Incident at Widdicombe Wood
|by Charles Hamilton II|
Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 09 Feb 2018
I remember it was a fine warm summer day. That was strange since I’m sure all my childhood days were shrouded in grey thunderous clouds. I had just turned thirteen and was proud of my new-found grown-up status. Alan was fourteen – a year and a bit ahead of me. We were best pals and had been most of our lives, even when Alan’s parents packed him off to boarding school when he turned eleven.
Alan knew so much more than me. He told me immigrants ate cat food sandwiches and that a lady could have a baby through her belly button. I completely believed the story about the immigrants; people said that kind of thing all the time. I was less sure about the baby thing. Alan was at an all-boys’ school so I saw more women than him. I had even seen a girl’s you-know. I told Alan about it as we walked through the woods.
Liar. You never did, Alan scoffs.
None of your business.
Don’t believe you.
I don’t press the point. Instead I silently rejoice in having experienced something that Alan had not. I am soon to discover he knew a lot more about things than I.
We come across a clearing in the wood and lay on the ground, sucking on reeds.
Does yours have hairs on it? Alan says quietly, not looking at me. It takes a moment before
I twig what he means. I’m sure my face flushes. Alan rolls on his side and props himself up on his elbow.
Then he asks the question again.
Yeah, I reply, feigning nonchalance.
It does not, a grin cracks his open face. I am nervous. I know he is trying to get one over
on me; to show he is more grown up.
Does yours? I nod my head toward his privates.
Of course, he answers a little too eagerly.
Show me! I laugh. I Know he won’t. The conversation will be at an end and we can talk about
sport or something else.
OK, he rises from his elbow into a sitting position.
It’s pretty big too, he tells
That’s what happens to it when you talk about girls.
He is right too. I can see a bulge in the front of his trousers. Without embarrassment, he unfastens
his trousers and wriggles them to his knees. His tootle is standing to attention.
It’s what you call
an erection, he runs his index finger along the shaft from his balls to the tip.
Mine never gets that big, I tell him. I am impressed and a little bit jealous.
Show me yours, Alan sits up and crosses his legs, holding his cock in his hand.
In a trice I have my jeans and underpants at my knees. I look across at Alan who is rubbing himself gently. My dick springs into action. It surprises me. I have never been this hard before.
I watch Alan’s cock, it is huge and purple. A thick vein runs across its entire length. I can feel my own knob pulsating as I watch my pal. Suddenly I am struck with fear. What if someone sees us, but we are some way into the woods by now and only visible from the top of the hill where the railway tunnel is.
Alan watches my own cock growing while continuing to gently rub his own. He doesn’t say a word; he doesn’t need to. The glint in his eye speaks volumes. My jeans and pants make it difficult for me to move, but I waddle across to him. Alan lets go of his own dick and takes hold of mine. I gasp. I have never felt anything like this before. He takes hold of my right hand and guides it towards his own cock. For some moments we gently jerk each other off.
Use some spit, he instructs me.
Like this. He lets a long trail of saliva fall onto
his fingertips. Then he sets to work again at the tip of my cock. I wheeze in ecstasy. I don’t know at
the time but Alan is something of an expert at this. There are many long hours to fill each night in the
dormitory at St. Tom’s.
That’s right, Alan pants as I lubricate the palm of my own hand and ease it up and down his
shaft. I don’t know how long we do this for. The pleasure is beyond belief. Then Alan puts his free hand
behind my head and draws me forward. He is breathing hard. I don’t resist when he slips his tongue in
my mouth. I had kissed a girl once. This is nothing like that. Then we hadn’t opened our mouths. Now,
Alan is exploring all round my teeth with his tongue. He tastes of peppermint. I am gagging, unable to
breathe. Then, suddenly he withdraws his tongue.
You can put your mouth on my thingy, if you want, he says matter-of-factly. He could have
been asking whether I wanted the ham sandwich or the cheese. I hesitate, unsure.
All right, he says not the least offended by my seeming refusal.
Let me suck yours.
Again, I do not resist when he moves forward and licks the end of his tongue onto the tip of my cock.
Instead, I shoot my load. It looks like gallons and gallons of spunk shooting through the air. A lot of
it lands on Alan’s face before laughing at the top of his voice he rolls away and out of range.
