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I asked, "Does wanking make your dick bigger?"

He reached for his padded shirt. "I dunno. Never really thought about it. Why?"

"I just thought… you know… the exercise…"

He laughed, pushing his right arm into the sleeve of the shirt. "Maybe. I dunno."

I pulled my boxers over my feet, my erection swinging around in front of me, pointing upwards.

He glanced at my cock, and said, "If it does, then you're gonna have a monster down there in a couple of months, Stu…"

I laughed, pulling my boxers up my legs.

He added, "You better buy some bigger shorts…"

I pulled them over my balls and then tucked my hard cock into the front of them. "Yeah. They're getting a little tight even now…"

He grabbed the dark green pair I'd discarded from the previous night and pretended to look at the label.

"Just as I thought," he grinned. "It says dick size five inches… you're gonna have to upgrade, man…"

I chuckled, a little uncomfortable that he was holding my dirty shorts.

Then his eye caught something on the front of them and he turned them over to take a look.

My first thought was, "Oh shit, he's seen a skid mark or something," and I tried to grab them from him.

But he willingly gave them to me and smiled. He said, "Looks like you were really close last night…"

I stuffed the shorts into my rucksack and he buttoned up his shirt. I asked, "Close?"

"Yeah. The marks on the front."

I didn't know what he meant and, after seeing that he wasn't about to take the piss out of me or make some corny joke, I got the shorts back out of my rucksack. There were dried trails on the front of them like a slug would make on a carpet.

I was intrigued. "Is this… spunk?"

Maybe I had cum without realising it. Maybe it had happened while I was asleep.

He shook his head and reached for his trousers. "No. It's what comes out of your dick just before you spunk up. It means… well… there's no way you're firing blanks, Stu…"

It felt surprisingly good to hear him say that. I mean, I knew that he was only slightly more knowledgeable about this kind of thing than I was and that what he said might be total bullshit, but it felt good nonetheless.

I had been close!

He grinned. "You nearly had touch down, mate…"

We didn't say much else as I pulled my vest and shirt on and Josh did his boots up. I felt pleased at what Josh had said but was, at the same time, unpleasantly aware that I was having to be taught so explicitly about a habit that most guys seemed to pick up on their own.

Eventually, as he grabbed his stuff and made to leave the tent, I said, "Palmer disturbed me… he said I was too noisy…"

Josh grinned. "Like I said, Stu. This isn't really the ideal place…"

And then he crawled out through the doorway.

I started pulling my socks on and noticed Anderson's discarded grey boxer briefs lying near Palmer's pillow. The ones he'd wiped himself with after he'd finished masturbating.

I wanted to ignore them but I couldn't. The urge to look at them and see what Anderson's spunk looked like was too strong.

I thought, "No I can't do that. What if someone came back into the tent?"

But then it occurred to me that it was a reasonable thing to do. That it would prepare me for seeing my own cum. That I would know what to expect and what was normal. I would know what it should look like; the colour; the texture.

I'd seen Josh's but that was a fleeting glimpse.

This time I'd have the luxury of getting a long, close look.

Again I wondered what I'd do if someone came in and my mind replied, "Just throw them back onto Palmer's pillow as soon as you hear the Velcro strips being opened. And carry on getting dressed like nothing was happening…"

I reached for the underwear and brought them over to look at them. I turned them the right way round and looked at the front. The gusset bulged outward, stretched into a pouch by Anderson's hefty cock and balls. But there were no marks on the front; they seemed fairly clean.

I turned them over and looked at the back. Again, the material had been stretched and had loosened into paired cups by Anderson's large round buttocks.

Again I thought of Connell's joke and the image of my cock pressing into the back of Anderson's boxer briefs while he was wearing them sprung into my mind. Shit. Why couldn't I shake off this idea?

But there were no marks on the back either.

I turned them inside out and immediately found what I was looking for. The inside of the gusset was streaked with dried gobs of Anderson's spunk where he had roughly cleaned himself up with them.

There seemed to be loads of it: it had been spread from the waistband, right across the crotch, down to the bottom of the left leg of the boxer briefs. The grey material was smeared and splattered with it.

Maybe Josh was right about the bucket.

I lifted the front of briefs to my nose to sniff Anderson's cum. I thought, "If I get caught now I'm never gonna live this down…" But I was too interested in finding out what it smelt like.

Palmer had been right: Anderson's boxers did smell strongly of his cock. Sweaty and with a slight but sharp hint of piss. The cum had dried and was hardly discernible through the stronger odours of Anderson's crotch.

Even the spunk smeared across the material around the leg had little odour. The sweat from the tops of Anderson's hairy thighs masked everything.

I turned the boxer briefs over and saw smears of cum on the material on the back of them. I realised these had been made when Palmer had wiped his mouth. Faint lines running up the arsecrack of the boxers explained why Palmer had been so revolted by the smell of the back of them.

A picture of Anderson's naked arse, its cleft thick with dark brown hair, flashed into my mind and was immediately followed by thoughts of my cock pressing in between his cheeks. Jesus Christ. What was wrong with me today?

I suddenly realised why guys said masturbation was a form of relief. The state I was in, Connell's joke just wouldn't lie down and take a rest.

A fist banged on the top of the tent and I threw the boxers back onto Palmer's pillow. Vaughan's voice called down, "Come on Stu… you're gonna miss breakfast…"

I called out, "Just a minute, sir," and I started pulling on my trousers.

Then I noticed Josh's discarded briefs lying on his sleeping bag. Still pulling my trousers on with one hand, I reached over for them.

They were made of white cotton, with thin dark blue stripes running upward across the flimsy material.

They felt wet.

I brought them over to look at them and saw that the front of them was covered in a thick, white gelatinous liquid. Josh's spunk. He must have masturbated just before I awoke.

Some of it got onto my fingers and felt like cold gravy. Thick and with semi-solid lumps in it.

I could smell it even before I brought the briefs up to my nose. It was a heavy, musky and slightly pungent aroma.

Another whack on the top of the tent. Vaughan's voice. "Last chance, Stu. If you're not out of there in thirty seconds, your sausages and muffins are going to the lemmings."

I threw Josh's briefs back onto his sleeping bag and pulled my trousers on quickly.

Then, with my boots untied and my fleece half-way on, I staggered out of the door.

I still had an erection and I still couldn't stop thinking about sex.

Even the sausages and muffins made me think of cocks and buttocks.

We packed up and were able to set off by about nine o'clock.

We walked in small scattered groups – singly or in pairs – across the barren frozen plain.

Palmer remained silent; Anderson went off with his other mates and I kept thinking about sex. Josh walked alongside me but he didn't say anything.

It was only at about eleven o'clock, when Palmer had called out, "Hey, look at that. It's like a piece fell off the sun," that I managed to shake my thoughts completely free – for a short while, at least – of what had happened in the tent.

To be concluded...

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