Cock Worshipper 06 – Welcome to Screeve

Cock Worshipper

by Jason Kason

Part 6

I’ve already told you how I used to avoid PE lessons because of all the piss-takes I used to get in the showers after Bulmer told the whole school how I went down on him.

Well, this particular week I happened to go to PE and I ended up feeling very glad that I did.

Before I start this journal entry properly, let me tell you that Philip’s away for this session. He’s on a course or something; he told me what it was about last week but I’ve already forgotten. If it isn’t about cocks, don’t expect me to take much notice.

So it wasn’t a course about cocks, that’s all I can really tell you.

I’ve got some woman called Helena ‘co-ordinating my recovery’ this week. Which means that she’ll be the one who ends up reading this.

I don’t mind not having Philip to talk to, but I think he understands me really well. He’s a bloke, for a start, with the same sort of mind, pretty much, that I have. He admitted he can get a bit obsessive about things like I sometimes do and the fact I’m pretty sure he’s gay makes him more able to appreciate, if not understand, my fascination for cocks.

But I quickly started to wonder if Helena gets me at all. Some of the questions she was asking made me wonder who the fuck she’s been listening to, because it clearly wasn’t me.

Anyway, if the way I’m writing this sounds a bit different, it’s because it’ll be her not him who’ll be reading it.

Right, first let me introduce you to this week’s special guest: a Mr Michael Sirrell.

Except that no-one ever called him Michael or Sirrell: everyone at school always called him Squirrel. And when I say everyone, I mean even the teachers and the headmaster. He was simply never called anything other than Squirrel.

It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that even his mam and his grandma called him Squirrel.

The weird thing about it is that he actually looked like a squirrel. He had big goofy front teeth and darting, furtive eyes. His hair was even a reddish brown colour and he had sticky-out ears like some rodents do. He wasn’t small, though: he was anything but. In the first year at school he was the tallest lad in our year-group, but maybe someone had a growth spurt by the end of fifth form and ended up out-doing him.

I’ve often wondered how it was that he got to be called Squirrel. Was it that, by some bizarre coincidence, he had the name ‘Sirrell’ and happened to look like a squirrel as a kid so everyone started calling him ‘Squirrel’, or was that his surname made people naturally call him ‘Squirrel’ and his face slowly changed to fit with his nickname?

Who’s to know?

Anyway, going back a few years, Squirrel was the first boy I ever heard to refer to himself as wanking off. That was a big deal to me: as Hutchy had said, I could be a bit prissy as a kid, and I would always have denied that I rubbed my cock and made myself spunk up no matter who it was that was accusing me of it. And I thought that other lads would do the same, at least until I heard what Squirrel had to say.

That conversation had also happened in PE, but this was in my first year at school, long before my encounter with Bulmer had made the showers after PE become so utterly awful.

We were all getting dried after cleaning up after football, glancing around at each other’s bits like we always did and hoping our own were looking the same as everyone else’s. Then one of the lads – Macca I think it was – said, “Hey, Squirrel, why’s your dick so big? What d’ya do to it?”

All eyes turned to Squirrel who was towelling himself off, and we must have gawked at the huge piece of meat that was swinging between his legs. The thing was massive: at least twice as long as what I was packing and really thick and heavy, like a full-blown fella’s cock.

Squirrel grinned over at Macca. Which lad wouldn’t have a big smirk on his face on being told he had a whacking great knob?

He said back – bold as brass – “It’s ’cause I wank off three times a day, mate. Makes it swell up all massive.”

My ears pricked up, not so much at how much he wanked off (I jerked my own off at about the same rate and I was nowhere near as big as him) but at the fact he was admitting it. No-one would ever tell other lads that they tossed their dicks off, would they? Well it seemed that Squirrel just had!

Macca didn’t look at all shocked at the admission (his nickname was short for Macadam, by the way). He laughed and said, “Well I’m on about six times a day. So, why’s mine not like twice the size of yours?”

Macca wanked off six times a day! Jesus fucking Christ! Why were the other lads not looking utterly appalled?

Even at the caravan, with dicks to worship all day in the shower rooms, I wouldn’t be able to manage six wanks in one day.

