6th October 2003: Another self-sucking story, but this one considering the possibility of young lads who discover masturbation by finding they can suck themselves off and from then on only ever masturbate using their mouths.

The Madison Technique

When I was in the sixth form at school, I helped out on a couple of the fourth form Biology fieldtrips with a few of my mates. We were there primarily to piss around and to try and jump into bed with any girls from other schools who might look half-decent, but officially we were “demonstrators”. What we were supposed to be demonstrating, I’m not sure, but that was the title we were given.

It was on the first of these of these fieldtrips that I met Madison . That was his surname: his first name was Gavin, I think, but everyone called him Madison.

Madison was a slim, bespectacled guy from the top science set in the fourth form. He was pleasant to be around but tended to be a bit quiet. I wouldn’t call him shy exactly – he was clearly very relaxed in social situations – he just seemed to prefer to keep himself to himself and to offer conversation only when there was something worth talking about. His grades were excellent, his prospects good and that, to him, seemed to be the main reason for being in school.

I guess I’d have forgotten all about Madison if I hadn’t have ended up sharing a tent with him on that first fieldtrip.

We were in South Wales sampling the insect life in some of the rivers and streams. We had to spend a couple of nights at a camp site in the middle of nowhere to collect our first set of data and then move on to a different place near a mining town to do the same thing. I would imagine the purpose of it all was something to do with pollution but, as is often the case with school trips, the intended educational value of it turned out to be one of its least memorable aspects.

For some reason, no-one in Madison ‘s year-group opted to share a tent with him. I don’t mean that to sound too harsh – the lad had a fairly broad set of people he was friendly with – it was just that there were only just enough spaces in tents to go around and that, with him not being the kind of guy to push his way in, he ended up as the odd one out. Me and my mates had a similar problem – five of us; only two double tents – so I offered to bunk up with Madison .

He seemed pretty disinterested about it, and I guess I did too. It wasn’t like we were going to have to spend a lot of time together. He had his friends in fourth form; I had mine in the sixth. We’d be sharing our sleeping quarters; there was little else to it than that.

Or at least that had been how it had seemed at first.

Now before we take this any further, I need to tell you that I’m not into guys. Or at least to make it clear that, if I might be just slightly into guys now, I definitely wasn’t then. And definitely not guys three years younger than me.

So this isn’t really a “gay” story as such: I’m not going to end up screwing the kid. It’s a bit more bizarre than that.

I bunked up with Madison for two nights and, apart from odd snippets of conversation and small-talk between us, I hardly really said a word to him. On both nights, when I climbed back into the tent at one or two o’clock in the morning after arsing around and getting pissed on smuggled vodka with my mates, he was already asleep. When I got back from having a shower in the mornings, he’d already cleared out and was sitting talking to some of his in front of another tent.

So we weren’t exactly in-depth conversationalists with each other.

It was while we were in the tent – while I was supposedly sleeping – that things became interesting.

Let me explain.

It started on the morning after our first night sharing the tent. I woke up to what I dimly thought, in my still half-inebriated state, was the sound of someone chewing gum. A regular, rhythmic wet-sounding munching.

I opened my eyes as far as I could in my bleary state and found that it was light. Except for the chewing sound, there was complete silence. Nothing stirred outside the tent. It seemed like it was probably six o’clock or six thirty.

I turned my head to look over at Madison . I thought he’d maybe woken up early and was lying in his sleeping bag reading and chewing gum or something. Gum chewing didn’t seem like it would be his thing, but the sound was so convincing and so near that he had to be.

When I looked at him, though, I couldn’t work out what he was doing. His position was so unfamiliar, his head and arms in such an unusual contortion, that it really took me ten or twenty seconds to mentally disentangle the mess of limbs and skin in front of me and piece it back together into something sensible.

His whole body was moving in time to the wet-sounding rhythm and that made it obvious that he was doing something sexual – something masturbatory – but I couldn’t work out what. I wanted to look away, to leave the younger guy to have his fun unobserved, but curiosity made me stare, still bleary-eyed, until I could recognise at least the gist of what he was doing.

