Any characters portrayed in this story are fictional and not representative of anyone living or dead.
This is a story about the love between a twelve-year-old boy and a twenty-seven-year-old man and it contains graphic details of sexual contact between them. If you are under age and if this is illegal where you live or where you're accessing this site, then I suggest you leave immediately. For those who wish to stay, then this story is a long one of sixteen parts and an epilogue, which deals with a relationship rather than a brief and sexually stimulating read, although there are many parts when the sexuality of the liaison is paramount to the story and I've done my best to leave nothing out.
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Boys can be lovers, too.
My name is Matthew Lloyd and this is the story of the most wonderful love affair of my life. That it began when I was only twelve years old is immaterial. True love comes rarely in a lifetime and hand on heart I can say that in the thirty three years since I first met Dean Sorrenson, although I've been attracted to and had affairs with other men, I've never really fallen in love again. Let me tell you about myself and how it all came about.
I was slight for my twelve years of age when I first met Dean, but there was nothing slight about Willie, the sex mad five inches when erect thing that sprouted from my lower abdomen; the thing I would measure regularly and pound frequently; the thing that had been hand reared since I first discovered the pleasures he gave to an oversexed young boy who's gay hormones were raging inside him like a force 10 hurricane. He was a chunky little fellow too, and capable of multiple orgasms. By the way, Willie was also a source of frustration to me at that young age. Although he could shoot a few small dollops of semen onto my belly, he didn't sport a single hair; and I liked pubic hair.
And it was Matthew and Willie who, together with mum (Janice) and dad (Henry), rather than hook up the caravan and take the ferry to France and travel to wherever the weather was best, set off from the South Midlands of England to the County of Cornwall during that glorious summer of 1976 when temperatures reached record levels and which was the longest, warmest and driest period in the UK for two hundred and fifty years. Dad was a civil servant and mum was a lecturer in Social Studies and I attended a special college for kids who had too much upstairs for a normal education.
The Saturday journey down was a long one and I spent much of the time searching for fantasy lovers in the cars that passed us or on the streets of the towns we went through. There was a couple that I fancied, but they were both with women and kids. That was always the problem. The men I liked were masculine, and masculine men were pretty much always snapped up by the ladies. I became bored with the journey and as usual when I was bored, I turned my attention to Willie. There was a pile of pillows on the back seat and I arranged them so I could lie down along its length with my back to mum and dad and pretend I was having a nap. I was an expert in the art of concealed masturbation and I did it twice before I drifted off to sleep.
It was late evening when we arrived in North Cornwall and drove along the coast road looking for a caravan site. We'd already tried two places, but both were full. Dad was lighting a cigarette when I yelled at him that we'd just passed another and when he managed to stop the car, we were too far past it to reverse. He was tired and didn't want to mess about turning the car and caravan round and said we'd go onto the next one. I'd caught a glimpse of the scenery and the site took my fancy so even though he was tired and grumpy, I managed to persuade him to find a turning place and go back to it. Cheekily, he drove into a hotel that had a continuous drive in and out of the place and drove back along the road and pulled off the main highway onto the long downhill drive that led to the site and to a wonderful vista of rocky headlands and a calm, azure-blue Atlantic Ocean reflecting the golden rays of the setting sun. I fell in love with this place then and I still love it to this day. What followed at this place also helped make me love it.
The long downhill drive led to the office/shop and we pulled over by it. Just dad and I went to enquire if there was a pitch available. We were second in line, behind a guy, perhaps mid-twenties, who was paying for some groceries. All he wore were a pair of hipster type light blue shorts and flip-flop sandals. His back, and legs covered in fine blond hairs that went up to his glorious butt, were tanned a wonderful bronze that contrasted perfectly with his blond, hippie style, sun-bleached hair, which was tied in a ponytail and came to below his neck. Oh my God! I needed to see what he looked like from the front so I sidled over to the drinks fridge by the counter, selected a bottle of Coke and turned and looked at him. The eyes that looked directly at me were a luminescent blue and set in the face of a wonderfully handsome man; the sort of man me and Willie had spent hours looking for on the way down. Our eyes held for a few moments and then he turned away, packed his stuff into a bag and said goodnight to `Pete', the man who served him, and went out.
