I guess I was seven when I first met Ron. At any rate, I was in Grade One at school, and Ron was in "Infants", sort of like kndergarten, in the one-room school we attended. He was exactly a year and a day younger than me, but all our lives was taller than I was, so we were a good match.

The school was actually the Farmers' Co-op Hall, in Welshpool, at that time a village community on the outskirts of Perth, Western Australia. Although the area had been settled 60 years before, in the late 1890s, it was still mostly uncleared bush and swamplands. The hall also served as the meeting place for the Rotary Club, the Poultry Farmer's Association, and the Parents and Citizens Association; and was also the local dance hall once a week, the movie theatre twice a week, and the nine-pin bowling club once a week.

Recently, I found a school photo from 1950 - the whole school posed in front of the hall - all 29 of us, from Infants to Grade 3, which was as high as the school went. The picture is a bit of a fake, or at least the arrangement is. Most of the students sitting on the ground cross-legged in front, and the girls behind then whose feet can be seen, are wearing shoes or sandals, and I know that at least a couple of them were from families too poor for school shoes. I suspect the teacher cajoled taller kids from the second or third row to lend their shoes to any poor kids in front. I am right in the center of the picture and Ron is second to the left of me.

Not that there were any rich kids. Wally, who was the son of one of the local poultry farmers, was probably the closest to that designation. His family even had a piano and a telephone, one of the few in private homes in the district. The rest of the town used the pay phone outside the general store beside the school.

Anyway, that's where Ron and I met and got to be friends first, at that ramshakle hall in the swamps. That's the only place we met in those days, because we lived about a mile apart through the bush. And we drifted apart for a while when I moved up into Grade Four, and had to go to another school three miles away. Ron never followed me there, because in the intervening year the Education department actually built the district a real school which opened with Infants to Grade Four and expanded to Grades Five, Six, and Seven over the next three years. Which meant he stayed at the new Welshpool School, right across the road from my home, while I had to pedal my bicycle three miles to school each day.

When I was fourteen, and had moved on again to high school, Dad, who was a bit of a jack-of-all-trades, although officially trained in none, built us a caravan - what you would call, I suppose, a camper trailer. It slept 4 people inside, and we had 2 army cots which we could set up under an awning which was attached to the outside of the caravan. My younger brother and sister would sleep with mum and dad inside, while I would sleep on one of the cots under the awning.

Dad was eager to try out his new creation, so he packed us all up and towed his baby to a little piece of property he owned on the coast at Point Peron, about 30 miles to the south, to spend the whole summer. In those days it was in the middle of nowhere, just sand-hills and salt-bush and rocks to climb on and sparkling water and great swimming and fishing. It was great for a thirteen-year-old boy ... for the first couple of weeks.

Then boredom and loneliness set in. My brother was only nine, and my sister just 4, a toddler. I had no-one my own age to play with. At least, at home, there were my cousins and a few other kids nearby. I bitched and complained constantly.

Dad, of course, couldn't take the whole summer off work, and as his job was thirty miles north of the city and our beach camp was 30 miles south, he would not travel back and forth on weekdays, but stay in the barracks of the airforce base where he was a plumber's laborer, and just join us for the weekends. He would stop in at our home on the way to check up on things. I guess he had got tired of my bitching and complaining, because one Friday evening in mid-summer he arrived back at the beach camp with a surprise for me: Ronny!

Dad had run into Ron's mum at the Welshpool General Store and suggested Ron might like to come stay with us for a couple of weeks to keep me company. She was glad to get rid of one of her four kids for a break in the summer, so she pack his things and sent him off with dad.

It was wonderful to see him, especially since he had grown into one of the best-looking boys around, with his dark, freckled skin (he had a little aborigine in him on his mom's side) and his light blue eyes and dark crew-cut hair. Even then, I secretly knew I preferred boys to girls. I had engaged in sex-play with my same-age cousins, male and female, and other kids nearby, and it was the guys who interested and excited me most. My boy cousin and I had even "bummied" each other a few times.

Dad set up the second army cot under the awning, and Ron moved in for the duration. It was great! We would spend all day swimming or snokeling, or spear-fishing for flounder or crabs ("gidgie-ing" was the Aussie term). Not that we had spearguns - just "gidgies," lengths of iron pipe to one end of which dad had welded three heavy wire barbs, and the other end a loop of rubber cord for a slingshot effect - but they worked fine. We even got the occasional crayfish out along the reefs.

We would let my little brother tag along, but mostly just so we could tease and torment him, and use him for the butt of practical jokes. Among the rocks of the Point, we found a little beach, which was claimed as our own private beach, where we could take our bathing suits off and go "nicky-dipping." We did this at every chance we got, even after the first time when we all got our bums badly sunburned and had to explain to mum how it happened. Although she told us not to take off our clothes again, she did not sound particularly angry or concerned about it. Boys will be boys!

