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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.


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Boys can be lovers, too.


By John T. S. Teller.


I would like to dedicate this final part of the story to all those who have mailed me and expressed their kind sentiments.

Your correspondence has made the many, many hours I've spent writing and editing, all worthwhile. Thank you.





Matthew Says:


May 2009.


I can't leave you readers in limbo about how our lives went from there. During those early years when we were together, we had a few arguments, but compared to the one about Harry, they were nothing, and we continued having sex until I was eighteen and joined the army. It was a mutual parting. Let me explain.


When we parted, we were two different people than the two who met on the campsite at Cornwall. Well, that's what happens, doesn't it? We morph into different life phases, and become different people. Are any of you the same person you were when you were twelve-years-old...or even eighteen years old? Dean had his business, and his whole life was parochial. My life could never be that. The education I'd received, and the plans for my life, were far too cosmopolitan to remain with Dean; and Dean knew that: the reality. Had I remained, as much as I loved Dean, my life would have been a failure. And here's the irony of the situation: the love Dean and I shared was one of those special loves that just doesn't die, but for that love to be fulfilled, we had to part.


Actually, it was Dean who made the absolute decision. Yes, we'd chatted and tried to make plans, but they were all over the place until Dean made his greatest act of unselfishness and said that we should part until such a time that my adult life was in order. Of course we cried, and of course I said he was wrong and that I would have none of it. I actually said I would cancel my plans to go into the forces and stay with Dean, but he would have none of it.  We were both desperately sad, but Dean understood the reality better than I did. For me to fulfil what I was, I couldn't do it while we were together, because I would be doing things that were best for us, and not best for me. Now, I know Dean was right, but not then I didn't.


Part of my thinking was that Dean had finally reached the point where he no longer wanted me because I was now an adult, and I said so. I remember where we were when I said it. We had been for a cruise up the river in our small boat, and I said it just as we were getting near the landing stage. I saw Dean's face change to one of anger, and when we'd tied up, he stormed off into the house. I don't think I've ever seen him so angry. Although he did swear occasionally, he wasn't one of these people who swear gratuitously, but his comments that day contained more than a fair share of expletives. I followed him into the house, and he sat at the dining table with his head in his hands. I told him I was sorry for saying what I did.


He pointed to the seat opposite, and I sat down, and looked at him. His eyes were fierce, and his voice was raised, and his finger did a lot of pointing. "Now listen carefully to what I have to say, so there can be no fucking misunderstandings! I've loved you since the moment I first fucking saw you! I love you now even more than when I first fucking saw you! And, NO, I'm not fucking going off you!  It won't work any more unless you fuck off and do what you've got to do. So, fuck off and build your life away from here, and then, if you still fucking want me, I'm here for you. If you really love me, then it will last. If you don't, then it won't. This is fucking killing me, arguing like this all the time. So, just go away and make something of yourself away from here, and let's see what happens. Write to me. Let me know how you are, but I don't want to see you on the doorstep until you know that you want to spend a lifetime with me. And let's face facts. What we've had for the last six years is just romanticism. There's nothing wrong with that, but it's not reality in the fucking big world. If your mind is on getting back to me all the time instead of getting on with things, you'll only achieve half of what you're capable of. And that's not going to happen. So, little soldier boy, go and do it, and make me and your mum and your dad proud of you. Your parents are the most understanding people I know, and I also know that they'll be disappointed if you stay here and we spend our lives like two old farts without you reaching your full potential.


I sulked for two days after that explosion from him, and it was only after I'd spoken to mum that I came to my senses. I remember her words Matt, Dean is right. I can tell you one thing...if you don't do as Dean says, you'll have regrets all your life, and you'll end up wishing you'd taken his advice. This way, Dean is leaving the door open for your whole life to be fulfilled, and if you two are meant for each other, it will happen that you'll come back together naturally, but only when the time is right for you both.


It took me another day to think about that one, and then I began to understand the wisdom of the argument for us to part. The one thing I didn't know, and which I learned much later, was that dad also had an input into me and Dean parting. Apparently, Dean and dad, without me knowing, had a number of conversations about what was best for my future, and they both came to the same conclusion that it had to happen.


And so it came to pass that we did part, and that last night together is etched into my mind for all eternity.


It was July 12th, midnight, and we walked in the garden, holding hands. It was very quiet; just the sound of the river flowing tranquilly at the bottom of our garden, and the hauntingly beautiful sound of an owl hooting from across the other side of the river. We stopped at the edge of the river, and Dean looked up. Above us, was the Milky Way.


He pointed out a bright star. "That's Venus there."


I giggled. "I know it is. I'm not daft."


