WARNING: This story – a fictional one - contains sex between a minor and an adult. Do not read the contents if it will offend you. If accessing this story causes you to break local laws (village, town, city, county, province, state, or country, etc.), please leave now.

 

Any characters portrayed in this story are fictional and not representative of anyone living or dead.

 

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Fellowship of the Schoolboy Ring.

 

By John Teller.

 

Part three.

 

 

Brice Washington-Thompson speaks.

You don't know whether to have a shit, shave, or shampoo when you hear the front door bell ring twice. You check your watch. Five past ten. Perfect. Alan has done exactly what you would have done: not too early and not too late. But what will he do now? Give you the book and go away? You hope not. You've made plans. As a matter of fact, you've been planning ever since he told you that he would bring the book back today. You've got a few things in just in case he'll stay for lunch, and you've stocked up on all types of fruit juices and even both types of Coke: Diet and Normal. There's fruit in the bowl, and you've got the central heating on because it's chilly today. The downstairs toilet is sparkling clean, and the bathroom looks as though a professional cleaner has been let loose in there. You've changed the bedding just in case, but you don't really expect to get that far today, if at all. In fact, you may have been mistaken all along and everything you've plotted and planned will come to absolute zero as far as what you'd like to happen. You sigh. You've done all you can, and it's now entirely down to Alan what comes next.

 

"Hello Alan. Thank you for coming. Would you like to come in for a minute? It's warmer in the house, and it's chilly out there." He smiles at you, nods, and walks into the hall clutching what you suspect is the book wrapped in a plastic carrier bag. He looks smart. His hair is admirably done with the usual delicate spikes, and he's wearing an Adidas sports coat over blue jeans and Adidas blue and white trainers. He certainly looks different than he does in his school uniform. Different, but just as beautiful, and as he walks past you, you get a whiff of a cool anti-perspirant. Nice! When he's in, you close the door and smile at him. "Let me take your coat and we'll go into the lounge where it's really cosy." He takes off his coat, hands it to you, you hang it with yours on the coat hooks in the hall, and point to the door leading to the lounge. "Through there. Sit wherever you want." You follow him through, hoping against hope that he'll sit on the three-seater sofa, and you almost jump with joy when he does just that. He's sitting right at the end... the end nearest the window, but who gives a damn about that. You'll be able to share the sofa with him, and that's all that matters. Besides, not looking directly at each other will make things easier to start with. But first you need to make him feel more at home, so you say to him while he sits there clutching the book in its plastic carrier bag in his lap, "I'm going to have a coffee. Would you like one, or would you like something else. I've got Coke... Diet and Normal, and plenty of fruit juices." Then you add, "That's if you've got time to stay awhile?"

 

And for the first time since he rang the doorbell, he speaks. "I'm okay. I told dad that I was going into town to get some new jeans, and he's on the noon-shift, so he goes to work at half past one. I'll have a coffee please."

 

You nod. "Fine. Sugar? Cream?"

 

"Both please. Two sugars."

 

You grin. "Sweet tooth! Watch your teeth! You've got lovely teeth, so look after them!" There, you've paid him his first compliment. He has got lovely teeth. That was one of the first things you noticed about him when you saw him close up.

 

He grins. "Dad makes me scrub them morning and night for five minutes each time I do them. He's always on about my teeth."

 

You chuckle. "Well done dad. What does he do for a living?"

 

"He's a lorry driver. He does shifts. He used to do long distance, but he does local now mum's died."

 

Coffee forgotten! Shit! Oh dear!  You can see that Alan is upset, and you sit on the sofa. Not right beside him, but close enough to be near if he needs someone to comfort him. And then you ask, "How did that happen? When?"

 

Alan's eyes are misted when he shrugs his shoulders, and says softly, "April this year. She had cancer. She had it for about a year before she died."

 

You reach out a hand and place it on his shoulder, on the short-sleeved, blue, collared tee-shirt he's wearing, and you can feel the warmth of him when you do. What you'd like to do is wrap him in your arms and take away some of the obvious hurt he's feeling, but you're not familiar enough to do that, so you squeeze his delicate shoulder, and say, "I'm so sorry, Alan. It must be awful for you. And your dad." Then you decide that Alan will not want to talk too much about the tragedy, so you smile at him again, and ask, "Shall I make us some coffee? Will you be alright?"

