The Madison Technique

I was pleased that he did: I was absolutely fascinated, and still painfully aroused, by what I was seeing.

I wondered if maybe this wasn't an issue for him. Most, if not all, fourteen-year-old lads masturbate and few get hung about it. I bet if I'd have walked between the tents that morning, the rhythmic sounds of palms slapping up and down cocks would have been coming from half a dozen of them. I knew from trips I'd been on at fourteen, and stories I'd heard since, that, generally speaking, to camp together is to wank together.

So maybe he saw what he was doing as no different to that: I suppose, in a way, he would have been right.

But then I thought, "Surely he'd save the full mouth treatment for special occasions..." It was one thing to quietly masturbate while another guy slept; quite a bolder step to bring yourself off with your mouth if you were capable. And Madison didn't seem the kind of guy to take bolder steps if more discrete ones were possible.

So then I thought, "Maybe for him, this is it. Maybe this is how he wanks."

It wasn't impossible. I'd heard of some bizarre techniques from guys about their room-mates - like the guy in the year above us who masturbated by humping his pillow. If that's how a boy discovers masturbation, sometimes any other technique just doesn't hit the mark. The story in that case went that, no matter how often he tried to make it work, his hand just wasn't a worthy substitute. No pillow, no cookie.

So maybe Madison was like that. Perhaps, when he was eleven or twelve, he'd discovered beneath his duvet that he was able to suck his own dick. After that, not realising there was anything odd about it, maybe he'd quickly got into the habit of it. And, let's face it, if a guy were to get used to having his mouth around his dick, I guess his fist just doesn't compare.

I watched as he worked on himself, his rhythm getting faster and his rocking becoming more frantic. His mouth was now sliding up and down about five inches of his cock, his lips making loud slurping noises as he did so. His eyes were still tightly closed, his cheeks flushed bright red, as he savoured the waves of pleasure that washed over him.

I thought, "Yeah. This is how Madison wanks." I was sure of it.

Maybe it had never occurred to him that most guys do it with their hands. He might be lying there, sucking at his own cock, assuming that the same thing was going on in a few of the other tents; that some of the lads and the staff in the showers were at that moment bending over to eat themselves; that I might be going to go down on myself when I wake up. He might just see it as a part of male biology: that boys and men were conveniently designed to pleasure themselves with their own mouths.

A voice inside my head argued, "Oh come on, Seb, he must have seen or heard about the way that other guys masturbate..."

But then I thought about how he was: a clean-cut, serious, academic young guy. A bit removed from the main crowd, but apparently comfortable with that. Not the kind of guy to get pissed and end up having a group wank with his mates, he was too absorbed by his books and his computer. Even the under-the-duvet fumblings of his room-mate at school might have passed him by.

His rhythm became even more frenzied. He started bucking his hips, trying to plunge his cock even deeper into himself. His head became a blur as his mouth rapidly consumed and expelled his thick stem; he looked vaguely comical, like he was head-banging onto his own cock.

Between the wet slurpings of his lips came whimpering sounds somewhere between gasps and sobs. Then he started swallowing rapidly as his cum erupted from his cock and filled his mouth. Some of it dribbled out of his lips and made gooey streams down the thick stem of his cock.

The rich, cloying smell of it seemed to fill the warm tent almost instantly.

He kept up his movements, kept rocking back and forth and milking his cock with his mouth, sucking furiously up and down as much of it as he could, until his orgasm had subsided. Even after that, after his stream of cum had weakened to a gentle dribble, he nibbled at the fat deep purple head, licking up the last dregs as they slowly pumped out of his piss slit.

He seemed to love the stuff: I don't know if he'd ever wondered whether all guys like to drink their own semen - whether he'd ever tried to look that up in one of his books - but he accepted that he did himself and prolonged the experience as long as he could.

Then he lay back down on his sleeping bag and his spent cock slapped onto his stomach with a thud. Lying there, with his eyes still closed, he recovered his breath.

A few lads outside the tent shouted and whooped as someone was pulled naked and half-asleep from his tent. One of the staff wearily broke things up. The noise made it impossible for me to pretend I was still sleeping; even the deepest sleeper would have at least stirred amidst such a racket.

So I groaned and moved around a little, keeping my eyes firmly closed while Madison hastily pulled his briefs back up. I gave him about ten seconds to fumble around and then slowly opened my eyes narrowly as if having just awoken.

By that time he was hitching his tracksuit bottoms up.

He grunted, "Morning," and I nodded. He glanced over at my face, a little searchingly, maybe wondering if I would be offended by the unmistakable odour of his semen. I remained impassively groggy.

Then he grabbed a teeshirt and a few toiletries and pushed his way out of the tent.

One of his friends immediately called over to him, "Hey Madders!" and the two of them went off chatting.

I yanked my cock out from my briefs and started masturbating as soon as it was clear that Madison was well out of range. My cock head felt sore from being confined under pressure inside the material of my underwear for so long and the material of the sleeping bag, rubbing against it as I tugged my foreskin, irritated it further. Normally I enjoy having the underside of a duvet or a sheet rubbing against the end of my cock as I'm wanking, but this was almost painful.

So I unzipped the sleeping bag and climbed out to lie on top of it.

That felt a lot better. My cock was able to stretch out to its full eight inches without scraping against anything.

I masturbated it quickly and quietly, aware that most of the lads were now up and that activity outside the tent was become louder and more sociable.

I thought I could hear someone else having himself a sly morning wank, maybe a mate of mine called Johnson in the tent next to mine, but I couldn't be sure amongst all the other stuff going on.