Squirrel laughed back, throwing his towel on the bench and grabbing his pants off his peg. “Yeah, but are you using baby oil, mate? That’s the key to it. It feeds your knob, like fertiliser or somethin’…”

Macca didn’t reply, just smirked and got on drying himself, but I was enrapt. I got some baby oil out of the bathroom cupboard that night and tried to wank off using it for about a week, mostly with the memory of Squirrel’s man-sized donger spurring me on. The feel of it was disgusting: it was all slimy and stained the bedsheets so my mam went livid when she saw the mess I’d made.

And yet my cock didn’t grow a single millimetre. I know that because I measured it from exactly the same crease between my pubes and the shaft of it religiously every night.

Anyway, this isn’t about way back then: this is about what happened years later, about six months after the blowjob I gave to Bulmer.

By now, as I’ve said, the showers after PE weren’t so cheerful for me. But I was getting brave enough to stick up for myself a bit. Not too much – not so much to make myself stand out from the crowd – but enough to do what Hutchy had advised and let certain other lads know that I was no longer a prude.

It turned out that Squirrel was one of those certain other lads.

I got to the showers late – I always did to give all the other nasty little shits time to piss off – and for some reason so did Squirrel.

When the two of us were getting dried and pulling our pants on, one of the other smart-arses said on his way out of the changing rooms, “Fuckin’ hell! Kasey’s getting a stalk-on looking at Squirrel’s arse!”

Squirrel looked over at me, his eyes all wild like they got when he was surprised.

“I’m not!” I called back to the gob-shite with the insult. To be honest, I wasn’t. Squirrel was of no interest to me. I know I said Hutchy looked like a rat and I kind of fancied him, but Squirrel was definitely on the wrong side of the rodent-human boundary.

“Yeah, so why’s your dick poking up like a fucking queer’s would?”

“Because my bollocks are so big,” I countered. “They’re so massive they just make it look it look like my prick’s standing up.”

He’d laughed at that, the dickhead with the attitude. Then he’d left us to it and his troupe had filed out of the gym. One of them had looked kind of cute: the lad at the back with the little tight arse.

“Hang on for a moment,” Helena cut in. “When you say one of those young men ‘had looked kind of cute’, are you telling me that you’re gay?”

Oh my God. Is she like fucking Freud or something? How can she be so insightful?

“It says in my record that I’m gay,” I told her flatly. “I figured that bit out after the catalogue incident which you might also have read if you’d looked through my file.”

“Oh really,” she replied with vacuous eyes. “So has there ever been any emotional attachment between you and any of these guys you’re telling me about?”

“Emotional attachment?” I repeated.

“Yes, have you ever lived with another male? Actually, Jason, have you ever kissed a guy?”

I had to think about that for while – not the living with bit because of course I did that for about three years. But the kissing bit. Had I ever actually kissed a guy, on his mouth for proper?

In the end I said no, “but yeah, I did live with a guy. My mate Nathan. We shacked up for ages.”

“Were you intimate with him?” Helena asked.

“Well, we shared a bed, so yeah. But we weren’t like boyfriends or anything, because we both had other fellas back to the flat whenever we felt like it.”

“And where did the other guys sleep when you had them back?”

Jesus Christ could she be any more stupid?

“All in the same bed,” I said. “I mean, share and share alike, or whatever the saying is.”

“Weren’t there ever any jealousies?” she asked.

“Nathan was an arse man and, as you might know if you maybe even just glanced at my record that’s in front of you, my own calling is to the cock. So our interests kind of dovetailed, if you like. Him round the back, me round the front. Worked out pretty well really.”

She nodded with a face on her that made her look like she hadn’t understood a single fucking word.

Squirrel took ages to get dressed. I kept slowing down, hoping he’d finish off and leave me on my own, but every time I paused a bit, Squirrel would start faffing around even more.

I started to worry that he thought the bum joke had been serious. That he was waiting for everyone else to piss off so she could challenge me on it and give me a kicking.

Except he wasn’t really an aggressive kind of lad. He was as rough as fuck, that much was given, but that was because he’d grown up on a shit-hole estate and he’d had to learn pretty quick how to handle himself in a fight. But I wouldn’t say he was mean and he probably wouldn’t have started anything unless someone had really, really pissed him off.