 

The tearful face smiles at you, and then he nods. "I'll be alright. I'm always the same when somebody asks about mum."

 

You release his shoulder and get up, and then you smile at him and touch him very lightly on his spiky, blond hair. "I'd be the same. Mums are special. I'll make us that coffee. Yell if you want any biscuits or something to eat." Your smile changes to a grin. "I've got some chocolate digestives in special just for you. Would you like a couple?"

 

He grins back at you. "Yes please. I love chocolate digestives."

 

You wink at him. "I just knew you were a chocolate digestive boy. Hang on there and I'll spoil you with them."

 

He chuckles: you leave him and go and make the coffee.

 

**************

 

The poor boy! This changes a lot of things. No way can you ever harm this young man. No way! Not that you would harm him as in harming him, but if the opportunity arose, you wouldn't be backward at coming forward to getting him in bed. You've fallen for him, big time, and part of that falling for him included desiring his beautiful, small body. You still desire it, even more now you've been really close to him and touched his warmth, but the affection part is now taking precedence. Sinclair was a free spirit; free of woes and troubles when you became an item, but Alan is far from that. He's hurting emotionally, and because Brice Washington-Thompson really does care for this boy he's fallen for, then looking after Alan Parnell's emotional welfare takes precedence over all things. So it's tear up the old plans and start anew. And you can start by keeping your hands off him until such time that he demands you do otherwise! Of course, this might all be in your mind that he likes you enough to want an association, but from what you've seen up to yet, you'd now be surprised if he doesn't.

 

***************

 

You've had your coffees; Alan has eaten his chocolate digestives, and you've enjoyed some small-talk when you pick up the plastic bag containing the book and unwrap it. The first thing you do then is open the back cover and look at the photograph. It's time for some clever body language, and that's for Alan's benefit when you look at the photograph for a short while, and deliberately not look at him when you say, "Thank you Alan."

 

You only hear his voice say, "Who is he?"

 

Still not looking at Alan, you shrug your shoulders. "Just a boy I knew a long time ago. But I suspect you already knew that if you read what's on the back of it. Do your pals know about it?"

 

"No. They opened their books as soon as we got on the bus, but I couldn't do that."

 

"Why not?"

 

"Because you asked us not to. I didn't think it was right."

 

Your not looking at Alan is having the desired effect... he's being open with you, so best to continue looking at the photograph while you have the conversation. "Thank you. It was rather clever of you to call it a letter. I gave you top marks for that bit of skulduggery. Your pals could have made my life a misery had they found out what you know."

 

You can tell he's smiling when he says, "You're a hero now I've told them what was in the letter. I had to tell them something after you'd said there was a letter in the book."

 

You grin at the photograph. "And what did you tell them was in it?"

 

You can tell by his voice that he's grinning when he answers, "I told them that it was from your girlfriend, and it was sort of juicy stuff."

 

"What sort of juicy stuff?"

 

Giggles now. "You know... sort of what you and your girlfriend had been up to on the last night before she went away."

 

You chuckle. "Well done!"

 

There's a short silence, and then Alan asks, "Did he love you?"

 

A direct question that requires an unambiguous answer. "Yes. Oh yes! Actually, it was mutual. I was twenty one. Just finished my degree at Lancaster. I went back home. He'd moved in next door to my parent's house. His family had a barbeque. I was invited. We swam in their swimming pool. He asked me to go upstairs to look at his essays, and the next thing was that it all happened. Just like that."

 

"Did you love him before... you know... sort of before the barbeque thing?"

 

"Yes. I fell in love with him the first time I set eyes on him. He was a very beautiful boy."

 

"Yes he was. He reminds me of a French actor."

 

"Didier Haudepin?"

 

"Yes! How did you know he reminded me of him?"

 

You smile at the photograph. "Maybe I should ask you how you know of Didier Haudepin."

 

Alan giggles nervously. "I've seen some of his films on Youtube."

 

You grin at the photograph. "And I've got his best film here, with English subtitles. I don't know whether you'll agree with me, but Les Amitiés Particulières – Those Special Friendships, was his best film?"

 

"Yes. It was his best film. He was brilliant as Alexandre, but I also liked him as David Copperfield. The only problem with that film is that it's all in French, and I'm not very good at French."

