The Cambridge (mm)

Saturday morning, the day after I landed back in my beloved North East of England for another wonderful two weeks away from home, and I was up early. Kyle and his band had a wedding gig in Northampton later in the day and with the gig venue being about 340 kilometres from Sunderland they were setting off early or around noon at the latest. They also planned to stay the night there before driving back up North again for a second, more locally scheduled gig Sunday. They would be going straight to their second gig which meant I wouldn’t be seeing Kyle till late Sunday. So, I had my first week-end back pretty much all to myself.


Having hugged him off in late morning I went outside in the backyard for a pipey smoke.


Sossij the cat followed me out as always looking for a few Dreamies for a lil’ snack. I love that cat to bits and was delighted to see she clearly remembered me from my stay at Kyle’s last year. Or maybe she just remembered the Dreamies in the backyard, am not sure which. But remembered me, she did and I gave in to her wishes straight away, of course, and gave her a few crunchy bits from the bag I got her at the large food boutique after I landed late afternoon yesterday and Kyle had picked me up at Newcastle airport.




After a satisfying late morning smoke, I went back into the house. Went upstairs to my room, which Kyle and his dad had decorated beautifully before I came back over. Got my bathing gear and went back downstairs again to grab a relaxing bath.


As I turned the hot water tap on and got undressed, I put on one of my seventy-odd Spotify playlists; went for George Michael and before I was nicely tucked into the hot bathtub surrounded by lovely bubbles I was already crooning along nicely. Guilty feet have got no rhythm and neither do I and I can’t carry a tune if my life depended on it but so what. I was enjoying myself in the bathtub and no-one was there to hear me murder one classic after another.


As I crooned along while having a good, late morning wash I smiled to myself as I remembered I was meeting up with what was essentially a complete stranger at The Cambridge pub half past noon. Steven was one of the two local Sunderland lads running a YouTube channel where they discuss and stream about all things Sunderland football club and we had arranged to meet up after his over-40s football game. A game they won in style, too and now unbeaten in the first three games of the new season.


Sorting myself after the lovely bubble bath I went back upstairs and got dressed. Still being in my lumberjack shirt phase, for the second year running, needless to say one of them went on as well as my beloved, short-trousered dungarees. I had mentioned the dungarees to Steven in the comments section of one of their YouTube streams before flying over so he knew what to look out for. Otherwise he wouldn’t have a clue what I looked like after all.


Then another relaxing pipey smoke out in the backyard with Sossij the cat and a few more Dreamies for her later and it was time to find my way to The Cambridge.


Apart from my trusted, ol’ rucksack, my constant companion, I took with me a little box of Danish goodies for the two lads. And a Denmark top for them to use as a shirt give-away on their channel.




The Cambridge was in walking distance of Kyle’s place and I had been there once with him a couple of years back as our first stop on a pub crawl evening but I still didn’t know where it was exactly as my talents into geography are close to non-existent so Google Maps helped me get there. It was the last time I needed a map, too as it was very easy to find in the end and in my two weeks back over this time I went there a number of times both on my own and in the great company of Kyle, of course.




Since I was there last with Kyle, The Cambridge had had new owners. It is now run by Ringo, a rather handsome lad in his best age. With a wonderful sense of humour and welcomed me in the best of ways, too. Also, as I later found out, he didn’t mind at all that I’m a hugger and not a hand-shaker, another big plus in my book. In fact, everyone connected to the pub gave me the same warm welcome not just that first Saturday noon I was there but every time I went back the following fortnight. I sensed from the moment I first walked through the doors that I would love it there. It is a gem of a pub and I cannot wait to return there when am back over in Sunderland again next August.


I like to try new and interesting looking beers. Always making sure first that they aren’t cider as I haven’t got even the remotest fondness for cider. On tap at The Cambridge was a beer I hadn’t seen before let alone tried. Cruzcampo it was called, apparently a beer from Sevilla and The Cambridge was one of only two local pubs in Sunderland to have it on tap, the lovely barmaid told me. Needless to say, I had to give it a go. And it was downright glorious. I lost count of the pints I had of it the next two weeks.


With pint in hand and having reached the pub a bit early for my 12.30 meet-up with Steven I found a seat at a near-by table. It overlooked most of the pub and the doors as well, making it easier for me to see him when he got there.


