G'day everyone! We're up to our sixth year of backyard cricket already, but if you somehow don't know what's going on yet, here's the backstory. I'm Tim, early 30's, tall fella in fairly good shape for a dad of two, in my humble opinion. Every year around Christmas I head home to see my parents and their neighbours. My dad, Ross, is an ex-firefighter and still does a bit of bodybuilding, so he's a big unit, heaps stronger than me and my mates. Living next door to dad and mum is Charlie and Kath Stone, and their son Andy comes home each year with his brood. It's funny, Andy, with his dark hair and muscles, looks more like my dad than I do, and Charlie's red hair and beard made us look more alike. I don't think there were any shenanigans or a mix-up at the hospital, but you never know. On the other side of mum and dad are the Stones, and there's no mistaking Noel Cooper as the son of Glenn. Both blokes have a great, if slightly dopey, disposition, and a shock of blonde hair that sticks out the top of their heads at all angles.
Now, we're all happily married men with loving families, but as often happens after a few years of marriage, the sex life has dried up, and that can make a man expand his interests. So about six years ago, while the wives and kids were out, we played a game of backyard cricket that turned into something a little more sexual. Actually a lot more sexual. Actually, every year now we set a day in December and us blokes just root each other like rabbits. We still call it backyard cricket, but it's a lot more backdoor than backyard, if you get my drift.
Most years around Christmas holidays we all get together- me and my wife and kids, my parents, the neighbours on both sides and their sons and their families, the whole big mob. And then, as a special treat, we send the ladies off for a day of pampering at some spa, so we can have the backyard to ourselves for our "cricket match".
This year though, the girls wouldn't go. They said they loved the day away, but they were all feeling like they just wanted to stay at home this year, and was our male bonding time so important? And why couldn't we just play in the backyard while they were home? And so on.
Eventually though, dad had a brainwave, and on Boxing Day me, the old man, Charlie and Andy Cooper and Glenn and Noel Stone hopped in two cars and headed to the beach for a bit of cricket on the sand.
We didn't specify which beach to the wives, and when we got to the car park and I saw the "clothing optional" sign, I had to marvel at the old man's ingenuity.
We dragged the esky and the plastic cricket gear to a good sunny spot and set up our towels.
"Right you lot." Began Charlie, loosening the drawstrings on his shorts.
"Uniforms on." He said, dropping his dacks.
We all quickly followed suit, and I noticed none of us had sprung a stiffy. I reckon it was just the atmosphere of the beach- there were a few old blokes, some twentysomethings laughing and listening to music, and a couple of surfies out on the waves. It felt like just another day at the beach.
Since, for once, no one was aching to get his rocks off, we decided to actually play a bit of cricket. We dug out our plastic stumps, the bat and a tennis ball. Playing on the beach with my dad and my mates, drinking beers, the whole thing really did feel like a bit of male bonding. At least it did until Glenn launched the tennis ball into the surf. My old man went running after it and bent over to retrieve it from the water.
The sight of my dad's muscled backside, legs spread just enough to show his furry pucker, with his big balls hanging down between his legs... well, it sent some blood down south.
Embarrassed, I looked around... and realised the other lads were all staring at his arse too, and starting to bar up. Dad turned back to face us, ball in hand, and was greeted by the sight of five hard cocks. He grinned.
