Cock Worshipper

by Jason Kason

 

Part 4

Philip says I need to put more about my feelings into my journal entries and include a lot less detail about the sex.

“But that’s why was why I was put in therapy in the first place,” I said back to him.  “Because of the sex and not being able to control it.”

“True, but to gain some control over your behaviour, Jason, you need to be aware of the emotions that underlie it.  When you understand why you feel like you do, then you can move onto modifying how you react in different situations.”

I hadn’t even dared nod, never mind agree with him.  Given any sign of encouragement, he can prattle on like this for a whole session.

“Did you like what I wrote, though?” I asked, trying to move the conversation on.  “About what happened with Bulmer near the level crossing, and then Hutchy asking me to meet up with him?”

Philip nodded.  “It was interesting and some of the ways you phrased things were quite revealing.  But I didn’t like the bit where you tried to anticipate how I would feel on reading it.  You need to write for yourself, Jason, and not try to second-guess my reaction to it.”

So I need to write the way he tells me to write, every emotion teased out and dissected, but also to write the way I want to write.  Typical self-contradictory psychobabble, if you ask me.

So I’ll keep writing this my way.  It’s working for me, doing it like this.  I’m actually quite enjoying writing all this down.  It’s a bit like a diary, one I wish I’d written at the time this was all happening.

Let’s start at the back of Fishburn Street, where – just as you could easily have figured out – I was hanging around that autumn evening from about ten to six when it was starting to get dark.

Before I get to the bit where Hutchy turned up, I thought I’d mention that, unlike Ted Barrass, I actually gave into my curiosity and looked him up on Facebook.

Gavin Hutchinson is his full name and it didn’t take me that long to find him.  It’s a pretty common name and there was a long list of pictures but, although his face now looks horribly weathered and his blond hair is going thin on top, you can instantly pick him out from his cheeky smirk.  His profile is open – yeah, he’s stupid enough to leave it like that – and so I got to see photos of him and his whale of a wife, as well as their two little kids.  It’s actually quite eerie how the boy is the spit of how Hutchy was when I knew him back then.  They’re all on holiday in some foreign shit-hole where there’s British bars everywhere you look, and Hutchy’s tree trunk arms are covered in tattoos and one of his ears is pierced with four or five rings.

He’s changed a lot since that first night in the backstreet, but I bet he still likes meeting up with other fellas on the quiet to gratify what he used to call his ‘flaw’.

Anyway, the younger version of Hutchy turned up just gone six, grinning at me like he knew full well my curiosity would get the better of me.

We didn’t even say hello.  He tried a few back gates until he found one that would open, took a quick shifty inside and muttered, “We’ll be alright in here.  No-one’ll catch us.”

Still not entirely trusting his motives, I initially left things to him.  I didn’t want him to accuse me of coming onto him, like Bulmer had, but if he really did want me to go down on his cock, I didn’t want to fuck things up by acting too coy.

The backyard was empty and the house was in darkness.  There was a little outhouse on one side, maybe an old coal shed or an outside loo, and we went behind that.

“Come on, then,” he said, impatiently, unzipping his fly.  “Turn round and pull your pants down.”

“Turn around?” I asked.  “What do you mean?”

“Come on, Kasey!  Stop pissin’ about!  Turn round and shove your arse out.  I wanna bum you.”

He pulled his cock out from his zipper and it looked fully hard but, as I’d expected, quite small and thin.  Much smaller than mine, and mine’s only average.

I wasn’t sure I liked where this was heading.  “I thought we’d just… well… I thought I was gonna suck you off.”

“Naah, I don’t like the feel of that,” he said.  “I just like bumming.  Only I have to be the one doing it though.  I don’t bend over, me.  Not for no-one.”

“I’ve never done bumming,” I explained hesitantly.  “I don’t know that I’d like it.”

“Oh come on, soft lad,” he snapped, wanking his little kiddie-sized cock off to keep it hard.  “If you like suckin’ cocks, you’ll fuckin’ love getting knobbed up your arsehole!  Just turn round, yank your keks down and bend over like you’re taking a shit.”