The very refreshing Spanish beer went down a treat. My first pint this time back over in Sunderland and shortly after having found my seat at the round pub table a few lads came into the pub. They were all jolly and looked like they could be on Steven’s over-40s football team. Their team was named after the pub and managed by one of the very friendly barmen, I got to know a bit better the next couple of weeks.


Grabbing their well-deserved pints, the lads went into the room next to where I was sitting. It was the pool room I remembered from when Kyle and I were there a couple of years ago.


Then, not long after, Steven came in as well. I recognised him from their YouTube channel, of course, and after a quick visit to the Gents he went to the bar and got himself a pint as well.


Getting up from my seat at the table by the front windows I walked up to him as he was about to leave the bar and join his teammates in the pool room for post-match fun and frolics. When he saw me, he looked at my dungarees and gave me a big smile:

-         Alexander ?


For a brief moment, dungarees apart, I felt like Dr. Livingstone being met by Henry Stanley in Ujiji. But unlike in Africa a century and a half ago, assuming the two of them didn’t hug in the village on the shores of Lake Tanganyika, when Steven reached out his hand to greet me, I returned his big smile and said:

-         Sorry, I’m a hugger, not a hand shaker.


And seconds later we hugged.




Having joined me with his refreshing and well-deserved post-match winning pint at the little round table by the front windows we instantly got a good chat going. I asked him about their match, a five-one win, and the goals and if he had scored one of them.

-         No, I didn’t get on the scoresheet. But it’s a team sport.


We both grinned and when later that afternoon during his and Paul’s live stream of the Coventry game when I watched it back, I noticed he repeated the sentence. Making me smile again. He is a funny chap with a great sense of the North East humour I have loved for decades already, they both are and have, and watching their streams, live or otherwise always bring me great pleasure and somehow a feeling of belonging from afar. Not just football wise but cultural wise as well. Humour goes a long way and Paul and Steven excel in that.


During our chat I passed on the Denmark top for a future shirt give-away on their live stream. And then I passed him the little box of Danish goodies I had brought over with me for the two of them. It included a couple of copies of some of my previous books, some boxes of Danish Spunk sweeties, a bag of crispy, spicy nuts and two cans of Carlsberg Master Brew. I knew the cans weren’t available in the UK and though with 10.5% they are a bit on the strong side I wanted them to have a taste of my home country. Steven seemed a bit surprised by the little box but in the best of ways and not long after, as he joined his teammates in the pool room, we hugged again and said our goodbyes. I told him I would be tuning in later on for the Coventry live stream, he and Paul were putting up and off he went.


On my tod at the little round table by the front windows again I finished my very refreshing pint of Cruzcampo with a satisfied smile, went to the bar and got a second pint of the drink from Sevilla, that I had only just that noon very happily discovered. Then I went back to my table, picked up my trusted ol’ rucksack and went outside with my fresh pint.


Taking a seat by the table outside in front of the pub I found my pipey gear in the rucksack and after a good sip of the beer I got a decent burn going in my beloved pipe.




Enjoying both a bit of pipey and the lovely pint and having a jolly nice chat with a couple of punters, who came out for a tab as well shortly after finding my seat on the bench at the table, I watched the world go by.


Having landed at Newcastle Airport less than twenty hours ago this was, of course, my first full day back over in my beloved Sunderland. My home away from home and a place very close to my heart. And with Kyle away all the way down at Northampton for their band gig, staying the night down South and not back till late Sunday I had pretty much my entire first week-end back over this year all to myself. The City of Sunderland was indeed my oyster.




About half an hour or so later and still happily seated outside the front of The Cambridge having just finished my second pint of Cruzcampo and contemplating getting a third, Steven came back out. Carrying what looked like a batch of delicious scampi:

-         Am off now… Will we see you in the chat later on, mate ?


He said with a big smile. I noticed he was carrying the little box of Danish goodies and the Denmark top in the plastic bag I passed on to him as well.

-         Sure. I’ll be tuned in.


I smiled back, got up from my seat on the bench by the table and gave him a big hug again. After two years of Covid I am determined to bring back hugging. And am not doing badly either.


Then he was off with his scampi and watching him leave made me smile to myself. It was good seeing him. And for him to meet up with me in the first place. I was a stranger from the internet after all.




