Rules of Masturbation
by Jason Kason

 

RULE NUMBER FOUR

  1. Boys must only masturbate using their hands and other objects (e.g. fruit from the dining hall) must never be adapted for use as masturbatory aids.

 

When I first started at the school, I hadn’t been sure what this rule meant exactly, but there were rumours that it had been written after some fifth-former had been caught stockpiling banana skins because he liked to wrap them around his dick when he wanked off.

I’d tried doing the same thing once by smuggling a banana skin into the bathroom in my dressing gown pocket after lights-out.  I’d made a sort of tube with it and held it open at one end so I could thrust in and out of it, thinking it might feel like what a girl’s pussy would be like when you were having sex for real.

I didn’t enjoy it much but worse than that it made a really loud squishing noise with my cock jabbing in and out of it.  The three other cubicles were also occupied with boys quite blatantly rubbing their pricks before bed, but the sounds I was making were far noisier than theirs.  The queue of boys waiting their turn would be wondering what the hell I was doing to myself behind my locked door.

I persevered with it, holding the banana skin tight while my hips worked up a solid steady rhythm.  I thought that maybe it would be like wanking your dick off for the first time when you were a kid – you had to work at it and keep doing it even when you weren’t really sure what you were supposed to be feeling.  But no matter how I held the skin and how much I thrust in and out of it, it just wasn’t giving me the sensation I was hoping for.

The boy in the next cubicle – some fourth-former called Ollie Monkton who I didn’t really know – climbed up on the toilet bowl and gawked over the divider to see what the weird swishy noises were from my side of the partition.  I looked up at his face peering down at me as I stood there trying to fuck the banana.  We grinned at each other and I saw from how his shoulder was trembling that he was still jerking himself off as he watched my dick sliding rapidly in and out of the yellow skin.

“Is it nice?” he panted, his eyes locked on what I was doing to try and get a decent wank-off.

I smiled up at him, feeling a bit stupid that I was stood there humping away at a piece of fruit with my balls jiggling around and slapping against my thighs.

I said, “Actually, I think I prefer my hand!”

“Well, give it here then!  I wanna see what it feels like!”

I was surprised that he would want to jerk off into something that had my knob slime smeared inside the end of it, but I pulled the skin off my dick and passed it up to him.

He took a look at my hard-on – boys never miss a chance to compare cock size – and was impressed enough to raise his eyebrows.  I liked that look and knew it well: my shaft swells up really thick when I grow a stiffy and my dad once told me when he saw my morning woody that I’d inherited what he’d called his ‘beer-can cock’.

Monkton got back down on the floor and the swishing noise started up from his side of the partition.

I figured since he looked at me bonking the banana, I should take a peek at him doing the same.  So I climbed up on the toilet bowl in my cubicle and peered over at him thrusting his dick in and out of the skin which was starting to look more bruised than yellow.

“It feels like a girl’s minge!” he chortled when he saw I was watching him.

How the hell would you know, I thought.

As I watched him bucking his hips back and forth against the sheath he was making with banana, another boy – Anthony Cruddas – poked his head over the far partition to see what was making the strange noise.

“Aw yeah!” he laughed when he saw Ollie Monkton by hammering his dick in and out of the fruit skin.  He smiled at me and I smirked back at him before we both turned to watch our buddy rogering the banana.  Both our shoulders started shaking at pretty much the same time as our hands got to work pumping up and down our boners.

Monkton really gave the banana a good seeing to.  If he shags his wife these days with even half the energy he put into humping that browning skin she must count herself a very lucky lady!

“Does it feel like a muff?” Cruddas asked Monkton.

“Hell yeah!” Monkton grinned up at him.  Then his face suddenly went all scrunched-up and he started gasping as he squirted surge after surge of his bollock-cream into the end of the sheath.

“Pass it back here!” I called down to him when his spunk-off had finished. “I want another go!”

He passed me the cummy skin back up, drooping brown and forlorn, and I jumped down off the toilet pan.  I used it to wank off again, using Monkton’s hot sticky spooge in place of lube, and found that it actually felt a lot better now that my cock could slide more freely in and out.

Monkton let himself out of his stall and another boy quickly replaced him and locked the door.  In no time, he was up on the toilet bowl and his face was peering down at me over the partition and I saw it was Gareth Parslow, one of the brains of the third form.  He must have heard all the goings-on and wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

He laughed when he saw me jabbing my cock in and out of the bruised banana skin and called down, “Oh wow!  Does it feel dead nice?”

I looked up at him grinned.  “You’ve got to get the inside wet and then it feels okay…”

“Does it feel like a mouth?  Is it like having your dick sucked?”

I decided that it did and nodded up at him, liking the feel of it more now that I had that image in mind.  I don’t know whose mouth I was thinking of – I didn’t actually know many girls back then – but the idea of it being someone – anyone – sucking away at my cock made my balls start firing to my own spunk to Monkton’s.

