front of him, stroking it from base to tip as we had been shown. How I wished it was mine 3; He continued like this for ages, it seemed, then tried to 'milk' some fluid. None appeared, of course. Jimmy opened his eyes to see, and looked apprehensive when he saw nothing there.

"Will he mind?" he asked.

"Can you give me some of yours so it looks like mine?"

"I think he realizes you're too young to make any," came Colin's deep voice. "Anyway, he's coming."

The teacher approached and watched Colin's activities. The apprehension had had an effect on Jimmy, because despite the stroking his erection was vanishing.

"I think that's enough," said the teacher. "He's gone over the top and down the other side. You had better continue with this boy" – me – "if you're feeling OK now?" I was about to assure him that I was, when Jimmy piped up again.

"Can't he use some of his on me, so I can feel what it's like?"

"Sir."

"Sorry; sir."

"I suppose he could, yes. Do that."

He was going to stay and watch, but a call came from up the room.

"Do you really want me to, Jimmy?"

"Yes."

So Colin set to work on the boy's genitals again. I wondered whether to help, and decided that if I stroked his thighs it was in the spirit of the thing so I wouldn't get into trouble. Colin was astride Jimmy's calves, so I had to work from the area of his chest. This meant that some times I was catching Colin's low-hanging testicles as they swung forward and back. Twice I felt a wetness on my arms as I stroked; Colin was very wet indeed.

Jimmy was soon fully aroused again. "Are you sure?" asked Colin again. Jimmy opened his eyes and nodded, slowly but positively.

Colin stopped. I continued. As Jimmy watched, Colin bent over so his penis was directly over the young boys and 'milked' himself. Because of the length of his erection and all he had gone through that morning there was not a few drops, but a dribble of fluid which emerged, and landed right on the tip of the boy's organ. I put my hand on its tip and gently eased back the foreskin so that it covered the exposed, sensitive area.

"Pull it back," said Jimmy. I looked questioningly at him. "It's all right. I do it all the time."

I pulled, very slowly and gently, and was amazed at how easily the skin slid back. The wetness spread, dragged by my movement until the entire end of his swollen organ was covered.

"I can't feel any difference," he complained.

"Can you give me some of yours, too?" I was surprised, but since watching them had made me very wet too I could oblige. I stood on tiptoe, holding onto Colin's shoulder for support, my chest touching the side of his, and extended my penis as far over Jimmy as I could. Colin bent the boy's penis toward me. I thought I could just reach, so I squeezed myself from the base of the shaft, and stretched 3; The heads of our penises touched and another drop or so of seminal fluid was on Jimmy.

"Can't you rub it over?" he asked. The teacher was still at the other side of the room with his back to us. I touched the tip of his penis and thrilled with the slickness of so much lubricant. I smoothed it over him. He shuddered. I stopped. "Go on!"

I rubbed it all over the tip and down the little shaft, then up. Suddenly he gave a gasp, his back arched 3; and we both watched, enthralled, as the good looking, loveable, 11-year-old had his first orgasm. He died down, his eyes closed, and just lay there.

Colin and I looked at each other. I suddenly remembered that we had been told not to do anything else but make fluid. Blondie was going to be punished for masturbating. And here was I. I looked round.

The teacher was standing there. I said nothing.

"I saw," he said.

"I'm sorry, sir, it never occurred to me that he would 3; um 3; come."

"It's all right. He has no semen to give, yet. Perhaps it was for the best. It's given him the taste. I'll not blame you, but be careful it doesn't happen to anyone else."

"What was that?" asked a weak voice from the couch. "That was wonderful. Can you do it again?"

"No," answered the teacher. "They can't. That was an orgasm, what happens if you masturbate. You mustn't do it until you're told. Your chance will come."

And he walked off with a half-smile. Jimmy looked at us.

"It was wonderful," he said again. "Is it wrong?"

"Some people think it is," said Colin. "But they're adults and don't see why we should have fun. It's unusual to come with other people watching, It's odd, but it didn't seem to matter to him for that reason. I hope they aren't going to try and make me come when others are about."

"Not even us?" asked Jimmy.

"No. Apart from my brother and his friend I've never done it with anyone else."

"Then why are you here?"

He paused. "My little brother was 3; interested 3; in why I'd got, you know, hair, and why my penis stood up while I was showering him and what was in the bag underneath it 3; you know, all the things you're inquisitive about. Well, he was about 10 and we were on holiday, and he asked me again, so I told him, and showed him what happens. He said one of the boys at school had told him you could get white stuff out, and was it true. So I told him about that as well, and he asked me to show him, so I did.

