Welcome to my new story, David Barnes. Be warned, sex between minors is bound to happen so if that is not what you want to read then you're at the wrong place! All characters are fictitious and any that bare resemblance to real persons is totally coincidental.
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DAVID BARNES 1
My father, Gavin Barnes, was born in March 1933 and lived in West Leederville, a suburb a few kilometres north west of the central business district of Perth, the capital of Western Australia (WA). Only days after dad was born, Thomas Chapman made his appearance into the world and, since the two families lived next door to one another, the boys were destined to be best friends.
They had a pretty idyllic childhood, enjoying everything that life in the 1930's could offer two great mates and mischievous, but generally good, boys. Despite the hardships of the Great Depression, both families were relatively comfortable financially and could provide the boys with most things that would ensure a happy and comfortable childhood and upbringing. The boys went off to the local primary school in 1939 just as the shadow of war was upon Australia and the rest of the world. Both would lose relatives over the years of fighting but their own families remained intact.
As the boys grew, their friendship became stronger and they were virtually inseparable. Both were good students and sportsmen, excelling in cricket, Australian Rules football and swimming. Both joined the City of Perth Surf Club out at City Beach and thoroughly enjoyed the beach life it offered. In 1946 they headed off to high school just on the other side of the railway line in Subiaco and became well respected students and sportsmen. Five years later, after graduating, they headed of to the University of Western Australia to study law.
Over the years Gavin and Thomas had dated various girls but none were considered serious. In their third year at uni they met Iris and Phyllis Tonkin, twins two years their junior and both studying for an Arts degree at UWA. The story goes that it was love at first sight and the couples became a regular item, Gavin with Iris and Thomas with Phyllis. Once the guys graduated at the end of 1955 they headed off to join the same law firm in Perth city. The couples married in separate ceremonies over two weekends in June 1956 and then shared a house in Wembley, the next suburb west of where they were brought up.
Iris and Phyllis fell pregnant only a few months apart and on 2 December 1959 Marcus Thomas Chapman was born. Almost three months later, on 17 February 1960, David Francis Barnes was born and, well, that's me, your storyteller!
In 1960 our dads both purchased blocks of land in a newly opened estate in City Beach, only a kilometre or two from the coast and the surf club. Next door to one another, both families moved into their new homes in August 1962. Marcus and I would eventually finish up with younger siblings, a sister, Denise, for Marcus, two years his junior, and twins Grant and Linley for me in 1963.
Like our dads before us, Marcus and I were destined to be best friends, pretty much doing everything together from as soon as we could crawl. In looks we were totally different. Neither of us carried what could be considered "baby fat" and our very active lifestyles ensured we never would. Marcus had dark wavy hair and blue eyes set in a tanned, angular face. His tan would fade off in the winter and his bum was perpetually white, something I knew because we were never, ever modest around each other and often showered together as kids.
On the other hand, I was the typical blue eyed blond. My full pink lips sat well with my oval face, button nose and contrasted with my olive skin that tanned very nicely in summer and still held colour in the winter. We were similar in height as kids and often wore each other's clothes.
As we grew up, the families continued doing everything together, from holidays to sports to business. The two dads started their own law firm specialising in corporate law and business boomed as the mining industry in WA took off.
In 1965 the families shared the purchase of a holiday home in Dunsborough, a few hours south of Perth. Back then, it was a pretty sleepy area and easy to get property at a fair price. Nowadays that is not the case. I still own the property, although the original house was demolished in the 90's and a new, modern design built to take advantage of the views. On the beach front overlooking the calm waters of the Dunn and Geographe Bays, the house was, and still is, the centre point of family summer holidays.
Marcus and I spent hours together through our early childhood, so it was something of a rude shock to us both when Marcus went off to primary school in 1965. Back then, children in WA started school the year they turned 6 so Marcus would forever be one of the youngest in his class. I was devastated. Marcus had school and new friends to play with while I was left at home alone and distraught, trying to figure out just what the hell had happened. Our mums were both the stay at home kind, at least during our early years, so, as a small mercy, mum was there to help entertain me along with the twins who were slowly becoming more personable and "real".
1965 dragged by; I did meet a few new kids from the area since mum would take us all off a few days a week to a neighbour's house to play bridge or canasta while us young ones entertained ourselves with Matchbox cars and pretend towns and racetracks. No-one matched Marcus though and I hung out every day for his return at three o'clock, so we could go off on our little boy adventures. Weekends and holidays were filled with fun and sleepovers and mischief while school days were long and tedious.