When I’d finished gasping and squirting, Parslow called down, “Can I have a go of it?”

I nodded and passed him up the now saggy mess of the banana skin and he beamed at it like it was the best present he’d ever received.  Then he jumped down off the toilet to try out his new toy.

As I wiped my cum off my hands and threw the loo roll in the toilet, I heard Anthony Cruddas, presumably still peering over the next partition, say, “Can I have it after you?”

I suddenly felt sorry for the poor banana, having merrily grown plump and ripe under the heat of some tropical sun, now reduced to being passed from boy to boy as a sex aid, being humped to a pulp and filled with load after load of wanked-out spunk.

I hadn’t thought of that sad banana all these years, but my memory of it was recently jogged by a conversation I had with my son about his own masturbatory habits when he’s at boarding school.

I suppose I would have assumed – although I admit I haven’t given it much thought – that Mason and his dorm-buddies end each day by masturbating after lights-out much as I had at his age.

At home Mason masturbates both regularly and vigorously and the thickness of his bedroom door has proven woefully inadequate at masking the noisy rhythm of his frequent exertions.  There aren’t any ‘Rules of Masturbation’ at his school as attitudes have changed a lot since since I was a lad, so I might have expected that he and the three boys he shares a dorm with all make their school-issue duvets similarly thump up and down before, one-by-one, they turn over and go to sleep.

However, a chat with Mason a few month’s before his fifteenth birthday proved how very different things are in boys’ boarding houses these days.

He came to me when his mother was out for the day and asked, “Dad, could you get me a flesh-light for my birthday?”

“You have that LED hiking torch sitting in your bedroom, gathering dust…”

“Not a flashlight,” he smiled.  “A flesh-light… you know, the thing dudes use to masturbate…”

That caught my attention.  “To masturbate?”

I’d known Mason had been masturbating for several years.  Since being twelve or thirteen, he has openly acknowledged his need for what he calls ‘hand time’ and I think being among so many other boys at boarding school has given him a happy nonchalance about his enjoyment of jacking off.  Once on a camping trip where he and I had shared a tent, he’d gone at it full-whack under his sleeping bag every night before cheerfully saying “‘Night, dad,” and turning over to go to sleep.

So wanking off for him, and letting his old man know he liked stroking the beef pole, was a complete non-issue for my son.

“Yeah, you can get them online,” he told me.  “You need to be sixteen, though, so you’ll have to order it for me.”

“So how does it work?”

He laughed at that.  “What d’ya mean, how does it work?  It’s a male masturbator, dad!  Do you need me to draw you a diagram?”

I chuckled back.  “I suppose I was just asking what’s wrong with your hand?”

“No-one uses their hands these days,” he scoffed.  “All the guys in my dorm have flesh-lights… pretty much everyone in the boarding house has one in their bedside drawers.”

“And they get them out at bed-time?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, like it was all pretty obvious.

“Even in front of the boarding staff?” I asked, wondering if it was some covert habit among the boys that I shouldn’t really be party to.

“Of course!” he laughed.  “When the staff are doing the rounds, checking everyone’s where they should be… some boys are on their phones snapchatting and stuff… others are lubing their flesh-lights up… it’s no big deal…”

“And then what happens after lights-out?  The flesh-lights go under the duvets and… what?… they pump them up and down?”

“Of course they don’t!” he just about guffawed.  “The best ones these days are electric, dad.  You just switch them on and you hear a gentle hum and you set them up so they get steadily faster at the speed you like.”

“Oh I see,” I smiled.  That made more sense.  “So your three dorm-mates are all merrily humming away in their beds, while you’re stuck in the dark ages, still bashing away with your hand?”

“Pretty much!” he laughed.  “Jacob Feinman got one first… it was a Bah Mitzvah present from one of his uncles.  We all had a go of it… you know, we cleaned it up first.  Then Matt was given one from his dad for Christmas, and after the last exeat, Lewis brought one back with him.”

I always loved his happy openness about sex stuff.

I asked him, “So you want the four of you to all be buzzing together?”

“It’d be kinda fun that way… and you wouldn’t want me to have to share, would you?”

That’s when I remembered the spunk-filled banana skin being passed from boy to boy in the bathroom at my school.  Sharing could be a lot of fun too, but these days we have to be sensitive to matters of hygiene.

I smiled, “I had no idea that wanking had become so hardware-intensive!”

He chuckled before telling me, “It feels so much better, dad, and it’s really clean because your… er… stuff squirts into a sort of collector thing at the top.”

“And then you wash it out?”

“When you remember to,” he smirked.

“So Mr Cooper [that’s his housemaster] is happy for most of the boys in his house to use flesh-lights?” I asked him.

“I guess so,” he shrugged.  “In sex-ed classes they said that the use of what the teacher called ‘masturbatory sleeves’ are recommended for boys who share bedrooms because it’s more discreet and you get less smell.”