Eventually when everyone else had gone, he showed his hand by saying, “Hey, Kasey, some of the lads say that you have somethin’ going on wi’ Hutchy.”

I turned to him and shrugged. This was probably the first conversation I’d ever had with Squirrel.

“You know what lads are like,” I replied. “They say some stupid stuff.”

Okay, so he wasn’t worried about me looking at his arse.

“Someone saw you up the allotments with him,” Squirrel went on. “Maybe he was bummin’ you up the arse behind one of the sheds?”

I looked at him and he was smiling. Philip would have called it a confrontational smile.

My first thought was to try and keep Hutchy out of this, so I said, “Come on, Squirrel. Hutchy’s not even gay!”

He jumped straight on that. “So you are then? Is that what you’re sayin’?”

I shook my head. “Of course not.”

I didn’t mind lads being able to figure out which team I batted for, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to admit anything to this big, tall guy, especially not after just being accused of checking out his arse.

Squirrel smiled. It was still confrontational but I could also see that he was enjoying this. I suddenly felt like a mouse being played with by a cat, which was ironic since he was the one who had a face like a rodent.

He kept on, “So what were you and Hutchy doin’ up at the allotments?”

I thought of a few possibilities and then opted for, “Digging up potatoes.”

Squirrel chuckled at that. He said, “Oh, right… yeah… course you fuckin’ were.”

I kept getting dressed, trying to rush to be able to get out of there, all the time with him staring at me and grinning an unpleasant smirk, his eyes looking even shiftier than they normally do.

Once I’d got my shoes done up and had stood up to pick up my rucksack, he said, “D’you wanna dig up some potatoes wi’ me?”

I turned to look at him. So that was his game!

I smiled back at him, mine no doubt far warmer than his, and said with undisguised enthusiasm, “Yeah, if you like!”

He laughed at my reaction and said, “I’ve got to warn you, though, my… er… spade’s a lot bigger than Hutchy’s.”

I chuckled at his wit. This could turn out to be a lot of fun.

“I’m sure we’ll manage to get the job done.”

He smirked and nodded. “After the last bell this afternoon, give it fifteen minutes then come to the boys’ bogs. Don’t fuck about because the caretaker locks up at four, so we haven’t got much time.”

I nodded back. “Okay.”

I knew from seeing it in the showers that Squirrel’s cock had grown even bigger since the time Macca had joked with him: it was going to be so great to find out how much of it I could get my mouth around. I knew that he was also expecting to get it up my bum, but that would be good too.

He grabbed his own bag and flung it over his shoulder, and I threw him another smile. He pretended like he was smiling back but as he turned to leave I saw the disgust on his face. This was a necessity for him, something his high sex drive meant he sometimes had to lower himself to do: colluding with a filthy fagboy just to get his nuts off inside something that would feel better than his hand.

“Did that make you feel cheap?” Helena asked.

“I didn’t like it,” I admitted. “I’d have preferred it if he’d come onto me because he genuinely wanted to shag me, instead of feeling like he was basically giving in to the needs of his bollocks and using the school gay-boy as a means to blow his nut.”

“Would you have wanted him to have approached you in more… I don’t know… perhaps romantic way?”

“Like I told you, I’ve never been into kissy-cuddly stuff,” I reminded her. “For me it’s always been about the cocks.”

“Any type in particular? Long ones… circumcised ones…?”

I shrugged. “No, not at all. I worship at a very broad church and things like creed, colour and even size and shape are totally irrelevant to me. If it looks even vaguely like a cock I’m very happy to pay homage to it.”

“What about testicles and bottoms?” she asked. Testicles and bottoms… I ask you! Even Philip would have managed to come out with, “balls and bums”.

“Yeah, I like those too. I mean, I wouldn’t say no to having a nice big pair of knackers in my face or an arse to have some fun with, but the main focus of my devotion is definitely the cock.”

“Devotion? Do you mean obsession?”

I smiled. “No, Helena. For me it’s definitely a devotion.”

I turned up fifteen minutes after last bell as Squirrel had said and he was already in there. The place was totally quiet as everyone else, like every other day, had been quick to get the fuck out of school.