My heart races and my temples throb. Alan clambers to his feet and dresses himself.
a mess! he screams with laughter and dashes off running down into the wood. I find my handkerchief
and clean myself up and belting up my jeans as I go, I follow him.
We run up the hill laughing and shouting; two life-long friends who have become even closer. We will never forget this day for the rest of our lives. Suddenly I see a movement ahead of me. I slow down, watching. Wondering. What is it? Why am I so nervous? Then I almost run into the man who is tearing through the bushes, shouting and screaming.
He is a big man. He has broad shoulders and legs like tree trunks. He looks like a rectangle. His head is small and round, a bit like a cherry on top of a cake. He has a dark brown beard and wild hair. He is dressed in a hiking jacket and corduroy trousers.
What do you think you were doing there! he yells. Spittle drenches his beard.
Warr? I stop running. So does Alan.
You! the man glares at Alan. I feel panic. The man’s voice scares me. I can smell the semen
on my handkerchief and am sure the man can too.
What were you doing with this boy? He sticks his chest and chin out intimidatingly.
Mind your own business, Alan’s voice is shaky.
Don’t you dare talk to me like that boy, the man says. I am reminded of Mr Charrington, the
headmaster at my school. I feel like a very small child.
What dirty perverted things were you doing, he is still shouting. He seems genuinely livid.
We... Alan starts to speak but the man shuts him up.
Well let me tell you something. I’m a policeman. The man draws himself upright.
he says leaning forward now,
A policeman. And you’re in deep trouble. Come with me He grabs me
by the arm and drags me through the woods.
I’m sorry mister, I am crying openly,
We weren’t doing anything. Honest! I am terrified.
His strength is too great for me.
Please, please, let us go, I wail. Through my tears I see Alan
standing uncertain what to do. Then hesitatingly he follows us.
Leave him alone, Alan shouts.
You’re no policeman.
The man stops and holds me to his chest. I can smell his sour sweat. He looks around him, his eyes searching. He sees what he is looking for. He drags me across a cleaning towards a hazel tree. His powerful left arm pins me close to his body while with the other hand he snaps a switch from the tree.
Let me go, let me go! I scream, sobbing without control. The huge man shakes me. He leans
across me and with fingers the size of artichokes he starts unbuckling my belt.
No! No! I wail.
Kicking. The zipper is down and the man pulls my jeans and underpants to my knees. Absurdly, I am humiliated
that he can see the cum stains on my cock. The smell of my spunk mingles with the man’s stale body odour.
He clutches me around the midriff and bends me double. I am still kicking so he lifts me up so my feet
are no longer on the ground. Then he lashes me again and again across my bare buttocks. I am screaming
Leave him alone you bastard. Alan runs at the man, pounding him with his fists.
not a policeman, Alan shouts again and again.
The man pushes Alan away and punches him square in the face. Blood pours from Alan’s nose. Alan falls to the ground. I break free and run into the trees. I can’t stop myself. I run and I run, stumbling over roots as I go. I look over my shoulder as I flee. The man has Alan’s trousers and pants down and Alan is face down on the ground.
Tony! Alan screams,
Help me! But I keep on running.
I trip on something and go over head first. My ankle hurts. I lay there gulping for air; my heart pounding. Then I hear the scream.
I pull myself upright. I look down and at my feet there is a fallen branch. I hear the scream again. I stare down at the branch. My head is pounding. Do it! Do it! my head is telling me. I take hold of the branch and pull it free. I hear Alan crying out. I start to run the way I have just come, holding the branch in front of me. I hear Alan’s shouts muffled now. He seems an awfully long way away. Then I see them. Alan is face down on the ground. I see the man on top of him. His bare buttocks going up and down. He has one hand clamped over Alan’s mouth.
I hold the branch above my head. I rush the man and bring the branch crashing down on his head. Again and again and again.
My heart thumped so hard I thought my chest would cave in. My temples throbbed. My stomach churned over and over, I thought I would lose my breakfast. My vision was so blurred I could hardly take in the words from the Brocklehurst Bugle that I clutched in my trembling hands. Any moment now I might have a stroke. Police, the story I tried to comprehend said, had found a body in a disused railway tunnel in Widdicombe Wood. They think it may have been there forty years and had no idea who it was.
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