"What can I do for you?" Pete asked dad.
"We need a pitch for the caravan for two weeks and also for a small one-man tent for my son which we can put beside it. Do you have any room?"
Pete shook his head. "I'm sorry. We're full up. It's the hot weather you see. It seems as though everybody is heading west."
My heart dropped like a stone. Willie and I had just met an Adonis who'd turned us on with a solitary glance and the place was full! This wasn't fair. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Dad shrugged his shoulders. Is there another site nearby you could recommend?"
"There's another site on the other side of the valley that...."
Pete's advice was interrupted by a woman's voice bellowing from an adjoining office. "Dad! We had a cancellation about an hour ago." A young lady of about twenty came out of the side office and went to the ledger on the counter. She flicked through the pages and pointed. "Sorry, I forgot to tell you. There it is. They've broken down near Exeter and they're going to have to get the car and van towed back to Hertfordshire."
Pete smiled. "Yes we do have room for you now. I'm not sure there'll be room for the tent as well, but we can have a look."
I was now twelve and although the caravan was a full sized four-berth one, I absolutely was not sleeping with mum and dad for two whole weeks. That would drive me crazy, but if it meant that I could get to see Adonis regularly, I'd even sacrifice my sanity for two weeks; so I looked at dad and nodded enthusiastically.
"Ok. We'll go and take a look," said dad. And he paid for the Coke.
Pete asked the young girl to mind the place and told us to follow him. Outside, I saw Adonis in the telephone box across from the shop/office and he looked directly at me. I gave him a smile and he winked back at me before we got in the car and followed the guy through the maze of tents and caravans to the place that was vacant. Dad thought that if we managed to get the caravan sited properly, there would be room for my tent. Pete was happy with that and said we could settle the fee in the morning, and then he walked away. I wasn't surprised. The place he'd given us wasn't an easy place to park a caravan, and very probably, he didn't want to spend an hour helping us. Dad unhooked the van from the car and we all tried to maul it into position. We weren't winning so we took a breather to try and work out which was the best way to sort things. Just then, I saw Adonis approaching carrying the bag of groceries he'd bought at the shop. My heart was in overdrive when he introduced himself as Dean and said the small frame tent next to our space was his, and when dad explained the problems we were having, he offered to give us a hand, and in no time he and dad had got the caravan into position and level. Then, while dad connected the electrics, he helped me put my tent up, blew up my inflatable bed, rolled my sleeping bag out, placed my pillows perfectly and with a wink said, "We need to make sure you get your beauty sleep." I'm sure I blushed as I looked him in the eyes and smiled at his remark.
Eventually, everything was sorted that was going to be sorted and Dean, because we were all hot and sticky and tired, suggested we shower and join him for a meal and a drink at the clubhouse. Mum and dad thought it was a great idea because the last thing they wanted to do so late in the evening was to start cooking, and me and Willie thought it was a great idea because we would be spending even more time with our new fantasy beau, so we all showered and changed and walked to the clubhouse where I made sure I was next him at the four person table. Pete was now serving behind the bar and gave us our first round of drinks free because of the difficulties we'd had setting up. Dean had a pint of beer and dad joined him. Mum had a gin and tonic and I had a Coke and then we ordered our meals. By now I was able to chat to Dean without blushing, but Willie was having a job controlling himself, especially when my olfactory system sent him signals that his new fancy-man smelled lovely.
