Thanks for all the emails. The encouragement and support really is appreciated. I am tempted to sex up the story to keep you guys interested but I started out to tell the truth as far as I know it so I'll stick to that. And requests for Simmy pics are being ignored... meantime.
The Sad Tale of a Ten Inch Teen Part 2
Things happened pretty fast after the cloakroom incident. It was all downhill. Simmy had always been good at classroom stuff, better than me. Because he liked reading he had accumulated a lot of knowledge about things; I suppose, too, it helped improve his concentration. Always, he seemed able to get the hang of what the teacher was trying to explain. He had always been in the top half dozen after any exams or tests. Like I've said, this changed when he started skipping classes, staying away from school. He'd turn up first thing to get his name on the register but would be off across the playing field and into the woods that fringed the far end of the school grounds before lessons proper began. Grades went zonk as a result.
And there were other things. It was as if he had given up on washing. The most noticeable thing was his hair; he started to wear it longer and longer and not in any recognisable style. It wasn't as if he was using any styling stuff, it just looked greasy and lank. His uniform took on a scruffy look which is hard to describe for his mother wasn't lax; like my mother, she had standards. His tie would be at the oddest angle or was missing entirely; his shirt seemed rumpled, like he had slept in it - though I am sure he hadn't. But the worst thing was that he smelt. There was a mustiness in the air when he approached you. At the time I did wonder if he kept a stash of old clothes under a bush somewhere and that on his way to school he changed into them. But Simmy says 'no, I just couldn't be arsed, Franny, it just didn't seem worth it'. Of course there was more to it than that. This all happened after that time the young kids had given him a group wanking in the cloakroom. He'd be thirteen; thereabouts.
In our school there was a strange custom amongst the boys called 'tabling'. You know how when you are about to transfer to High School all these rumours fly around? You'll get your head stuck down a toilet bowl and they'll flush it; they'll pants you right in the middle of the social area where everyone will see; you'll get beaten up three times before dinner because people will see you're - there were variations here, tailored to individual fears - soft, hard, posh, poor, brainy, daft, whatever. Well, the great fear for us guys was that we would get 'tabled'.
Tabling meant you got dragged into some classroom, one well away from the teachers' room or the head's office; while somebody kept edgy at the classroom door, you got spread-eagled, on your back, on the teacher's desk or table, your arms and legs were secured with school-ties to the legs of the table and then they got to work on you. This had several variations. You would usually get tickled; shoes, socks off for access to the sole, shirt rolled up to leave stomach, chest, armpit vulnerable. Then the fingers and the hands got busy. More generally the attentions were, in addition, sexual. School pants were stripped off to your knees and the boybits got groped and prodded. Sometimes the guy on the table boned up and his hard cock would be given a bit of a work-out. From the sessions I know about or took part in it was rare for the briefs to come off or for the victim to get tossed off proper.
This, I presume, is a fairly typical schoolboy sex-game. There was always, as I've pointed out before, some spurious excuse for the attack; nobody ever said 'let's table so and so, I want to feel his balls'. It was more 'so and so took the piss in math, I say we table him, serve the bastard right'.
The usual thing was that tabling happened with a group of pals, guys who got on fairly well together. You did not do it with or to 'enemies', boys you never had much to do with; if there was a problem with any of them, there would a fight, a square go, or a slagging. This does rather give the game away, doesn't it? It was an excuse for sex fun amongst friends. Like the odd game of strip poker or spin the bottle, sex was the hidden agenda. I guess you guys will have countless examples of your own.
I got tabled a couple of times and took part in plenty more. It was probably a sign of my emerging sexuality for I always boned up without fail. I didn't need to fancy the boy on the table, though that helped if I did; the deed, even the thought was enough. The times I was victim I was hard before I was even tied down. This wasn't a problem; some boys did, some didn't. No conclusions were drawn. I loved the feel of hands running all over my body, pinching on my nipples, tugging at the adolescent stubble in my armpit, cupping my testicles, gripping and squeezing on my rigid cock. You'll have guessed that I still get hard remembering it, thinking about it. There was no suggestion that there was anything gay about any of this. It was regarded as normal; guys do sex, guys get boners, all self respecting boys wank. For me, this was just fun; I had the advantage of a very normal cock, neither laughably small or pornographically huge.
There is a point to this long digression about me. It's not that Simmy ever got tabled to my knowledge. It tells you a lot that he was assiduous in avoiding the possibility. At breaks, dinner, he was out of class like a shot and wasn't seen till bell time. (This was in the days when he still turned up.) I have asked him recently what he did, where he went. He says he hung about in Woolies, in the bits of the shop other kids weren't likely to venture into, pots and pans, that sort of thing. He was convinced that if tabling was on the agenda and he was around he would be certain to the victim of choice. And he was probably right.
