by any older boys, because of my brother.
You remember me saying that my brother got a reputation as somebody that you didn’t want to fuck with. I’ll tell you what he was like. When I first got to secondary school and the teachers were reading out the names to see who was who, they’d all say, ‘Brian … Limond. Limond? Any relation to David Limond? You’re his brother? I see. Then we’ll have to keep our eyes on you then, won’t we?’ He was like that. I’d be having to prove to the teachers that I was a good boy. I wanted to do well, I was into my computers and that. It was a wee bit embarrassing to begin with, but the pros outweighed the cons when it came to an older boy having a go.
I was in third or fourth year, by which point David had left school. And I was waiting at the bus stop after school, along with everybody else. There was some older boy that had just joined the school, because he’d been expelled from another. I’d see him in the morning, at the bus stop to go to school. He was a shady wee hard guy that would always wear a grey tartan scarf around his mouth, and I’d wonder who he was.
Anyway, at this bus stop after school, he hooked my jaw. He took a dislike to me, an argument started, then he hooked my jaw. He knew I wasn’t hard. He hooked it in front of everybody, and I just left the bus stop and walked home.
I told David about it, I grassed the guy right up. I said he had a grey tartan scarf, and David knew exactly who he was.
The next morning, when I was at the bus stop to go to school, I saw the guy. His face was done in. He didn’t look like he needed the hospital or anything, but it was more than a black eye.
He knew I was there, but he didn’t say anything. I didn’t rub it in. I was a bit embarrassed. But, you know, it was good.
So to answer your question, no, I wasn’t bullied in school, not really. I didn’t get into fights either. I avoided them. I was a bit of a shitebag, really. There was a hard boy in my class who once offered to fight me, and I just said naw. A few months later, he offered to fight this other boy, the biggest in our year, one of these boys that was more like a man. The man-boy accepted, and the hard boy knocked his two front teeth out.
I was a shitebag, and I’m glad.
My First Wank
As I mentioned, I was a wee bit of a tramp in secondary school, to begin with. My trousers were too short, I had the wrong type of trainers, plus my hair was all flat and shite. I didn’t know what to do about it. I wanted to look good, but I didn’t want to get slagged off for it. I didn’t want anybody to look at me and say, ‘Who are you trying to be?’
That’s what it felt like. It felt like any attempt to look good would look like I was faking it. It would look like I was trying to be one of the normal boys, the ones that played football and talked about what birds they wanted to pump. And I wasn’t normal. I didn’t feel it, anyway.
Until I had my first wank.
And it changed everything.
Maybe everybody’s first wank was important to them in some way, but I don’t think so. To other people, I can imagine it was nothing more than a very good feeling, a new feeling. But to me it was something extra. I think it’s to do with the fact I’m circumcised. I’d got it into my head that I couldn’t have a wank because I didn’t have a foreskin.
Where I grew up, pretty much nobody was circumcised. Nobody was Jewish or Muslim, and nobody was circumcised just for the hell of it, like they do in America. The reason why I was circumcised was because there was something up with my cock. That’s what my mum told me when I was older. My foreskin was too tight, or something like that. So I had to get circumcised.
I noticed my cock was different from everybody else’s. I’d see the occasional cock on the telly, and it would look different to mine. Or I’d see a wee boy’s cock as he was in a paddling pool. Or I’d see my dad’s cock. I saw my dad’s cock when we went swimming once. He was in the changing room next to mine, and I looked through a wee hole, which happened to be at cock height. And there it was. I don’t know why I did it, but there it was, my dad’s cock, and it didn’t look like mine. It had this big bit of skin covering the end, whereas mine didn’t. Mine looked like a mushroom at the end.
I really noticed the difference in secondary school, at gym, when I first had to get my clothes off in front of all these other boys. I had a look at their cocks, and pretty much all of them had foreskins. It makes you feel different, and not in a good way. But nobody pointed it out. You’d think that other boys would point out your difference, but it didn’t happen. Maybe because nobody would want to admit that they were looking at your cock.
Anyway, I had it in my head that it meant I couldn’t have a wank. I maybe also couldn’t cum. I was born with undescended testicles, which I had to get fixed. And I thought that maybe that had fucked things up for me. I was maybe some sort of freak.
You want to be normal.
You want to be doing what all the other boys are doing, or at least have the choice of doing it. I was normal in all the other ways. I got hard-ons, I fancied lassies, I was ‘normal’ like that. But when it came to wanking and spunking, I had a feeling that it was the end of the line for me.
I was so confused about it all, so ignorant. I remember doing a pish in the school urinal one day. I was in there myself, and I had a hard-on. I was looking at the bubbles caused by the impact of the pish against the water, and I was wondering if the bubbles were spunk. That’s how ignorant I was. A confused and naive wee boy, feeling left behind.
But that all changed with this first wank.
My best pal, that one I was telling you about, he had this older sister. I wasn’t particularly interested in her, she was about four or five years older than me, practically a grown woman, and she’d pace about his house in denims and a jumper. Nothing that turned my head.
But then, one day, she wore leggings.
And I saw her arse.
A sticky-outy arse.
She had these long legs, these wide hips, and this sticky-outy arse. Like an athlete.
I think my jaw hit the ground. I probably reached for a cushion to cover my hard-on, I imagine.
I thought about her all the time, I’d get hard-ons thinking about her. Thinking about her arse. I’d fantasise about touching her arse, my hand on her arse, squeezing her arse, cuddling her with my hands on her arse.
I’d go over to my pal’s, looking forward to seeing her. Sometimes she wasn’t wearing leggings, but I’d know that under whatever she was wearing was her arse. Then on other days she’d be wearing her leggings again. Sometimes she’d bend over to pick things up, bend all the way over with her legs straight.
One day she was in the hall, ironing, and I had to squeeze past her, and she had those leggings on. The front of me brushed against her arse. And I think that’s what led me to having the wank. That was it.
I stayed over at his, in this wee spare room to myself. Everybody was sleeping, and I was lying there in the dark with my hard-on. I’d hold it and grab it and just think about my pal’s sister, think about her arse. I’d think about me squeezing past her, and how she didn’t move away to let me past, and I’d wonder if she knew I fancied her. I started imagining different scenarios where she’d say and do things to me, a bit like my first computer program. I imagined her pushing her big arse up against me and not letting me past, with her saying, ‘Do you like that?’
I started having a wank.
I don’t know if I knew what to do or how long for. I might have picked it up from people talking about it or people doing wanking hand gestures. I probably picked it up from my mate talking about it. Well, here you go, mate.
I started moving it about, then, after a while, it felt like things were going somewhere. It didn’t feel like I was just playing with my cock, but that I was doing something. It felt better