Deciding I might as well stay put for a bit longer, the weather was lovely and I was having a jolly nice time after all, I grabbed my trusted, ol’ rucksack and my now empty pint glass and ventured back inside the pub.


Placing the empty pint glass at the bar, and before ordering a fresh one, I went to the Gents. In-ale, ex-ale and that.


As always when wearing my type of dungarees with no opening at the crotch I undid the strips on my chest and let the front part fall down a bit. It is the only way to get a chance to relieve myself unless I take them off altogether, which would be a bit weird at the urinals even for me. And as I was happily doing my business another lad came in for a wee.


Back home in my native Denmark no-one would lift an eyebrow if someone walked up and took a wee right next to you at the urinals despite there being plenty of space. But I have noticed over the years and in my many visits back to my beloved North East of England that that isn’t always the done thing there. More often than not if you stand at the urinals there and someone comes in, they tend to find a spot further away. Also, North East lads don’t tend to talk much at the urinals either. And I know they say, ‘When in Rome’ and all that but I can’t just get rid of my Norse soul at the flick of a finger and will happily have a natter with anyone, cock in hand or not.


But the lad joining me at the urinals not only found a spot at the end of the urinals, he also turned to his left slightly. I know some lads can’t use public loos unless they are there on their own, think they call it pee shy or something. And I reckoned this was the case for this lad.


I finished my business, did my dungarees strips up again and went to the sink to wash my hands. The lad was still standing at the urinals; he either needed a wee very badly or he hadn’t yet begun with me being there. This wasn’t the time to begin a random chat and the moment had passed now anyway. So, having washed and dried my hands I went back to the bar and got myself another pint of Cruzcampo.


Deciding to get a closer feel of the pub, instead of going back outside, I went back to the little round table by the front windows. Placed the pint glass on the table and let my rucksack go onto the floor by my feet.


Steven’s team mates were leaving the pub, probably heading home for a bit of grub before Coventry v. Sunderland kicked off in a couple of hours’ time, and not long after I had found my seat at the table again the young lad returned from the Gents and went to the bar where he got himself a pint as well.


As quiet as he had been in the Gents just as chatty was he now as he stood at the bar. The pub wasn’t as busy as when Steven and his over-40s football teammates were in and my table was only a couple of metres from the bar, so it was clear to hear just how chatty the young lad was. It was like he was a different person to the shy lad from the Gents from moments earlier. I didn’t mind, of course, I like listening to people. Especially when in Sunderland where the local lingo has always fascinated me.




While enjoying my third pint of Cruzcampo I sat listening to the lad and his exploits from the bar. The lovely barmaid did her best to keep up a chat with him but had a handful of other punters to look after, of course, and each time she went to serve one of them the lad looked around the pub.


Doing so he couldn’t help but notice me sitting at my table by the front windows and the third time our eyes met and the third time I gave him a friendly smile, he grabbed his pint and came over to me.


By then, of course, I knew he was pretty chatty, and we instantly got a good chat going. He talked about his job at a shop in town and that he was only stopping by The Cambridge on his way home from town and fancied a quick pint before the match at 3pm.


During our chat we both and pretty much at the same time finished our pints and getting up from my seat at the table I looked at him and smiled:

-         What are you having ?


He looked surprised for some reason as if no-one has bought him a pint before but eventually said:

-         Same as you, mate… Cheers.


Then I went to the bar again and got us both a pint of the beer from Sevilla that I seemed to have found a taste for. With my slight turned back to him at the bar I noticed he got up from his chair at the table as well and had walked round the bar and to the Gents again.




A couple of minutes after getting back to our table with our two pints and having found my seat again I looked out of the front windows while waiting for the young lad to return from the Gents. I love watching the world go by anywhere I am, and The Cambridge was no different. I remember the school notebooks from junior school back home where our teachers sent notes to our parents if there were good or indeed lesser good things to report about. In pretty much every note they sent me back home with for probably a space of three or four years they told my mam that I would be able to take more part in the lessons if I didn’t just stare out of the windows as much. That has stuck with me throughout the years. Not the silly notes from my teachers but watching in silence the world go by. I did OK at school despite that; I didn’t care then and I sure as sin don’t care now. I enjoy looking at the world from afar and long may that continue. Back then I was probably just bored as most lessons we had to endure lacked something to keep my interest intact. These days that possible boredom has been taken over by a natural curiosity of what happens outside the windows.


