First Appearance (Chapter 2)

My cock was still hard and aching. I still held it in my hand, feeling the head of it gently throbbing against my thumb. I really wanted to try to do something with it. After all, just about every other guy in our camp seemed to have played with their dicks that night.

Anderson was asleep; Josh was asleep; and Palmer? Well, even if Palmer heard me he wasn't likely to risk getting into serious trouble with Vaughan by waking Anderson up. And if I held my sleeping bag upward so that my hand didn't make a sound against it…

I pretended to shift position, groaning quietly as I did so, and made a tent in the sleeping bag above my crotch.

Then I waited a few seconds.

I could tell Palmer was wide awake. He was still livid but, from his slower breathing, gradually calming down.

I made an O with my finger and thumb and gripped the top of my foreskin inside it. Then I worked my foreskin forwards over the head of my cock. I couldn't help but gasp slightly from the mixture of pleasure and pain: the tip of my cock was just too sensitive.

I pulled my foreskin back and swept it forwards again. Again, it felt good but hurt at the same time. I did it again and again and began to develop a rhythm. The pain seemed to diminish but the pleasure remained. It started to actually feel really good; even better than when I'd humped my pillow in my bed at home, and better than when I'd played tennis with my cock against my palm.

I realised I was making a sound; a regular swishing noise as my fingers brushed against the material of my boxer shorts which was covering the paired mounds of my balls.

Holding my cock steady in my right hand, I tried to release my balls from my shorts with my left. But there weren't any buttons lower than the one I'd already opened and my balls were way too big to slip out through the tiny gap in the fly below my cock. I opened my legs a little, trying to ease my balls downward but they remained stubbornly aloft. Like a couple of ripe plums pressing upward against the material of my boxers.

"Jesus, why do I have such big bollocks?" I silently cursed.

I eased the sleeping bag back into a tent above my cock.

Palmer's breathing was even slower. Maybe he was asleep. I don't know why – after all the sounds of other guys wanking that I'd heard that night – but I really didn't want him to hear me.

I guess it was because it was my first time; I didn't want an audience.

I started masturbating again, gently working my foreskin back and forth across the head of my cock as I had been. Now there was little pain: it felt, quite simply, amazing!

I couldn't help but smile, aware that my breathing was coming out as short, sharp pants.

I squeezed a little more tightly with my finger and thumb and the pleasure swept over me like a warm, gentle wave. My cock seemed to be growing longer and thicker on every stroke: it swelled to an unimagined size as if in gratification for the attention I was giving it. It seemed to want more; to want to thicken and lengthen to offer as much of itself as it could to my hand. 

I knew that the swishing noise I was making was getting louder. I was making longer, faster and firmer strokes and my fingers were sliding across more and more of my balls. My elbow was making gentle thumping noises against the sleeping bag.

But Palmer was asleep; he must be.

I wrapped my other fingers around the stem of my cock, again marvelling at how thick and long it felt.

I was thinking, "Fuck, Stu! You're wanking. You're actually fucking wanking!"

And Christ, did it feel good!

In those few minutes, feelings from my cock seemed to take over those from the rest of my body. My cock became everything to me; the rest of my body was insignificant in comparison with the sensations from that one part.

I'm sure, in retrospect, that my cock had only swelled a little as I masturbated it, but to me it felt like it was a meter long and as thick as a drainpipe. I loved it. I thought about how big Anderson's cock had looked when I'd seen his morning woodie first thing. Mine was surely longer than that now; an inch longer, maybe two. And I thought about how thick my dad's cock had looked when he got out of the shower. Mine felt like it could put even his to shame.

My rhythm was getting really fast and I realised I was panting like a dog and whimpering gently. My forehead, my cheeks and my chest were wet with my sweat. My arse crack felt as hot as a skillet.

My left hand gripped my balls, making the sleeping bag fall against the pounding of my right. The noise I was making was now unmistakable, but I no longer cared.

I was thinking, "I've got the biggest dick in the school and I'm wanking it. And I love it… I don't care who knows it…"

Even if Vaughan could hear me, I didn't care right then. The feelings from my cock were all that mattered.

I squeezed my balls and felt a new wave of pleasure wash over me. I dimly thought, "Maybe having big balls isn't such a bad thing."

Then Palmer whispered hoarsely across at me. "Fucking keep it down, Stu. I'm trying to fucking sleep, you tosser…"

And I stopped. Just lay there panting to recover my breath and feeling the sweat on my face grow cold.

I said, "Sorry." I regretted that as soon as I said it. My voice sounded like a girl's; I seemed to have lost the ability to judge how my voice-box worked.

He spat, "Can't you fucking wait 'til tomorrow? If you're firing blanks you'll probably go on all night…"

That thing about 'firing blanks' again. I wasn't sure whether what he said was true, but it made sense. Maybe I wouldn't cum like Anderson had done; maybe I'd still be lying there at six in the morning, pulling myself off until I was red and sore with nothing at the end of it.