His back looked impossibly bent, so much so that my first thought was that maybe he was having a fit or something. He was rocking slightly, and this also made me think of convulsions.

But then I saw where his face was and that something was in his mouth. I had this crazy idea that it might be his cock – that he might actually have his own cock in his mouth – but realised how ridiculous that would be.

It must be his hand; he must be biting on his hand or something.

But it didn’t look like his hand. Unless he had his whole hand in his mouth and just his wrist coming out of it. But then, why was part of it a deep purple colour? Had he cut himself?

I saw that his eyes were closed and then that he had both arms underneath his thighs pulling them up towards him. It couldn’t be his hand in his mouth. They were underneath.

So it must be something else.

And then it dawned on me that it was his cock and what he was doing with it. I was watching the boy suck his own dick!

I just lay there, staring at him, watching his mouth sliding across the fat purple head of his cock. His face was red, his eyes tightly closed, as his lips gripped his cock tightly making a letter ‘o’ like he was sucking up spaghetti. They glided upwards and downwards along it’s shiny surface, maintaining a regular, moderately fast rhythm, as the soft sounds that I’d thought were chewing gum came from them.

I noticed he was still wearing his briefs and that he’d pulled the front of them down to free his cock and balls. He’d tucked the waistband of his briefs under his balls, making his scrotum look pink and tight with the paired mounds of his balls straining upwards inside it. They looked like a pair of bright pink birds’ eggs in the brown nest of his pubic hair. If he’d have opened his eyes, he’d have stared straight at them, but he didn’t: they stayed tightly closed as he concentrated on the job his mouth was doing.

His cock looked pretty impressive both in terms of its thickness and its length. The stem was probably almost as thick as his wrist and had a slight upwards curve to it. The entire length of it was probably eight inches or so – for a lad of fourteen, it was a hell of a cock. If he hadn’t finished developing, then, by the time he was eighteen, it must have grown into an absolute monster!

He seemed blissfully content: gently rocking back and forth as he ran his lips back and forth over the swollen purple head of his cock. His sounds were becoming wetter and I noticed that, every twenty seconds or so, he’d swallow. I realised that his slit must be oozing a copious stream of precum and that he was happily drinking it down.

I felt my own cock lengthening inside my briefs at the sight of what he was doing. It was so arousing to think that what came out of his cock went straight back into his mouth – like he was being nourished by his own cock; his own excitement.

Then he stopped momentarily as he adjusted his arms around his thighs. He moved his hands so that they were cupped around the white material covering his buttocks and tried to push his waist upwards further towards his mouth. He also opened his legs further so that his knees were outstretched. One of them dug into me but I remained still and silent.

He bent further forwards and managed to consume about four inches of his large cock. He suckled hungrily on it, enjoying the sensation, and then abruptly winced and gasped from the strain on his back.

He grabbed his arse cheeks more firmly and tried to push his waist further up towards his face. There was the slight sound of air escaping and I realised he’d involuntarily farted.

After that, he seemed to find a more comfortable position and started running his tongue up and down the top half of his cock. He seemed to be exploring it, licking gently along the ridge at the base of the bulbous head and moving upwards to lap at the gentle ooze of liquid escaping from the slit. He kept that up for a minute or so: roaming around the landscape of his own cock with his tongue; flicking it from the smooth purple bell-end to the lightly veined skin of his stem.

His eyes remained closed but a slight smile formed on his face as he enjoyed getting intimate with the geography of his own swollen, pulsating organ. He licked as far down to the base as he could, his long dark brown fringe tickling his balls as he did so, and then swept his tongue back up to the mushroom-like head.

He even sighed a quiet, “Aaaah!”

By now, my own cock strained for release inside my briefs. It ached and throbbed, demanding relief which I didn’t dare move my hand to give it. I thought, “There’s time for that later… when he’s finished…” The risk of disturbing him was just too great.