 

"It's not important."

 

"What isn't?"

 

"Understanding the language. You can watch the film and see everything that's going on. You can see the love between Georges and Alexandre. That's what's important. Have you ever read the book?"

 

"No. Have you got it? In English?"

 

Time to look at Alan now almost everything is in the open. You grin at him. "Dead right I have. The book is better than the film. It makes me cry every time I read it!"

 

Alan grins. "Is it better than Halifaxual?"

 

You chuckle. "Much better! But there's no sex in it!"

 

Alan giggles, a proper boy giggle. "That's a shame. I thought it might be like Halifaxual."

 

You emit a really deep chuckle. "So you've skimmed through it and found the naughty bits, have you?" What a beautiful sight! Alan is embarrassed that you've found him out, and he's laughing because you have, and not only is he laughing, but he has tears of laughter in his eyes. His laughter is infectious, and you can't help but join in with him. Eventually, when the laughter subsides, you grin at him, and add, "Naughty boy!"

 

He smiles, and then his face becomes serious when he looks into your eyes and asks in a quiet voice, "Did you really forget to take that photograph out of the book, and is it really a special book to you?"

 

You smile at him. "Yes, it is a special book, and no, I didn't forget to take the photograph out. I left it in because it was the only way I could think of to let you know that I liked you. Did I do wrong?"

 

Alan shakes his head. "No. I'm glad you did. I like you as well."

 

Time for a break Brice Washington-Thompson and Alan Parnell! If anything is to follow on from what has now happened, then it will happen in its own time. The seeds have been sown, and only time will prove whether they are in arable or arid pastures. Time now for some more small talk, and then you can see whether the boy you've fallen in love with will have lunch with you, and maybe then you and he will watch Les Amitiés Particulières... together! If that happens, your day will have been more than successful. So you smile at Alan, and ask, "Would you like to stay for some lunch? I'd love it if you would. Or do you have to be home before your dad goes to work?"

 

Alan is thinking, and then he says, "I told dad that I'd be home about twelve. I can go home and have lunch with him, and then come back and have tea with you. That's if you want me to? Dad works until ten, and doesn't get home until half past when he's on noons, so I could stay late if you want me to."

 

"Won't your dad want to know where you are?"

 

"Yes. I'll tell him I'm having tea at a friend's. I won't be telling him a lie, will I?"

 

You smile at him. "So we're friends?"

 

"If you want to be."

 

You nod. "That's why I put the photograph in the book. Of course I want to be!"

 

Then a stunning question from Alan. "Friends like you and Sinclair were?"

 

You draw in a deep breath, and exhale slowly. You're looking into Alan's beautiful blue eyes, and his never leave yours. Very slowly, you nod your head. "Yes. I would love that. Can I ask you something? (Alan nods.) If I told you that I wanted us to be like Georges and Alexandre, would you like that?"

 

Alan smiles, and his eyes are a bit misty when he replies, "Yes." Then he grins. "Or we could be Jeroen and Walt."

 

That makes you laugh, and you're still grinning when you say, "You're an expert on our sort of films. I'll bet you've seen some I haven't."

 

Alan grins. "I've seen them all. I'm not as lucky as Sinclair. I only get to watch films."

 

You could say a few more things, but you decide against it. If Alan comes back after he's had lunch, this conversation could become even more fruitful. But it really is time for both of you to do some reflecting, and a couple of hour's break will give you both time to do that, so you get up, and ask, "Do you want me to run you home? I don't even know where you live!"

 

"No, I'm okay. The buses run every fifteen minutes except on Sunday. I'm used to them. The school bus doesn't run from where I live in Fairborough, so I have to get a bus to get the school bus from here. It's only twenty minutes on the bus from where I live. Anyway, I don't want anybody to see me in the TT. You don't mind, do you?"

 

"Of course not. I suppose you're like me? You want to keep us a secret?"

 

Alan nods. "Yes. Especially when you see me in the mornings. I don't want the lads to know."

 

"And your Dad?"

 

"No. I don't want anybody to know." Alan's face becomes worried. "There's no need to, is there?"

 

"Absolutely not! Me and Sinclair were a secret all the time we were together. Nobody ever found out about us, and they still don't know to this day. In fact, you're the only person in the world who knows about us."