Of course, as boys do, we took great interest in each others dicks. My brother, of course, had a tiny 9-year-old's dick, but Ron's was fascinating to me. Although he was a year younger than me, he already had quite a bush of dark pubic hair, wheras mine was hardly noticeable, because of my light skin and blonde hair. Exposure to the sun made it even lighter. His dick, too, was blooming early. It was bigger than mine, probably already 4 inches soft, and uncut, while I had a foreskin. Just looking at this handsome guy's dick, naked on the beach, would give me a "stiffy," as we called them, and I would have to lie down in the shallows till it went away. Even at that age, there was a stigma attached to being a "poofter" or a "sissy," and I didn't want him thinking I was one of those!

However, I did get a chance to have a closer look one day when we had left my little brother behind. It was at Ron's instigation, not mine. Whe were all alone at the "private" beach at the time, and had pretty-well swum and snorkled ourselves out. We were dried off already and sitting naked in the hot sand.

"Will you show me how you pull your dick skin back?" he asked.

I was a bit taken aback at first, and worried that I would get a stiffy if I played with it in front of him, but I agreed. He kneeled on the beach and I kneeled in front of him. I spread my knees apart to expose my dick, grasped it, and gently pulled my foreskin back.

My dick, as I feared, leapt hard. There was some whitish material gathered below the glans, probably not smegma - more likely crustings of salt from the seawater, or just dried sweat.

"What's that white stuff?" he asked. "Is it spunk?"

"Nah, just stuff, sort of salty stuff. It gets smelly if I don't wash it off pretty often. Some guys call it dick cheese."

"Can I touch it?" he asked?

"If you want," I said casually, but longing for him to touch my dick. He reached out and gingerly touched it, and ran his finger over the encrustation under the ridge. My dick was now rock hard, and I could see that his was growing fast. He gathered a little of the white substance on his finger. He looked at it closely and sniffed it.

"Can I taste it?" he asked.

"If you want," I told him.

"Let me see you taste some first," he said. I got a little of it on my finger and licked it off. As I had told him, it was salty tasting.

He tasted it too. He considered for a minute.

"It tastes good," he said. "A bit like Vegemite. Can I suck the rest off your dick?"

My heart skipped a beat. I was in heaven!

"If you want," I said nonchalantly, but in reality I meant "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

He was about to do so, when some clattering on one of the two rocky ridges which separated this little cove and beach from the rest of the shoreline got our attention. A man with a rod and fishing basket was clambering over the rocks. He hadn't seen us yet, but he would at any moment.

"Oh, bugger," I exclaimed. We grabbed aour swimsuits and dashed waist-deep into the warm sea water, where we put them on.

The fisherman had seen us now, and was walking along the beach toward us.

"Hey, boys," he called. "How's the fishing along here."

"Pretty good," we assured him, but resenting his intrusion into "our" beach and "our" fun.

"Great," he said. "Hope I'm not interrupting your games."

Little did he know just how much he was interrupting!

Neither of us said anything more about our little explorations that day. By ignoring that it had happened, we could avoid the implication that maybe we were "poofters." But the truth was, we may not have spoken about it, but I know I was thinking about it - about how exciting it would have been to have Ron suck my dick!

It was a Friday, and dad arrived back from work close to dark, really tired after his long day of laboring and then the sixty mile drive to the beach camp - and probably a stop for a couple of cold beers at the pub in Rockingham, the town closest to us. Mum had made us wait for Dad to get home before she fed us, and after a cold plate supper, and the washing up of dishes, by the light of a sputtering pressure lamp, she put the younger kids to bed, then Mum and Dad went for a short walk on the beach before they, too headed off to bed in the caravan.

Ron and I got into our shorty pajamas and lolled round on our respective cots for a while, talking about all and sundry - except what had happened that afternoon - until the pressure lamp ran out of kerosene, sputtered one last time, and died, leaving us in the dark, lit only by a half-moon on the horizon.

"Guess it's time to hit the sack," I said.

"Yeah," he replied as he crawled under the blankets of his cot. "Night!"

"Night!" I returned as I climbed into my bed.

I lay there for a long time, thinking about my friend, thinking about his dick, so much bigger than mine, thinking about him touching my dick, thinking about him wanting to suck my dick. My cock grew hard. I fondled it beneath the blankets, my hand through the fly opening of my jammies. I slid the foreskin back and forth. It still hurt a little, even though it had loosened since I had begun masturbating regularly. It didn't take long before a little pre-cum seeped out of the tip. I had only recently begun to spurt cum when I masturbated to orgasm. It was a new, thrilling experience. I pretended to sleep a I surreptitious began a slow, regular mastubation rhythm, hoping to cum - or "spunk," as we called it, knowing I had a handkerchief already stashed under my pillow to wipe away the evidence.

I thought Ron was already alseep nearby, in his cot, at right angles to the foot of my own. But as I slowly played with my dick, I became aware of a regular flapping and rustling of the bedclothes of Ron's cot. He was awake, too, and I was pretty sure what he was doing.

"What are you doing." I asked in a whisper. There was a gasp from his cot, and the beating sound stopped for a moment and then resumed.

"Wanking my prick," he whispered back.

Oh, wow!

"So am I," I replied, still in a whisper.