The lad returned to the table and found his seat opposite me again, grabbed his fresh pint glass and smiled:

-         Cheers, mate.

-         Cheers.


I smiled back and as we took a couple of good slurps of our pints, I had a sneaky, closer look at him.


He was younger than me, of course, but with his stubble beard it wasn’t too clear to figure out if he was in his mid or early twenties. Needless to say, I had to find out so after chatting about everything and nothing, really for a few minutes I went for it:

-         May I ask how old you are ?


The lad grinned:

-         Twenty-two.


Thank fuck he didn’t ask me back how old I was, I thought to myself but instead smiled back:

-         That’s a good age, you have your life in front of you… I need a wee, back in a sec.


I said, smiled and got up from my seat on the other side of the table in front of him. He seemed harmless enough to me so this time I left my rucksack behind and went to the Gents.




Standing at the urinals, and moments after I had undone the first strip in front of my dungarees and was about to undo the second strip, the lad came into the Gents as well. This time he found a spot a bit closer to me and didn’t turn slightly to his left either. Also, he began his business pretty much straight away. Guess it only took a pint and a half to get rid of his pee shyness, good lad.


As we both were doing our business at the urinals he suddenly said:

-         What do you do for a living ?


I could have given him the long version; that in my spare time I used to escort, then went on to being in eleven (twelve if you count the first, dodgy one) adult movies before ending up writing books. But I skipped the first parts and just said:

-         I’m a writer.


Still holding his cock busy weeing he looked to his right and our eyes met:

-         Yeh ? Cool… Books and stuff ?


His heavy Sunderland lingo gave our andy a bit of a tingle, but I wasn’t going to risk anything, especially with this being my first, proper time at The Cambridge. And who knows, even for a slim lad about a foot shorter than me he could easily knock me out if I said something that he took the wrong way.

-         Yes… Books and stuff.


I smiled back and our focus returned to the urinals and the jobs at hand in front of us.

-         What sort of books ?


The lad said only a few seconds later. His curiosity was endearing.

-         Porno.


I said.


I have never been ashamed of my line of work, but I am aware that not everyone will appreciate me being this candid about what I do. But since he was a young lad of just twenty-two, who had probably watched more porno flicks in the past two years than I have in the past ten and since he had asked the question, I figured I might as well be straightforward with him.

-         Really ? Porno ?


He grinned and our eyes met again.

-         Yeh… It is what it is. No big deal, really.


I said and smiled.


By then we had both finished our business at the urinals and I sorted the two strips on the dungarees up again. As I walked up to the sink by the wall near the door to the Gents, I could almost hear his brain working overtime.


As he zipped up his blue jeans and turned to me washing my hands he grinned:

-         I have so many questions.


Reaching out for the blue paper towels in the box on the wall to the left of the sink I pulled two of them out and began to dry my hands as I turned around facing him:

-         Ask away.


I smiled as he went to the sink right next to me to wash his hands, too. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds then as I put the two blue paper towels into the bin underneath the box on the wall he looked to his left and our eyes met again:

-         Maybe if we go out in the beer garden, mate…


He said and gave me a somewhat nervous smile. He had nothing to be nervous about, of course, my line of work is, quite literally, an open book after all.




Having grabbed our pints of refreshing Cruzcampo and not leaving my rucksack behind I followed him through the pub to the back of the pool room where Steven and his teammates had celebrated their five-one win about an hour or so earlier. As we passed the pool table I smiled:

-         Fancy a game later ?


The lad turned around but kept walking past the pool cues hanging on the end wall:

-         Sure.


Then moments later he walked out of the back door and into a lovely and cosy beer garden with the same kind of wood table as the one I was sitting at outside the front of the pub earlier.


As he took a seat on the bench nearest the wall at the table, I found a seat on the other side of the table and without putting his pint down he reached his hand out to me holding his glass:

-         Cheers, mate.

-         Cheers.


I said, returning his smile and as our pints touched, our eyes met again. He seemed ever so slightly different to me here out in the beer garden than he had seemed at the little round table in front of the bar. Not as eager to please but just as curious and it didn’t take him very long to open up a bag of questions.