 

Alan smiles. "Good. We'll keep it a secret. I'll see you this afternoon. What are we having for tea?"

 

"Pizza?"

 

"What sort?"

 

"What sort do you want?"

 

Alan grins. "Not garlic. It makes your breath stink."

 

"My breath stink?! You've never smelt my breath!"

 

Allan giggles like mad. "You know what I mean."

 

You grin. "I know exactly what you mean."

 

And when he's gone up the drive and crossed the road to catch the bus at the stop about fifty metres away, and while you're watching him through the window, you're thinking about what he meant when he said, Not garlic. It makes your breath stink. Indeed it does, especially when you're kissing somebody.     

 

**********

 

So, time for reflections. Your morning has exceeded every one of your expectations. You now know that Alan feels the same way about you as you do about him. Well, there might be the few exceptions as to what you both want, but in general, you pretty much want the same thing: to be special friends. Les Amitiés Particulières. Yes, that at least, but Alan's mention of Walt and Jeroen adds a potential new dimension to your friendship. There were some erotic scenes in the film, For a Lost Soldier. They were tastefully done, but the scenes when they were naked in bed together, kissing and doing other things, was unambiguous as to what their love affair was about. Poor Jeroen, he was left with just a photograph at the end, and it broke his heart. That must not happen to Alan! The boy is in emotional turmoil now because he's lost his mother, and the last thing he wants is more heartache. So you'll have to be very careful, Brice Washington-Thompson! Alan is not Sinclair! Best to let Alan set the pace this afternoon, and maybe if you think it's leading to places where you shouldn't be going just yet, then use humour to distract him. But there's absolutely nothing wrong with holding hands. Or maybe a little kiss? That would be nice... but no garlic! Time to root out your favourite book. You can give it to Alan to read, along with another copy of Halifaxual. He will have a choice of reading then: Brice Washington-Thompson, or Roger Peyrefitte. The Frenchman wins hands down.

 

Hands down. Those blue jeans fitted him perfectly, especially on his cute little bottom.

 

Their looks are miles apart: one dark and the other light, but Sinclair and Alan share one thing in common... both were blessed with beautifully proportioned bodies. You can recall every square centimetre of Sinclair's nakedness, and it will be fun seeing if you get to discover what Alan has beneath his clothes. One thing you did learn from your association with Sinclair: never underestimate a twelve year old boy when he wants something, and looking at Alan's bottom lip, you reckon he could sulk his way to getting anything he wants. But you don't even know if Alan is twelve yet. You'll have to ask him when he comes back.

 

**********

 

When he comes back. Because he said his father was going to work at one thirty, you expect him at around two. But you spend almost an hour of worrying before you see him get off the bus right by your house at just turned three. He doesn't come directly down the short drive; he fiddles about a bit, waiting for the bus to leave, and then looks both ways before walking quickly to the front door. But you walk even quicker to it, and he doesn't even have time to ring the bell before you open it with a  smile and beckon him in, and when he walks past you, you understand why he is late. He smells even fresher that he did when he arrived this morning... and he's changed his clothes! Well, not the long Adidas coat, but when he's taken that off, you see that the clothes he's wearing - soft material jeans; a short-sleeved, low necked tee-shirt, and sneakers, are vogue colours that youngsters wear these days: reddish-brown like the leaves of the maple in Autumn... then... Wow! Your immediate impression is that he now looks much slimmer, and every contour of his wonderful, small body is emphasised by the clothes he's chosen to wear. If he wanted to impress you, then he's certainly succeeded, and his efforts deserve special reward, so you smile at him and say, "Those colours really suit you!" Then you grin. "I would never have recognised you as the same schoolboy who catches the bus each morning outside my house."

 

He grins shyly back at you. "Would you prefer the schoolboy?"

 

You point to the lounge door. "Certainly not, but your school uniform looks great on you too. Anyway, it wouldn't matter to me whatever you wore. Even a tramp's clothes couldn't hide your looks."

 

You don't get to see the reaction to your comment on his face, because he turns and walks into the lounge. Then he asks, "Shall I sit in the same place?"

 

You smile at him. "Be my guest. Sit wherever you feel comfortable. Would you like a drink? Some more biscuits?"

 

He shakes his head. "No thanks." And then he sits where he was sitting before, on the sofa, sitting almost sideways, and you think he's done that because he's hiding his face so nobody can see him through the front window.