Dean Sorrenson had a lovely lyrical accent and was from Hereford, (a town near the Wales/England border) was twenty-seven and had been coming to this site for years and this was the end of the first week of the two he'd booked. We ate our meals and more drinks were ordered. By the fifth pint of beer, Dad was half drunk and so was Dean. I think it was the beers making Dean more familiar and less reserved that gave me courage to do what I did next. I sat back, put my hands behind my head and relaxed, allowing my left leg to make contact with his. Just a small contact at first: a sort of small boy's tired leg needing to relax. Dean didn't move his leg away and that gave me hope. Then I let it rest properly against his and to hell with the consequences. Again he didn't move his leg away. The conversation and bonhomie continued and I joked that Dean needed a haircut. He roared with laughter and grabbed my leg just above the knee and gripped it tight, making me laugh and also protest that it was hurting. He demanded I say sorry before he would release me, but no matter how hard he pressed, I refused to wilt. Eventually, he released his grip, but his fingers slid slowly up the inside of my thigh before he returned his hand to the table. I wasn't sure whether he'd done it deliberately or inadvertently, but just in case it was deliberate, I rewarded him by giving him one of my best smiles and then leaned my leg back against his. I got the thumbs up from Willie for that and I had to cover him with my hand to hide his excitement. As the night wore on, I scratched my leg a few times and made sure my fingers made contact with Dean's thigh. If he wasn't getting the message by now then he would have to be as thick as two short planks. I got a sort of a reply when he placed his hand on the back of my chair and I felt his hidden finger tickling my neck. Apart from him sticking his hand on Willie, it was the best I could hope for considering we'd only known each other for a few hours.
At two in the morning we walked back to his tent and our caravan. Mum gave me a kiss, said goodnight to Dean and went in. Dad stayed outside, had a last cigarette and then said he'd leave us to sort ourselves out and went into the caravan. By now, I was shaking with nerves and Willie was almost having a fit in anticipation of what might happen. Dean went to his tent to get a flashlight, opened my tent and helped me get settled. It was too warm to sleep in the sleeping bag so I just lay on my back on it wearing only a t/shirt and shorts; as was Dean. He asked if I'd be warm enough. I could hardly speak and just nodded. He was on his knees beside me and I could smell the heady mixture of beer and aftershave and sweat: a pure man smell. He switched off the flashlight and I tensed for the moment he would touch me, but then he was gone through the flap in the tent and I heard him zip it up. I wanted to scream with disappointment, but instead, I stripped and masturbated, fantasizing about being fucked by Dean. I'm not sure at what stage I fell asleep, but it was somewhere between Dean pounding me from behind so hard that he was rattling every bone in my body, and sperm filling my mouth as he forced his massive cock into the back of my throat. Willie had his own fantasy: he had some tender loving in Dean's sexy mouth.
After leaving Matthew, I walked down the site to the headland where below me the waves of the North Atlantic washed gently against the granite rocks, sat on the short grass and lit up another cigarette. My nerves weren't too good because I'd just experienced my first ever contact with a boy. As the smoke hit the back of my throat and entered my lungs - giving partial relief to the nervous tension - I reflected on this evening and the life that led me to it.
