A Year to Remember


Chapter One: January It’s 7.15 am on Monday morning. I wake up with a start as the clock radio on the chest beside me suddenly blares into life. I raise my tousled bed-head off the pillow to peek under the curtains. It is still dark. I hate January. Christmas, gone and forgotten. My birthday, the fourth, also gone, and another eleven long months without an excuse for presents. I groan inside and flip over onto my back, stretching out my long, slim arms above my head, arching my back, and lifting my backside off the mattress before I flop back down again. I’m distinctly unimpressed with the thought of getting up on such a cold, dull winter day. Reaching down under the duvet to scratch my balls, I give my dick a quick squeeze on the way down. I find the striped, thin, cotton, year old boxers I like to wear. Stiff and crisp around the button-less fly. I should throw them out. They’re pretty much too small for me now, especially as I seem to have unwittingly taken some sort of growth hormone over the summer. My arms and legs have grown long and almost gangly. Just a shame the rest of me hasn’t isvecbahis caught up, if you know what I mean. Five foot ten inches of typical, half-awake, sixteen year old boy. Moody, sullen and incomprehensible most of the time. Unless I’m trying to ‘fit in’ at school. Then you can’t shut me up. Then I inevitably end up saying something random and get called a wanker. Usually a four-eyed one at that. I’m not one of the ‘lads’, no matter how hard I try. I have a go at talking the talk, acting like I’m one of them. It doesn’t fool anyone, least of all me. Oh yeah, I wear glasses. Have done for ages. I’ve got ludicrously long arms and legs. Well I reckon so! I used to be fantastic at swimming the back stroke. Long arms, big hands. I’m not over keen on what growing up is doling out to me. That’s why I stopped going to the pool. I’m shy I suppose. Especially where other boys are concerned. My arms and legs are now covered in fine dark hairs. They match my head I suppose, colour-wise. I’ve got really thick, dark brown hair. I’m trying to have it cut in a more modern style. Mum hates it though. I reach isveçbahis giriş down and give my cock another yank, just to help it catch up with the rest of me. Still, I like the boxers. They make my fuzzy arse look pert from the rear, being that much too small, and my insubstantial package more prominent from the front. Not that there is anyone to see.  Bloody hell. The mass of hair surrounding it though. I’m sure someone cranked up the pube dial in my DNA to 11. It’s like a bloody forest down there. Dense, wiry, dark brown, hair announces my insignificant cock in a triangle, fading out as it rises up my flat belly. It twitches at the unceremonious attention. I really couldn’t be bothered creeping around last night. You know, afterwards, to clean up! Hence the crispy fly and the matted pubes. I really should get up. Still, another few minutes won’t hurt. It will still be a dark, dreary January, after yet more of my spunk gets spilled. I bloody love wanking. Now I know how to do it right. Took a while though. Sure, we had the ‘birds and bees’ chat. Me and Dad. Well, he just sort of isveçbahis yeni giriş mumbled some stuff and I sat looking at my feet. “It’s okay Dad, we do have sex ed at school,” I said. That was it. Job done, he scarpered back downstairs to safety. I pull my legs up and deftly flip the top half of the duvet down with the soles of my feet. A trick I’ve been perfecting for a few weeks. Forcing my hand through the fly hole, I hear a tiny rip, a stitch giving way I suppose. I pull the warm, smooth skin of my dick back to expose my helmet to the chilly air in my bedroom. It immediately begins to tingle. I shiver at the almost inevitable climax just a few minutes away, or is it just too flipping cold? No time for a marathon, a sprint is required today. Anyway, I give my foreskin another couple of tugs, willing my cock to expand, so I can jack off properly. In case you had not guessed, I’m uncut. I had no idea there was any other version. That is, not until one of the lads in PE announced it. In the showers. Of course we have showers. And, everyone has to have one. I hate it. I don’t want everyone seeing me. Naked. Sixteen. Four-eyed. Raging hormones. Gorilla pubes. Alex had seemed pretty relaxed about having his dick inspected though. One of the others, Ed Miller I think, had said something. “Look at Beckman’s cock head.

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