With my first book coming out in 2008 I reckon I have probably heard pretty much every question there might be about my line of work. And though the lad had quite a few, none of them were new to me. I know that makes me sound full of myself but it’s just how it is; it is not often I get asked a question I haven’t been answering at least once before over the years when it comes to my work. And it’s perfectly fine.


When he asked how I got started writing dirty books, as he put it, which made me smile, I decided to tell him about the movies I used to do. I didn’t tell him about my days as a male escort as that didn’t come up naturally from his questions and how would he know about that anyway. Had he asked I would have answered.


But me mentioning being in and having written adult movies and that my later books are probably a direct line from my time doing those movies piqued his interest even more than meeting a simple porno writer. Am used to that as well, and though I prefer to talk about my line of work now I don’t have any issues talking about the days of the movies either. They are part of who I am after all and part of my history.


Asking me about how I got started doing the movies and letting him know pretty straight up how, he paused for a bit. Took a good slurp from his pint. Then a second even bigger slurp.


Putting the pint glass down onto the table between us but still holding it he glanced at the backdoor for a brief second then looked me in my eyes and said in a softer tone than before as if to make sure no-one in the pool room would hear him:

-         You must have a massive cock.


We both grinned and reassuring him our andy is just a pretty standard Norse sized and nowhere near a monster meat he picked up his pint glass again and took another good slurp from it.


Needless to say, if I get asked intimate questions like that, I return the ball:

-         What about you, how big is yours ?


The lad glanced at the backdoor again. His nervous smile returned but he still seemed wonderfully open minded and eager to chat with what was still pretty much a complete stranger about things he may not have talked to anyone about before. He was only twenty-two years old after all and on his home turf so perhaps it was only natural, he wanted to make sure only the two of us could hear our conversation out in the beer garden.

-         About eight.


He said, still in a softer tone than earlier. Then smiled.

-         Eight inches ? That is bigger than mine.


I said, returning his smile.


Being six foot three it would be a bit weird if I had the smallest member in the world and luckily I don’t, but on a good day am no bigger than just below seven. For this young lad, about a foot shorter than me to beat me by more than an inch made me smile. As well as up the stakes a bit.

-         Can I see it ?


I asked and lifted my pint glass downing a couple of good slurps myself. I was curious but to be fair I always am when it comes to watching another lad’s cock. They do the same things, of course, but appearance varies so much, something that has always fascinated me.

-         Nah… Don’t think so, mate…


He said with a nervous smile and lifted his pint glass and downed a couple of slurps as well.


I looked around the beer garden and noticed there was a camera above the backdoor we came out of but didn’t see any other camera. The beer garden was walled up on all four sides meaning no-one could look in from the streets either. I also noticed there being a small corner by the side wall near the end of the table we sat at where the two walls met. It had a barrel or something in the corner with a lid on. Probably for people going outside for a tab to have something to lean on while enjoying their smoke.


I finished the last of my pint and placed the empty glass on the table between us. Then I got up from my seat on the bench opposite the lad and walked over to the barrel in the corner. Away from the camera above the back door.


When I got there, I turned my body slightly facing the lad, undid the two strips on the front of my dungarees while the lad looked on. Then as the front of the dungarees dropped down as well, I pulled our andy out from my boxers. He had been pretty much constantly semi for the last twenty or so minutes and now in my right hand and only about a metre in front of the lad it began to grow.


Neither of us said anything but as I rapidly went on to grow a full chub-on in the corner of the beer garden I stroked myself slowly.


The lad reached out for his pint, downed the rest of his beer in one go and placing the glass onto the table in front of him our eyes met. Then, and still without a word spoken he got up from his seat on the bench on his side of the table and walked over to me in the corner by the barrel.


Pausing right next to me to my right he looked down at my crotch and said in a soft tone:

-         You have more girth than me.

-         Yeh ?


I said and gave him a smile.


Apparently, it only takes two pints of chilled Cruzcampo for a local twenty-two-year-old lad to pull his cock out in a beer garden with a complete stranger in broad daylight.




The lad already sported a semi-on when he zipped down his blue jeans and pulled his cock out of his boxers. Moving closer to the barrel with the lid in front of us, so close his legs touched the side of the barrel, he placed his now growing cock on top of the lid. He didn’t stroke it like I was mine right next to him, he just left it on top of the lid for a few seconds then took his hand away.


