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showletterghjg - Man Private Parts


We had a boy in our class called Nod. That wasn’t his real name of course. That was Ethan. Like most schoolboys, we abbreviated or simply allocated nick-names for others. We had so many teens coming in and out of our class with such regularity and speed that it was like the rotation of aircraft from a budget airline landing and taking off again with each seat packed out. So many nicknames, in fact, that I sometimes even forgot what ‘handle’ we’d labelled the new kids with.

When I say we, I mean me and my two closest friends, Knuckle and Sarnie. I suppose you would say we were the hard nuts in our class, probably even in our whole year. We never got to find out because no one decided to challenge us, to a scrap after school either individually or as a group.

My name is Jason by the way and my nickname was Chase. I don’t recall exactly why my mates suggested that one now but I think it had something to do with the fact that on any ball sports event, I’d chase the ball round until I took it from an opposing player. Often receiving a warning, a yellow or even a red card which meant I had to leave the field of play. Which was a real bummer. That’s what this story is all about I guess; it’s about my bum boy Nod!

Knuckle, Sarnie and me were always in trouble. We didn’t give a shit about that even when a teacher would give us a hundred lines to write out ‘I will not be so rude and naughty in the class’. Knuckle had done a wise thing (for him at least) when he watched a documentary which told how Einstein, or some other clever fuck, had devised an ingenious plan to attach three quills together. Instead of writing just a solitary line, each time three would be covered. Whoever the guy was, he were just like us, always getting into trouble and having to write out numerous such lines. A clever idea which, following the basic principle of securing tightly our ball point pens together, we could accomplish the same feat. It was a neat idea and it worked. Knuckle said we should have patented the idea if it hadn’t already been broadcast on the telly.

Talking of securing tightly reminds me of Nod you see. But I’ll come onto that in a minute or two. Let me tell you about our school in north London first.

We came from what was renowned to be about the roughest dive in that area. The ‘dive’ being our council estate, formed out of some crazy idea of some plonker of an architect way back in the 1970’s that by knocking down individual houses owned by the local authority and moving the tenants into high-rise blocks of flats would somehow bring everyone all together. One great big happy family; well that’s how my Granddad described it, a smirk on his face which said it all!

He was a street prize-fighter in his prime, up until the Swinging Sixties when apparently the Government of the day decided that mini-skirts should be encouraged and prize-fighting should have the towel thrown into the ring. My Granddad said that all MP’s were a bunch of perves. I guess he was right but I never would have thought of either doubting him or questioning him on any subject. He wasn’t that sort of man. A real rough and ready type of character with a reputation locally for flooring anyone who mouthed off about a member of family, a friend, or sometimes for the pure fun of it.

Just as he did in the ring evidently, where he had the nickname Jaw-Buster. He sure had earned that reputation, standing there inside a marquee set out in some town square and where he would take on anyone who wanted to step inside the ring and try and earn a few quid or two. The peeps, (as my Gramps called ’em) weighing up the size of him against the appearance of any challenger. Then placing their bets which of course, my Granddad got a cut out of along with his prize money for each bout. At first, I would hear from him, there would be about a dozen men who fancied their chance and put their name down. After the first two or three challengers had found that their jaw met his bare-knuckle that struck with the same force of a concrete block, well then the dozen soon wilted away to just a few. Gramps used to joke with me how he’d deliberately stand just inside the ropes and humiliate those who had entered their names into a fight but were now trying to discretely edge their way back towards the entrance flaps. He used to make me laugh a lot!

It was he, on seeing my two schoolmates, decided to give them their nicknames Knuckle and Sarnie, the word Sarnie being a cockney slang for the sandwiches the posh people ate. (The combination of Knuckle Sarnie round our area had a totally different meaning!) Knuckle was probably the largest of them, both in height and build. As for me, well I’ve always been a bit of a short-arse myself. It’s just that I’m as I told you; I live up to my nickname, don’t take shit from no-one and when my fuse is lit, it’s just like a firework on Guy Fawkes night. Once lit, it can’t easily be smothered out, and there’s usually one hell of an explosion.

Maybe part of the reason in my being the way I am now is down to Gramps and his two other brothers, both of the same temperament as him. I like to dominate, to control, especially when it comes to sex which I like. In fact I’m fucking into it big time!

