A gift I got from 'Anon'.

I so wish I knew who was the anonymous guy who sent me this drawing and poem a few years ago. It was received not long after I'd posted onto another gay site my experience in the scouts when I was bum-caned (with shorts on, but no underpants) before being expelled. (The full story will follow, I promise - sure as shit.)
    I'd mentioned in my story how this experience had drilled a fetish into me of all things not just scout-related, but in addition, relating to the army,  especially when the uniform was similar -  and for corporal punishment as well, particularly having one's bum beaten. And he's picked up on all these and combined everything into a brilliant single feature.I find it impossible to believe that he doesn't share at least some of my tastes. So please, if you happen to see this, you Boy Scout/army/C.P. fan, get in touch with me again and maybe we can have some F-U-N!
   I realise that for many of you who read my blog it will not do anything. It's a fairly specialised area.But I'd like to think that there are maybe just one or two out there  whose hoosie gives at least a little twitch at the sight of this - especially in India, that proud original country of k.d. shorts (albeit through British military occupation, which is another story) So, well? Does yours twitch?



I've just noticed that his poem might not be easy to read, so here it is again:-

Young soldiers at play can be really quite rough.
Here's one beating another to see if he's tough
Tight khaki drill shorts let the beaten one feel
 every whack nice and hard, as weal after weal
 is laid stinging across his pert, jutting bum.
I'd love to be able to join in the fun.
I'd be equally happy were that me with the stick
  OR the one bending over....
    Now which would YOU pick?

Brilliant, eh?

If I asked for your help, what would YOU do?

I use a match to light it, but if I ask you to put it out without blowing, would you use spit or piss? - or both? I'd be happy with either - or both. Doesn't matter to me if, when you spit, it goes too far and lands on my face or anywhere else between that and the candle. Nor when you aim your cock and your stream of piss overshoots its target and wets my head, even drenching my hair. But whatever you do, do it quickly before the candle wax softens from my body heat and it starts to droop. I don't want to end up with roast nuts if the candle falls forward and sets alight the hairs on that stretch of skin and muscle that connects your balls to your shit-hole (which I so love to have licked), or, if it falls the other way, I don't want the indignity of suffering bum-burns!

Peek-a-boo!

I wonder if this scout knows. Certainly his shorts are very... well, 'short'. If ours had been like that, in a troop where it was a strictly enforced rule that no underpants were to be worn (as this one also seems to be in), we could hardly have avoided going around exposing our little, boy-sized hoosies and barely-ripened and newly-functioning little plums.
  Our shorts were standard knee-length, or, at the highest, just above the knees, and so there was little risk of inadvertently 'airing the canary' - at least until, in my case, on that traumatic day for me at Summer camp, when I was grabbed and held with an older scout's arm around my neck while another scout violently pulled my shorts right down to the ankles - and then.....well, maybe that'll be for future blog. (I've already described at length what happened on other sites so I'm not racing to repeat it all again here, though it was some years ago. But if the mood takes me, who knows?)

Bumming a ride.