 

You can help him out there, so you ask, "Would you like me to draw the blinds? Not the curtains, just the blinds. It will be more private then. I get fed up sometimes of people staring through my window when they're waiting at the bus stop." When he nods, you go to them and use the drawstring to draw them across the large bay window, and because the blinds are white, the room is still quite light. Certainly no need to put the lights on. You smile at him, and ask, "Is that better?"

 

He sits properly in his seat, and grins. "Yes. Nobody can see me now."

 

You grin back at him when you sit on the sofa in the same position you were before, and say. "I like my privacy, especially if I'm watching films that make me cry."

 

He giggles. "You're as bad as me. I only watch the films I've downloaded when dad's at work."

 

"You've got a computer?"

 

"I've had one for ages, but I've just had a new laptop. Dad bought it for my birthday."

 

"When was your birthday?"

 

Alan grins. "Next week. October twenty fifth. Thursday. But I couldn't wait for my birthday, so I kept pestering him and he bought it for me." He laughs. "Dad said he was fed up with seeing my bottom lip dragging on the floor."

 

You chuckle. "I imagine you can sulk your way into getting anything you want."

 

Alan looks you straight in the eyes, and there's a naughty glint in them when he says, "I usually get my own way."

 

You chuckle again. "I imagine you do. So you'll be twelve next week?"

 

"Yes. When's your birthday?"

 

"Oh, not until next year. I'll be a really old man then. Thirty on March eighteenth."

 

Alan gives you a nice smile. "You're not old. Well, I don't think so."

 

"There's eighteen years age difference between us. That's a lot!"

 

Alan's face becomes serious. "Does it bother you?"

 

You shake your head. "No, but it would bother some people."

 

"I don't care about other people. Do you?"

 

"Not really, but it bothers me enough to not want to get you into trouble with us being friends."

 

Alan nods his head. "It bothers me that way, but if we keep it a secret, then we'll be okay. Won't we?"

 

"Definitely, but we'll have to be extra careful with what we say and do. I'm okay because I've only got myself to answer to, but you've got your pals and your dad to worry about. That's why I'm worried about you. Are you sure you'll be okay with us seeing each other?"

 

Alan shrugs his shoulders. "If I want to see you, then I don't have a choice."

 

You smile at him. "Shall we watch the film? I've rooted it out."

 

Alan grins. "Do you keep it hidden?"

 

You laugh. "No! Of course not! But I don't keep it wherever anybody can see it if they're here and want to watch a video."

 

Alan looks puzzled. "Do you have other visitors?"

 

"Of course! I have parents you know, and I don't want them to know what I watch... do I?"

 

Alan giggles. "Didn't they ever have suspicions about you and Sinclair?"

 

"No! I always pretended he was a pain in the arse to me, but because his father was a film producer and I was a writer, then I was teaching him things that he could use later in life."

 

Alan chuckles naughtily. "Did he teach you things you could use later in life?"

 

That makes you laugh, and you flip his ear. "Don't be rude! Shall I get some tissues? We might need them when we get to the gooey bits."

 

You see Alan take a deep, nervous breath, and he looks right into your eyes when he says, "Can't I use your shoulder?" Then he swallows hard and his voice is shaking when he adds, "I was hoping I could."

 

You look back into his beautiful blue eyes and detect that he's almost about to lose it, so you grin at him, pat your shoulder, and say, "Good idea. That will save me tissues, and I can always change my shirt if you cry too much and soak it. I'll use a handkerchief." You pull a blue one from your jeans pocket. "I always keep one handy for special occasions."

 

Alan laughs. "Like blowing your nose?"

 

You grin and blow him a raspberry. Then you point to the remote on the glass occasional table in front of you. "Give me the remote and then snuggle up to me. That's if you want to and I don't stink too much of garlic."

 

More laughs from Alan. He leans forward, gets the remote, is grinning when he gives it to you, and then says, "Shall we swap seats. The telly is over there and we'll be able to see it better then."

 

You look at the TV, and then at where Alan is sitting. "Oh, I never thought of that. As a matter of fact, that TV is in the wrong place for watching it properly in the daytime." I point to the other side of the fireplace. "It should go there really, but it means I'll have to swap my furniture about. I'll tell you what, if you don't mind, I will draw the curtains. That's if you're comfortable with that?"