Knuckle, Sarnie and me first started our wank-off sessions when we were young. The first time being at one of the local open-air swimming pools where we spent a lot of our time in the Summer months. To save money, we’d just pay for one of the red-coloured changing cubicles, with their black pyramid-shaped tops, all lined up alongside the length of the pool like a parade of Grenadier soldiers waiting for inspection. It’s where we first inspected and explored our cocks. I remember the day well because we were winding each-other up as we stripped off our swimming shorts. The ‘wind-up’ session gave us such a blast that we ended up using the shorts to slap against each others’ naked bodies. And you know how painful soaking wet shorts can be especially when they hit a lower region that leaves stars in the eyes and the need to take a few rapid breaths.

It soon became clear that, despite their size and strength, my two mates received a few too many direct hits from my sodden shorts and were soon asking for a truce. Fuck, it makes me laugh to think back on that now!

I turned round and on seeing all the marks on my thighs, buttocks and back in the full-length mirror to one of the three static walls I decided that this could be a chance to see if even my two closest mates would submit to some outrageous demand on my part, even for us. And they did, begrudgingly at first but more easily as time went on. They had to rub their hands all around the tender spots to sooth the pain. Well that’s what I told them at the time which is quite a giggle thinking back on it now.
My real intent was to feel hands, other than my own, on my body. I sure liked the feel and just like that fuse, once ignited, no way was there any going back. The fondling of the body quickly turned to hands on my cock and bollocks, even then hanging low in my ball-sac. Then fireworks in front of my eyes which, as I exploded were as dramatic as any of the famous New Year’s Eve displays from Sydney harbour.

It took a bit longer to egg ‘em on a bit to delivering what I really wanted. A blow-job. But by the end of the Autumn season and just before the pool was closed for the year for it’s usual maintenance, they were tonguing and munching away on my cock and balls in one of those cubicles like a couple of wolves eating on a bone. Guess they were in a way!

Yeah, of course it were easy enough to get a cock sucked by some old slag round our area. Fuck, we had enough of them especially one tart who went by the name of Alice. She had had more dicks shoved into her mouth by the time she was 18 than speeding ticket summonses are pushed through letter-boxes each year. The reason I remember Alice the most is because she lived in ‘Spring View’, just one of the names given to each of the four tower blocks. The designer, who obviously spent more time drawing in on the dope than concentrating on drawing up any sensible plans, thought it would be smart move to call each of the four interconnected blocks of flats by a season of the year. And to give the residents even more of a laugh, the local authority decided that seasonal flower beds should be planted to go with the name of each corresponding block. Needless to say, the flowers planted were scooped up and sold on the black-market overnight and the area allocated for the flower-beds soon became a dumping ground for stolen vehicles.

But back to this lad we nicknamed Nod. On the first day he joined our class, the three of us were sitting at the back basically taking the piss out of everyone despite the efforts of Mr Nash, or ‘Nashers’ as we quickly named him not only because of his surname but also because he had a gap of teeth missing from his bottom row of molars. He slowly rose his gut, hanging over probably a 58inch waist and introduced this boy as Ethan, an attractive lad with short brown hair and with a face that suggested he was younger than he really was in years. The teacher then went on into all the usual bullshit about making him welcome and by the end of this day, I’d already decided on his nickname.

I’d been observing him closely. Every time that Nashers made what he considered an important point to be taken in, digested, and then written down into our school books, this boy kept on nodding. By the end of the day I’m surprised that he didn’t have a sore neck. Although the rest of class were already calling him ‘teacher’s pet’, it wasn’t any teacher I wanted him to be a pet of. He had another feature that I’d taken a close interest in, the one area that even Knuckle and Sarnie had refused to offer up. A nice looking arse, tucked away inside his light-grey school trousers, which came into my view especially as the final bell rang. He dropped his pen, my eyes lowered to see the fabric stretching tightly over his buttocks as he bent to pick the pen up and my cock rose with the speed that he took to retrieve it.

We collared him outside of the main school entrance, made it clear who we were and I informed him of his new nickname which we expected him to respond too from that day on whenever we addressed him. He looked nervously around, hoping that some angel would pass and save the day. It was rather amusing to see his face, even when some of the school teachers passed deliberately looking the other way on seeing us gathered around him. I was surprised that he didn’t crap his pants there and then but no shitty aroma hit my nose so at least he managed to retain some composure.

His reddened face flushed further when I told him that he seemed to taking such a close interest in the subjects he could do our homework for us. To ...

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