I was thinking of what I'd seen Madison doing just minutes earlier, as my hand worked its magic up and down the swollen stem of my cock. I was thinking about what it would feel like if I could do something like that. I knew I couldn't - countless attempts on my bed at home and on the bathroom floor had resulted in frustrated failure - but I loved fantasising about what it would be like if I could.

My hand was reaching full speed and my hips starting to buck slightly, when the door of the tent was pulled open and Madison stuck his head back in.

My first instinct was to stop masturbating and cover myself up, but I kept going because I wanted to see his response. It felt a bit weird to be whacking myself so openly and unashamedly in front of another person, but I just had to see how he would react to the sight of a guy using his hand rather than his mouth to bring himself off.

He looked over at me, his face a little embarrassed, and mumbled, "Jesus - sorry, mate." Then he fumbled around in his rucksack. "I forgot my shampoo..." Then he looked away from me and made busy with his rucksack.

My hand was really sliding up and down my pole, vertical from my body. I even kept up my hip-bucking, like I was fucking my fist.

But Madison didn't give it any attention.

When he'd found the bottle of shampoo he looked up at me, threw me a small grin, and then backed out of the tent.

Hardly the response of a guy who'd had a major revelation dawn on him.

I figured my idea that he didn't know that most guys use their hands to masturbate was wrong.

I thought, "Jesus - he'll think I'm weird to have wanked myself off so blatantly in front of him."

But it had been worth it to have seen his response. And what the hell - he'd barged in on me; it wasn't like I'd put on a show for him deliberately.

My thoughts returned to the idea of what it would feel like to suck my own cock. I imagined my face sliding up and down my pole just as his had been on his; my lips making slurping noises; my semen running in rivulets down my cheeks and my chin. And that really started getting me hot.

A couple of minutes in, Campbell, one of my mates, called in to the tent to get me up and must have heard the rhythmic beating coming from inside.

He chanted, "Sebastian's wanking... Sebastian's wanking..." and I barked out to him to fuck off.

One of the staff called over, "You guys, keep it down." Then, "Hurry up, Wallace. Get out of there or I'll pull the tent door open."

I kept wanking, and managed a breathless, "Just a minute, sir."

As they wandered off, I imagined the tent door being yanked open and all of them - my friends, my teachers, the younger guys - peering inside to see me sucking my own cock. Me knowing they were watching me, but loving the sensation of shocking, impressing and arousing them all at the same time.

I saw me as they would see me: my legs wide open and hitched behind my shoulders; my mouth eating at my cock in frantic, noisy slurps; my nose banging into my own balls; my arse hole gaping open.

I imagined their faces, wide-eyed from surprise and awe as my thick eight inches slid in and out of my eager, slavering mouth. Their crotches bulging outwards from the same excitement that I had felt when I'd seen Madison.

And then I started spewing my load onto my belly.

As it shot out of my cock, I wanted to eat it as Madison had, but as my orgasm subsided the idea became rapidly revolting to me and I contented myself with just mopping it up with my discarded briefs.

Campbell called in, "Are you sorted yet?"

"Ah yeah... I'm just... er... giving myself a quick bed bath, kind of..."

"Ugh, gross."

*****

That night I didn't sleep too well.

When I'd crawled into the tent in the early hours, Madison was already asleep. The air inside the tent wasn't thick with the smell of cum as it had been in the morning, and I was surprised at how pleased I was that he hadn't performed his little trick without me.

I'd thought of what I'd seen Madison doing regularly during the day. At one point, I'd been on the verge of telling one of my mates about it, primarily to find out if, perhaps, self-fellatio was less unusual than I'd supposed, but I held back. I foresaw gossip and intrigue spreading around the group like a virus and Madison glowering at me through it, his eyes embarrassed and hurt.

And, apart from that and possibly more importantly, I didn't want him to know that I'd seen him because I wanted to watch him do it again.

I knew that the chances of a repeat performance were remote but I was determined to wake up when he did just in case. Even if all he did was masturbate in a regular way with his hand, it would settle an argument that had been puzzling me all day: was Madison only able to fully satisfy himself with his mouth?

I lay next to him, hearing his long slow breathing in the depths of his sleep, wondering how I could make sure that I didn't miss any action that might be going to take place next morning. I obviously couldn't set my watch alarm and I couldn't rely on the same gentle chewing sounds that had awoken me on the previous morning having the same effect again.

So in the end I just lay there, tossing and turning and catching odd five minutes of sleep here and there, thinking that every cough and every shift of position was the start of something interesting.

Then, sometime around five o'clock I'd guess, I fell into a sounder, more settled, state.

I was so tired by then that I think, if Madison hadn't accidentally kicked me in the arm as he moved around inside the tent, I'd have slept through his second performance.

I felt irritable from having had so little sleep and would probably have turned over, grumbling, if I hadn't heard him getting out of his sleeping.

Instead, I opened my eyes tentatively and saw, in the early morning half-light, that his shins were right in front of my face. He was on all fours with his head up near the entrance of the tent. The twin round peaches of his arse cheeks were about a foot from me, hanging in mid-air inside his white briefs like a full moon.

I closed my eyes again thinking he was probably going to scramble outside for a piss or something. Some birds were singing in a tree near our tent but other than that the world outside was silent. I felt groggy from the restless night I'd had and wanted to get at least a little sleep before someone shook me awake.

But then, as I lay there feeling sleep begin to wash over me in gentle waves, I heard the telltale sounds of the elastic of his briefs snapping against his skin as he pulled them down his thighs. I opened my eyes again and saw him struggling to remove them in the cramped confines of the tent. His arse was pale and hairless, and, as he fumbled around to pull the briefs down below his knees, I kept getting glimpses of his large balls dancing around inside their loose sac between his thighs.