“Come on you knobhead,” he snapped when he saw it was me. “We’ve hardly got any time.”

I was going to point out that I’d turned up exactly when he’d told me to, but he gestured me into the far toilet cubicle. “This one’s okay. At least the bog’s been flushed.”

I sensed a pattern developing where my deference to the cock was leading me to the least salubrious of places.

I walked into the stall and he followed me, locking the door behind us.

He undid his trousers and yanked both them and his black boxer trunks down around his thighs. His cock looked totally soft and floppy but it hung down really low with the end of it far lower than his balls. It was so big that it seemed like his foreskin couldn’t quite cover it: the pink tip of its head poked out from the end of it with a withered piss-slit looking almost forlorn.

“Right, get me hard first,” he commanded.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked. After Hutchy had said he didn’t like blowjobs I wanted to make sure that I did something Squirrel would enjoy.

“Whatever it is that little nancy-boys like you enjoy doing.”

I knelt down in front him, as if in reverence to the offering he’d put before me, and reached up to grab his lovely big cock. I pulled his foreskin back and licked his shrivelled cock head, feeling it twitch to life with each flick of my tongue. It smelt of his piss but I liked it: it was sharp and kind of bracing and made my mouth water.

Whatever he thought of me, I didn’t care. It was sheer bliss to be in front of him like this, able to attend to his amazing organ and give it the treatment I knew it must so desperately crave. This was an outstanding man-pole that I had before me and my whole focus at that moment was to pleasure it so fully that it would rise up and honour me with its sheer magnificence.

I take this cock worshipping thing quite seriously, you see. I don’t know if you’d spotted that little facet of my personality by now.

I slobbered over the top few inches of his big, thick tool and it slowly stiffened and lengthened and started to look usable. I licked his bollocks, tasting the strong kick of his sweat and his testosterone on them and loving the feel of his slack, hairy scrotum on my tongue.

And then, wanting to surprise him, I did what David Hetherington had so begged me to do. I pushed my tongue back behind his nut-sack, into the hairiness between the tops of his thighs, so that its tip tickled the hairs between his bum cheeks and I could taste the bitter flavours that lurked within his hot, sticky arse-crack.

I pushed further in and found his tight brown ring so I could lick it more thoroughly than he was obviously used to wiping it, and then I looked up at him, still with my tongue out, grinning in my amusement at what I’d done.

He glared down at me and seemed utterly disgusted.

“You’re a dirty little fucker, d’you know that?” he snarled.

His face showed exactly what he thought of me: in spite of my unavoidable use as someone who would be willing to receive his spunk, I was on all other levels, something utterly nasty who was to be shown nothing but contempt.

It struck me as intriguing that David Hetherington, such a nice and polite young man, had been so eager to have his arsehole licked, but Squirrel, who was, to the say least, somewhat rougher in texture, was quite blatantly revolted that another lad would do such a thing.

I made a mental note to keep butt-licking reserved for those who specifically asked for it.

I turned back to his cock and focussed my efforts on that. I wondered if maybe because it was so big it took longer for it to get hard. I had to slaver over it and suck it and lick down its shaft for five or ten minutes to get it to stand up on its own. Not that I was complaining – it’s just that mine can get fully hard and ready for action at just the sight of the front of a fella’s pants, but Squirrel seemed to really have to struggle to get his to even so much as rise up from his bollocks.

I suppose it’s obvious now that the poor lad was totally straight and having another lad licking away at his meat just wasn’t doing it for him.

It was so obvious that even Helena spotted it.

“He was heterosexual,” she triumphantly told me. “I’m afraid to say, Jason, that you just weren’t his type.”

“Yeah, I’d pretty much figured that one out myself, Helena. But thanks for your professional take on it.”

She smiled and nodded wisely. She couldn’t even tell when someone was taking the piss.

“Okay, it’s hard enough,” Squirrel said. “Now pull yer keks down and bend over the bog so I can spoke yer arse. We haven’t got much longer.”