“But bumming, Hutchy… it’s a bit… you know… heavy…”

He was asking for our bodies to be joined together: his cock actually plugged up my bum.  I know it’s a bit like that when you’re giving a blowjob, but having this ratty lad’s dick properly inside my body suddenly seemed a bit scary.

“It’s not that different to what you did with Bulmer.  For a woofter like you, it’ll be fuckin’ heaven, I promise.”

I looked down at his prick in the dusky half-light as he jerked off in front of me.  His bright red bell-end was like a dinky little button mushroom.

“Can I suck you off first?” I asked.  I could tell it would be lovely to slurp away on his knob and, unlike with Bulmer, I could easily get the whole thing into my mouth.

He shook his head.  “I told you I don’t like it, and in any case I haven’t got time.  I’ve gotta be home by seven and you’ve already spent ten minutes fannyin’ around.”

I did as he said, disappointed that I wasn’t get to see sniff and taste and rub my face on his stiff little pecker.  It might be a fraction of the size of Edgy’s and Bulmer’s but I was sure it would be just as wonderful in its own unique way.

I pulled my trousers and briefs down around my thighs and bent over, grabbing the damp brick wall to steady myself.

I was about get butt-fucked like proper queers do.  I’d known it would happen at some point – ever since I’d found out that boys like me who like other boys’ cocks usually end up having them pushed up their arses – but I hadn’t realised it would be so soon, never mind like this in some grimy backyard.

And as for my feelings, to give in to Philip’s advice: well, I think at that precise moment, my main emotion was one of being scared shitless, if you’ll forgive the badly timed use of that expression.  I expected having Hutchy’s dick up my bum was going to be absolute agony and that my mam would end up finding blood in the back of my pants and quickly figure out what I’d done.  And I really didn’t want her to know I was letting other boys use my like this, bending over with my pants down so they could shove their horny knobs up my arsehole.

I heard Hutchy spit and for a second I thought he was doing what Bulmer had done and was spitting on me to show how much he hated fags.  But when I looked back over my shoulder, I realised he was spitting on his cock.

“It needs to be wet,” he explained when he saw me looking at what he was doing.  “Otherwise it’s a fuckin’ nightmare to get in.  And it’ll hurt like stink if it hasn’t got spit on it.  Well, only for you.  It won’t hurt me.”

He threw me a smile and he looked quite sweet.  He could sometimes be quite caring in his own rough way.

He pushed his cock against my hole, going on that, “Fanny batter makes cocks slide up girls nice and smooth.  But arseholes haven’t got anything like that.  You should start carrying a little tub of Vaseline around with you, Kasey.  The stuff you get for your lips.  That works a fuckin’ treat.”

He’d obviously done this many times before, I thought.  And not just with lads but with lasses too.

I followed his advice on the Vaseline, by the way.  Always had a little tub in my inside jacket pocket after that.

He pressed his cock really firmly against my bunghole and, to my surprise and maybe to his too, it opened up for him to slide in a few inches.

Now I really did feel like I was a total gay boy: bending over like that with another lad’s cock pushing its way up my bum.  But I didn’t feel in any way ashamed that I was letting Hutchy butt-fuck me: I just felt relieved that it didn’t hurt half as much as I’d feared and was trying to figure out how I could show his cock proper appreciation with muscles and senses that I’d hardly previously known that I even had.

“Aah, yeah!” he called out.  “That is… fuckin’… mint!  I love the feel of an arse around my knob, mate.  It’s so tight and it looks so hot to see my dick between a nice, round pair of arse-cheeks.”

I bent a bit lower so he could push his shaft further up me, soon getting used to the sensation and beginning to like it.  It felt a bit sore the way it was stretching my hole open but, it was, nevertheless, a lad’s erection that was pushing into me, and even though I couldn’t taste or smell it, I found I could enjoy its shape by squeezing my bum around it.