I have been in these situations enough times to know that this was an open invite so naturally I changed hands and began to stroke our andy with my left hand. My right hand reached out to his cock and as I felt it grow between my fingers, I began to stroke his cock a bit. Squeezing his shaft slightly as well between two of my fingers, which made him grow quicker. A trick of the trade so to speak.


He didn’t end up quite eight inches; maybe English lads measure things in different ways. But he was still a good six and with room to grow. And he was right about the girth, but he still had a very nice-looking member and it felt good in my right hand.




We probably stood there in the corner of the beer garden with both our hard cocks out over the lid of the barrel for less than a couple of minutes. Not because either of us finished very early or because we didn’t both like it. No, we quickly sorted our blue jeans and dungarees respectfully at the sound of the breaking ball at the pool table just on the other side of the open back door. The lad didn’t want to take the risk of being caught and though a bit of public risk can be quite the turn-on for me, I soon followed his move and once fully trousered back up we grabbed our empty pint glasses and went inside again. Our andy was still rock solid inside my boxers but the black colour of my dungarees made it harder to see more than just a shadow of a chub-on.


The young lad walked past the two pool players holding his empty pint glass in front of his crotch. He placed the glass on the bar top in the pool room while the barmaid was serving another punter at the front bar. And then he turned right and vanished into the Gents.


Following his example, my empty glass soon found itself next to his on the bar top and still with a thumping hard-on I followed him into the Gents a few metres behind him.

-         We shouldn’t have done that.


The lad said as I caught up with him at the urinals. He wasn’t taking a wee, in fact his cock was still inside his blue jeans. He just stood there.

-         Maybe not out there…


I said and did my best to let him know it was all OK.


Then I grabbed my still hard cock through my dungarees and smiled. As the lad turned his face to me and looked down at my crotch and saw the surface of our andy in all his glorious erectness being held in my right hand he, too cracked a smile:

-         You are very naughty, mate.


He grinned and when he saw my reaction was the same, he continued after a few moments of silence:

-         There is a spot behind the trees on the other side of the road we can go…

-         Yeh ?


I said and gave him a sneaky grin.

-         Yeh… I have been there with a lass once… It’s isolated and quiet.

-         Let’s go.


I grinned and suddenly remembered my rucksack was still out in the beer garden:

-         I’ll just grab my rucksack and I’ll meet you outside.

-         Aye.


The lad said, returning my grin. And as I left the Gents and passed the two pool players again, I went back out into the beer garden and grabbed it. With my phone and lil’ wallet in my pockets I then walked back in through the open back door passing the two lads again playing pool. Then I turned right and walked through the hallway into the front room of the pub. Gave the lovely barmaid a little wave and walked out of the pub. Once outside I put on my bucket hat and looked around. Seeing the lad standing across the street looking in my direction I turned left and walked over to him.


Not yet familiar with this part of Sunderland all I could do was to follow his lead. So, I did just that and a couple of minutes later and with no words spoken he walked to his left, away from the grass area and the walking path and into a bunch of tall bushes and small trees. I looked around, saw no-one else, and followed him into the growth of green.


Surrounded by bushes and small trees we couldn’t see the path anymore, which led me to believe no-one could see the two of us either from where we stood.




For someone all new to all of this the young lad seemed to know the score pretty well. I blame porno as well as his natural curiosity, though blame is a harsh word for wanting to explore a so far hidden side to his sexuality. Let’s instead say, it was down to a few things, not least a healthy open mind.


It didn’t take him long to unzip his blue jeans and pull out his cock from inside of his boxers again. He was still sporting a decent semi-on and as he watched me undo the two strips on my dungarees and pull our andy back out into the open as well, the lad began to stroke himself off.


His cock got harder by each stroke of his right hand and as soon as I had my own hard cock outside my own boxers, I joined him.


For the next few minutes, we stood there in the bushes, away from the world but close enough to still hear the music coming from The Cambridge across the road from us, stroking ourselves off nice and easy.


The lad seemed pretty turned on to say the least and upped the speed of his right hand going faster and faster up and down his now full chub-on. I tried to keep up with him and hoped, with him being much younger than me, that he wasn’t going to nut anytime soon as I have reached an age now where it takes me a bit longer to climax.


