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This is the second of a two part story. This first part described the awakening of a boylover from childhood to adulthood and how he realised the nature of his sexuality and coped with it. This part describes his first deliberate seduction of a boy, and contains sexually explicit scenes.
This is a work of fiction. None of the events or people described are real - including the narrator. So there!
My First Grooming - Part 2
I spotted the lad as soon as he entered the hotel. His body language exuded bored dejection as he shuffled behind his parents across the lobby floor, staring at the ground. I continued to read the newspaper, looking up for the occasional glance.
I was 19 years old and it was about a month into my second year at college. Being a Friday night, I had made the usual trip to the local "Holiday Inn" where we students hung out frequently. The hotel had a large bar and dance area, and always had live music on a weekend. The student economy was a large part of the college city, and Holiday Inn catered to us by providing a free bus from the college to the hotel in the early evening, and another bus to return us shortly after midnight. That particular Friday I had not been feeling too well - probably a combination of too much booze and junk food over the previous month. Consequently I had almost decided to forego the usual Friday night outing, but figured that my queasiness might wear off during the evening, and not wanting to spend the night alone, had finally decided to hop on the bus. Funny how such small decisions can have life-changing consequences. Ordering a beer upon arrival proved however to be an unwise decision, and I had to make a rush for the toilets less than half way through the glass. Feeling distinctly unwell and suddenly not in the mood for socialising with my loud, brash student mates, I had left the noisy bar and dance area and collapsed onto one of the couches in the quiet, cool lobby area of the hotel, and had been idly skimming through one of the newspapers that the hotel leaves out on the tables when the boy arrived.
The seating area is arranged with several tables, quite far apart, each surrounded by a couch and armchairs. As they walked past my location, the boy's parents pointed to an armchair at my table, and the boy slumped into it. My couch was alongside one side of the low table, and the armchair was facing the adjacent side of the table, so the boy was sitting sideways on to me. His parents then carried on walking without giving him a second glance, and entered the door leading to the bar and dance area, leaving the boy alone. He was dwarfed by the large armchair, his feet swinging a few inches above the floor and his head hanging down in the dejected manner I had noticed earlier. For that reason I was unable to see his face properly, but could make out only a head of long blonde, clean but rather unkempt hair, which had a tendency to curl but could not be described as curly. It completely covered his ears. He was of slim build and was wearing a smart green shirt, long grey trousers and trainers. I judged him to be in his first year of high school, or maybe a year younger. Despite the fact that I was not feeling that well, I was instantly turned on by him, possibly because it was my first contact with a boy since the start of term. My mind immediately began formulating an opening move that would start us interacting.
I pulled the comic section from the paper I was reading, and passed it across to the boy. "Bored?" I asked.
The boy looked up and seemed to notice me for the first time. That enabled me to see his face, and what I saw didn't diminish my interest one bit. I would not describe it as a pretty face so much as a handsome face - perhaps slightly aristocratic. I took in a medium sized nose atop a pair of thin but full lips and a strong, square jawline. His cheeks were perhaps a bit hollow, and he looked generally as if he could do with a bit more meat on him, but not badly so. By far the most noticeable feature was a pair of penetrating bright blue eyes, which were at that moment staring into mine, transfixing me with their gaze.
"Yeah," the boy replied. Then, "Thanks," indicating the comic pages I had passed to him. He held my gaze for a few more seconds and then turned his attention to the comic strips.
That stare had cause my heart to make a sudden leap, and had produced butterflies in my stomach. Which on top of its already upset condition had left me feeling nauseous. For a minute I thought I might have to make a dash for the toilets, but thankfully the feeling died down.
We sat in silence for the next few minutes. The boy was reading the comic strips, and I was looking down at my newspaper, pretending to read but in fact not seeing anything on the paper. By the time the boy had finished reading the comics however I had settled down enough to be able to remark, "I have to wait till my bus leaves in about three hours - it's pretty boring, isn't it?"
Obviously not a man of many words! "How long are you stuck here?" I asked, trying to get some sort of conversation going.
"Dunno. Probably longer than that."
"What are you waiting for then?"
"Gotta wait for my folks to get drunk enough."
I was pretty gob-smacked by that answer. "How drunk is 'enough'?" I asked with a grin, deciding to be a bit flippant about it because I had no idea whether the boy was joking or serious.
"Dunno," came the reply, "I usually stay at my friend's house when they go out drinking, but he's not allowed to have me over tonight."
"So why didn't you stay at home?"
"My folks don't let me stay in the house by myself," came the reply, then angrily, "I dunno why I can't - all my friends are allowed to stay at home alone, and some of them are younger than me!"
"Shit, that's tough," I sympathised. "So they just dumped you here?"
"I'm not allowed in the bar," the boy replied, as if that explained everything.
It was nevertheless a true statement, as the large age restriction notice over the door to the bar area testified. "Maybe you should get a false beard." I joked. That got me a brief grin.
"I'm still too short!" he observed, smiling.
"We can stick a pillow down the back of your shirt and make out that you are a hunchback!" I suggested.
That produced a brief giggle, and broke the ice. "Like that!" he said, showing me a cartoon strip that happened to feature a hunchback. I laughed at the cartoon, and asked him what cartoons he liked the best. We had a conversation about cartoons and comic books, then it moved to TV programs and I could see that the boy was livening up and no longer looking so down. During the conversation, some snacks arrived for a group of people who were sitting at a nearby table, and I could see the boy's eyes looking over longingly every now and again.
"Are you feeling peckish?" I asked, "They serve burgers and stuff if you are."
"I ain't got no money," the boy replied.
"I didn't ask you if you had any money," I said, "I asked you whether you were hungry."
"Well, eh, yes I would like a burger ..."