It was still cock worship, only in a very different way.

I pushed my bum further out, encouraging him to shove the rest of his dick up me, and Hutchy laughed that he knew I’d like it once I got started.

“I knew you’d like gettin’ bummed, Kasey.  Lads like you always do!”

He grabbed me by the hips and began slowly fucking me.  He was far more sensual than Bulmer and clearly liked to savour the pleasure of intimacy.  Although he’d said he had to be home by seven, he was in no rush to finish off early and only gradually increased his rhythm to allow us both time to warm into our sex and enjoy it fully.

I started working back against him, moving in time with him.  I realised I was by now running a throbbing pork-on of my own and started wanking myself off as his pacing steadily quickened.

“You’re a right fuckin’ bum-boy, Jason Kason – do you know that?” he laughed.

I laughed back and realised he was pretty spot-on.

“What we’ll do, right,” he told me, still taking his time but gently increasing his rhythm and the roughness of his thrusts, “is, when I fancy a bit of bum stuff with you, I’ll let you know the time and place after assembly or at breaktime or something like that.  I’ll just pass you by in a corridor and say where and when.  Then you’ll turn up and I’ll shag you same as I am now.  How does that sound?”

It sounded really nice so I nodded quickly.

I mean, I’d have preferred a lad who liked me to suck him off and lick his dribbly bell-end before doing this to me, but if Hutchy wasn’t into that then so be it.  Maybe, over time, I could persuade him to get into it… after all, it’d taken him just a couple of minutes to get me to give up my butthole to him.

His thrusting got faster.  He moved his hands up to my shoulders and I bent lower to really pump his dick with my arse.  I’d always wondered why gay-boys getting screwed up the butt had to bend over for it.  Now I could understand: it just felt so fucking good like that, splaying your arse wide open to fully pleasure the cock.

I jacked my dick off faster and faster.  This was totally amazing: better than I could ever have expected.  It’s occurred to me many times, over and over, that I was really lucky that my first fuck was with a lad whose cock was, for all it was so skilled, a lot smaller than average.  Its size helped it slide into me without too much pain, made losing my virginity that much easier and left me with hardly any soreness in the hours afterwards.

My first mega-fuck – that is with a lad whose cock was even bigger than Bulmer’s – came a good while afterward, and as I winced and grimaced with the thing cleaving me in two, the thought came to me that if this had been my first – well, that, my friends, would have been the end of that.

This journal would have been short and not very sweet.

That drain pipe fuck was with a dweeby, spotty lad who worked at the Gateway supermarket in the precinct in town.  I’ll tell you that story some day.  He was a total dork with a retard brace on his teeth but, Jesus Christ, he had a knob on him that could have fed a family of four for a week.

That was some cock worshipping I did that day.  I mean, I would have been down on my knees singing its praises to the good lord above if I’d only had time between the wanking it, sucking it and trying to get the huge fucking thing into my butt.

Anyway, back to Hutchy and what I was feeling as I bent as low as I could against the wall.  Got to think of the feelings and keep my good counsellor happy.

I was loving having him butt-fuck me, that much is pretty obvious.  I was relieved that, once we’d both got into it, it stopped hurting completely: that his cock just slid quickly and smoothly in and out of me like it was meant to be up there.  I was pleased that there’d be no blood and no awkward conversations with my mam next time she did the laundry.  And I liked the fact that I was pleasuring this lad’s sweet little dick by clenching my butt muscles around it and making him gasp.

So it was all pretty positive really.

“Were you thinking of your father?”  That’s the sort of dumb-ass question Philip would ask me.

No, not at all.  My main focus right then was to hold off from cumming, if the truth be told.  I couldn’t help but jerk myself it felt so good having Hutchy’s cock driving in and out me, but I kept having to make myself stop for a short time every half minute or so, because I knew it wouldn’t feel anywhere near as good once I’d shot my muck over the damp brick wall in front of me.

