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 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.


Part eight.

Henry Says:


No matter what I did for him, I couldn't console Matthew. All I could get from him was a blubbering version that Dean had gone and everything was his fault. Janice was holding him and I was sitting opposite at the drop-down table. Eventually, I got the gist of what had happened, and why. I was angry with Matthew; I was angry with Dean; but most of all, I was angry with myself. I'd been the fulcrum of the devious plans made without Dean's consent and even though I knew without any doubt that Dean wanted my son with him, I also understood his reasons for leaving. I couldn't call Dean a coward for bottling it. He must have been aware when he made his decision to leave that I had the power to make his life a complete hell, but he had chosen that rather than live a life based on fear. The more I thought about it, the more respect I had for him. But what to do now? I had an empty space next to us and a broken hearted son. I looked at my watch. It was just turned eight. I had a long day ahead of me. I went down to the shop/office and enquired if they knew what time Dean had left. He'd dropped his tent number through the letterbox without saying anything to anyone, but Pete had seen him drive off at six-thirty. That meant Dean had two hours on me. If I got a move on, I could do it. I needed to make a quick telephone call first. This wasn't the first time on this holiday that I'd missed my two-way radio in The Office Ford Granada back at home.


(Whenever I took a vacation, the only piece of equipment I would take from The Office was my emergency bleeper, which was switched on at all times and would only be used in an emergency. And it was one-way: them to me: they bleep me and I ring The Office. The phone call I'd made from the site, via the encrypting centre at Bletchford, Buckinghamshire, was to Traffic Police using my position as Head of Midlands Division British Intelligence section 3c, better known to the British public as MI5, asking for a hold on the car and non-collaboration with the occupant. Already, dealing with the Matthew/Dean situation, I'd broken the golden rule of using this service for personal use. My enquiries about Dean had been disguised as a general enquiry regarding his nationality. My section did this operation hundreds of times every week, so I was expecting my enquiry to be no more than what we called in the trade; tittle-tattle, and therefore: bin-fodder. I was taking a risk, but Hell, this was my son's future I was dealing with here and they could stuff their rules and regulations up their backsides when my family's well-being was at risk.)


Thirty minutes east of Okehampton, I pulled into a lay-by which had an AA telephone box and made another phone call. I thumped the side of the box in victory when I was told Dean was being held at Tedburn St. Mary, a few miles west of Exeter. I could ease off slightly now. Thank goodness for that: I'd been pushing the Jaguar to its limits at times on the winding and dangerous A30. It was just turned ten when I saw Dean's car in a lay-by with a police vehicle sitting behind it. I pulled in behind the police car and saw Dean sitting in the back and two officers sitting in the front. I got out, wandered along to it and knocked on the window, and when it was lowered, showed them my warrant card. In a few short minutes, the police had gone and Dean and I were sitting in his car.


We sat in silence for a while and then I quipped, "You took your time. I expected you to be halfway up the M5 motorway by now." Dean said nothing. "I'll make a deal with you Dean. Let's talk and then you can go home if you wish and I promise you we won't bother you again. No strings: no shit: no anything. Janice and I will pick up the pieces with Matt, send him to York and you can live your life exactly as you want. You've got absolutely nothing to be afraid of. In fact, whatever influence I have, I'll use to keep you on the straight and narrow."


Dean was silent for a while. "How is he?"


"He's breaking his heart. Did you expect anything else?"


"No. But he'll get over me. Whatever you think of me, I didn't leave without giving a lot of thought to Matthew."


I was getting angry now, but this was a time for a cool head. Even so, I had to say what I did. "You didn't leave for Matt's sake. You left for your own. You don't want to be manipulated. That's not very grown up of you."


Dean surprised me then. "Fuck you Henry! That's fucking bullshit. We're all manipulated; every day of our lives. Even you: the great controller. It's not because I'm being manipulated, it's because of who's manipulating me: the person I love most in the world and his father who has the power to send me to jail with a single phone call. Well, get on with it! I won't live a life being afraid I'll be in deep shit if I make a wrong move on your son. That isn't how it is. That's not how it is with you and Janice is it? Or is she afraid to tell you to fuck off if she puts a foot wrong?"