It's some years since I last did this, but a few times I went for hikes in the countryside attired like this, in full K.D. My army surplus haversack would contain a few cans of strong lager and at various points in the hike I'd stop for a drink - sometimes going into a pub if there was one around. There'd usually come a point when I found that I'd got myself a bit sloshed and, consequently, randier as well as a bit braver.
    I'd try to hitch a lift in this 'uniform', which was quite eye-catching anyway, people thinking I was an overgrown Boy Scout (Yes!), a big-game safari hunter, or a World War II British Army 'Desert Rat' fighter from El Alamein. Whatever they thought it was certainly conspicuously unusual enough for passing cars to notice - even before I raised my thumb..I did usually get a lift - eventually - but I think it scared off at least as many as those who were curious enough to stop. The togs I was wearing probably gave the impression that the wearer was somehow 'unstable' or, at least, not to be trusted.
(My particular experiences while getting a lift will have to wait for another blog, otherwise this entry will be getting too long.)
   Anyway, once when I'd got myself pissed enough I had the idea of walking along the side of the country road, thumb out, and just as I heard a particular vehicle approaching behind me I'd 'accidentally' let my shorts slip down - and make a great show of trying to get them back up quickly (as well as making great show of my arse!). As in my Scout Troop, where we weren't allowed to, I would never wear anything under the shorts. But it all needed perfect timing which, in a half-befuddled state, wasn't always easy to achieve. First I'd have to look out for the approach of the car or (better) lorry or van by finding a vantage point where, with my pocket binoculars, I could spy on vehicles coming towards me from a distance away - and make sure there was only one male, the driver, in it. (Two men would have been a nice idea but under the circumstances was too risky) These were the only ones I wanted to give me a lift.
  With alcohol coursing through my body, sometimes I made a clumsy mess of the plan. The vehicle's driver would sense that I was half-drunk and after maybe slowing down, would be scared off and speed away again. Sometimes I'd get a honk of the horn, (No, I don't mean THAT horn - at least not yet.), but I wouldn't know if it was an acknowledgement in friendly fashion or a hoot of derision. Sometimes I'd even hear them shouting out something, but never managed to catch the words from the moving lorry etc.
    But very occasionally (stressing the 'very') things would work out close to what I'd intended. Once in the cab or car I'd mutter an apology about my shorts slipping, which would get a response of the "It doesn't matter, ha ha!" variety and I knew then that there were 'possibilities'. If he HAD been shocked or offended, he certainly wouldn't have stopped for me. Then, wearing shorts and sitting down beside him with my bare knees and thighs, I'd edge closer to his left hand, far enough for him to 'touch' my leg as he went for the gear lever (again, accidentally, of course). In addition, having drunk all that beer I couldn't last long without needing a piss so I could also work that round in my favour.
  But on a couple of occasions the driver sussed out what I was up to and, suddenly stopping the vehicle, ejected me, with some choice words ringing in my ears. I did come close to being beaten up on at least one occasion. That's the trouble with drinking - it makes you bolder but it simultaneously clouds the judgment. However, just once or twice (well maybe slightly more than that) the guy was willing to 'play'.....
.
     As I say, all that will have to wait for a future blog.

Writing on toilet walls

I got all my early sex education from reading shithouse walls. It must have been one day when I was in my mid-teens when I needed a cack and was far from home, so my choice was whether to go in some bushes or to enter one of these dark, mysterious, ramshackle buildings - all unattended in those days. I'd never been into the cubicles of one of these public toilets before, though I might well have been in there just for a piss.
   If there was the odd scribblings on the walls outside of the cubicles, nothing prepared me for what was beyond the door. It was unbelieveable -  jokes, stories, suggestions, commands in many different handwritings and sorts of pen, pencil, biro, marker pens etc - and many drawings too, all of some sexual act. I was fairly, though not entirely, 'innocent' then, but still had the capacity to be shocked. And I was profoundly horrified at the crude depiction of a stiff-cocked, naked man with another man's stiff cock in his mouth. It had never even occurred to me at my then tender age that such things were done. It made me feel sick! I'm not sure if on that occasion I ever actually had the shit I so badly needed. It could well have been that I was so horrified and distracted by all these 'disgusting' writings and drawings that that particular need was no longer there. I left that toilet in a state of total confusion, appalled at what I'd seen.
    But the dam had been breached. I could never 'undo' that experience no matter how I wished I could. But over the next few days the horror of what I'd seen written and drawn up there gradually lessened, though I could not get it out of my mind. This harsh feeling then reduced and was transformed into one of interest, then curiosity - and finally, into one of desire. Alone in my bed every night I'd get hard just thinking of some of the things that I'd read. Even sucking didn't seem quite as ugly as it did at first. It even became intriguing. I had to go back - just to check that my eyes hadn't been playing tricks with me. (I suppose some might say that I'd now been well and truly 'corrupted'). So after a few more days back I went - and found that not only had I seen and read it all correctly, I was finding it not just fascinating, but even 'exciting'. The 'filthier' the idea was, the more it excited me. I started exploring more toilets, more and more till I'd been to all the public toilets in the town. Sometimes there was so much scribbling that you could hardly see the fuckin' wall! I could have spent 24 hours in there and still not had time to read everything. There were always some drawings of and stories about women, but they didn't interest me. And, of course, there were holes knocked into walls and doors at a very 'appropriate' height, often blocked up with screwed-up bog paper which was dead easy to remove - but that's a blog for another day. I started grading the toilets in my mind to determine which were the ones worth re-visiting. When making some of these visits there'd be men already in there, making out as though they were having a piss but, as I soon was to find out, just loitering around until someone came in who had the same thing on their mind as they did - quick sex. (I'll tell about these actual physical experiences of mine in a later blog.) But for the moment at least I ignored them and their advances. Sometimes they even waved their big reddish horn at me! But at the beginning I was too embarrassed, even frightened, to take up their offers, though there were always some who found it hard to take 'no' for an answer. I discovered early on that now and again there'd be a bloke so desperate that he'd try to hold on to me to prevent my leaving, but I always managed to escape (though there were a few hair-raising experiences). Once outside I knew I was safe as I knew that he could never come chasing after me with a hard todger protruding out of his trousers. Anyway, they sometimes had their pants round their ankles anyway.
    I got an insatiable craving to do the rounds of these shithouses and to read more and more of these 'dirty' stories. I just couldn't control it. I saw that some were messages suggesting appointments to meet up. I started writing answers to some of these but for a while was too scared to follow them through. Then I started writing my own stories on the walls (mostly out of my own fantasies as I didn't have all that much experience then.) as well as doing my own crude drawings of men fucking each other or sucking each other off, spunk dribbling down their chins. Even though I had this particular fascination of cocksucking, at this point I hadn't yet tried it myself, either giving or receiving. Nor had I yet been fucked up the bum. Funny, but I even thought that after being fucked the man's cock would come out covered in your shit! In time (not that long) I was to experience both fucking and sucking - both as doer and receiver, but that was a little way ahead as yet.
   But in the years since that time, all writing on shithouse walls has fascinated me deeply. It's such a fuckin' shame that all those old, crumbling, unattended public shitouses have gone - and largely been replaced by (far fewer) horrible, well-lit, clean bogs, often attended, or even with CCTV cameras in them, ostensibly as a deterrent to drug-dealing, but deterring also a lot more than that.
    So, that time has past. I'm grateful for those exciting years, but even more grateful to those kindly shithouse-wall 'artists, poets and writers' who gave me my valuable sex education - and helped me, in my own way, to pass on their and my acquired knowledge to younger guys than I am, before it was too late and these wonderful 'educational establishments' passed away into history for ever.