Throughout the whole of what we did, he gave the impression that this was, for him, basically a chore. He just needed a way to jettison his pent-up seed. He’d figured out that Hutchy liked using a queer’s poop chute to empty his nuts and thought maybe he could stop his bollocks aching by shooting his spooge up a fairy-boy’s behind.

I pulled my trousers and pants and bent over the toilet as he’d told me to. If only I’d known that this was just the first of a long succession of toilets that I’d end up bending over. In a way it was quite a moment, this being my very first.

He started fiddling around and I glanced back at him over my shoulder. He was tearing something and then doing something with his dick.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

“What d’ya think… shovin’ a condom on.”

“I haven’t got AIDS,” I laughed. “I haven’t done this that much”

“Even if that’s true,” he said, “I don’t want your shit on my cock.”

“He definitely wasn’t gay!” Helena declared. “A gay guy wouldn’t think like that. He’d just go for it regardless.”

Oh you really are at the top of your game, I thought.

“I’m pretty clean,” I told Squirrel. At least stuff like that had never been a problem for Hutchy.

He snapped the rubber around the shaft of his cock. “I don’t want to be smellin’ your arse the next few times I wank off.”

“Well, wash the bloody thing a bit more often,” I said, pulling my pants down a bit further.

“Hey, you don’t get to talk me like that, you little cock-nobbler,” he snapped, shoving my back roughly down to make my arse stick out and the cheeks gape open. “Your only fuckin’ job is to bend over the bog and make your shitty brown ring munch on my knob so it feels like a minge.”

Having put me in my place, he worked his cock up me without too much trouble. It was lucky that I used the little tub of Vaseline I now always carried on me to lube myself up in the school library beforehand.

The library was always empty. I don’t think anyone knew what it was for.

His technique wasn’t especially pleasurable for me. I realised how much I’d come to appreciate Hutchy for all his slow gathering of rhythm and the way he sometimes swivelled his dick in me, sort of rotating around until I was gasping out for him to stop for fear I came too soon.

Squirrel just started hammering at my arse showing a total lack of interest and appreciation as if he was wanking himself off at time when all he wanted to do was make himself cream. There was no finesse to it: he got straight into slapping himself against my arse at a rapid speed that he didn’t vary at all the whole time he was pounding away at me.

The echoing sound in the toilet was thwak-thwak-thwak: Squirrel’s hips against my butt-cheeks, beating away at them as he tried as hard as he could to bring himself off.

“What’s going on in here?” a gruff voice called in from the open door.

It was the caretaker, locking up at four as Squirrel had said.

Squirrel’s rhythm stopped and he just stood there with his dick implanted up my arse.

“I won’t be long,” he called out. “Just finishin’ off.”

The caretaker didn’t reply but instead grunted as he knelt down to peer under the cubicle doors. “I heard what you dirty sods are doing in there,” he muttered as he struggled to see how many feet he could see.

Squirrel pulled his cock out of me and gestured for me to climb up onto the toilet.

“Oh, you mucky little gits,” the caretaker called out.

I tried to get up onto the toilet seat but the caretaker knew that trick. “There’s no point trying to hide it. I can see both yer feet under the door and I’m not so stupid I dunno what it means when yer both facing forwards.”

“Like I said, I won’t be long,” Squirrel repeated, with a marked authority to his voice that showed he really wasn’t going to be rushed.

“Aye, well you better not be,” the caretaker said, climbing back to his feet. “As long as yer not smoking, it’s not my look out what jobby jabbers like you pair get up to.”

The door clanked shut as he went off to do whatever else it was that he did.

“Right, mister bum-boy,” Squirrel said to me, “you’re gonna make me cum. Use your fuckin’ arse muscles, the way you do with Hutchy. Get my dick to feel really horny while I’m shaftin’ you. The way all you fuckin’ knob-bandits know how to.”

I wasn’t sure I could do that. I’d already been trying my best and it wasn’t really working.

“I could suck you again, if that’d help,” I offered, climbing down off the toilet. “Or lick your balls while you wank off.”

“I didn’t get you here so we can piss around,” Squirrel retorted. “I need a fuck and I need to spunk my nut with my knob up a nice wet minge. But since that’s not on offer, your skanky slack shitter is gonna have to do its best to pretend it’s one.”