In February 1966, after a wonderfully adventurous summer holiday, most of which was spent "down south", it was time for me to commence my formal education. Our primary school was at the bottom of our street and easy to walk to so, after the first two weeks when mum walked me to and from school, Marcus was charged with escorting and taking care of me. This was a job that Marcus took very seriously, even though there were only a few months difference in our ages. I found it to be quite beneficial, especially in those early years, to have someone who knew the ropes so to speak and was considered one of the "bigger" boys. It was great too that I finally got to spend my days if not always with Marcus then at least in the same general area and not being bored stiff at home.
Both of us loved the beach and, as we grew older, spent many hours at our local beach swimming, body surfing and generally horsing around. We enjoyed sports too and began our careers in cricket and Aussie Rules playing both in under 8's. Depending on numbers, you would go up to the next age group every two years so Marcus and I would be in the same team for one year then he would advance to the next for the following year. It kind of pissed us both off but rules were rules and at least we played for the same clubs. Marcus enjoyed both sports but was not especially skilled in either, average would be the right word, while I was fairly talented in both and, over the years, took on leadership roles and won the odd trophy or two in both sports, mostly as the fairest and best (equivalent to MVP) or runner-up.
As I hinted at earlier, Marcus and I had no qualms about being naked together, often bathing or showering together and changing in front of one another with absolutely no modesty whatsoever. When naked we would often giggle together, especially when we would get stiffies or one of us would bend over showing our pink ring and let rip a loud, often potent, fart. There was never anything sexual about any of it, it was just simple innocent fun.
All that changed in the summer of 1971/72. Marcus had turned 12 in December and suddenly got a good dose of modesty. He refused to shower with me and would head to the bathroom to change. Our sleepovers suddenly became awkward. We had always shared a bed, even though both our rooms had a spare single, but now Marcus insisted we sleep separately. I could not quite fathom why this was happening but whenever I broached the subject or argued my case he would either get grumpy and upset or would simply say we weren't little boys anymore and boys did not sleep together or go flashing their willies or their bums to other boys. In my innocence I did not know where all this was coming from and it kind of hurt that the friend I had grown up with, whom I admired and, without doubt, loved, had suddenly become this private and, at times, incredibly grumpy boy. Don't get me wrong, we still had a great time together no matter what we were doing; it was just the whole naked and sharing a bed thing that had put the skids on.
As per any other year, both families headed down to the beach house for the summer and this is where things became a little difficult, at least for Marcus. With five children and four adults present plus the occasional overnight guest, bedrooms were in rather short supply. Marcus and I had always shared a room and a double bed. With nowhere else to go, with absolutely no alternative, and believe me, Marcus tried everything to find one, we once again slept together. Being on the beach, nights could be cool, much cooler than inland, but normally we seldom wore more than our summer weight "shorty" pyjama bottoms.
This particular summer, Marcus stayed right over his side of the bed, wore undies with his PJs and often the short sleeve top as well. He complained regularly about my wearing nothing but my bottoms and was quite vocal about keeping the fly hole closed; he did not want to see even a hint of my willy or my boy sized nut sack. After a week of this I gave up arguing with him, gave up trying to work out what the big deal was and began at least wearing my undies under my PJs. This seemed to pacify him to a certain degree and peace finally reigned in our sleeping quarters.
The summer was, like any other, loads of fun, full of beach and sea activities, adventures and innocent mischief. But there was a cloud hanging over us, always. Even amongst all the fun and joy we experienced Marcus could, at times, fall into a dark sullen mood that both puzzled and hurt me. Mostly, he was the boy I loved and cared about but when what I referred to as "The Darkness" came upon him I, along with all us kids, would leave him to it, too fearful of his biting tongue and vicious temper.
Looking back as a mature adult I should have at least tried to comfort him and talk to him about what was going on but like most kids it just wasn't a part of my make-up. Instead I would desert him and wait for him to come out of his funk. I overheard our parents talking about his moodiness one afternoon and they thought it was just an early dose of teenage huffiness and he would grow out of it. It was an interesting month down south I can tell you!
The new school year began, and I was in Year 7 where we were the kings and queens of primary school. Marcus commenced his secondary education just up the road a little at City Beach Senior High School. Being in Year 8 he was, of course, at the bottom rung of the pecking order and it did not help that he was pretty much the youngest in the school. That said, Marcus had had a growth spurt over summer and youngest he may be, smallest he was not. He seemed to tower over many of his classmates and even a great many in the years above him. Standing at about 5'7", our active lifestyle had ensured Marcus would not be a skinny rake. Although not built like a brick shithouse, he was solid and was exhibiting all the signs of developing a typical swimmer's build.
