I have just finished a major rewrite of one of my first stories (Ohope Beach). As I sat piecing together all the events of that summer and getting them in order, my mind kept straying to events in the following year. One in particular stood out. It was the first, and if I remember correctly, the only proper gang bang I've ever been involved in.
I have titled the story 'Ohope Gang Bang', although it has little to do with Ohope. I only called it that to keep it in alphabetical order with the previous story, as it naturally follows on. This story can easily be read alone, although some things might make more sense if you read the Ohope Beach series first. And even if you did read it eleven years ago, it has changed from the original version, as I have had time to correct many of the inconsistencies from the original.
Also, if you only want to read about a hot, steamy gang bang, then skip a few pages, as I'm going to ramble on for a bit and try to give an idea of what it was like for me in sixties New Zealand, but much of my rambling is relevant to the subsequent gang bang.
Being the Swinging Sixties, you will be thinking it was all sex, drugs, and rock & roll. Well, it may have been in London, NY and LA. But in conservative New Zealand, this was seldom the case. Most people I knew attended church most Sundays, although I had seen through that farce by age eighteen. The church, and indeed schools and parents, hammered into us that sex before marriage was evil. The girls bore the brunt of this brainwashing more than us guys. They were brought up to believe you did not get married to a decent bloke if you were not a virgin. So, any decent girl you wanted to go out with played pretty hard to keep her virginity. But as I mentioned in the previous story, there were always some that could not say 'No'. You did not take many of these back to meet your mum.
My father left my mother when I was three, so it was just my mother and me for a few years until she remarried when I was ten. There were always women friends around visiting my mother. I was often subjected to comments like; Ohh, He's such a cutie. Or, look at those brown eyes. He's going to break a lot of hearts when he is older. As I grew older, I had them commenting on my beautiful hands and long fingers, and would hear; He should play the piano, or on more than one occasion, the comment about how the girls were going to like those long fingers - followed by a hand over their mouth and muffled giggling. I had no idea what they were on about, but instinctively knew that their comments were naughty but complimentary.
My positive interaction with so many women in my youth gave me confidence around the opposite sex, which led to me nailing a lot more women than my mates when I became sexually active. At parties, I would be frequently found amid a group of girls, listening to them discuss all their problems, whereas my mates would be on the opposite side of the room, discussing Rugby, Racing, & Beer. This led to taunts of my being gay on more than one occasion. Jealousy, I guess.
I should also cover my new stepfather. He was an arsehole. He hated the fact that he had to share my mother with me. So, I became very independent, often escaping the house and hitching a ride to friends' homes for the day. The one place I would go with my parents was to my stepfather's friends, Muriel & Frank. They were an older Yorkshire couple with a wicked sense of humour. Muriel doted on me, always had baking in the tins, and fed me up on cakes and biscuits. They had an excellent gramophone and a superb collection of 78 LPs, Elvis, George Formby, and three or four records of very ribald English comedians. I devoured and memorised those scandalous records and had a dirty story ready for any occasion for the rest of my life. It was one of the happiest days of my life when my stepfather died, even though it left me with a deep sense of guilt about my happiness.
Anyway, at the start of 1967, two significant events happened after that fateful Ohope Beach holiday. On the ride home, my beautiful G45 Matchless motorbike threw a rod and destroyed the engine. It meant I had to cadge rides to get to work until I could buy my first car, a 1954 Vauxhall 10, for forty pounds. If this seems cheap, I'll point out that I was earning around ten pounds a week at the time.
The second was my mother informing me she was remarrying in that first week home. As my relationship with my first stepfather had been so bad, I decided to go flatting. I did not want my presence to interfere with my mother's third attempt at happiness. It was the correct decision. My new stepfather became like a true father to me, and we got on like a house on fire.
I moved into a flat with Alan, a guy I worked with. He was in the group I holidayed in Ohope with. Our flat became the de facto hangout place for our large group of mates. But in particular, Phil, Pete and John. These were the nucleus of a much larger group we hung out with. They consisted of old school friends, guys we surfed or played rugby with and guys we knew through work. Of this wider group, I should mention Ding, as he is relevant to the events that followed. His name was also John, but we called him Ding, as he owned a surfboard with a massive ding in it. He was an old friend of Phil's and a terrific artist.
Alan and I had steady girlfriends. I had been taking out my girlfriend, Glenys, for a year and a half, and I had still not gotten past first base, which had me driving home with Blue Balls most nights. But I hung around because she was beautiful. I mostly saw Glenys on Saturdays and Sundays, as she lived on the other side of the city. Our gang frequented half a dozen central city hotels most Friday nights, where we got plastered, picked up girls and took them to parties. The Coburg Tavern in Queen St was our most common hangout joint.