“Do you like it when men demean you like that?” Helena asked.

“It’s just sex talk,” I shrugged. “And posturing. He wanted me to be under no doubt that he wasn’t there through choice.”

“But calling you a bum-boy and a knob-bandit, and saying you had a skanky slack shitter… didn’t you find that extremely offensive?”

“I don’t really see that I was in a position to find anything offensive,” I shrugged. “I mean, I’d gone to the toilets after school under no doubt as to what I was getting myself into. Just by turning up, I was pretty much accepting how I was gonna be used and was basically telling Squirrel, without saying it of course, that I liked the idea of having a tall lad with a whopping big knob on him shag me roughly while I bent over one of the bogs. So it would have seemed to a bit rich for me to start asking him to talk all nice and polite while he did it.”

Helena nodded and wrote something down on her pad. She’d probably just remembered she needed to buy a whopping big sausage for her family’s teas.

I wondered, while she scribbled away, if she liked a cock or two herself. She didn’t look the type. She looked like the gooeyness and the smell would make her go all queasy. She probably only let her fella have his way on his birthday and on Christmas Day.

I bent over the toilet again and Squirrel worked his shaft back up me and then resumed thundering away at my arse. I loved the feel of his big, thick porker up there. He might have been the same age as me, but this was a real monster donger he had on him, the same size as some of the biggest knobs I’d seen at the caravan site showers.

Not only that but it was really hairy. His reddish-coloured pubes made a great big bush that I really liked. And his knackers were nice and full too: much bigger than mine and really emphasizing how bulked-up and manly he had become since that day all those years earlier where he told the whole PE changing room that he used baby oil when he wanked.

I started jerking my own cock off, luxuriating in the sensation of Squirrel’s huge girth sliding relentlessly in and out of my hole and trying my hardest to massage it with my arse muscles.

He said, “I’m not gonna be able to jazz off. This isn’t doing nowt for me. I’m having to think really hard just to keep my dick hard.”

I wanked myself faster and harder, determined to enjoy the moment even if Squirrel wasn’t.

“Wait for me to cum,” I gasped. “I’m getting close.”

“I don’t give a shit about you cumming, you scummy butt-licker. Jesus, I don’t know what the fuck Hutchy gets outta doing this. He must be a right fuckin’ homo.”

The door clanked open and the caretaker called back into us. “Are you two shirt-lifters still going at it?”

The rapid slamming of Squirrel’s hips against my bum-cheeks, trying so desperately to get his cock to enjoy its unfamiliar surroundings, would have confirmed to him that we weren’t just messing around in the stall: that one boy really was roughly buggering another right there in the school loos.

“You better quit it now,” he barked, “I’ve gotta lock up.”

Squirrel’s hips just kept thwacking away at my arse as my cock started spunking. Had he really been waiting for me to finish off? Perhaps he wasn’t really quite as inconsiderate as his curt manner would suggest.

I gasped over and over as my jizz shot all over the toilet bowl and the made sticky white streaks across the grubby black seat.

“Enough!” the caretaker shouted. “I’m not hanging around listening to you two do stuff lads didn’t even know about when I was your age!”

Squirrel kept pounding at me, knowing how to prolong the orgasm of his partner, even if normally it would be a girl he was doing it to.

“If you don’t stop right now, I’ll tell the head and he’ll phone yer mams! I mean it, I’ll take you to his office right now!”

Squirrel’s rhythm finally stopped and he pulled out of me with grim-sounding slurp. Still recovering my breath, I wiped myself off as best as I could with the cheap waxy loo paper they put in the school loos. He threw the condom in the toilet and winced at the huge splattering of spunk I’d produced.

The caretaker called in, “In my day you’d have had yer arses tanned for doin’ stuff like this!”

As Squirrel yanked up his undershorts I noticed his cock, although still looking hefty and thick, had lost all its stiffness. It drooped down over his still full and swollen bollocks, the sensation of fucking a fagboy’s bum having proven woefully dissatisfying.

We let ourselves out of the cubicle and walked shamefaced past the caretaker, and he glared straight forwards with a face like we were the lowest forms of sewer life. Squirrel muttered to him, “I didn’t even like it! I couldn’t finish off,” but the old man didn’t acknowledge him, too appalled even to look directly at the two of us.