"The next day he brought round a friend he'd met at the swimming pool. They had changed together and he'd told his friend about his big brother. His friend said he wanted to see, too, and would I go through it for him. At first I said no, 'cos I didn't know him, but the idea was exciting. But his friend was so insistent. He said he'd take his clothes off too. We were in my brother's bedroom. Suddenly, the kids took off their clothes, and just stood there laughing at me. Then they took mine off too, not that I struggled very much – it was too good a game. I was used to being naked with my brother; as I said, I'd often showered him. But to be with two of them, and one I'd never seen before 3; well, it really did things for me. They climbed all over me, sat on me, then my brother told me to tell his friend what he'd told me, and show him. I didn't mind telling him, and it gave me a kick to point out the bits of me that counted, but when it came to 3; you know 3; well, I couldn't. It didn't seem right.

"So they both sat on me again, the friend on my chest and my brother on my legs, and my brother grabbed my dick and started pumping at it as I'd done the day before. After a bit they changed over and it wasn't long before they were both covered. That shut up the friend a bit, and he put on his clothes and went. My brother and I shared a shower, and I thought I'd get my own back for doing what he'd done. So I tickled his willy until it got a sort of erection, then wanked him for a while. It took a long time but he got rigid in my arms and then flopped, so I thought he must have come. He certainly said he had.

"Later that night the police came round. My parents were back then and were as scared as I was when they said they'd come to arrest me for molesting. Apart from seeing them in court I never had a chance to explain to them alone what had happened."

He stopped, and dashed a hand over his eyes. Could it be that this good looking, strong, eighteen year-old was crying?

The teacher's voice cut across the silence. "You're not here to talk, you're here to get used to each others' bodies. We'll swap you round."

Jimmy was sent to try his luck with the kid of his own age and Colin was sent off with one of the older lads. As an 'injured party' and the odd man out I was sent up to watch the two boys who had put up their hands as having got no enjoyment out of the activity. They had swapped over from the morning, and I could see the one operating was doing so very distastefully. His subject was lying there, eyes closed, but the stroking was barely keeping his erection alive.

"Been sent to watch?" asked the one operating, "or have you come because you want to?"

"I've been sent. I can't take part because we're down to nine."

"It's no good, Steve. I can't do what they want. The trouble is, I know it's you doing it, and it's a big turn off. No offence."

"I couldn't either, Mike, to start with. You've just got to start again, think of a girlfriend, and then take her clothes off in your mind. Start again."

He stopped, raised himself to his knees from his semi-crouching position and waited. Mike shuffled about, then tried to relax again. Steve lowered himself to sit back on his subject's legs again, then started stroking.

"Isn't that too hard?" I asked.

"What d'you know about it?"

"Well, I managed earlier and it worked. And someone else did it to me."

"You do it, then."

He stayed where he was. Working from the side, I stroked his thighs so gently that I was hardly touching him, and soon, to my relief, his not inconsiderable penis raised itself from its bed of black curly hair and started swaying to a stand. I looked at Steve.

"Carry on," he mouthed at me. I don't really want to touch him there."

I succeeded in keeping his erection, but could raise no fluid from him. Eventually the teacher came up.

"What's this, what's this? No, that's no good. You've got to do it, and you are here to watch, not interfere. You will have a minor punishment for that, just to show the others that I'm serious about what I say."

I was dumbfounded. All I had wanted to do was help. I told him so.

"Yes, I realized that, but what you did wasn't helping. If they need help, they ask me. If you were an expert I might ask you to, but you're not, it's your first day. Let them get on with it. Come with me. Watch these two."

I was just turning away when I heard one of them say "thanks, kid," and the other: "sorry."

That was enough. I wondered what he meant by a 'minor punishment'. Nothing seemed to be happening to me. I watched two others work one on the other; they seemed to be getting on well enough without me – in fact almost too well. Things were getting very slippery. Eventually a buzzer sounded.

"Right. Stop, please. That's not a bad start, apart from you two." He indicated Mike and Steve. "You must learn to relax completely. Think about what or who you like, but relax. And of you're operating, be as gentle as you know how, especially to start with. If you don't manage it properly we'll have to give you artificial relaxants, so be warned.

"Now, you. You interfered just now, and I said you would receive a minor punishment. That means it's done here, not in front of the school. Lie on the couch. The rest of you, stand round."

I dragged myself to where he had indicated, suddenly weak with apprehension. What was going to happen? They couldn't take any more clothes off me to embarrass me that way.

"Spread your legs."

Once again, lying there face up, my legs almost off the side of the couch, I felt totally naked, vulnerable. Not vulnerable as I had with my bottom towards a large audience, but the more so because I knew something painful was going to happen to me. I felt my eyes start to water again and closed them in apprehension. A hand went on to my testicles. I gave a sob. Fingers teased at some of the few, short hairs I had there, then stayed stationery I held my breath. There was a jerk, a sharp, momentary sting. I gasped.

