John answered! Actually Joe Ferns did, and he conquered my heart at once with his Scotch lilt. I have a feeling he may be conquering more of me soon. Please email him at martalgran@yahoo.co.uk to let him know what you think and spur him on to keep it up.
Paul calling John 2
"Let's cool you off in the shower," I said.
I tried to sound like I was referring to the time spent in the heat of the steam room but I was half hoping Paul would pick up on the reference to his fairly obvious state of excitement. With any luck my little scheme might actually be about to pay off.
For weeks Paul had been going on and on about it, about the Health Club that dad and me went to. He kept bringing it up in conversation, asking about it, hinting about getting my dad to take him as well, to sign him in.
To be honest I had been winding him up, deliberately trying to get him interested, to get him curious. You see, I'd been friends with Paul for years, long as I can remember. Best buds, I suppose. We did everything together; had done, forever. So it was odd that when we hit puberty we never discussed it. Never talked about it, about the fuzz that appeared on our bodies, the growth spurt in the boy-bits and the other kind of spurts that set in with a bit of careful handling.
I did try hinting but he either misunderstood or, simply, ignored me.
Well, dammit, I was curious. I liked Paul. I liked Paul a lot. And I couldn't just ask him, now could I? How do you say to your best bud 'any chance you fishing the old pecker out for a quick inspection?' You see the problem? You might as well say that you're auditioning for a lady-part in 'Oliver'.
So I started laying off about the Health Club, about the facilities, about the exercise regime I was on. And bingo, not too long before Paul was into the nagging about getting to trail along.
Well, it all worked out kind of. Paul came over one morning, dad signed us in and off we went to the youth changing rooms. And blow me (chance would be a fine thing, eh?), if Paul doesn't do the quickest of quick changes you've ever seen in your life. Off with the tighties and on with the sports shorts and all in a flash. Well, without a decent flash; that's more the point.
So we do a bit of a workout before I get him into the steam room. You really do have to strip down in the steam room so I'm reckoning on copping an eyeful of his equipment.
There's me there, naked thigh to naked thigh with Paul, stretching my legs wide as an excuse to make contact, knee to knee. And what's he doing? Laying off about how effing unfair the world is to teenagers. Not allowed to do this, to go there, to do that. Got to be sixteen to use the steam room, he complains. Can't really get a guy turned on when he's in mid diatribe, can you? I'm about to move on to plan B or C when an older man joins us.
"Time we moved on " I mutter.
Only he doesn't. I mean Paul doesn't follow me. Me, I'm heading off towards the showers and I look round and there's no sign of him.
When I get back to the steam room and go inside to fetch him, would you believe it, the pair of them are flashing each other. I'd swear to it. The old fellow can hardly be bothered covering himself up. Stuff it. I'm not interested although at a glance, I must say he seemed pretty well equipped. Mental note to self maybe later.
Paul? You've guessed it, he'd fumbled that towel back over his lap quick as a flash.
To be fair I am not surprised the old chap was checking him out. You'll have gathered that my friend Paul is a good looking guy. Tall but not gangling, chunky but not tubby and a face like something so perfect you'd swear you'd seen it in marble somewhere. And know what? Paul didn't know, had no idea that he was sex on legs. He just didn't get it when everybody in the gym had watched him when he had jogged round the circuit with me.
Anyway, I'm losing the plot here. I get him out the steam room and haul him off to the showers.
"We've only got a few minutes, Paul. Dad's got to get off to work."
Throwing my towel to one side I nip into the shower. Lead by example.
The bastard hesitates.
"Paul, dude, we don't have long "
And there it is! At last He tosses his towel over on top of mine, modestly makes to cover his groin with his hands, glances down to take in my exposed cock, shrugs and walks towards me with the works in view.
He has trimmed his pubes to give a neat patch of darkness above his penis which, although no longer erect, is long and full. His ball sac hangs quite loose, the left a fraction lower than the right. He really is a god.
I know I'm staring. I feel a rush of blood and not to the head.
I look up into his face and I'm about to speak when the old guy from the steam room suddenly appears and ambles into the shower room.
"Yo! Room for a small one?"
As he says this he hefts his ample genitalia n an obscene gesture.
And with that Paul turns quickly to face the wall, reaches for some soap, starts a vigorous body scrub.
Still, so far, so good. Plan D, maybe? I really need to get my hands on that.
------------------------------------------------------------------- Joe Ferns (martalgran@yahoo.co.uk)