His tongue returned to the puckered slit in his swollen bell-end and he licked around it with the outstretched tip. He seemed to love the taste of his own precum; to relish having his cock juice oozing onto his tongue. He even managed to get a little of the elongated tip of his tongue inside his slit, pushing it as far as he could into the tube inside his cock as a butterfly would feed on a flower.

Then he moved his tongue around to the back of his cock and worked it over the tight band of skin connecting the head of his cock with the stem of it. He gasped in pleasure and a small bead of precum leaked out of the slit. He kept doing it, gasping and shuddering because of the sensitivity of that area, and the bead grew in size and started dribbling down the shiny purple head.

He was milking his own dick for precum!

When he couldn’t take any more, he returned his tongue to the front of his bell-end and licked up at the precum that had drooled out of it. He drank it like a cat would drink milk from a saucer: lapping at it gently, clearing every drop.

I found myself hoping that he might turn out to be gay when he got older: he was clearly the high master of cock sucking and it would be a real waste for him not to be able to share his skills with a few other guys.

After he’d licked all the stickiness from the head of his cock, he opened his mouth widely and greedily ate three or four inches of his stem in one swoop. Then his rhythm started up again; he began rocking gently back and forth, and the gentle slurping sounds that had awoken me returned.

I heard the rasp of a zip from one of the tents outside. One of the lads – probably Adam from the voice – croakily called someone a tosser.

But Madison didn’t let it break his rhythm. He must have heard the noises, been aware that the group was starting to wake up and that lads would soon be wandering past our tent on the way to the toilets and showers, but he kept his mouth working on his cock like it was irrelevant.

I was pleased that he did: I was absolutely fascinated, and still painfully aroused, by what I was seeing.

I wondered if maybe this wasn’t an issue for him. Most, if not all, fourteen-year-old lads masturbate and few get hung about it. I bet if I’d have walked between the tents that morning, the rhythmic sounds of palms slapping up and down cocks would have been coming from half a dozen of them. I knew from trips I’d been on at fourteen, and stories I’d heard since, that, generally speaking, to camp together is to wank together.

So maybe he saw what he was doing as no different to that: I suppose, in a way, he would have been right.

But then I thought, “Surely he’d save the full mouth treatment for special occasions…” It was one thing to quietly masturbate while another guy slept; quite a bolder step to bring yourself off with your mouth if you were capable. And Madison didn’t seem the kind of guy to take bolder steps if more discrete ones were possible.

So then I thought, “Maybe for him, this is it. Maybe this is how he wanks.”

It wasn’t impossible. I’d heard of some bizarre techniques from guys about their room-mates – like the guy in the year above us who masturbated by humping his pillow. If that’s how a boy discovers masturbation, sometimes any other technique just doesn’t hit the mark. The story in that case went that, no matter how often he tried to make it work, his hand just wasn’t a worthy substitute. No pillow, no cookie.

So maybe Madison was like that. Perhaps, when he was eleven or twelve, he’d discovered beneath his duvet that he was able to suck his own dick. After that, not realising there was anything odd about it, maybe he’d quickly got into the habit of it. And, let’s face it, if a guy were to get used to having his mouth around his dick, I guess his fist just doesn’t compare.

I watched as he worked on himself, his rhythm getting faster and his rocking becoming more frantic. His mouth was now sliding up and down about five inches of his cock, his lips making loud slurping noises as he did so. His eyes were still tightly closed, his cheeks flushed bright red, as he savoured the waves of pleasure that washed over him.

I thought, “Yeah. This is how Madison wanks.” I was sure of it.

Maybe it had never occurred to him that most guys do it with their hands. He might be lying there, sucking at his own cock, assuming that the same thing was going on in a few of the other tents; that some of the lads and the staff in the showers were at that moment bending over to eat themselves; that I might be going to go down on myself when I wake up. He might just see it as a part of male biology: that boys and men were conveniently designed to pleasure themselves with their own mouths.