Except in the end, of course, I did spunk up.  I pushed myself too far, stopped to edge myself back and then realised it was too late.  Wanked myself again because I would have cum anyway and it feels really crap if you just let your dick throb on its own until your spunk slowly starts to dribble from the slit.  It’s much better to keep wanking when that happens: you might as well enjoy the moment and shoot off properly if you’re going to cum anyway.

Hutchy laughed when he heard me grunting and gasping.  “Oh yeah, go for it, Kasey!  I knew you’d end up nuttin’ off gettin’ bummed!”

I kept panting, jizzing off against the wall, when all of a sudden a door banged open behind us and then some bloke’s voice shouted, “You mucky little bastards!  Get the fuck out of my yard!  Jesus fucking Christ, I’ll tell your mams what the two of you dirty little shits have been doing.”

“What’s going on, Arthur?” a woman’s voice behind him called out.

Hutchy pulled out of me and the two of us quickly pulled up our pants and trousers.

“There’s two lads out here doing sex stuff together in our yard.  It’s an abomination, that’s what it is!”

“Sex stuff?  How can two lads do sex stuff, Arthur?”

We ran out of the gate and down the back alley.  All I heard was the fella shouting, “How d’you think?  One lad taking it up his arse, you daft cow!”

We got to the gates of the park and Hutchy had to support himself against me he was laughing so much.  I wasn’t at all amused: the mention of our mams getting told had really broken the mood for me.

“Oh, Jesus, Jase!” Hutchy struggled to say.  “I can’t believe he saw us bummin’ in his backyard!  That is fuckin’ well class, that is!  Pity I can’t tell the lads – they’d fuckin’ love it!”

“Do you want me to finish you off?” I asked.  My mind, as ever, was on matters of penis.  “I mean, you didn’t spunk up.  D’you want us to go into the park so I can wank you off behind a bush or something?”

Hutchy was still smiling from his amusement at being caught but his grin broadened into something even more good-natured.

“You’re fuckin’ top shelf, you are, Kasey.  I can’t believe you’d even ask that.  We’ll defo meet up again.  Like I said, time and place when we pass each other in a corridor.  Never in PE, though, I can’t risk that.”

I smiled back at him.  “Yeah, but what about you spunking up?”

He shrugged.  “I’ll jazz off tonight.  It’ll give me something to look forward to, won’t it – my first nut-off up your arse.  Make sure I come back for more.”

It was like he was desperate to reassure me that there’d be more times ahead of us.  I’ve wondered since if maybe he himself had been let down by a guy.  Someone who’d used him for sex on the promise of more sessions which ultimately hadn’t come about.

Perhaps that’s also why he was always so against having his arse fucked by me.  Or maybe this is all conjecture and bollocks, just like the sort of crap I’ve had to hear every week for the past two years.

We walked back up Eden Road and were chatting away like mates, when suddenly his face turned nasty on me.  He could do that so easily: be really nice and almost boyfriendish one minute, and then be an absolute cunt the next.

“You know that if you tell anyone about any of this, I’ll mess you up.  I’m not joking with you, Jase, I’ll fuckin’ do stuff to you… and slowly so it hurts.”

“Hutchy, seriously… there’s no need to say stuff like that… there’s no way I’d ever tell anyone anything about this.”

Suddenly his hateful expression turned back into an amicable smile.  Like Jekyll and Hyde.  “Of course you won’t, mate.  I know that!  I’m just havin’ a laugh with you!”

But of course I knew he wasn’t.

I realised he could be a bit of wacko but I didn’t let that put me off.  And at the same time I should emphasize that it didn’t make him any more attractive either.  He had a lovely, sweet cock that felt amazing when it was pummelling my bum and that was all I really focussed on about him.  That and his blond pubes: I’d really have to get my nose sniffing around those if we continued these little get-togethers.

And we did. We met up about once a month or so – I figured his gay side must only occasionally manifest itself – and he almost always wanted to fuck me with me bending over in front of him. I did get to try a few different things with him, including getting my face into his wonderfully whiffy sandy-coloured bush, but he liked to see my butt-cheeks with his cock sliding in and out so that usually limited what we got to do.