We hurried out so fast that I couldn’t wash my hands. My juice was still smeared all over them but I’d been more concerned about not leaving the caretaker with loo seat covered in white splashes. For some reason that would have seemed even worse: letting him know that I’d enjoyed having my bum stoked so much that I’d blown a huge wad of goop over the toilet.

“How would he have known you’d been the… er… receiver?” Helena asked.

“Because it would have been totally fucking obvious to even the most dribbling retard which one of the two of us liked having it up him.”

She stared at me, still not getting it.

“Is it a ‘gaydar’ thing?” she asked eventually.

I shook my head. “Something like that.”

We walked out together through the school gates and Squirrel made the usual threats about me keeping shtum.

I told him of course I wouldn’t tell anyone but mentioned that maybe, if perhaps any of his mates got horny and didn’t have a girl to help them out, that I’d be willing to do for them what I’d done for him.

“You really think that’s how normal lads talk, you knobshite?”

I shrugged, not really understanding.

“You think we all stand around in woodwork, and Palmer’ll say ‘Fuckin’ hell, I really need a shag!’ and then I’d be like, ‘Oh, well I fucked Kasey’s arse last night. He’ll bend over for you too if you ask him nicely.’ You think that’s how it works, you stupid fucking gaylord?”

He walked away from me when we got to the school gates without so much as a ‘seeya’. He lived on the other side of town and I walked home in the opposite direction.

“Did you feel disgusted with yourself for what you’d done?” Helena asked.

I shrugged. “Why should I?”

Philip would have kept the question open. He’d have said ‘How did you feel…?” not tell me how he thought I should have felt.

Helena replied, “You’d had a pretty awful time of it. You’d been roughly sodomised over a dirty toilet bowl and then roundly abused by both this Squirrel person and then by the caretaker.”

I looked over the supposedly calming watercolour prints. One showed some walkers on a beach, the other a tranquil sunrise. Except that Philip had said it was supposed be a sunset and it was only my “unshakable sense of groundless optimism” which made me see it as the start of a new day.

I said, “I actually saw what had happened as a resounding success. I got to suck a lovely big cock and lick a pair of very manly bollocks, and then I got shagged so fast and hard that I shot off all over the toilet. I’d say it was pretty impressive afternoon’s work, all things considered.”

“But Michael Squirrel didn’t even climax, Jason. Didn’t that at the very least put a dampener on it for you?”

“It’s either ‘Michael Sirrell’ or ‘Squirrel’,” I corrected her. “‘Michael Squirrel’ just sounds silly. But yeah, I would have preferred it if he’d cum. Obviously. I hadn’t shown his cock the adoration it deserved. The flowing of the spunk washes away all our sins.”

I added the last line just to see her reaction. Philip’s eyes would have lit up and he’d have been scribbling away at his pad for five minutes.

But Helena just stared at me like she didn’t know what the fuck I was on about.

I went on, “I suppose the best part about what happened with Squirrel is that, like the blowjob I gave Bulmer, it led on to other stuff.”

“Oh?” she said. “Did he tell people what had happened?”

“Of course not. But the caretaker did.”

She looked intrigued and I went on, unable to stop myself smiling at the memory, “The next day in registration Mrs Sullivan, my form tutor, told me I had to see my Head of Year that break-time about something very serious. She said she didn’t know what it was about so don’t even bother asking.”

Not that I would have asked; not right there in the class. I knew full well what it was about. I knew the fucking caretaker had gone and opened his big chops.

But that was good because at the same time he’d opened yet another door for me.

“Could you write this up as your next journal entry?” Helena asked, glancing up at the clock behind me.

I nodded that I could. “But won’t Philip be back next week?”

“Well, yes, but if you e-mail me it, I’d like to read the story and I can give Philip my feedback to pass on to you.”

Like he would, I thought. He’d probably just take one look at it and throw it straight in the bin.

But that’s what I’ll do. I’ll write my next journal entry for Helena and tell her what happened when I got to Mr Davies’ office and sat down with him looking all uncomfortable at what he had to talk to me about.