A voice inside my head argued, “Oh come on, Seb, he must have seen or heard about the way that other guys masturbate…”

But then I thought about how he was: a clean-cut, serious, academic young guy. A bit removed from the main crowd, but apparently comfortable with that. Not the kind of guy to get pissed and end up having a group wank with his mates, he was too absorbed by his books and his computer. Even the under-the-duvet fumblings of his room-mate at school might have passed him by.

His rhythm became even more frenzied. He started bucking his hips, trying to plunge his cock even deeper into himself. His head became a blur as his mouth rapidly consumed and expelled his thick stem; he looked vaguely comical, like he was head-banging onto his own cock.

Between the wet slurpings of his lips came whimpering sounds somewhere between gasps and sobs. Then he started swallowing rapidly as his cum erupted from his cock and filled his mouth. Some of it dribbled out of his lips and made gooey streams down the thick stem of his cock.

The rich, cloying smell of it seemed to fill the warm tent almost instantly.

He kept up his movements, kept rocking back and forth and milking his cock with his mouth, sucking furiously up and down as much of it as he could, until his orgasm had subsided. Even after that, after his stream of cum had weakened to a gentle dribble, he nibbled at the fat deep purple head, licking up the last dregs as they slowly pumped out of his piss slit.

He seemed to love the stuff: I don’t know if he’d ever wondered whether all guys like to drink their own semen – whether he’d ever tried to look that up in one of his books – but he accepted that he did himself and prolonged the experience as long as he could.

Then he lay back down on his sleeping bag and his spent cock slapped onto his stomach with a thud. Lying there, with his eyes still closed, he recovered his breath.

A few lads outside the tent shouted and whooped as someone was pulled naked and half-asleep from his tent. One of the staff wearily broke things up. The noise made it impossible for me to pretend I was still sleeping; even the deepest sleeper would have at least stirred amidst such a racket.

So I groaned and moved around a little, keeping my eyes firmly closed while Madison hastily pulled his briefs back up. I gave him about ten seconds to fumble around and then slowly opened my eyes narrowly as if having just awoken.

By that time he was hitching his tracksuit bottoms up.

He grunted, “Morning,” and I nodded. He glanced over at my face, a little searchingly, maybe wondering if I would be offended by the unmistakable odour of his semen. I remained impassively groggy.

Then he grabbed a teeshirt and a few toiletries and pushed his way out of the tent.

One of his friends immediately called over to him, “Hey Madders!” and the two of them went off chatting.

I yanked my cock out from my briefs and started masturbating as soon as it was clear that Madison was well out of range. My cock head felt sore from being confined under pressure inside the material of my underwear for so long and the material of the sleeping bag, rubbing against it as I tugged my foreskin, irritated it further. Normally I enjoy having the underside of a duvet or a sheet rubbing against the end of my cock as I’m wanking, but this was almost painful.

So I unzipped the sleeping bag and climbed out to lie on top of it.

That felt a lot better. My cock was able to stretch out to its full eight inches without scraping against anything.

I masturbated it quickly and quietly, aware that most of the lads were now up and that activity outside the tent was become louder and more sociable.

I thought I could hear someone else having himself a sly morning wank, maybe a mate of mine called Johnson in the tent next to mine, but I couldn’t be sure amongst all the other stuff going on.

I was thinking of what I’d seen Madison doing just minutes earlier, as my hand worked its magic up and down the swollen stem of my cock. I was thinking about what it would feel like if I could do something like that. I knew I couldn’t – countless attempts on my bed at home and on the bathroom floor had resulted in frustrated failure – but I loved fantasising about what it would be like if I could.

My hand was reaching full speed and my hips starting to buck slightly, when the door of the tent was pulled open and Madison stuck his head back in.

My first instinct was to stop masturbating and cover myself up, but I kept going because I wanted to see his response. It felt a bit weird to be whacking myself so openly and unashamedly in front of another person, but I just had to see how he would react to the sight of a guy using his hand rather than his mouth to bring himself off.