Dean giggled. "No, you were never daft. A bit strange at times...but never daft. Anyway, Smartarse, the reason I was pointing it out, is because that's our star. No matter where we are, if we can see it, it belongs to us. All our love is in that star."


I turned to him. He took me in his arms, and we kissed as passionately as we had ever done, and we made special love that night, and shed a lot of tears.


And then the parting.


We spoke very little as Dean drove me to the station to catch a train to Caterick; my training-camp-to-be. What tears there were, we managed to pass off as silliness, with a quick wipe of the eyes and a grin. Thankfully, oh, so thankfully, my train was already at the platform. I put my suitcase down, and we came together in a massive hug. After we'd broken the hug, Dean picked up my suitcase, and gave it to me. Unashamedly, he stroked my face. "Write to me as we arranged. Be good." And then he pushed me away.


I smiled at him, looked deeply into the eyes of the man I loved with an overwhelming passion, picked up the suitcase, and boarded the carriage nearest me. To try and ensure that no one sat by me at that point of the journey, I put my suitcase on the seat opposite to stop anyone sitting there. If anyone had tried to sit at the vacant seat beside me, I would have told them to sit elsewhere, and was prepared to create an argument if it happened. No one did, and I stared out of the window at Dean. He moved slightly so we were able to look at each other without difficulty.


With his hands in his trouser pockets, he was leaning back against a dull brick wall, staring at me. I could clearly see the tears flowing from his eyes and down his cheeks, and which he didn't attempt to hide, and they began to flow from mine, too, and neither did I try to hide them. Two minutes of deep sadness poured out of us while we looked at one another. The train began to move, and Dean, still leaning against the wall, took a hand out of one of his pockets, and waved to me. I waved back until I could no longer see him, and then I got up and went to the lavatory and sat there crying my eyes out until I was able to control myself, and only then did I return to my seat and think of the past, and look to the future.


It was seven years before I saw Dean again...time enough to partly heal, but not forget. During those seven years, I wrote Dean at least a hundred letters, and he replied to every one of them, but rarely, after the first few letters, did we speak about `us'.


When we did meet, it was at my parent's house at Droitwich. The break had been clean, and although he'd spoken to them, it was the first time Dean had seen them for seven years, too. It was me who said I wanted to see him, but, in my mind, because it had been such a long time, I wasn't sure whether he still wanted me. And, for the same reasons, I wouldn't know until I saw him again whether I still wanted him. So, when we made the arrangements to meet, Dean gave me options. He said he would drive up early in the morning, spend the day with us, and then drive back late evening. That left the ball firmly in my court. If I allowed him to drive back home, both of us would know it really was the end of what we were.


It was a warm, July day, very similar to the day we parted, and I was on leave from my unit before being posted abroad again. When he arrived, there were tears...all round; and then the bonhomie, which had never left us.


During the day, Dean and I had some time alone. We were sitting in the garden, drinking a beer. Seven years had aged him. His hair was not long now, and there were a few grey hairs amongst the gold. But, if anything, his maturity had made him even more attractive, and I wanted, desperately, to go to him and kiss the living daylights out of him. His right hand was resting on the table. I placed my own over it. "How did you manage when I left?"


Dean's beautiful eyes looked deep into my own. "I didn't. It was awful. Worse than the `Harry Affair'. I couldn't tell you in my letters, but I desperately wanted you to come back to me. For months, I was like a zombie, and had it not been for the fact that your success was so important to me, and the shit it would cause you if I did, I would have ended it. Then, time began to dull the pain. Well, time and your letters. I lived my life through your letters. I still live my life through your letters. I'm not sure seeing you today will help. And you? How was it for you?"


I gripped Dean's hand tightly. His words had hurt me deeply. "It was as bad for me as it was for you, but I was living in a man's world, and that helped. The hurt I was feeling, I took out on the things I had to do. The worst time was when I decided to do selection for Special Forces. When I was battling through the cold and wet over Brecon Beacons, and when they were bashing me about when they interrogated me, I tried to think of nothing else except you, and I passed because of you. But you didn't know that, did you?"


Dean looked at me, and the shock in his face was obvious. "You would be stationed at Hereford!"


I nodded. "I was, and every day I was there, I wanted to go and see you. I had to send my letters to dad for him to forward onto you, because I didn't want you to know I was only a few minutes away from you."


"And are you still there?"


"No, thank God. I'm stationed at Portsmouth when I'm in the UK. We have an undercover unit down there. Anyway, it's all water under the bridge now. The main thing being, did we do the right thing to part all those years ago?"


Dean stared at me, and, very slowly, nodded. "Yes. It was probably too early to have ended our relationship, but it was the perfect time for you and your career. Many times I think about it, and I would take all the hurt again rather than spoil what we had, and to make sure you followed the career you wanted. So, yes, I think it probably was the perfect moment, if ever there is a perfect moment for these things. Because we parted when we did, and like we did, I'm sitting here with you now, and I still love you, and I always will. So, can we begin a new phase in our relationship now, and meet more often? I'd like to."


