Surf Lifesaving Club

The setting for these events is a Surf Lifesaving Club ("SLSC") situated somewhere on the East Coast of Australia. To protect the Club and its reputation, I won't say where exactly. People familiar with Australia's major SLSCs will probably recognize it anyway.

The SLSC is set on a rocky promontory, jutting out into the Pacific Ocean. Below the clubhouse, to one side, is a sheltered bay. On the other side, the surf beach stretches miles/kilometers into the distance. It is a popular beach with surfers but, being a bit secluded, only attracts crowds during the (Australian) Summer school holidays - especially December and January. The beach becomes very quiet in late January and February, when younger kids have gone back to school, and only the University students can enjoy an extended break.

These events occurred several years ago. Again, I won't say exactly when, to protect the reputations of those involved. I was a University student at the time.

The SLSC was hosting a group of young lifesavers from Germany - or, to be more precise, West Germany, as it then was. They were experienced still water lifesavers, having practiced in swimming pools, lakes, dams and rivers, and the calm beaches of Germany's Baltic coast. Some had experienced real surf lifesaving conditions on holidays in other parts of the world. But for most, it was there first experience of genuine surf lifesaving.

They stayed at my SLSC for a week, arriving just before the Australia Day long weekend (around 26 January), which is traditionally the end of the Australian summer holidays. The beach was packed for all three days of the weekend; then the crowds disappeared, leaving me and two younger guys to supervise this team of 15 German youths.

They were an extremely fine looking crew ... tall, blond and blue-eyed, fit, healthy, with those instant sun-tans which Northern Europeans seem to get the moment they take off their shirts and expose their lily-white flesh to the Sun's rays.

The German lads had been in Australia since before Christmas, participating in various lifesaving carnivals and other events in 3 States. Their last few days were intended to be "rest and recreation", before boarding their planes back to the cold Northern Hemisphere winter.

We organized various activities to keep them amused ... surfing and fishing, hikes and picnics in the immediate vicinity, football and volleyball games on the beach, and the like. In those days, the legal drinking age in Australia was 21. At night, some of the older boys (the 21 to 24 year olds) were allowed to go to the local hotel, whilst the younger guys (18 to 20) had to make do with pizzas from the take-away, and any alcohol that their older friends could smuggle back to the clubhouse.

The last night - a Thursday, as they were due to fly out on Friday morning - we organized a traditional Auzzie barbecue. There was plenty of beer and wine for the older boys, and Coke and other soft drinks for the youngsters. Strangely, though, by the end of the night, most of the beer and wine had gone, and the soft drinks hadn't been touched.

Getting on for around 10.30 pm, after my two Australian co-hosts had gone home for the night, some of the Germans decided they wanted a last swim in the Pacific Ocean before returning to Europe. Acting responsibly, I reminded them that they had already packed their bags for the trip home, and they wouldn't want to be carrying wet bathers on an aircraft. "No problem", announced one of the German boys. "We Europeans don't need bathers to swim in the ocean !"

Almost at once, the entire company began to strip. First the shirts came off, exposing the range of chests which I had already become familiar with, varying from mature and well-developed pecs with a light covering of curly blond hair, to young lads with only a few wisps of downy fluff in their arm-pits and beginning to form a "snail trail" from their belly buttons down to the tops of their underwear.

I had, of course, caught the occasional glimpse of more when they were in the showers or visited the urinals. But nothing which I had seen prepared me for the smorgasbord of euro-cock which was now offered for my eyes to feast upon.

In those days, uncut dicks were something of a rarity in Australia ... the "round-heads" outnumbered the "cavaliers" in most Auzzie schools by a ratio of about 9 to 1. But as one after another peeled off their skimpy underwear, each revealed butts of virginal whiteness, contrasting with the brown tans above the line of their bathers, and flashes of golden pubic hair heralded the revelation of plump and meaty "anteater" cocks.

The group proceeded down to the cove beside the clubhouse, splashed about in the surf for a while, and then played volleyball in the nude. Of course, I volunteered to be umpire. Standing at the net, on a bright moon-lit night, I could focus on this array of young cocks and balls bouncing up and down as boys scrambled across the sand court to reach the volleyball.