"Come over here and get in bed with me," he hissed. His cot ran along the side of the caravan, right below Mum and Dad's window.

"No," I replied. "My parents will hear!"

"No, they won't," he assured me. "I can hear them both snoring!"

So I did as he asked. I hopped out of my cot, my hard dick sticking out from my jammy fly, and I climbed into bed with. He was comletely naked! And so was I, in no time, dropping my pajamas to the dirt floor.

Our hands immediately sought for each other's cock, and much as we knew it was "sissy," our open mouths sought for each other's. It was the first time I had kissed a boy, and the first time I had kissed anyone, open-mouthed, passionately, like this. It was thrilling! Eventually, we came up for air. Our hard cocks were pressed against each other beween us, and our faces side by side on his pillow.

That was great," he whispered.

"Bloody rights!" I agreed emphatically.

"I've wanted to kiss you all week," he confessed.

"Me, too," I agreed. "I didn't want you to know. I thought you would think I was a fag. Does this mean we're both poofters?"

He considered this idea for a moment. "Probably," he finally decided, "but I don't care. Do you?"

"Not a bit," I assured him. "Let's do it some more." And we began another session of trying to swallow each other whole while grinding our dicks hard against each other's bodies.

At last I had to pause for a breath again, and I asked him:

"Do you still want to suck my cock?"

"Yes," he panted. "I'll suck yours if you suck mine.

I was more than eager to oblige. "Let's do it at the same time," I suggested, and swung round in the bed so that my head was in his crotch, and his was in mine. And so we invented sixty-nine for ourselves. I'm sure at that time we thought that we were the only two guys in the world who had ever done this to each other!

"Just don't pee in my mouth," Ron admonished, as I was about to take that wonderful dick of his into my own mouth. Almost simultaneously, I felt his lips suck my prick in, and the warmth of his mouth and tongue engulfed me.

I was a doubly wondrous feeling. I loved the salty taste and velvety texture of his uncut cock in my mouth. I loved too, what his mouth and tongue were doing to the knob and shaft of my own cock. That straining feeling and the swirling giddiness which presaged my early explosions of cum began to surge through me. As much as I wanted his sucking of my dick to continue, I tried to hold my cum back.

"You'd better stop," I hissed. "I'm going to shoot any minute. I can't help it!"

He took his mouth from its task of sucking my rod just long enough to whisper back:

"I don't care. Go ahead. I eat my own spunk all the time." And I thought I was the only guy who ever did that! "Shoot in my mouth," he ordered me, and went back to the job. In moments, the orgasm came, my head spun, the stars whirled above us, and I exploded a small spurt of juice into his mouth. He sucked and sucked greedily, until my dick stopped its spasms.

Ron too his mouth from my dick, swallowed, licked his lips and sat up.

"You suck me some more. Suck me right off," he ordered. I was only too happy to be of service, and swung round in the bed and bent my head to his crotch once more. I sucked and licked for quite a while. He didn't cum, however. At last he said, "Turn over."

"Why?" I asked.

"I want to bummy you," he told me.

"No," I objected. "I'll use lots of spit to make it slppery. Turn over." So I did. His hand slipped between my buns and found my tight hole.

"I'll get your bumhole good and greasy first," he assured me. He spat on his fingers, then slipped one of them inside me. It didn't hurt at all. "Give me some of your spit to put on my dick," he suggested. I spat in his open hand and rubbed it on his cock. "Spread your legs wide." He knelt between my legs and lowered himself down onto me, guiding his hard rod with his hand to my awaiting hole. I felt a little pressure, then a little pain, then 'pop' - he was inside me. It felt fantastic.

"Go deeper!" I begged him. He tried, but the missionary position we were in blocked him from going any deeper.

"Try from the front," I suggested and forced him up off and out of me, so I could flip onto my back. I spread my legs and pulled my knees up to my shoulders, exposing my fuck-hole to Ron. Once more we added our spit to his cock and my hole, and once more he knelt between my legs and guided his tool to my eager hole. With a gentle shove, it was inside me, depper than before, feeling so terrific.

"Fuck me," I whispered, and he began pumping away at my ass, driving his rod as far as he could into me again and again. The cot began squeaking below us. I was afraid it would collapse, or at least wake my parents, but I didn't care. All that mattered was getting bum-fucked by my best friend.

After a few minutes he gasped, "I'm gonna blow spunk." And he did so, gasping and shuddering again and again, until he was finished.

"That was really good," I whispered. "I'd better get back in my bed before I go to sleep. I'm feeling real tired now."

"Yeah, me too," he agreed. I hopped out of his bed, slipped my shorty jammers back on, and climbed ito bed. From the safety and comfort of my bed, I whispered to him:

"Hey, Ron. I love you! Is that O.K.?"

"Sure!" He replied. "I love you, too."

And that was the beginning of the rest of a long summer at the beach camp, with days of swimming and fishing and fooling around, and nights of kissing and sucking and fucking around.

We didn't know it at that time, but it was also the beginning of two lifetimes of love and friendship, no matter that we would be a world apart.

Continued in Part 2: The Exploding Cow and Other Outdoor Fun

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