Despite me being a member of Britain's elite Special Forces, I couldn't stop the tears that escaped from my eyes when I nodded. And then I couldn't help myself. I looked into the eyes of the man I still loved deeply, and took an almighty chance. "Dean, will you stay over tonight? I need you so badly that it hurts."


Dean's hand crushed mine, and the tears flowed from his eyes, and his shoulders began to shake as seven years of pent up grief poured out of him. "I thought you would never ask."


When I asked mum if Dean could stay over, she smiled that knowing smile of hers. "I've already set out two sets of towels." Then she looked at Dean. "Do you remember what I told you all those years ago when we were walking together at Padstow?"


Dean grinned. "You mean: It's also how I know that when he stops being a boy, you'll still be together. I think I understand you better than you understand yourself?"


Mum smiled. "You have a good memory. Yes, those are the words I was referring to. Mother knows best." She looked at both of us. "Matthew's pyjamas will fit you now, Dean, but, somehow, I don't think you'll be needing them?" And with a giggle, she went off to tell dad the good news.


At that moment, I realised that if I lived to be a hundred and fifty, I would never be as wise as her. But I wasn't silly. During the evening, I made an excuse to go the bathroom, and when I was there, I shaved every last pubic hair from my body.


It was awkward when we went to bed that first time. I insisted I go first, and Dean would join me when I was ready for him. As I lay in bed watching him, he was self-conscious when he was undressing, especially because William was at his best. And then he got into bed, and our mouths came together in a crushing, passionate kiss. His hands began to explore my body, and when he got to Willie with no hairs, he drew back, and looked into my eyes.


I giggled. "I'm your little soldier boy now. Do you like him?"


Dean nodded. "Is Snug ready for me?"


I caressed his lovely hair, and looked into his beautiful eyes. "He's been waiting seven years for William. He loves him deeply, as much as I do you."


Dean smiled that cheeky smile that hurt my soul. "Then we'd better not disappoint him."


And Snug was not disappointed, and neither was William or Willie. They had a great time that night, as did Dean and I. And when we went to sleep in the wee small hours with me sitting in my favourite seat position on Dean's knees with his arms wrapped around me, it was as if we'd never been apart.


So, although (because of my commitments to the army) it was sporadic for a long time, and because I was now firmly on the ladder of my adult life and nothing could distract me from getting to the top, we began our life again at our home at Bullingham, Hereford. The young, romantic boy, became a soldier, made it to the rank of Major, continued his education in the forces, gained a Doctorate in Criminal Psychology as my dad had done, and progressed from there to much higher things, which was always his destiny. And the boy-lover-that-was, was not really a boy-lover. He had been a lost soul, seeking that which is so difficult to find...solace in the company of someone who loved him deeply. His unselfishness ensured that, eventually, I was that conduit to his happiness, and his way out of that maze of childish hurt.     


We still have lots of fun, and our sex life is brilliant. But I still tease him. When we're out and about, if I spot a small boy, I point him out, and ask if he fancies him. Good old Dean. I always get the same reply: `He doesn't even begin to measure up with a boy I once knew'.


And neither does any man measure up to a man I once met, and who is now my perfect boyfriend and partner. My childhood romance has led to a lifetime of happiness. As for me, personally, after my army career was over, I worked my way up to driving an Office Car. It means we have to spend some time apart. But that's ok, because I know that when my business is over, I have love and warm arms to come home to...and my train sets. Oh yes, I still love playing with my train sets, although I'm not too pleased with Dean...he never did knock down that wall between the small bedroom and ours.


As far as Dean's business is concerned, his partner, Dominic, decided while I was living with Dean as a boy, that he wanted out to go and live with his new partner in Spain. That left Dean in a dilemma. He was into hock with the house mortgage and couldn't afford to buy Dominic out. I remember it was a stressful time for both of us, and especially for Dean. It was good old dad who came to the rescue. He and mum and baby came to stay with us one weekend, and we discussed it. A week later, dad spoke to Dean on the phone, and told him he should go and see his bank manager about a loan. Dean thought it was a waste of time, but he did go, and was surprised that he got the loan to buy Dominic out. Dean was still worried the business might not earn enough to pay both his mortgage and the bank loan, but just after he'd taken over full control, no doubt because dad made it happen, he began to get a number of government contracts awarded to him. In just two years, Dean quadrupled his staff. Now, he just runs the company, and he owes nobody anything.