Dean's words hit home like a sledgehammer. He was right. Of course he was right. I decided not to argue. "Ok. I'll leave you. You've got my word and I never break a promise. No harm will come to you. But I want you to think on this: there's a boy back there who loves you with all his heart and who knows he's done wrong and he also knows it's not in his power to start to put things right. Only you have that power, but he can't do it unless you're with him. I gathered from Matt's mumblings that he said being unselfish was silly. It's not. Matt has to learn that being unselfish is one of life's great attributes. Unfortunately, some people, like me and Matt, will sometimes take advantage of your unselfishness. It's a burden you're going to have to carry with you all your life. But don't ever change. It's one of the reasons why Matt loves you and why we're very fond of you. By the way, why weren't you halfway up the M5?"


I could see that Dean was upset, and he answered with his head down. "I sat at the top of the hill for an hour, breaking my heart, looking down at Matthew's tent."


I got out of Dean's car and went to the Jaguar, started it up, made sure the road was clear, did a 180 turn and drove off back to the site. Whatever happened from now on was out of my hands; despite me being `The Great Controller'. There are some things even I couldn't do, and this was one of them.

Dean Says:


I watched Henry turn the Jaguar and drive off. I'd been more than angry when the police pulled me over and held me in their car for no reason. When they refused to say anything, I knew why: Henry had got them to do it. Whether it was to have me prosecuted for having sex with a minor was one of the possibilities in my mind and I fully expected Henry to threaten me to return to the site or else. I'd already given that scenario due consideration and I would have taken the `or else'. How I was feeling, I couldn't give a damn if they'd taken me somewhere and shot me. I'd considered telling Matthew I was leaving, but because I didn't want to be hurt any more after discovering he'd slept in his own tent, I decided not to, and packed up and left. They could pick up the pieces when they woke. What puzzled me was why Matthew had slept in his own tent if he still wanted me.


While I was thinking about things, the police car which had originally stopped me, pulled up behind and the driver walked to the side of my car. He leaned through the window and in his West Country drawl, told me if I was thinking of using the M5, I should wait a couple of hours because it was blocked northbound because of a serious accident and the old A38 was choc-o-bloc, too. I thanked him and he left. I had a decision to make. Henry's words were still echoing through my mind.


It took me an hour and a half to reach the site, and when I arrived, I drove to my pitch. Janice was hanging washing out on the rotary dryer and Henry was sitting in his canvas chair reading a newspaper. Matthew was by his side. He looked at me, and through his tears, gave me an awkward grin. He tried to come to me, but Henry put an arm out to restrain him. I got out of the car and unloaded my tent and gear. Without saying a word, I went through the routine of putting it up, arranging my stuff inside and finally, I zipped it up and walked down to the headland where I sat on the grass and lit a cigarette. Now Matthew joined me. He sat beside me, put his arm through mine, held it tight, rested his head on my shoulder and began to sob. Without speaking, we both cried for a long time. When we were back to sniffling, Matthew took a cigarette out of my pack, put it in my mouth and with shaking hands, sparked up my Zippo lighter. I turned and took the light. As I did, I looked into his beautiful brown eyes and he looked into mine. We both knew our world had nearly come to a grinding halt.


I took a long drag of my cigarette and exhaled the smoke into the gentle breeze that was blowing across the headland. "Do you still want to come and live with me?"


Matthew's voice was firm. "You know I do, if you want me, but only on the basis we're equals and from now on everything we do is what we both want. No more me and no more you. It's `we' or nothing. Is it a deal?"


I slipped my arm out of his, put it around his shoulders and hugged him close. "It's a deal. But if you go and sleep in the other bedroom, expect me to be gone in the morning."


Matthew gave out a deep inner sob; the after-effects of his crying. "I'm sorry about that. It was an act of self-harm. I'd hurt you and I wanted to punish myself. You'd gone asleep so the only way to hurt myself was to deny myself of you. Just leaving you when I wanted to love you all over was the only thing I could think of. Why did you think I went to my tent?"


"I thought you didn't want me any more because I wouldn't let you manipulate me. Actions rather than words."


"I'm sorry Dean. I didn't think you would think that even though I can be demanding at times. I'm not as clever as I think I am." Mathew gave me a lopsided sad grin. "I am only twelve-years-old you know."


I stubbed out the cigarette, stood up and looked down at the beautiful boy I loved with an overwhelming passion and held out a hand. He took it and I pulled him to his feet and we walked hand in hand back to the caravan and our tents.


Janice was sitting in a canvas chair, tapping her slender fingers on the plastic table. "Have you two made up?"


I sort of smiled a shy smile at her and nodded. "We're ok now."


Henry turned and looked at us both. "Right, thank goodness for that. Can we get on with the rest of the bloody holiday now? We've only got two full days left. What do you boys want to do now?"