Another humiliating army punishment.

Whenever I want to be cheered up I only have to look at a sketch like this and I'm pissing myself with laughter. A 'bad lad' being forcibly tossed off by one of his mates, and having his balls licked at the same time, under the stern watch of the drill sergeant who gave the command, while two more squaddie victims await their turn, quaking in their army boots - and cacking their shorts, I bet. Terrible for those who've never yet touched a cock other than their own - and for the others who have, it can't be much fun being made to do in front of their sadistic commanding officer what they do to each other in private in the showers or wherever. I wonder what they did to deserve such embarrassing punishment. I reckon it could only be that one night out on leave they went out to a pub, got themselves sloshed and in their usual macho way ("mine's bigger than yours") they bragged about how many girls each one had fucked, got into a brawl and were hauled back to barracks by the military police who'd been called out to break up the disturbance. So it was only right that their punishment would be something to take them down a peg or two, something they wouldn't want their mates knowing about. But one thing is certain. They sure as shit won't forget their punishment in a hurry. - Ha ha!

Bumhole licking - Sublime. So why don't ALL guys do it?

It may be just my bad luck but I've found that out of all the guys I meet and have cock-fun with, it's only a minority who will engage in this most beautiful of acts. I cannot understand it. I usually start by being the one who licks their hole, which is fine by me, because I get immense pleasure from being the active partner in this act too. Once I've started with my tongue I hardly ever get anyone telling me NOT to do it. They clearly love it having done to them as much as I do - after all, the bumhole is the most erogenous zone after the cock itself - for some guys even moreso,
When I'm licking them around and inside their hole they'll moan and quiver in ecstasy, giving themselves up totally  to this most heightened pleasure. Yet when I ask them to do the same to me, many are not so keen. If they answer at all they'll mumble something about "not doing that sort of thing" (when they just fuckin' LOVE to take it!) or they'll pretend that I didn't say anything..Why is this? It seems so fuckin' selfish. I'm just an average human being who likes to receive pleasure too! If they're worried that I might not be clean, if I'm in my flat I'm happy to do an extra wash in my bathroom for them. If I'm out in bushes or in a public toilet I always carry bottled water around with me so don't mind at all giving myself an additional, precautionary hole-wash - which is, by the way, something I don't usually demand of them, unless my exploring their bum leads me to think that they also need a wash. But usually the excitement of the moment carries me through and I don't give a thought to it until I ask them to lick me.
  In so many videos and porno photos, like the one above, you see guys only too willing to lick the shit out of each other. I only wish that every guy I met had the same healthy mentality. It's frustrating to be denied it right when you're nearing the peak of your pleasure. Do you other guys agree with me? It's perfectly natural, nothing to be ashamed of - and it's just so fuckin' BEE-YOO-TEE-FULL!