I remained several inches shorter than him and there was no sign of any other development either. Dad had given me "the talk" a few days before we returned to school and, although I thought I knew some of it, my mind was ablaze with the realty of growing up and...sex. Dad also told about how things changing sometimes caused great embarrassment and perhaps even personality changes, at least temporarily. I think he was trying to tell me that perhaps this was why Marcus had become such a prudish and moody knob and I began to understand my best mate a little better. I decided then and there that I would be the best possible friend to Marcus and not argue the point all the time when it came to dicks (a new, really good word), bums and sleeping arrangements. Farts were still funny and were never an issue even if they made the receiver dry retch.
By my birthday things had settled down somewhat, we were both enjoying school, cricket, the beach and our new hobby, surfing. We did not deliberately avoid sleepovers, we just did not seem to have the time or energy for them. We both always seemed to be tired, even on weekends, although that was hardly surprising given the energy we expended at the beach and on the cricket field. As the seasons turned Marcus' voice did too, transitioning from a child's to that of a teenage boy in the throes of puberty.
The four-day Easter break in late March saw us all return to the beach house and once more the sleeping arrangements would see a small rift develop between us. I really tried to be good about it and, even though Marcus was being a right dick, I did not raise any objections when he placed a pillow between us and told me to cover myself properly. When we returned for the May school holidays we again went through the usual shit and I was, in the end, happy to be heading back to my own bed.
I missed the old happy, show it all Marcus; this new version, while mostly OK, was, at times, unbearable and I often felt guilty as I avoided his company when the storm clouds were hovering over him. All through winter we avoided sleepovers, neither of us suggesting or wanting one.
The dads could not get away for the August school holidays so, for a change, we did not head down to Dunsborough. By now our mums were job sharing doing office administration duties at the dads' law office, so they needed to be around too. Marcus and I still hung out and had loads of fun going off to the movies or playing footy or just hanging playing Monopoly or Battleship. Our siblings were pretty cool so we didn't really mind them hanging with us either and they added another dimension to our fun. Grant was an evil little bugger and was always pulling practical jokes on the girls. He never had the balls to pull anything on Marcus or me, at least not until he was well into his teens.
In the second half of 1972 there were a few dramatic changes to yours truly. My balls had begun their journey downwards and grew larger while my cock (oh yes, another new and wonderful word) had begun to tell me that it was there to do much more than piss out of and embarrass me with spontaneous stiffies. I had heard about wanking from school friends and asked Marcus if he knew what it was all about. He turned red, sputtered and eventually said he had to go home. When I raised it again the next day he just told me to butt out, that it was just something bad boys did.
I did not believe him for one second, nah ah. Not at all, but I decided to drop it; he was obviously uncomfortable with anything to do with one's equipment and what a young lad could do with it so I would investigate elsewhere. I had a lot of friends at school, some I trusted almost as much as Marcus, so I asked my two best mates, after Marcus, one lunch time in the first week back after the holidays.
Cameron Peters, Neil O'Brien and I were sitting out under a tree near the playground when I finally worked up enough courage to ask them. We had been mates since first grade and had always told each other everything, from Neil shitting his pants because he did not want to use public toilets to me being tickled by my grandad so much I pissed myself.
"So, umm, guys, I was kind of wondering, you know, about this thing you do with your dick when it's kind of, you know, umm, ahh, excited." The guys looked at each other then back to me. I could not hold their gaze and dropped my eyes, taking a real interest in the ant nest at the base of the tree.
"Excited huh? How do you mean excited, David? Do you mean like happy and bouncing around all giggly or what?"
"Well, umm, I guess, Neil, like, you know, when it's, like..."
"Jesus, David, get over it. You mean when its hard don't ya?"
"Neil's right Dave, get over it, we all get woodies man, nothing to stress over. My older brother Damon told me all about them and what ya can do with them."
"Don't call me Dave for crying out loud." I hated the abbreviation and insisted on my full name, even under these excruciating circumstances.
"Settle Barnsie. Look, I'm gonna go out on limb here and guess you're talking about beating the meat?" Cameron raised his hand and indicated the universal signal for, what I was soon to learn, beating the meat.
"Huh?"
"Oh, shit David. Surely you and Marc have talked about this already?"
"No, no he won't tell me nothing Cam, he just walks away or tells me to eff off and that only bad boys do it, whatever "it" is."
"Really? Well shit, I never took Marc to be a prude or something. All boys do it, David. All boys. Good, bad or indifferent. At least that's what Damon says."
"Your brother's a knob, Cam, but in this case he's right on the money I reckon."
"So, what is it, what's beating your meat?"
Cameron took on a new tone and began, sounding much like a teacher.
"Well now, young David. Beating your meat or, as we know it in the trade, wanking, is the act of self-pleasuring, the act of providing ourselves with a magical, sexual experience without the need for anyone else's presence. It is a joyous and totally indulgent experience. You simply must try it."