Mum and dad? They're fine. They retired, and now live in southwest France. My sister, Jacqueline, married Mark when she was twenty-one, and they live in Bahrain, and have two children: Sarah and Danny. Danny is eight-years-old, and the spitting image of me as a child. The last time Jacqueline sent me a photo of the children, I showed Dean the photo I had of Danny, and asked him if he would. He looked at the photo, kissed it, and said I was to keep Danny away from him when he was a few years older. We both laughed at that.


So, dear readers, I hope you've enjoyed the memoirs of my life with Dean. I'm still a crafty sod. I told Dean I wanted to keep a diary of our life together, and I quizzed him about parts of our life that only he could tell. That's how I've been able to write parts of this story through Dean's eyes, and I did quiz dad on a couple of occasions. I've enjoyed telling it, but I know some of you will feel sad that you haven't had what Dean and I had. All I can say to you is; had it not been for a moment of fate when I persuaded dad to turn the caravan round and go back to our site, and some poor souls broke down in their car on the way to the campsite all those years ago, then neither would Dean and I.


Oh, there is one other small thing I almost forgot about: David. You remember David, don't you? The boy we met at Padstow? Well, in 1998, I was working at The Office in London, and needed to be there for a week. While I was there, Dean came down to The City on a day visit to meet a client. We agreed to meet at a pub at six, and he was catching a train back at nine fifteen. We had some bites and a few beers, and then, out of the blue, he said he wondered how David was getting on these days.


I laughed, and told him that he was fine, and with more than a little trepidation, and because it was something I had wanted to tell Dean for a long time, but had never plucked up the courage to do it, and this was now the perfect opportunity, I told him that when Dean and I had been apart, I'd had sex with him occasionally. I also told him that David had now got his own partner, Thomas.


Dean took my hand, squeezed it, and gave me a knowing smile. Then he asked me another question I knew he would ask one day. "When we were apart for those seven years, did you have sex with other men besides David?"


I smiled at him, and was relieved that I could tell him the truth. "No. Just David. I needed sex, and I thought that the one person in the world that you wouldn't be jealous of me having sex with, was David. Somehow, it wasn't as if I was being unfaithful to you having sex with him. After all, he did belong to both of us. Anyway, that's how I felt. That's all it was. Are you angry with me?"


"And since we got back together?"


I shook my head. "Never. And I won't as long as I have you."


Dean's face was serious for a while, and then he smiled. "It's ok, I'm not angry. You're as sex mad as your mother, and I don't mind as long as it was with David. You should have sent him up to me. It might have helped me, too."


That comment, and the way Dean said it, made me laugh. Dean laughed with me, and the subject was never mentioned again, nor did it ever interfere with our sex life.


And now, Dear Readers, this final part is at an end. It's August 2010, and I'm sitting in the office typing away while Dean and our guests are sitting in the back garden. Who are they? No lesser great friends of ours than David, and his partner, Thomas. They've driven up from Cornwall to stay with us for a week. They've been here for three days now, and are used to me sneaking off to do some work on the laptop. I just make the excuse that it's Office work, and nobody comes near me. All hush-hush stuff, that I cannot reveal. Let me describe the scene to you.


Some years ago, I made Dean extend the office so that it now also occupies a space behind the garage. And the windows are large and low. The desk faces the window so we can see across the lawns and down the garden to the river. The old willow is at its best, and I can see the lowest boughs, dripping into the water, creating little eddies. The boat is in the garage, because I said it spoiled my view if Dean left it berthed at the landing stage. Dean and David and Thomas are sitting at the outdoor table, drinking beers, and chatting and laughing.


Dean looks so sweet. He's sixty-years old now, bless him, but he still looks as fit as a butcher's dog. His golden hair is almost silver now, which gives me plenty of ammunition to tease him about him really being my `old man'. You wouldn't know that though if you'd spent last night in bed with him. He'd had a few glasses of wine, and was as randy as hell. This morning, even David made a remark about what a `noisy fucker' I was. Well, I had been. Dean had brought me to so many high peaks of pleasure that it left me reeling, and almost faint. He's looking at me now, and I'm winking at him, which has brought a big grin to his beautiful face. I'm grinning back at him, because I know something he doesn't know: I'm about to tell the world that I'm still passionately in love with him, and I know for an absolute fact that he feels exactly the same way about me.


And very finally, Dear Readers, being the romantic I am, I've made a video about our life, and the place we met, and how I feel now. The song to the video is Dean's favourite song, Jon & Vangelis So long ago, so clear. Sometimes, in our quieter moments, as we're eating and having a glass of wine, he'll play it, and stare at me from across the table, and say that it reminds him that: Boys can be lovers, too.


So, I'll share it with you. Just click on the link below.


Special love and hugs to you all.


Matthew Lloyd - Sorrenson. XXX