Around midnight, the guys started to wander back up the narrow path to the clubhouse. But, on the last night of their Australian adventure, they were still too excited to go to bed. So they sat around on armchairs, on stools, even on the floor, chatting and laughing - every one of them still buck naked.

There was one guy, in particular - I will call him Georg (not his real name, of course) - about 20, over 6 feet tall, a delicate yet handsome face, blond hair which any surfie would be proud of, a chest which was not yet fully developed but broad and masculine, and a dick as thick as a salami. He was sitting on the floor, talking to two other guys on lounge chairs. His eyes were at the level of their dicks. And I noticed that the salami was getting larger, longer and firmer. He didn't seem to notice. At any rate, he wasn't embarrassed.

Then one of the younger lads noticed Georg's budding erection, pointed it out, and joked at him. He replied (in German) to the effect that his dick was still limp, and that when he did get an erection they would know about it. They laughed at him, and he said - "Okay, I'll prove it to you", and started beating his meat.

This began to arouse one or two other dicks around the room, and soon Georg's dick wasn't the only one being man-handled.

At this stage, I intervened, suggesting that we play a well-known Auzzie surfie game, known as "Soggy Biscuit". There are variants on this game in many parts of the world, and the German guys caught on fairly quickly. You place a biscuit (cookie) on a stool in the middle of the room, and everyone jerks off and ejaculates onto the biscuit - the last one to cum has to eat the biscuit.

Naturally, I volunteered for the job of referee. I had to stand beside the biscuit, watching 15 German boy-gods pounding their manhoods, keeping a close eye on them to see who came first.

All different styles and techniques were in use. Some grasped their tools from above, with their palms on top, letting their fingers do the walking; others grasped themselves from below and let Mrs Palmer do the work. Some spat on their hands for added lubrication. Some used their foreskins to work back and forward across the heads of their dicks. A few played with their own balls with one hand whilst spanking the monkey with the other. One had his left hand halfway up his own arse.

The contortions were extraordinary ... guys bent over in all the strangest shapes as they coaxed and encouraged the man-juices from their youthful scrotums. And then, as they neared climax, the most amazing bellows, howls, screams and bodily convulsions, as - one after another - they pumped fresh cream onto the biscuit.

I will admit that I got so excited that I lost track of who came first, who came last, and everything in between. It just seemed like a cyclone of hot sweet-smelling juices flying from every direction. So when I was asked to announce who the winner (or loser ?) was, I couldn't say.

"That's okay", says Georg. "We can just do it again." Some of the guys protested, but Georg said that if anyone was having trouble reaching another climax, he - Georg - would help.

"What do you mean, Georg ?" asked one of the younger, and more naive, lads.

"Let me show you," said Georg ... and promptly walked over to the young innocent, clasped his lips around the boy's limp cock, and started to work on him.

"You're not going to suck the entire group ?" I asked Georg in my bad German. George looked around, and looked at me - my dick then pointing due North. "Not if you're prepared to help out!" was his reply.

"Well," said I, "You can't suck your own, Georg, so it looks like I will have to help you."

"Actually, I can suck my own," said Georg, with a smile; then added, "But be my guest".

At this stage, Georg was kneeling in front of a stool, sucking the guy who was sitting on it. I gently eased his legs apart, and was surprised (but delighted) to find his tool totally limp, so I could have my first ever taste of foreskin.

Soon after, Georg announced, "We will miss our flight if you and I have to service everyone. Let's form a circle." And, sure enough, the whole crew lay in a circle, not head to toe, but mouth to cock.

The second time around, the gyrations, palpitation and convolutions were even more extreme. Every minute or two, you would hear a groan, a shout, or a shudder, and then the sweet aroma of boy-cum would again fill the air. Like a row of dominos, one after another dropped, until the entire group were lying in their original positions, each one covered with a fresh dose of his own cum, and a quantity of his next-door neighbor's.

Nothing was discussed the following morning. The boys ate breakfast quietly, boarded the bus to the airport, and said their good-byes. I corresponded with Georg for a while; he became an architect, married, and now has 3 daughters.

Recently, I got an email from Georg. He is now president of his local lifesaving club, and wants to bring a group of lads to Australia ... and wondered if I would be able to arrange the same kind of hospitality as he and his friends enjoyed on his last trip to Australia.

Any volunteers ?

written by mortieboy

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