He looked over at me, his face a little embarrassed, and mumbled, “Jesus – sorry, mate.” Then he fumbled around in his rucksack. “I forgot my shampoo…” Then he looked away from me and made busy with his rucksack.

My hand was really sliding up and down my pole, vertical from my body. I even kept up my hip-bucking, like I was fucking my fist.

But Madison didn’t give it any attention.

When he’d found the bottle of shampoo he looked up at me, threw me a small grin, and then backed out of the tent.

Hardly the response of a guy who’d had a major revelation dawn on him.

I figured my idea that he didn’t know that most guys use their hands to masturbate was wrong.

I thought, “Jesus – he’ll think I’m weird to have wanked myself off so blatantly in front of him.”

But it had been worth it to have seen his response. And what the hell – he’d barged in on me; it wasn’t like I’d put on a show for him deliberately.

My thoughts returned to the idea of what it would feel like to suck my own cock. I imagined my face sliding up and down my pole just as his had been on his; my lips making slurping noises; my semen running in rivulets down my cheeks and my chin. And that really started getting me hot.

A couple of minutes in, Campbell, one of my mates, called in to the tent to get me up and must have heard the rhythmic beating coming from inside.

He chanted, “Sebastian’s wanking… Sebastian’s wanking…” and I barked out to him to fuck off.

One of the staff called over, “You guys, keep it down.” Then, “Hurry up, Wallace. Get out of there or I’ll pull the tent door open.”

I kept wanking, and managed a breathless, “Just a minute, sir.”

As they wandered off, I imagined the tent door being yanked open and all of them – my friends, my teachers, the younger guys – peering inside to see me sucking my own cock. Me knowing they were watching me, but loving the sensation of shocking, impressing and arousing them all at the same time.

I saw me as they would see me: my legs wide open and hitched behind my shoulders; my mouth eating at my cock in frantic, noisy slurps; my nose banging into my own balls; my arse hole gaping open.

I imagined their faces, wide-eyed from surprise and awe as my thick eight inches slid in and out of my eager, slavering mouth. Their crotches bulging outwards from the same excitement that I had felt when I’d seen Madison .

And then I started spewing my load onto my belly.

As it shot out of my cock, I wanted to eat it as Madison had, but as my orgasm subsided the idea became rapidly revolting to me and I contented myself with just mopping it up with my discarded briefs.

Campbell called in, “Are you sorted yet?”

“Ah yeah… I’m just… er… giving myself a quick bed bath, kind of…”

“Ugh, gross.”


That night I didn’t sleep too well.

When I’d crawled into the tent in the early hours, Madison was already asleep. The air inside the tent wasn’t thick with the smell of cum as it had been in the morning, and I was surprised at how pleased I was that he hadn’t performed his little trick without me.

I’d thought of what I’d seen Madison doing regularly during the day. At one point, I’d been on the verge of telling one of my mates about it, primarily to find out if, perhaps, self-fellatio was less unusual than I’d supposed, but I held back. I foresaw gossip and intrigue spreading around the group like a virus and Madison glowering at me through it, his eyes embarrassed and hurt.

And, apart from that and possibly more importantly, I didn’t want him to know that I’d seen him because I wanted to watch him do it again.

I knew that the chances of a repeat performance were remote but I was determined to wake up when he did just in case. Even if all he did was masturbate in a regular way with his hand, it would settle an argument that had been puzzling me all day: was Madison only able to fully satisfy himself with his mouth?

I lay next to him, hearing his long slow breathing in the depths of his sleep, wondering how I could make sure that I didn’t miss any action that might be going to take place next morning. I obviously couldn’t set my watch alarm and I couldn’t rely on the same gentle chewing sounds that had awoken me on the previous morning having the same effect again.

So in the end I just lay there, tossing and turning and catching odd five minutes of sleep here and there, thinking that every cough and every shift of position was the start of something interesting.

Then, sometime around five o’clock I’d guess, I fell into a sounder, more settled, state.

I was so tired by then that I think, if Madison hadn’t accidentally kicked me in the arm as he moved around inside the tent, I’d have slept through his second performance.