It was just coming up for Christmas in our second year of High School that it happened, the incident that drove him over the edge. Things got very slack the day school broke up. Teachers were rarely sighted, too busy partying, we thought. Simmy turned up as slovenly as usual to sign in. Before he could perform his disappearing act he was grabbed by half a dozen seniors and bundled off to their Common Room. There was a crowd of us lounging about the social area and we just laughed as he was carted off. The assumption was that he would get a good milking. Later, during the holidays, the story went round that Simmy had fucked a senior called Farquar. To call it a 'story' or even a rumour would be wrong; it was a whisper. My guess then was it started when some senior told something to a kid brother who polished the story up and spread it to a buddy. That the senior was Gideon Farquar didn't help. Already half the graffiti in the bogs was about Simmy - according to the cubicle wall you could suck him off, get a shag off him or just play with his monster. Anyway, soon the addition was 'Simmy fucked Farquar'. I don't know first hand what really happened; but here's Simmy's version, here's what he told me much later.
He was bundled into a cupboard in the Common Room. When he was brought out he could see someone had been tabled. It was one of the seniors that nobody liked, Farquar. He was a good looking blond guy but he was also an unbearably pompous ass with effeminate mannerisms. That is to say, he dressed well, spoke well, never took part in any rough and tumble and, unfortunately, upbraided those who did. Yup, that was enough in my school for you to be branded sissy and faggot and poof. God knows what he had done to offend his fellow seniors but he was spread out and tied down on the Common Room table. Simmy says he noticed at once that there was something odd. The guy was face down - and that never happened. And the guy was hanging off the end of the table with his ass completely exposed.
"There was something sticking out his ass, Franny. I thought he'd done a jobby, coz he was that frightened. I know now it was a big dildo but see then ..."
Simmy was stripped off, knocked to his knees and dragged towards the guy's ass. Somebody took the thing out of the boy's ass and slapped his butt cheeks.
"They stuck my face right into his bum, my nose was right into his hole nearly. They told me to lick it, to poke my tongue right into it, clean him out. Well, fuck it, Franny, I wasn't doing that. No way. But they kept shoving me in, rubbing my face in it."
When they gave up on Simmy doing the rimming thing, they pulled him off. From the corner of his eye Simmy says he could see them pouring stuff out of a bottle and rubbing it all over the guys ass, right into his hole.
"Lube, I suppose. I never knew about that then though."
Meantime, others got to work on Simmy, lubricating his cock and tugging on it to get the rise. According to Simmy they tried everything; talking dirty, showing him some porno out of someone's locker, fiddling about with his balls, wanking on his dick. He had bother getting a hard. Now I know this contradicts what I said before about how, at that age, you bone up at anything. On this occasion, however, as Simmy told me, he was so shit scared that any hard on he achieved soon wilted as they tried to get him in. So they abandoned that, howked him round to the other end and tried to get Farquar to blow him. What with Simmy pulling back, afraid Farquar would bite off the top of his knob, and with the proposed sucker clenching his mouth shut, this proved pretty futile as well. Finally they contented themselves with jerking Simmy of so that his cum splattered all over the Farquar visage.
The way Simmy told me, one of the seniors got behind him, reached round and grabbed the cockshaft and went to work on it. According to Simmy other guys piled in to 'help out' and he did find this very arousing. This time Simmy eventually obliged, stiffened up to his full glory and shot wads of his juice into the guy's face. Cheers all round.
We never saw Simmy again in that school.
Now, understand, we weren't bad lads. I mean, these seniors could have been a lot more violent, more forceful, in this planned humiliation of Farquar. And as for feelings? Fuck's sake, guys, we were wee boys; wee boys don't do feelings - not other people's feelings, any road.
If you are having problems understanding Simmy, maybe I better explain. I didn't know, frankly didn't care then, what I was. I was a sexual being, that's all it was to me. But Simmy had decided, Simmy knew that he was gay. He had concluded that all these things were happening because the whole school had identified him as a gayboy. When we teamed up years later he told me that he knew he was a poof (his word) because he jerked off to images of himself in the changing room fucking about with the other lads. He assumed they jerked to images of some pop princess while his dream wank was Billy Kennedy from Neighbours. (I think that's Jesse Spencer??) His head was a total mess. It never occurred to him that we were all struggling; shit, I guess it's not even easy for straight guys. For Simmy, his cock was just one symptom of a much bigger difference - he was not as other boys. His solution was to isolate himself.
(I'll stop for a bit. Taken me long enough to write this much. I know some of you want a 'happy ending' but the next bit is worse. Be warned. It is great to hear from readers, btw, good to know there's life out there.)