I looked at Matthew. "The tide won't turn for another hour. That will give us five hours at least. Do you want to go our cove?"


Matthew grinned. "That's a great idea. Let's pack a hamper though. I'm starving."


Janice smiled a knowing smile. "It's already done."


We spent a wonderful afternoon down at the cove and after we'd showered and changed, drove to The White Lion at St. Treach for dinner. On the jukebox, The Real Thing sang `You to me are everything' many times that night and Matthew was particularly clingy to me when it was on.


Matthew Says:


Dean and I said goodnight to mum and dad and we went to his tent and lay down side by side, just holding hands.


When we'd been at the cove, Dean was sitting in a rock pool and I was sat on the edge of it, looking down at him and playing with his long, blond hair. He kept trying to swat me off, so I slapped the side of his face and told him to keep still. Mum saw what I was doing and came to sit with me. Together, despite his protestations, mum and I plaited his hair. When we'd finished, the plait was six inches long. Mum was giggling like a schoolgirl and I was in stitches laughing at what we'd done. She went to her bag, took out a flowered handkerchief, made dad (who was also laughing at us) tear a strip off, returned and fastened the end of the plait with a small, tidy bow. Dean took it all in good fun and wouldn't let us undo it afterwards. We called him Captain Kidd. The pun wasn't lost on us when dad suggested it, and we pooh-poohed Dean's suggestion he become Calico Jack instead. So, Captain Kidd it was for the rest of the day. Dean even refused to undo it when we went to the pub, and he had it in when we went to bed.


Having fun is one thing: making love is another. I got on top of Dean and told him I wanted the plait out.


He shook his head. "Captain Kidd wants to make love to you."


"I'm sure he does. His cabin boy wants him too, but part of his cabin boy's turn on is fondling his captain's long hair without the plait in it. Is he to be denied that?"


Dean turned over. I sat on his broad back and undid the plait. Then I reached into Dean's bag, got his hairbrush and began to brush the long strands. Dean protested when I was removing the lugs which stopped the brush from running smoothly through his hair. I ignored him and continued to brush until his hair was like silk. Then I buried my face in it. I loved the smell of my man and I breathed in his aroma as if it was a life saving elixir. While I was doing it, I was reminding myself of what, before we went to the pub, I'd planned to do to make up for hurting him. (Before we went, I'd chosen to wear the khaki shorts I knew turned him on and also left my underpants off so that, all evening, he could feast his eyes on the contours of the boy he loved.) I sat up and told Dean to put the light on. He protested at first, but I told him he could keep it low just so long as we could look at each other while we had sex. He lit the gas light and turned it to low. Now I could carry out my plans.


"What are you up to cabin boy?"


I sat on his chest, held his hands behind his head and lowered my face and stared fiercely down into his eyes. "I'm going to be your boy tonight and you're going to be my man. You're going to feel at my boy bum and my boy cock. Then you're going to suck my boy cock and lick my boy bum as deep as you can get your tongue inside me. I'm going to suck your man cock and swallow all your man juices and then we're going to fuck until you explode inside me and I want to experience the most fabulous sex I've ever had. That's what we're going to do. It's what you want and it's what I want more than anything in all the world. First of all though, I'm going to take all my clothes off and let you look at the boy who belongs to you. I want you to feast your eyes on him and feel at everything you love and see. And while you're doing it, I want you to remember that your little boy is as hungry for you as you are for him."


I knew the talk of boys would arouse Dean more than anything. It was what he was; a boy-lover. He loved my hairless body and I'd already learned what he enjoyed doing most to it, just as he'd learned what pleasures his body gave to me. Soon, I would become part man and I needed to get as much of my man while he loved me as a boy before the day came that my body would no longer give him pleasure.


We made love exactly as I'd planned, and when we came to the final act with Dean pinning my arms and legs behind my head as he bucked and fucked into me, I climaxed when he did and yelled at him: "Fuck me! Fuck Me! Fuck me!" Dean's eyes were like those of a wild animal as his cock buried itself deep into my belly as he gifted me the fantastic combination of semen and sexual ecstasy and pain that I desired so much. Dean gave his boy what he needed: complete and absolute man-loving satisfaction. I gave Dean what he needed: complete and absolute boy-loving satisfaction. There was little else we could give to each other, except love.


Two hours after we began our love making, we lay in each other's arms, and enveloped in the deep love we had for one another, we fell asleep.

Making up is a wonderful part of a relationship.

To be continued...