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.