The mate I should cover in a little more detail is Phil. He's the one who bonked Jenny in the Ohope Beach story. When we returned from our summer holiday, he did sneak a few visits to see Jenny, but that had petered out. He was seeing a girl called Linda and had been for a year or more. Linda was your atypical blond. She was attractive but more concerned with her appearance than anything else. I'd say 'typical blond', but I knew plenty of intelligent blonds, so I steered clear of that common cliché. Phil put up with her, as he was getting lots of kinky sex. She was game for anything he could think up.
Once Alan and I moved into the flat, Phil wanted to use our place to have it away with Linda, as he still lived at home with his parents. Alan wouldn't let Phil near his bedroom, but I didn't mind if he placed a towel over my covers to catch any mess. Phil sounded me out more than once about my joining them in the bedroom. It was not something I was interested in. At that tender age, it seemed plain wrong to even think of getting in the same bed as a mate and his girlfriend. My religious upbringing, I guess.
One day, when Phil and Linda came to Bonk, I escaped outside to clean my car. He came out after an hour and asked if I would go in and smack Linda's bum while they had sex. I immediately declined, but Phil was insistent, saying it was her idea and she was keen on me.
I pointed out that there was no way I would share my girlfriend with him or anybody else, so I was uninterested. But after some more discussion he convinced me to come with him to the bedroom, emphasising it was her wish as much as his.
Linda was lying on top of the covers naked, covering her pussy with a hand, but not worried at all about me staring at her decent set of hand warmers. Suddenly, I was more than a little interested. I've always been a tit man. And she had a fucking gorgeous pair.
Phil climbed onto the bed, pulled Linda on top, and then they went to town. Tit's aside, I was on the verge of taking off, fucking embarrassed to be sitting there perving. But when Phil yelled at me to smack her arse, I hesitated only for a moment. The sight of Linda humping him in a sexual frenzy stopped me in my tracks, so I bent over, and I landed a soft smack on her butt.
"Harder," Linda cried.
And I landed another slightly harder smack.
"Harder than that," She cried out again.
So, I gave her a decent whack. That still wasn't hard enough. I had her arse ruby red by the time she climaxed. She turned and grabbed me, and pulled me into bed beside them.
"You're not getting away yet. I want you too." She said as she wriggled herself down between Phil and me.
I looked to Phil to see what he thought of this and was not surprised to see him nodding and grinning at me. So, without any todo, I rolled on top and gave her a good seeing too. I did complain when Phil smacked my arse, though, and he had me roll her on top so he could lay into her bum. It was actually very good. Every time he smacked her, she clenched her arse, and her cunt gripped around my old fella. I'll tell you for free, I didn't last very long.
For me, it was a one-off. I made sure I left the property when Phil brought Linda around after that. Later that year, he did share her with a couple of mates at a party, but I'll save that for another story. Phil never married Linda. The following year, he met up with his future wife, and they have been happily married for about fifty years. His wife would have a heart attack if she knew of the things he got up to with Linda - or maybe not.
....
Near the end of the rugby season, in August. John's car broke down, and it fell to me to drive him around. He lived with his mother and two sisters in a Statehouse in Sandringham. These were multi-units offering low-cost rentals to people on low incomes. By multi-unit, I mean they were two-story units attached for the length of the street, much like the terraced houses you see in England, although of much cheaper designs/materials.
I was never that close to John. He was very crude around the ladies. His mother was an alcoholic, and he was incredibly protective of his two younger sisters. But with other women, especially any one-night stands, they became scrubbers or sluts in his eyes as soon as he had slept with them. This attitude pissed me off somewhat. Especially as he quickly put down any girl I picked up, he would drop comments to the effect that anyone in the bar could have had them, which was simply not the case. Sure, I had the odd easy chick, but I always preferred the petite, innocent, attractive young ladies that my mates said I had no chance with. I invariably would have them laughing and eating out of my hand by the end of the evening and occasionally nailed one on the back seat of my car. Consequently had way more than my fair share of virgins.
Generally, though, John was great when out with us boys. He had a quick mouth and could be as funny as fuck at a party. But this highlighted another issue between us. I could also light up a party and get it rocking, and I don't think he enjoyed my taking his limelight. Still, if John were on form, you would go home with a sore jaw from laughing. But he could just as easily use his mouth to put someone down, faster and harder than if he used his fists. Not that he ever got in a fight, but he sure did start a few.