"If I knew what it was, I would. What is it and how do I get it?"
"So, OK, like, when it's hard David, don't you play with it, make it feel good?"
"Ummm, well, kinda. Like, it feels good to rub it, press on it, but nothing really happens, Cam."
"You ain't doing it right. Cam, he ain't doing it right. Show him, show him the action."
"I'm getting to that. Alright, David."
"Yeah?"
"I ain't gonna get my dick out and show you OK? That would just be a little difficult and soooo not appropriate, particularly here." Cam smiled. "So, this stick is my dick."
"Got that right."
"Get stuffed. So, this stick is my dick."
"Stick dick."
"Shit, Neil, let it go for crying out loud. So, let's pretend this stick is a dick." We all giggled. "OK, now you form your fingers like this, wrapped around your woody and move it up and down. It helps if you have some hand lotion or even spit, to help it glide up and down."
"And what does that do?" I asked, a little spun out at all this and wondering if I should have just kept my trap shut. I watched as Cam continued the action on the stick. He stopped abruptly.
"Oh God. Neil, tell him, I'm at my wits end here."
"Sure thing. David, you do that", and he did the universal signal, "and your cock starts to feel real good, real quick. The faster you go the better. You can play with ya balls too if ya want. Then, things start getting real good, ya butt tightens, ya toes stretch n curl and you almost levitate off the bed and then...pow, you cum, and that feels amazing, man."
"Cum? What the hell's that?"
"Oh, shit dude. You know about sperm, spoof, spunk?"
"Umm, dad told me about sperm and how they fertilise the lady's eggs and all."
"Right, and when you cum that's when you ejaculate, and you ejaculate sperm, spoof, cum, whatever, it's all the same."
"So you cum cum?"
"Yep, finally. Finally, he's getting it Cam!"
OK, so cumming cum feels real good?"
"Bloody oath it does!" they both said together.
"Should I do it laying down, standing, in the toilet?"
"Well, laying down is good. I do it in the shower too. Neil does it like fifty times a day, anywhere, anytime!"
"Fuck you Cam, so do you. Maybe not fifty times a day but last Saturday I did it, like 5 times. I was real horny." He grinned. "I kept thinkng about Nola Whitehead's boobs."
"I can understand that, she has a fine pair of melons, no doubt."
"Umm, OK, so, how much cum do you cum?"
"I'm starting to get a bit funny about this, David. Cum, I mean Cam?"
"Idiot. Damon says as you get older you'll cum more. But even if you only cum a little you still need to clean up, so you'll need a cum rag or tissues or something." "Unless ya do it the shower, it don't matter there."
"Well no, of course it won't. So, anything else David?"
"Ah, no. I think I'm right at the moment."
"Ya gonna go home and try it later?"
"Umm, yeah, I guess Neil. I'm a little excited now!"
"We do not need to know that David."
"Sorry Cam."
"We better get ready to go back in. It's nearly time for the bell."
Well, that was an enlightening lunch break. I went back into class very muck looking forward to getting home.
Unfortunately, the time seemed to drag by as Mrs Trainer droned on about William Dampier's voyages. Eventually 3 o'clock came around and the bell went to send us scurrying home. I walked back with Cameron, who lived a bit further on from my place and just around the corner, and Nigel Sheppard who lived on the other side of my street and a few doors down. We did not discuss wanking at all, preferring to talk about our Social Studies project on world explorers.
Nigel peeled off as we approached his house and we said our goodbyes. Cameron spoke up as we continued on.
"So David, you OK with what we talked about earlier? I mean, it really is not something we can discuss around others, especially the olds."
"Yeah, I think I'm fine thanks Cam. Its all so new to me."
"New to all of us dude. I'm lucky, I got Damon to show me the ropes, you know?"
"Ah hah. Did he use a stick too?" I grinned.
Cameron turned quite red.
"Oh, damn, well. Well, I kind of walked in on him while he was having a crank."
"A crank?"
"Yeah, you know, a wank."
"Oh. Oooohhh. That must have been awkward."
By this time we had reached my place and we stopped on the driveway.
"Tell me about it! I wondered what the fuck he was doing. Damon, well, he ain't shy David, and when I asked him he just carried on doing it and said shut the door on your way out. So, I did.
"He came in to my room a little later, he was like, really cool about it, and gave me the talk, told me all about jerkin' the gherkin."
"Shit, how many more words and phrases are there?"
He put his hand on my shoulder and told me seriously "As many as ya want mate, as many as ya want. I'll see ya tomorrow."
"OK, cool Cam, see ya then."
"Oh, and David?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't wear the bloody thing out, ya still need to piss out of it!"
I grinned and headed up the drive and the front door. Tonight was going to be interesting.