But it was like he sensed it and soon slowed down his hand movements. I kept mine up at a decent speed and closed my eyes for just a moment. Only to open them straight away when I felt a hand gently cup my shaved ballsack.


Our eyes met and the lad smiled:

-         Cum for me, mate.


God bless 20-something year old lads and their natural curiosity and lust, especially when it comes out as heteroflexibility.


As he continued to cup my ballsack he pulled my balls gently as well while at the same time upping the speed of his right hand around his own solid cock, too.


We seemed to be as horny as each other which always helps me nut a bit quicker. And with his left hand now juggling my sack I felt my balls pull up in the warmth of his palm. I was getting close.


And so was he by the looks and sounds of it.


Suddenly he turned to me and now facing me almost full front we both looked down at his crotch and his fast-moving right hand.

-         Mmm !


He moaned with his mouth closed as if to make as little noise as possible as he shot his creamy load onto my hard cock and hand in two big squirts, followed by a third smaller one.


Using his warm nut as perfect lube I upped the speed of my right hand as well and as our eyes met again so did our lustful smiles.


Then it was my turn and moments later I shot my own creamy load onto the ground between us and onto the leaves of the nearest bush. My right hand as well as our andy was covered in sticky nut, most of it belonged to the young lad and as we both got our breathing back to a somewhat normal again, we both squeezed out the last remaining droplets of cum from our still solid cocks. He squeezed his final droplet right on top of my cock letting it slowly drip onto my sticky cock head. Then he moved his hard cock a bit letting our two heads touch. It was the slowest, stickiest sword fight ever, but it felt great and we both grinned as our eyes met again.




Five minutes or so later we had sorted ourselves out, left the bushes and small trees again and crossed back over the road and found ourselves back at The Cambridge. I went straight to the Gents to wash my hands while the lad got us two more pints of Cruzcampo. As the lovely barmaid began to pour them, the lad went to the Gents to wash his hands as well. I met him in the hallway between the bar and the Gents and we both cracked a big smile. Then I went to the bar and paid for our pints and took them with me into the pool room. We had a game to play after all, though this was a different ball game altogether.


I lost track of time somewhat though and missed the build-up, the entire first half as well as most of the break between the two halves in the Coventry v. Sunderland live stream from Paul and Steven. When I finally got back to Kyle’s and got online the second half was about to kick off. I missed the two of them trying the Spunk sweeties and the crispy, spicy nuts from home, but it sounded like they had been a laugh to watch. And later that evening I watched their live stream from the beginning. From the bathtub at first then on Kyle’s settee with Sossij the cat sleeping on top of my woolly blanket covering my legs. And I had been right, they were funny to watch as always.




During the fortnight I was in town this year I went back to The Cambridge again and again. Apart from when I lived in the village of Lanchester many moons ago I have not had what the locals would call ‘a local’. I have always ventured into the city centre on a night out when back over and those pubs are good as well. But it didn’t take much time for me to already consider Ringo’s pub to be ‘my local’.





The following week-end I was back outside in the beer garden, this time with good friends Stan and Leo. We always meet up when am back over and this year, needless to say, I had suggested The Cambridge.


Turned out Stan and Ringo knew some of the same people from years gone by, which was interesting to listen to and I love the feeling of it making the world smaller, too.


While chatting with the three of us out in the beer garden Ringo commented on the nice scent of my pipe baccy as well, which is always welcome, of course, and before he went back inside I asked him what had happened to the barrel thingie in the corner as I had noticed while chatting with Leo and Stan that it wasn’t there anymore.

-         Ah that, I’ve taken it away.


Ringo said with a big smile and looked slightly baffled at how I had even noticed it. I could have told him why, of course, but I didn’t. Instead I just grabbed my pint of Cruzcampo from the table in front of me and listened to him chat with Stan. With a smile on my face.




My first full day back over in my beloved Sunderland this year had turned out to be very interesting to say the least. It was great meeting up with Steven that’s for sure and hopefully next year when am back over I will meet up with Paul as well. Though a lack of crispy, spicy nuts and Carlsberg Master Brew cans in next year’s little box will probably be appreciated. There will still be Spunk sweeties, of course.


And maybe a Fanta for Steven.