 

Alan grins. "That will be better. It'll be like being in the cinema."

 

You wink at him. "They don't have comfy sofas in cinemas where you can snuggle up and cry on each other's shoulders."

 

Alan chuckles. "You use your handkerchief." He plucks at the sleeve of his tee-shirt. "This is new on today."

 

You grin at him, and pluck at the rolled up sleeves of your check shirt. "And this has just come out of the wash. But it's an old shirt, so I suppose you can ruin it if you're a really good crier. Move over and I'll draw the curtains."

 

**************

 

Move over. Well, it's more a case of repositioning than a move over. While you're drawing the curtains, Alan gathers all available cushions and stuffs them at the end of the sofa, and when you get back you lean against them, Alan sits by you and leans onto you, and you put your arm around his shoulder. Then Alan repositions himself so his legs (after he's removed his casual sports shoes) are on the sofa and he's leaning back into you. You take advantage of the move and lift your own legs onto the sofa so you're lying side by side. There's not much room now so Alan rolls onto his side to give you both more room, and you shuffle a little closer to him. When you do that, Alan places his right hand on your chest and bends his right leg and allows it to rest on your thighs, and his knee is perilously close to the bulge that's growing larger in your jeans. You're not erect, but neither are you flaccid. How could you possibly be flaccid when this beautiful boy is wrapped so tightly around you? Snuggle? This is not a snuggle... this is a cuddle: two totally different scenarios. But at least you have two arms and hands free. But where to put them? You need to be comfortable, too. So you place your right hand onto the inverted curve of his slim waist, and your left hand is used to work the remote. All comfortable and settled, and it's time to switch on the TV and begin the afternoon's showing of Les Amitiés Particulières.

 

***************

 

You'd forgotten how difficult it is to watch a film with a twelve year old boy. Sinclair was just the same. Boys can't keep quiet for two minutes, and fingers are often pointing at the screen to direct your vision to whatever is particularly attracting their attention, and Alan's right hand is constantly on and off your left breast. But the nice thing is that whenever Alan's hand resettles on your chest, he (absent mindedly?) plays with your left nipple, rolling it between a finger and thumb. But for every action, there is a reaction, and the nervous system of the body works in strange and mysterious ways. The thigh bone is connected to the hip bone, etc. But in this case, the nervous system that works your left nipple is also connected to the thing swelling in your jeans, and there's not a thing you can do about stopping the swelling becoming larger each time he (inadvertently?) tweaks the sensitive little suckler. Your only saving grace is that your jeans are restricting the capacity for it to swell to gross proportions. Ahh, well. At least you're comfortable elsewhere, especially because the contours of Alan's small body have melded nicely into the shape of your own. And you're warm. Not room-warm, but boy-warm, and there's no more beautiful feeling in the world than having the body heat of the boy you love flowing into you. Nor is there anything more satisfying to nasal receptors than the scent of a boy's shampoo drifting up your nostrils. Those things happening are why your concentration levels are low for the film and sky high for the lovely boy cuddled beside you.

 

If he can manipulate your left nipple, then you have licence to sort of reciprocate. That's why the fingers of your right hand take the liberty of stroking the softness of the boy waist beneath them. You know exactly where they're positioned. Your little finger is on top of his hip; the next three fingers nestled inside the top of his pelvis, at the beginning of the valley between his tummy and his thigh, which, if you were to follow it down, would take you nirvana; and your thumb is resting just under his ribs. Well, they would be resting if you weren't using them all to reciprocate. Goodness knows what effect they're having on Alan down there, but you know damned well that if this were Sinclair you were fondling, he would take no messing about. These same actions would arouse him so much that he'd grab your hand and shove it down where it can do serious damage. That's why you're smiling, and that's why Alan turns his head up to you and grins into your face when he says, "I think you'd better stop doing that."

 

You pretend to not know what he's talking about, and ask, "Doing what?"

 

He removes the hand that's on your chest, and places it over yours on his waist, and then squeezes it. "This."   

 

You grin at him. "Oh, that! I was just getting my own back for what you were doing."

 

Alan chuckles. "We'll call it a truce then, and watch the film. We're coming to a good part soon."

 

You smile, and nod at him. "Truce. What's the good part you're on about?"