He had a thing about us getting caught: I figured that out after we’d had a fella shouting at us the third time in a row. He loved to have someone walk in on us, with him going at another lad’s arse doggy-style. He seemed amused by the shock our position would cause and by the abusive reaction which would then follow. It just seemed to really crack him up and I wondered if maybe he thought about it afterwards when he tossed himself off.

“Oh Jesus fucking Christ!  You dirty little bastards!” was the usual way our occasional moments of intimacy were so frequently interrupted.  “I’ve never seen anything so fucking disgusting!  Get the hell out of it or I’ll call the cops on you!”

One day when we walking back up town after a nice long screw behind the bingo hall that we were for once not disturbed in the middle of, I asked him about the other lads he’d done stuff with.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone about you, Jase, so I won’t tell you nothin’ about them.  You should know better than to ask.”

“But if it’s lads I could get together with… do for them what I do for you?”

“What are you sayin’, mate?” he said.

“That maybe if other guys knew what I’m like… then I might get a bit more fun… other lads whispering to me in corridors… giving me times and places like you do…”

He smiled.  “Jase, I think the whole fuckin’ school knows what you’re like.”

“And yet I don’t ever get anything!” I said back in frustration.  “Everyone might say I’m a total fag, but I never seem to get any cock action.  There’s only you, Hutchy, and you’re only up for it once a month at best.”

He looked over at me.  “The trouble is with you, Jase, is you’re way too prissy.  You come over all high and mighty like you wouldn’t do any bum stuff or anythin’ that might get spunk on your finery.”

“Oh my God, is that true?” I asked.  “Do I really seem like that?”

“Yeah, you do, mate.  You’re like totally fuckin’ anal, only not in a good way.  It was only when you sucked Bulmer off that I figured out that you’d probably like havin’ it up you.  You need to lighten up, Jase, show guys you’re not just a prissy little fagboy who won’t do much that’s fun ’cause it’s ‘way too icky’.”

“Do I really sound like that?” I asked.  “Is that really how guys see me?”

“Mate,” Hutchy said, “there’s a good few other lads out there like me who like shaggin’ and havin’ a nice tight hole around their knobs however they can get it.”

That’s how he saw himself: just a lad who liked sex and who sometimes got horny enough to feel like using an arse instead of a fanny.  Funny way of looking at things, but I sincerely hoped he was right and there were a lot more like him.

“You need to branch about a bit, Jase,” he went on.  “Show all the horny fuckers like me that you’re up for a bit of butt play without gayin’ it up too much which puts lads off.”

“How do I do that?” I asked.

“I dunno… maybe show your arse off a bit more.  Stop wearin’ those baggy trousers that make it look like you’re frightened of what you’ve got.  And don’t be frightened to talk dirty sometimes like other lads do about wantin’ a shag and how long it is since you nutted off.  Not too much – like I say you don’t wanna come over all mincin’ Mary ’cause no-one likes that – but make it more obvious that you’ve got some spunk in your bollocks.”

So that’s what I did.

I got my mam to take my trousers in so that they showed my knob off at the front and my nice squat arse looking all pert and juicy round the back.  I bought some new pants from the market that were supposed to emphasize my bits even more and I started trying to make it more obvious I was up for stuff, sticking my cute, round butt out into the lad behind me in the dinner queue and saying more rude stuff like Hutchy had said, only not too full-on because I didn’t want to sound like a screaming queen and, anyway, coming from me it would have seemed a bit weird.

The sort of things I said were more like double meanings.  Saying stuff that could sound innocent, like telling the whole class in a Spanish lesson about how much I enjoyed rolling my r’s and in Biology how I was well into botany, especially in the park, but which other lads of the right type would easily recognise as smutty.

“Weren’t you worried that you making yourself a bit too obvious?” Philip asked.  “I mean, you grew up in a very homophobic environment and you’ve already said one young man – Pearcy wasn’t it? – had singled you out for abuse.”

