Wanker

WANKER.

I'd spent most of my Summer holidays playing with Stephen Hunt, brother
of Michael Hunt, or Mike for short - So if you said his brother's name
fast it was rather rude: Mike Hunt. They were the sons of Aunty Mary,
and my cousins. Thing is, Aunty Mary wasn't really our Aunty. She was
mum's best friend so we just called her that. Steve and Mike therefore
weren't really my cousins. I wonder if it would've made any difference
if they had been?

Anyway, I never played with Mike, only Steve - and they were strange
times. Always hanging out in woods, over the heath, or down other
cut-off places like lanes or passageways. There was rarely anyone else
with us when Steve and I played either, maybe a friend of mine would
tag along now and then, but usually it was just he and I. Steve was a
few years older than me, fourteen or fifteen, I was about ten.

Being the older one, Steve took the lead when we played. He often
suggested we go scrunching for plums that Summer, so that's what we
often did. Plums were in season and could be found in abundance,
hanging off the branches of trees in cut-off places. He had a memorably
ugly way of saying that word 'plums.' In his thick, Suffolk burr,
'plums' always made him sound like a dirty old man. One of the best
places for plums was misleadingly down a place called Cherry Tree Lane,
a couple of hundred yards from where I lived. Despite being so close to
residential areas, Cherry Tree Lane was an isolated, kind of scary
place to be - if you were a kid, or a young woman, out around dusk. It
ran alongside Cherry Tree Park, but was sectioned from it by the park's
fence as well as two or three metres or so of hedgerow and small trees
- many of which of the latter were the sought after plum variety.

Scrunching was an easy business. The trees were small, which meant
leaning a bike against one of them was sufficient enough climbing
apparatus up to the fruits. Or if we didn't have our bikes with us, a
leg-up sufficed. We'd gather as many as we could hold in our jumpers,
then devour them sitting with our backs against the park fence, facing
the lane. It was like a one-way mirror sitting there: we could see
anyone who rode or walked by from where we were, but they couldn't see
us. So it was a fun, secret place to hide in and eat plums. Though,
seldom did I eat a good plum! Most times they were sour, hard affairs
that made my belly ache afterwards and annoyed my taste buds like
Sherbet times a hundred. But when I complained to Steve of their
bitterness, he replied with a nasty, fatherly 'don't be so stupid, boy
- these are good plums.' So I ate them, and had my bellyaches. It's a
dangerous flaw of children that they will literally 'put their head in
an oven' if someone older than them tells them to. Steve was my elder,
and was safe because he wasn't a stranger; he was my 'cousin', so I
could trust him - but they say children are often abused by people they
know, don't they?

The first sign of strangeness was when Steve pulled out his penis and
masturbated in front of me, over a bank of woodland off Spring Road
hill. He did it after telling me that he'd had sex where we were, with
a half-cast, skinhead girl that I'd seen around and whom I thought was
ugly and strange. Steve agreed that she was ugly but said 'You don't
look at the mantelpiece when you're poking the fire.' Besides, he
claimed, he'd put a carrier bag over her head so he didn't have to see
her face while he was doing it. I suppose talking about it, whether it
happened or not, got him hard.

I remember when he came. He groaned, and had this stuff on his hand
that he showed me that he said was 'cum' - and that he could produce it
because he was a man. I believed him, because nothing like that had
ever come out of my willy. But it wouldn't have, would it? I was 10,
for Christ sake; I didn't even know what wanking was.

I think one of my mates was present another time Steve had a wank in my
company. We were up a tree over Cherry Tree Park. I guess no one looks
up in trees for kids with their cocks out, or over banks of woodland
near main roads. Kids are good at hiding, you see, and most skilled in
the art of being inconspicuous are older kids like Steve was - that's
one of the reasons you hang out with older kids and think that they're
cool, cos' they know all the best hiding spots.

?Then the day came when Steve took a shit up Cherry Tree Lane. No doubt
the plums had something to do with it! He just unbuttoned his black
jeans, squatted down and took one. I said 'yuk!' I think, and pointed
at him as I laughed. He probably grinned at me and licked his lips and
said 'lovely' which was another word - often used in the same context
as 'plums' - that made him sound like a dirty old man. The thing is he
was dirty, and a man (if he could cum), but he wasn't old - he was a
year younger than my brother. He wiped his arse on a leaf. He said it
was as good as using toilet roll. Then, when he was clean, if that's
the right word, instead of pulling up his trousers, my cousin Steve
mooned at me, parted his cheeks, and showed me his hole. As a ten
year-old, you don't discern such actions as being wrong. They feel
strange, yes, but they don't harm you physically, nor is someone
shouting at you, so they feel ok, I suppose. Ok, but strange.

After sticking a matchstick into his hole that he'd found in the dirt,
Steve started to masturbate again. It was becoming a daily event, but
until now I had not said anything to anyone. Nor strangely had Steve
instructed that I shouldn't. My line of innocence you see had not been
crossed yet. But it was about to be.

I kind of half looked away and half watched what Steve was doing. I
suppose I didn't know where to look, I hadn't on previous occasions,
either. But this time Steve asked me to touch it.

I definitely did not want to touch it, but Steve was my cousin who I
could trust and who let me hang out with him, so maybe I should touch
it because he'd asked and said it was okay to. So I touched it, and
almost immediately he said 'wank it' - but I didn't know what that
meant, so he showed me.

I ended up putting Steve's penis into my mouth that day, and when I did
I heard that horrible word 'lovely' repeatedly get uttered from his
mouth, and then it was all over. Everything changed, and I felt the
strange sensation of hot blood rushing to my cheeks and of my whole
body shivering and shaking? and what was left then?

I ran, ran as fast as my little legs could carry me home, that was a
couple of hundred yards away, and I got there fast cos' I was good at
running.

?Girls tell me now that's what an orgasm feels like: hot blood rushes
to your cheeks and your whole body shivers and shakes. I guess I had my
first orgasm aged ten, then!
Certainly, it's when I lost my virginity.