I felt irritable from having had so little sleep and would probably have turned over, grumbling, if I hadn’t heard him getting out of his sleeping.

Instead, I opened my eyes tentatively and saw, in the early morning half-light, that his shins were right in front of my face. He was on all fours with his head up near the entrance of the tent. The twin round peaches of his arse cheeks were about a foot from me, hanging in mid-air inside his white briefs like a full moon.

I closed my eyes again thinking he was probably going to scramble outside for a piss or something. Some birds were singing in a tree near our tent but other than that the world outside was silent. I felt groggy from the restless night I’d had and wanted to get at least a little sleep before someone shook me awake.

But then, as I lay there feeling sleep begin to wash over me in gentle waves, I heard the telltale sounds of the elastic of his briefs snapping against his skin as he pulled them down his thighs. I opened my eyes again and saw him struggling to remove them in the cramped confines of the tent. His arse was pale and hairless, and, as he fumbled around to pull the briefs down below his knees, I kept getting glimpses of his large balls dancing around inside their loose sac between his thighs.

When he’d managed to pull his briefs free from his left foot, he tried to do the same with the other side. Because his right foot was near my head, though, he found it difficult to get them over his ankle without kicking me in the face. In the end, he had to just try and kick them off as best he could. After a few attempts, they came free of his ankle and flopped straight onto my pillow, right in front of my nose.

I don’t think he saw where they’d landed – he just assumed they’d fallen onto his own pillow, because he left them there and began busying himself with pulling his teeshirt off in the cramped space. Their strongly masculine, musky smell hit me immediately – I guess the gusset at the front where his cock had spent the day must have landed right under my nose. It smelt partly of sweat and a little of piss, but most strongly of a sharper, more sexual smell: I assumed it must be that of his precum which must have, if the previous morning had been anything to go by, oozed copiously from his cock every time he’d sprouted a hard-on. Big cocks must spring big leaks.

The smell wasn’t unpleasant: on the contrary, my cock lengthened rapidly in response to it. Male smells aren’t usually my thing, but the fact it was the smell of a cock I’d seen getting sucked by its owner that morning coupled with the anticipation of seeing a repeat showing, made things develop at an impressive rate inside my sleeping bag.

When he’d finished pulling off his teeshirt, I glanced back up at him, wondering what he was planning to do. I suppose, since he was on all fours facing the tent door, I still half-expected him to unzip the front and go outside for something.

But then, still with the strong smell of his cock smothering me, I saw what he was doing.

He was bending to his push his head underneath himself, straining his neck and his back to force his mouth towards his crotch. It was a slow journey: he kept having to stay still for a few seconds, allowing himself the chance to recover enough to proceed. His face was bright purple and his back looked impossibly bowed.

I wondered if it could really be worth so much effort. But then he reached up for his cock which must have been pressing upwards against his stomach and pulled it down towards his face with his right hand. And that told me it definitely must be worth it. Despite his discomfort, despite his position, his cock looked enormous and throbbed at full size in anticipation of what was to come. It seemed even longer, thicker and stiffer than it had on the previous morning. The veins along the stem were fatter and more clearly defined. I guess this must have been his favourite position.

A gelatinous gob of precum hung in a string from the engorged purple head of it. That seemed to drive his mouth the last inch or so and he hungrily licked it from the end to stop it from falling, wasted, onto the sleeping bag beneath him. He eagerly lapped it up and then swirled his tongue around the rest of his bell end. He couldn’t stop a gentle satisfied gasp from escaping his lips as he savoured the taste of another day and night’s juices on the head of his cock.

It occurred to me that if the taste was as powerful as the smell on his briefs, his appreciation of it was fairly understandable. I was getting off on the smell without even touching myself!

He opened his legs wider, moving his knees as far apart as he could in the narrow space, and directed his cock downwards to get the first couple of inches of it into his mouth. I noticed that his arse cleft was so widely spread that his small red puckered hole was visible in the valley of it. As he strained to thrust more of his cock into his mouth, his bum cheeks flexed and his little red hole opened a couple of millimetres.