When I saw the boy get out of the car with his father, I just knew he was special. They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but this boy was a small God and I reckon every lover of boys would have knelt before him in prayer as well as to suck him off. Although small, he had an air of self-confidence about him to be as young as he looked. There were no baggy shorts in the 70's, and his were shorter than most. There's something really sexy about a boy who knows he's beautiful and goes to some lengths to show it, and this boy was doing just that. His coltish legs were visible from bare feet in his sandals to the top of his creamy thighs where his buttocks began to blossom out before disappearing into his khaki shorts, and I could also see the beginnings of the cleft of his perfect butt at the top of them. He came in with his father as I took my things to the counter and I cursed for being so stupid. If I'd had presence of mind, I would have waited until he was in front of me and then eyed that beautiful butt for posterity because I reckoned there was no way I was ever going to get my hands on it. I was also damned sure he would be another in a long line of boys who I'd fancied that didn't give a damn about returning my affections. Only once before had I been certain that a boy shared my feelings and that had been so fleeting and impossible that I knew nothing could ever come of it. During those jumbled thoughts, I saw movement by the soft drinks fridge. The boy was taking a bottle from it and he turned and looked directly into my eyes. I swallowed hard as I looked into the sexiest brown eyes I'd ever seen in a small boy. Not only were they sexy, they were the sort of eyes that speak. They were speaking to me now, but I didn't know what the hell they were saying. All I knew was that they were turning me on big style and I needed to get out of there before I made a fool of myself. Reluctantly, I broke the gaze, gathered my stuff and left the shop and went into the phone box to call my business partner and positioned myself so I would see him come out. When he did come out, he saw me in the phone box and gave me a cheeky grin, which I returned with a wink. Jeezus! The boy had grinned at me and I'd managed to respond. What would happen now? I knew the site was full, so unless they'd booked in previously, it was possible that Pete would send them on their way. When Pete came out of the shop and they began to follow him through the site, I was elated, especially when I saw they were headed in the direction where my own tent was, and on the long walk back I was already making plans to seek him out and my thoughts were not only of his small and beautiful body, they were of his sexy eyes that spoke to me and the full lips that I desperately wanted to kiss. And dare I think it: him returning the kiss? Yes, I wanted sex, but as well as sex, I wanted love from a boy.
It had always been that way since I was a youngster. When I was but a small child I fell in love with older boys. Never once did anything come of my fanciful emotions. It's a good job they didn't because by the time I was eleven, I must have become infatuated with at least twenty; and they were all older than me. But that changed as I grew older and discovered that the age of attraction for me remained at about eleven. Once past that age they lost the fascination of partial innocence, which was what really attracted me to them. A teenager becomes more a man and I was never into men: nor women. I had the opportunity of sex with both and rejected it. In fact the reason I was a partner in a successful electrical engineering business was because my business partner was gay and he fancied me.
I left high school at sixteen and went to work for Dominic Parsons; a man my foster dad knew well. Back in those days, being gay was almost taboo and boy-lovers were pretty much an unknown entity. Whatever, Dominic, a man as old as my father, was a lovely man and when he knew for sure that I wasn't interested in him that way, he nurtured me through my apprenticeship like a surrogate father. Being the adventurous person I was, at the age of twenty-three, two years after I finished my apprenticeship, I decided I wanted to be my own boss. Dominic was almost heartbroken. His solution was to offer me a junior partnership in his business with the promise that he would make it an equal share when I reached thirty. I jumped at it. I didn't really want to leave him anyway. The partnership had some fringe benefits: I was good and could organize and price jobs as well as do the practicalities and that meant both Dominic and I could have time off and the other was perfectly able to cover in their absence. In 1976, we had twelve staff working for us and the business was quite successful.
So, there I was on the North Cornish coast; a place I'd loved since my foster parents brought me to it when I was youngster. I always stayed on this site and I always camped out in a tent and I always spent my days sun-bathing or swimming in the small Cove which lay across a valley and down some steps cut into the cliff about half a mile away. I'd fancied quite a few of the boys I'd seen here, but none came remotely close to the feelings I had for this latest beauty with the gorgeous eyes and perfect body who, now I was nearing my tent, I could see standing there with his parents. If I was religious, I would have said a thousand Hail Mary's, and if I was I into Rosary Beads, they would have been flying through my fingers so fast that I'd have set fire to them. They needed assistance, so I introduced myself and helped them set things up. When we were doing it, I couldn't keep my eyes off the boy - who I now knew as Matthew, and he often looked directly into my own eyes in the same way he had at the shop/office. Of course, right then, I didn't dare dream that he was attracted to me in any way. Just being in his delightful presence was reward enough and I eagerly helped him put his tent up. By the time we'd finished, we were all pretty much au fait with each other. They'd taken up my suggestion to have a drink and a meal at the club and I was delighted when Matthew sat beside me and Henry and Janice sat opposite. While we were eating our meal, I was able to observe them all.