“Really?”  This was proving very interesting.  “Have you got a particular… er… model in mind?”

He grabbed his tablet and came over to sit next to me where I was working. He quickly loaded up a page – he’d obviously researched this quite keenly – and showed me the one he’d set his sights on.  It was called Veronica Vibro and actually looked like it would be fun to play with.

“Is it the… er… right sort of size?” I checked with him.

“Well my penis is 17 cm hard but I reckon there’s a bit more growth in it yet, and the circumference is 13 cm, so this would fit about right.”

I smiled at him, admiring his methodical approach as well as his easygoing directness.

I looked at the imperial measurements which were also listed on-screen. There was no way I could squeeze my fat dick into something barely two inches across.

I said, still smiling, “I take it you didn’t inherit your old man’s girth, then?”

He laughed at that.  “No, I reckon you’d need one of these down here, dad!”

He scrolled down to the much wider products listed below and I quickly spotted one I rather liked.

“Ooh, that one looks fun!” I chuckled, pointing to a broad black-cased tube.”

“That one’s got a butt opening, dad!” Mason chortled.  “Are you sure that’s the one for you?!”

“What’s the difference?” I asked, unsure of which part he was looking at.

“Look, the one I like has a sort of funnel on it that’s shaped like a vagina.”  He scrolled up to Veronica Vibro and I saw that it did indeed have a folded opening a bit like a pussy.  “All the boys at school have fleshlights with girlie parts on them!”

“So what did mine look like?” I asked and he scrolled back to the more commodious selection further down on the page.

“There… yours is a butt-hole.  These two grooves on the side are supposed to be the arse-cheeks!”

“Oh!” I laughed.  “Well bums can be fun too!”

“Dad – these ones are for gay dudes!  Guys that wank off imagining they’re doing it to a butt!”

“You don’t have to be gay to enjoy doing it to a butt, Mason!”

“Uh?”

“One of the good things about being straight is that you get two holes to choose from!”

He bellowed with laughter at that as I’d suspected he would. “Ugh… that’s gross, dad!  How could you even say that?!”

I liked the look of what was called the ‘Forbidden Pleasures’ fleshlight and clicked on it to add my order to the one I was buying for Mason.

“You’re not actually going to buy one of those, are you?” he asked incredulously.

“Why should you be the only one to have some fun?”

“But you’ve got mom,” he said.  “Why do you need a sleeve?”

“All men like a bit of me-time now and then, Mason.  Just because a guy takes his wedding vows, doesn’t stop him enjoying the feel of his own hand from time to time!”

He nodded, and I could see that he liked me being as open with him as he was with me.  I was wishing now that when the two of us had shared a tent, I’d joined in with his nightly labours underneath the sleeping bag.

He said, “Well, the openings are interchangeable.  Would you mind if sometimes we… er… do a swap?”

I smiled.  I could do better than that.

Before I clicked ‘Checkout’ I ordered him a couple of different openings to give his dick a bit of variety – one mouth-shaped, one butt-shaped – some lube, spare batteries and several packets of wipes.

“That’s ace, dad!” he beamed at me and I asked him if he’d like it to be a private present between him and me.

“No, that’s okay,” he shrugged.  “I don’t mind mom seeing it.  It’s not like jerking off is anything to be freaked out by.”

So I wrapped it up in birthday paper and presented to him like it was an action toy.  He looked delighted after he’d eagerly unwrapped, and my wife, peering curiously at it, asked what it was.

“It’s a flesh-light, mom,” he grinned.  “All the dudes in my dorm have one… it’s for masturbation!”

“Oh!” she said back with a jolt.  “Is the school okay with that?”

“Apparently so,” I chuckled.  “It’s a far cry from my day…”

“Yeah, everyone does it,” Mason laughed.  “After bedtime the whole boarding house gets filled with the sound of buzzing!”

I found that slightly sad, if I’m honest.  When I was at school, the lights being switched off signified that soon every boys’ corridor would resonate with the sounds of countless wrists rhythmically thumping.  These days, not only had iPads replaced books and keyboards replaced pens, but it seemed boys’ boarding houses now gently buzzed at bedtime as their occupants’ fleshlights were all switched on.

“Can I try it?” he asked, his pyjama bottoms already tenting eagerly upwards.

“Er… I think we’ll give the pair of you some quality time together,” I smiled.

His mum and I left him to it, closing his bedroom door behind him, and the sound of buzzing now filled our upstairs too.

I’d already tried my own version of his toy, experiencing some ‘forbidden pleasures’ in the bathroom one morning after my wife had gone to work.  It had been okay but I’d decided that I much preferred a good old-fashioned fist-pounding and now, hearing the same monotonous droning coming from Mason’s bedroom, I hoped that he too would also conclude that his ‘hand time’ was best enjoyed when it involved a real flesh-and-blood hand.

 

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