I realised that I was probably seeing Madison on a more intimate and personal level than anyone ever had. That’s one of the great things about camping trips, I guess – you get to see other guys in many interesting new ways!

Madison opened his mouth as wide as he could and then began fucking it slowly with his large, swollen cock. At first he moved his head around a little as he thrust in and out, adjusting himself so that his mouth was at the right position to receive the angle and curvature of his cock. Then, when he was comfortable, he kept his head still and started really hammering his cock into himself, his hips flexing and relaxing as he thrust inward and withdraw it in rapid succession.

He seemed to have his eyes half-open, dimly watching his large ball-sac bobbing up and down just a few inches above his face. But then, as his pleasure increased, he closed them, and just lay there, his mouth wide open and his cheeks bright red, slamming his cock home like with a gradually accelerating rhythm.

I wondered what he was thinking of; which aspect of what he was doing to himself he enjoyed most. Was it the sensation of sliding his dick into something warm and wet; the fantasy that he was fucking a girl’s pussy or – if he swung the other a way – a guy’s arse? Or was he getting off more on the experience of having his own cock fucking his mouth? Even though I wasn’t too keen on having another guys’ dick in my mouth back then, the thought of tasting and sucking on my own seemed totally intriguing.

He stopped momentarily to adjust his knees which were slipping apart on his crumpled sleeping bag and as he did so I heard the sounds of his mouth sucking furiously on his cock like it was a lollipop. Then he started up again and began fucking his face even faster than he had before. The slurping noises from his lips drowned out the sucking sounds from inside his mouth.

I decided to be bold: after all, this was our last night bunking up together and I had little to lose by letting him know that I was awake.

So I shifted position, knocking his briefs to one side, and unzipped my sleeping bag.

Madison stopped what he was doing immediately and stayed rigid in his bent position, no doubt wondering what I was going to do.

I revealed my cock, already pulled out from my briefs during intermittent fumblings in the night, and started masturbating.

When he didn’t move, I said, casually, “I need a wank too. You don’t mind, do you?”

He pulled himself up a little so that his cock slid out of his mouth, hanging heavily downward, and grunted, “No.”

I opened my legs, grabbed my balls with my left hand, and kept wanking myself.

After a few seconds he said, “You won’t… like… tell anyone, will you?”

I shrugged. “What’s the big deal? You’ve got your technique; I’ve got mine.”

He nodded.

Then I grinned and added, “And if I could do it your way, you think I’d be settling for this…?”

Even though he was looking up at his own balls, I saw him smile.

He said, “That’s what I figure… isn’t that what the ad says… ‘Why have cotton when you can have silk’?”

I nodded and smiled at him, wondering whether or not he could see my face. “Go for it, mate… your secret’s safe…”

And then I lay next to him, masturbating myself with my hand while watching Madison do it his own superior way.

He didn’t feast on his own gusher of semen that second morning as he had on the first. I guess he knew it might be classed as ‘weird’ by other guys and so he finished himself off with his hand when felt himself getting close. His cock squirted jets of cum over his chin and cheeks but he kept his mouth firmly closed.

I felt a momentarily disappointed but the sight of his arsehole, clenching and opening as his orgasm hit home, rapidly brought my own climax to a head.


I┬ákept Madison ‘s secret up until I left school. I didn’t keep many secrets but I kept that one.

During the next year, while I was in the upper sixth, a guy called Anderson admitted in a game of truth or dare that he liked wanking with his cock inside a water melon. His admission started off a run of stories about the weird ways that we’d seen or heard of other guys masturbating. It was late and I was pissed so I almost coughed up the story of Madison ‘s technique.

But I remembered my promise and held back again.

Now it’s too long ago to matter and, even if it isn’t, there’s no way anyone reading this will recognise the guy Madison is based on.

Except Madison himself.

And if he does, would he please answer a question that regularly bugs me: do you still do it that way?


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