If ever there was a woman I could have fallen in love with, it would have been the almost Bardot look-alike, Janice. For a lady of thirty-seven, besides her natural beauty, she had class. It oozed from her in everything she did: the way she ate; the way she spoke; her gentle manner towards her son; the respect she had for the man she married; and her niceness towards me. She wasn't intrusive, but the few questions she asked were precise and meaningful. By the end of the night, she knew almost everything about me and I'd not volunteered too much in the way of descriptive narrative of what I was.
Four years older than his wife, Henry was also an interesting person. Not for one moment did I take, literally, his admission that he was a Civil Servant as being anything less than a misnomer for a person who didn't want to tell me what he did. I decided not to press the issue because he was one of those men you just don't take liberties with. About five-nine and well built, he was ruggedly handsome with a greying crew-cut hairstyle. He wouldn't have looked out of place guarding a President.
It was obvious where Matthew got his looks from. He had the same wide, brown, beautiful eyes of his mother, and his long hair was the same colour, too. He was about five feet tall, spoke good Queen's English like his parents and had a voice where the timbre was just changing from falsetto - which told me that he was not far from puberty or he might just have reached it. When I viewed him from side on and could see his profile, he had a faultless, slightly inverted nose and long eyelashes. Those things would have been enough to make him beautiful, but the gorgeous head of this boy sat atop a neck that was slightly long but perfectly formed and which melted into boyish shoulders, which made him exceptionally beautiful. And then there were his full, sexy lips that had fascinated me from the moment I set eyes on him. When I was helping them set up their caravan and Matthew's tent, I watched them puckering when he was working or thinking what to do next. He'd caught me studying him on a number of occasions and rewarded me with an impish grin. Now and then, those grins were accompanied by a special twinkle in his eyes, which sort of said he knew what I was thinking. He was gregarious, too: commanding even; not only to me, but also to his parents who he treated as equals or lesser beings depending on his mood. One other thing that I couldn't possibly miss was the size of what was tucked away in his shorts and which he always seemed to be holding. His legs were proper boy's legs: battle-scarred knees and enticing strong boy calves and thighs that I would die for. My peripheral vision had not worked so hard for a long time.
Our bare elbows made contact a number of times, but it was only when I felt his knee touch my leg that I dared think that I was more than an acquaintance to him, and when I felt deliberate pressure on my leg, my heart was racing at the revelation that this boy actually liked me enough to want to make bodily contact. Then came an opportune moment for me to make better contact in an innocent way; Matthew made a comment about my hair, which made everyone laugh. I pretended to be hurt by his remark, grabbed his knee, squeezed it and demanded an apology. This was fun. His mum and dad thought it was fun. But then I discovered another side to my new love; he was no wimp. He refused to apologize and stared right into my eyes in a way that told me that there would only be one winner. It was his father in him, of that I was sure. Sensibly, I think, I decided not to push it and released my grip, but I wasn't to be vanquished completely. When I relaxed my grip, I deliberately kept the tips of my fingers on his thighs and let them slide up his leg until they touched his shorts. Only then did I remove my hand and put it back on the table. I waited for a reaction from him. It would come either in a look of disgust or knowing acquiescence. The beautiful smile he gave me was a great relief. I knew then, and so did he, that we were more than just friends. There was more flirting from Matthew and the only thing I could do to respond safely was to tickle his neck without his parents knowing. When he accepted my finger caress, I think we both thought it was a shared and private moment. We were wrong. Matthew's parents were more than a match for either of us.
When I'd settled Matthew on his bed, I was almost certain that had I allowed myself to make a move for him, it would have been welcomed, but touching a twelve-year-old boy is not a matter of almost. Certainty is the only option and that could only come about by Matthew making the first move. Until then, I would never touch him. He didn't make that first move, so I left.
The odd gull was squawking when I stubbed out my second cigarette and went back to my tent. I looked at Matthew's. No doubt he was asleep now. It would take me a while to nod off to sleep knowing that the sexiest little boy I'd ever seen was now my friend and sleeping within a few feet of me.