Long Load

Then he pulled out this mammoth cock from his white boxer shorts. It was even longer than Greg's had been: maybe nine inches or so. It was soft, but looked firm and solid like he'd been at full-mast in his sleep and was rapidly losing it.

He held it using his full hand: all four fingers and his thumb, like it was a hose. He withdrew his foreskin a little, exposing the pink bulbous tip of its head, and directed down towards the toilet.

Before the first squirts of yellow piss shot from it, he turned to me and grinned. I realised how obvious it was that I was staring at his cock.

I muttered, "Sorry... I just..."

He started pissing, the first few splashes becoming a steady stream, and smiled more broadly. "I know... it often has that effect..."

I laughed, relieved that my checking him out wasn't a big deal to him. "It's kind of... impressive..."

He laughed back. "You can tell I'm from Long Load..."

Then I remembered Greg and momentarily wondered if there was more to the connection than just the repeat of the pun.

I continued washing myself, aware that he was looking down at my cock as he continued pissing into the toilet bowl.

I said, "I wish I took after you..."

He smiled. "Yeah... I bet you do... but it looks like you definitely take after your dad on that score..."

I pretended to be offended. "Hey! Just 'cause it's not hung like a donkey, it's still got a few good tricks up its sleeve..."

He looked down and finished off his business, shaking the last few drops from his huge cock. "Yeah, I'm sure it has... but I don't suppose you can... er..."

He left the sentence hanging, apparently having second thoughts about completing it.

I said, "What?"

He tucked his cock away and the wet tip made a small damp patch on his shorts, just above his left thigh.

He grinned sheepishly. "Your dad knows about this, but no-one else. This is between you and me, Oliver..."

I nodded, repeating, "What?"

He smiled. His cock moved downward inside his shorts as it continued to soften, threatening to flop out from the left leg.

He said, "When I was your age, in fact up until my late twenties, I could get it in my mouth... it's that long!"

I laughed, simultaneously amazed and amused. Uncle Paul sucking his own dick! "Jesus!"

He laughed at my expression. Then he went on, "I probably still could. I'm only thirty-three... some guys can still do it in their fifties..."

I laughed again. "How do you know? Are you, like, in a club or something?"

He smiled and shook his head. "You'd be surprised how much you can learn from magazines like 'Cosmopolitan' which your auntie leaves lying around..."

I'd finished rinsing myself and so turned the shower off. He passed me a towel and I stood drying myself.

I said, "It must be so cool doing that... I mean, you'd never need a girlfriend..."

He grinned. "Yeah... it's pretty good..."

"How d'you do it?" I was eager to learn as much as I could; I was instantly hooked on the idea. I'd heard about it before, of course, but had always thought self-fellatio must be something very rare and unusual.

He smiled at me. "One of these summers, if you're up for going camping like we used to a few years ago, I'll show you. If I can still manage it..."

And the next summer, we did just that. I learned a lot more about Uncle Paul than how he managed to suck his own cock; I learned that, just as I was beginning to appreciate in myself, his natural tendency was to form relationships with women but he would also enjoy having occasional sex with men. And, as far as the latter was concerned, I learned how good he was at it!

But I'll leave that story for another time.