“I talked about that with Hutchy,” I told him.

One night, on the way back from the allotments after he’d shot his seed up my arse in some fella’s unlocked shed, I asked him how likely it was that I’d end up getting beaten up by his mates from the PE changing rooms.

It used to really get to me, having to listen to them all giving me verbal over-and-over, week-in week-out.  A lot of the time I’d have notes from my mam to get me out of sport altogether.

“They’ll give you jip for being queer – you can’t blame them for that – but as long as you keep your distance and don’t do anythin’ to piss them off, that’s all they’ll give you.  The number one rule with all lads, Jason, is never try and flirt.  Let everyone know you’d be up for some fun but wait for anyone who’s interested come to you.”

“Have they noticed you hanging around with me sometimes?” I asked, wondering if they might have put two and two together about him.

He shrugged.  “If they have, they haven’t said nowt about it.”

“Would it bother you if they did?”

He stopped and turned to me with his face wary and distrustful.  “If they ask you about what we get up to, Kasey, I’ve already told you what’ll happen if you breathe a word of it.”

“I won’t say anything.  You know that.”

He nodded and lightened up again and we kept on walking.

“Even if they do know what we’re up to,” he went on, “I don’t think they’d say owt to me.  We’ve all knocked about with each other since we were kids.  They might have figured out that… you know… I’ve got a bit of a flaw, but they know for sure I’m no fairy.”

I’d never thought of Hutchy’s enjoyment of bum sex as being a ‘flaw’.  Same with my fascination for cocks.  It was just something that was a part of me like having blue eyes and brown hair.  Something I couldn’t change so didn’t think much about.

“So did your peacock strutting work?” Philip asked and then, when I looked at him funny, clarified: “I mean the flashing of your backside and making smutty jokes.”

“Oh yeah,” I grinned.  “It worked a treat.”

Within a couple of weeks I had an older lad from the sixth form catching me up after school.  He was called David Hetherington and was a posh lad from one the bigger houses on our estate, detached and with a fancy conservatory on the back.  I knew he wasn’t someone who’d want to beat the crap out of me but at the same time I wouldn’t have figured him to be the sort who’d want another lad to play with his dick.

But as he walked alongside me, he proved me wrong.

“I just thought… you know… you might want to do some stuff tonight, Kasey?” he asked me, glancing around to make sure he wasn’t been watched.

“Yeah,” I said, smiling.  We both knew what he meant.  “Where do you want to do it?”

“Down at the bottom of our estate, where they’re building the new houses.  There’s a place where you can get through the railings easy enough.”

His girlfriends would probably get treated to a nice night out, maybe a meal and some flowers with a fancy bottle of wine waiting back at his place in the fridge.  But his butt-boys… well, we got taken to the back of a fucking building site.

Still, it was better than nowt.

“What time?” I asked.

“About half seven.  Hang around there if I’m late.  I’ve got a driving lesson at six and sometimes it goes over the hour.”

“Okay,” I grinned.  Posh boy cock: it was nice to try a new flavour at last.

“I don’t think it would be helpful to write-up a journal entry of that encounter,” said Philip.  “I’m sure it’s largely the same as what happened with Gavin Hutchinson and there’s no point in repeating the same stories over and over.”

“It was quite a bit different, actually,” I told him.  “Posh boy David turned out to have a… er… particular interest you wouldn’t have expected from a nice, well-brought-up lad like him.”

Philip smiled and looked intrigued.  At length he nodded and said, “Okay, Jason, you’ve got me.  Write it up in your journal and I’ll have a look at it before our next session.”

He made a point of looking up at the clock behind me.  That’s his way of telling me I’ve had my hour now it’s time for me to fuck off.

So that’s where we’ll start next time.  That rainy evening in the middle of February, with freezing rain sheeting down from the black dark sky.  And there was me, squeezing through a building site fence and so infatuated with the thought of what David Hetherington’s cock might look like that I hadn’t even thought to put on a raincoat.

 

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