"That's it. Get up."

I got up and looked at him, pink eyed.

"A minor punishment. More major ones include losing more of them, like the boy who assaulted you will tomorrow. You lost one."

Oh well. It was over with. The rest of them donned their clothes without a word. Still feeling rather weak, I followed my silent companions, once again the only one naked, to lunch.

The rest of that day was spent in ordinary classes. The four of us who were about the same age were split away from the group after lunch and joined a crowd of ten or so others doing mundane things like maths and English. I could hardly concentrate after the morning's activities. Gradually the feeling that I was the only unclothed one there stopped mattering for short periods until I reminded myself again. These periods lengthened throughout the afternoon, until about tea time and the end of classes when I had to get up. I was in mid stretch when I saw one of the other boys giving me a sideways glance, and suddenly remembered.

I was about to leave the classroom when the English teacher called me back.

"After tea you will please report to Mr. French, who you were with this morning. He has an extra lesson for you."

Oh no; not more. I wanted to get to the privacy of my room.

"Yes, sir," I said meekly, and followed the last of the others.

I joined Jimmy and Colin at a table with three others of our class. None of them had really been able to take anything in during the afternoon. They sympathized with me over the 'extra lesson', but none of us had any idea what it was to be about. After a lot of people had drifted away the buzzer went again and I made my way as inconspicuously as possible to the classroom of this morning. How can you be inconspicuous when you're naked and everybody is wearing clothes? I knocked on the door and was told to come in. Mr. French was at his desk, and there was a prefect – clothed, of course – by his side who smiled at me in recognition. It was my savior from this morning's episode when Blondie had pulled my foreskin down, the boy who had actually licked me to make me wet so the skin could go back again.

"Billy's going to help you sort your foreskin out," said Mr. French. "It's going to be a bit uncomfortable, and I want you to be aware of that before he starts. So there is to be no noise, understand? No shouting or anything like that, because I know he is very gentle and is only going to do what he has to. This time, although I'd rather he didn't, if he makes you come then neither of you will be punished. But I shall be checking to see he's not doing it deliberately to please you."

Billy indicated a couch, so I laid down on it. "No," he said. "Sit on it, feet on the floor." I complied.

He took my penis between his fingers, held it up and examined it, and my testicles too. Once again, and to my embarrassment, my erection was quick. He looked up at me and smiled, then settled to his examination again.

"It's all quite normal, just a bit tight. You've never washed behind it, have you?" I shook my head.

"You've got to start doing that at your age. As soon as you start becoming mature, it's unhealthy not to. And especially here 3; Anyway, in the shower, or to start with use warm water in basin, roll it back and swish your cock about. Try wiping it, too. Try to close your mind against the sensation. It isn't pain, and you're not harming yourself. Take the pressure to the maximum you can stand. I'm going to give you a start, OK? Don't forget, you get used to it, it isn't bad pain."

He gripped me there again, and very gently, slowly, pulled back a short way.

"That's all right, isn't it?" I nodded. His other hand hovered over the top of my slightly exposed glans. I drew downwards with alarm.

"Don't be such a baby! I never touched you."

He licked his finger, leaving a lot of spit on it, then lowered it gently onto my penis. It was so light I could hardly feel it. He started to chase the wetness around me, pushing at the edges of the foreskin. I noticed that he was gradually pulling back, exposing more and more, and suddenly it didn't seem to matter any more. The pain had turned to a warm but intense sensation, one that I could accept, albeit with difficulty.

Further and further back went the foreskin until it was at its widest over my swollen glans. With his fingers in a ring underneath to stop it going further back he held it stationary, wetted his fingers again and once more swirled the wetness around me. I felt a growing need to pass water, mainly when he touched the sides of the glans. He must have seen my stomach muscles tense as I held the urge in check, so at once pushed the skin back over me.

"What's the matter?"

"I've got to pee."

"Can you manage a bit more, then we'll both go, and have a game."

I thought I could. Swiftly he pulled me back again: I was still wet, though whether from his spit or my fluid I didn't know.

"Right. I'm going to ease it all the way back. It'll go now. Then we'll go to the toilet with it like that."

I wasn't at all certain, but before I could speak he had gently pushed me all the way back so my crumpled foreskin was under the ridge of my glans once again, and was compressing my erect penis tightly. It was painful, uncomfortable, but not as bad as I thought it would be.

"Ok, now we'll go to the toilet. Oh, I'll keep you company." And he dropped his shorts and took off his T-shirt. "Here, I've skinned you, skin me."