 

"The part where Alexandre first realises Georges is in love with him. At communion... after Georges has barged in, where he peeps round his hands at George and Lucien has to nudge Georges to stop him turning round to look at Alexandre."

 

"You like that part do you?"

 

"Uhuh. It tickles my tummy when he looks at Georges that way. Is that how Sinclair used to look at you?"

 

You chuckle. "Not really. He wasn't very subtle when he wanted something. If it was me and Sinclair together at communion, he would have grabbed me where he shouldn't."

 

Alan bursts out laughing, and he's still chuckling when he returns his head to its previous position on your shoulder and chest. But he has stopped tickling your left nipple, and to comply with instructions, you move your hand so it's nestling on his top buttock. You decide to have a bit of fun, and start to fondle the soft orb. It lasts for about a minute; Alan chuckles again, and then he reaches down, takes your hand, pulls it up his body, and places it onto his chest. Perfect, so now you begin to tickle his nipple. That only lasts for about a minute before he pulls your hand up to his mouth and bites your index finger. That's when things settle down, but you're the winner. Alan hasn't put your hand back on his chest, instead, he's kept it by his mouth and is caressing your finger with his hot lips, and occasionally, an even hotter tip of his tongue. You reward him by kissing the top of his head. You know he's enjoyed that, because you feel him relax even more into you, and then you both begin to concentrate on the film again. But he retains possession of your index finger, and uses it as a sort of guide to how he's feeling about the film. When you come to a gooey part, he applies lips and tongue to it, and when things are just ticking over, he rubs it against his lips.

 

Sometimes, silence speaks louder than words, and when you take control of your own index finger and use it to fondle his soft, pliable lips, and sometimes the tip of his tongue that he pushes out of his mouth occasionally to lubricate your digit so it can run more smoothly over them, you know that the film is becoming less and less important, and that you're both thinking about what's happening between you. What you're doing is not really sexual, but it is erotic. Only if Alan puts your finger into his mouth and sucks on it will it become sexual, but he doesn't do that. You're pleased that he hasn't done it, not because you don't want sex with him, but because you're enjoying this eroticism and shared affection more than you would sex. You've done this before... many times, with Sinclair. They were your special moments together, when you loved each other spiritually. Lips are the greatest tool to display affection, and that's why you turn your head slightly and begin to rub yours on the crown of Alan's head. At first you don't want to spoil his styled hair, but the need to show him your affection overrules that hurdle, so you press your lips down through the delicately spiked tresses and do it properly. Just as he's showing you how important it is that his lips can convey what he's feeling, so, too, you show him how important it is to you.

 

Silence is golden, and it remains silent between you until Georges and Alexandre are romping in the hay. That's when Alan takes the remote from you and pauses the film. Then he looks up at you and asks, "Have you ever really watched these scenes?"

 

You smile at him. "Yes, lots of times. I always think how stupid it is that they're smoking in there."

 

Alan's face is serious. "I've thought that as well. It was a daft thing to do. They could easily have set fire to the place. But that isn't what I mean."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

Still Alan's face is serious, and he's not shy when he says, "This is the only part in the film where it nearly spills over into the other thing."

 

You smile at him. "Very observant, young man. Can I ask you a question?"

 

He looks puzzled, and says, "Yes."

 

You look deeply into the eyes that lead to his young soul, and then quietly you ask, "Would it have spoiled it for you if it had?"

 

You can see him thinking, and then he lays his head on your chest again. Eventually, he says, "I'm all mixed up."

 

You kiss his head, and say, "I understand. But there are times in life when you have to make very serious decisions, and I think this might be the time for you to make a very serious decision in your life. You can choose, and I promise you I'll be happy with whatever choice you make. This thing we have, now, while you're in my arms... it can be one of two things. Go one of two ways. I'm not going to choose, because it would be wrong for me to make decisions for you, but we can either be a Georges and Alexandre, or we can be a Walt and a Jeroen. The dividing line between the two is wafer thin, but even so, the gap is enormous once you've crossed the line. What do you want to do?"

 

To be continued... 

 

You can find my other stories on Nifty here. If you wish to comment on this or any of my other stories, just drop me a line to john.thestoryteller@gmail.com Genuine comments will be appreciated. All flames will be extinguished in the trash bin.