"What?"

"Skin me. Pull my foreskin back."

His penis was limp. I grasped it, and gently pulled back. Like Jimmy's earlier, it slid back easily, despite his penis being much thicker than mine, even though I was still erect. I nestled quite naturally below his bulb, which I saw was itself of a coarser texture than mine. We went into the toilet. I made for the urinals, but he stopped me and directed me instead toward the showers.

"Here. Aim for the drain. We'll walk back and see who can get back furthest while still getting it in there."

We started more or less together, but what with my still present erection and the tight band of foreskin restricting my flow I produced only a thin jet. Seeing the force with which it was emerging I moved back swiftly to about 3 meters [10 feet], aiming higher and higher as I went, until my stream went in a graceful arc up to about my own height, before falling on the drain where it splashed to a puddle. Billy could get no further back than a meter and a half [5 feet] before his thick waterfall ran out of power. In fact I had to aim to one side, to avoid hitting his bottom with my water pistol shot on its way to the corner.

With the laughter that came to us as naturally as night following day I began to relax, I forgot all about the sensation in my penis which was now beginning to subside anyway. In fact it wasn't until I started walking in the passage again that the unaccustomed coldness in the tip reminded me it was still uncovered. I looked down with surprise, imagined it must be hurting, found it wasn't, and smiled.

When we entered the classroom Billy bent to pick up his shorts. "Here. You put them on." He handed them to me. I looked at him questioningly. He looked quite sincere.

Swiftly I pulled them up my legs, glad at last to feel clothes again. At the top of my thighs I suddenly stopped. My exposed cherry! How could I wear clothes? Billy laughed.

"Go on. Pull them up, or I'll do it for you."

If anyone was going to do it, it was me. I eased the waistband over my sensitive tip and put it low down my belly. The material was so flimsy that it immediately touched me, so I had to stand bent forward to hold it away. Billy and Mr. French laughed. I felt cheated.

"Now you can lie on the couch," said Billy. I shook my head.

"Come on, you."

He walked to me and firmly pushed me backwards. The material touched me again. I gasped. I sat on the edge of the couch, hoping the material would bunch up. It did. Billy bent down and scooped my legs off the floor and parallel with the bed. The material lay down on me again. He made me lie like that for several minutes. I had to admit that, like before, the pain was becoming a more of a discomfort, then a sensation. He just sat on the bed, looking at my face. He was nice, and if I hadn't so quickly made special friends of Colin and Jimmy I'd have been really attracted to him. But as it was, well 3; Hold on, what was he doing now? He reached over to me and very slowly pulled the waistband higher up my belly. This started it all off again, although it didn't seem to be as bad as it was originally.

He kept on with this for another 15 minutes or so; adjusting the material, resting, adjusting, resting, and all the time it grew more bearable. At last Mr. French said: "ten minutes."

"Off you get," said Billy. Almost comfortable by now I swung my legs down and could just about stand the scratchiness of the cloth. I stood there, wondering what was to happen next. Billy reached to my sides, grabbed the waistband and swiftly pulled the shorts down. This made the elastic push down on my tip, and I winced. Without ceremony he made me step out of them and put them back on himself.

"Last few minutes, on the couch," he ordered.

From the side he started stroking my thighs and inside them and – to my surprise – my nipples and earlobes. Even quicker than usual I found my naked glans throbbing as my erection returned. Soon one hand was stroking my belly down toward the straggly pubic hair which was all I had to offer whilst the other – he had pushed my legs apart – was running three fingers between the cleft of my bottom and onto my testicles and back. It was swifter and more exciting than had happened to me earlier in the day, and if possible my erection was harder as a result. This went on for some minutes, and my eyes closed again in ecstasy. Suddenly I felt a warmth on my erection, and opened my eyes. His head was bent low over me, his lips encircling my penis. I could feel his tongue running round the base of my glans, over the foreskin gathered there, now round one way, now the other. His mouth went further down toward the root of my penis and I could feel the back of his throat constrict around the tip. There was an indescribable sensation as he tried to swallow again and again 3; I had forgotten all about pain and discomfort with this treatment which was better than anything I could possibly do for myself by hand. I thought I must be close to an orgasm and wondered how I should tell him to stop him getting my sperm in his mouth. But all too soon he had stopped, come up to the tip again to give it a last lick round, and released me. He again encircled my wet and throbbing organ with his hand and skillfully pushed the foreskin back into place.

He stood up and looked at me. I was still dazed. "Keep pulling it back, holding it on the widest part for as long as you can. Spend time with it pulled back – all night if you can sleep. And by the way 3;" He paused.

"I'm told there'll have to be another extra lesson tomorrow."

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