So I ordered a couple of plates of burger and chips. The boy ended up eating his and most of mine as well, because my stomach told me that it really didn't want to have anything inside it that evening. The meals came with "free" drinks. I had a weak black tea, and the boy had a large coke which he was delighted to learn came with unlimited refills - which he took full advantage of.
So far I had developed an easy rapport with the boy in the same way as I had found I was able to do with the boys at the arcades. As we chatted, I realised that the boy's parents didn't much care for him. Sure, they provided nice clothes - but that was probably to look good to others rather than for the boy's benefit. It seemed that half the time they didn't even bother feeding him. If his parents were not at home when he got back from school (which I gathered was a frequent and unannounced occurrence), he was left to wander the streets or seek out a friend's house until they returned. He was also a loner. He had only one good friend, but I got the impression that his friend was not all that keen on him despite the weekend sleepovers.
Many years later I read an article that claimed that "predatory paedophiles" sought out vulnerable children such as that. In my case that was true in a way, but not for the reasons the article gave. For me, I just hate seeing a child who is unhappy or unloved. If they are not getting it at home where they should be getting it, then I want to fill that gap primarily to make the child happy, not because I particularly want to exploit the situation. Children have a right to be loved and feel wanted. Sure, the prospect of sex is always there and probably serving as a big motivation, I'm not trying to pretend that it's altruistic, and I'll push a little to try to make sex a part of the relationship I develop. OK - I'll push a lot to try to make it part of the relationship. But any sex must always be something that the boy wants to do of his own, completely free will, and if the boy is not interested in a sexual aspect, then I won't push it past the point of that realisation - I will still give him love and attention and will be content just to make him happy, because that is also pleasing and satisfying for me. Of all the relationships I have had with boys, probably less than a quarter have involved any sex at all, and with many of those it has been either a one-off that the boy doesn't want to repeat, or an infrequent and incidental aspect. That still means that I have enjoyed sexual activities with many, many boys. But I can honestly state that never once have I ever molested or abused a boy. Not in the way that I understand those words to really mean, anyway. So when I saw a boy who had a crap life like the one in the hotel lobby, my main reason for having an extra strong desire to form a relationship was to make things better for the boy rather than getting anything for myself. Sex is just the icing on the cake - albeit icing that I'll strive to get if I possibly can!
So I wanted very much to get to know that boy better, and I was desperately thinking of some way to do so, but the situation looked to be a dead-end. There was obviously nothing much I could do in a hotel lobby, and in due course my bus would depart or his parents would appear from the bar to take him home, and that would be that, I'd never see him again. My goal was to have a relationship that would make the boy (and of course myself) happy, and if at all possible have some sort of sexual activity with him. To do that I would need to see him again, and I could not think of any way to achieve that. I decided that I had been very lucky to have been able to spend a few hours with such delightful company and make the ordeal of waiting for his parents more pleasant than it otherwise would have been for the boy, and it was a lot better for me than sitting bored for several hours. And that, I decided, would have to be the end of it.
Except, of course, for my usual bit of perverted subterfuge that I would carry out as soon as the large cups of Coke had done their trick. Which was not long in arriving.
"Do you know where the toilet is?" came the question I had been waiting for.
"I need a pee as well," I lied, "I'll show you."
As we walked to the short corridor that led off the foyer to the toilets, I began telling the boy a joke - something I am rather good at. I opened the door marked "Gents" and ushered the boy inside. I was relieved to see that nobody else was using the toilet, which was not unusual as it served only the lobby, with the bars having their own facilities. The boy headed for the urinal at the left end of the row. Normal etiquette demanded that I go to the urinal at the far right in such a situation. I had however timed the joke so that I was about to get to the punch-line just as he took his place in front of the urinal, and so I was able to make it appear that I took the urinal next to his in order to finish the joke. He laughed appreciatively at the joke and then we unzipped in silence. He obviously had to look down to take a pee, and so could not see where I was looking from his lower height. With delight I saw him look across at my penis as I pulled it out - he was a "glancer"!
As soon as he looked across, I turned slightly so that my penis was more visible to him, and removed both hands for an instant so that it just hung there in full view. The boy looked more intently, and then I covered my penis from his sight by cupping it with my left hand. With a reaction that I was very familiar with, that prompted him to glance up guiltily to my face, thinking I had covered myself because I had seen him looking. Instead he saw, as I intended him to see, that I was quite obviously looking down at where his right hand hid his own penis from my view. Realising now that I was also interested in seeing his equipment, the boy responded as I had hoped he would by taking his hand away from his penis just as his stream started - he was playing the silent "I'll show you mine if you show me yours" game! I took my hand away again and managed to start to pee, thankful for the tea I had consumed earlier. The boy was looking sideways, staring at my penis, and then he glanced up again very briefly to ensure that I was still looking at his. His dick was bigger than I had imagined it would be, but still immature. It was about as thick as my thumb, and perhaps a fraction longer. Puberty had begun for him, but still had a long way to go. It was a uniform thickness from where it left his fly to the rounded end, covered by a generous foreskin. There was no sign of the head that the foreskin must obviously be covering, so I figured it was not far developed. I wondered whether the first pubic hairs had yet made an appearance - it was impossible to tell as only his penis protruded from his fly.
My stream didn't last long, and finished some time before the boy had got rid of the effects of his cokes. I shook my penis with just the thumb and forefinger of my right hand so as to leave it on view, and the boy's gaze did not waver from my dick, which is somewhat unusual as most boys with such an interest in adult male genitalia take a succession of sly glances. As his stream slowed to a dribble, he used his left hand to shake his penis, apparently deliberately allowing me line of sight because I had seen while he was eating that he was right-handed. Not wanting the show to end too quickly, I shook mine again, this time pulling back the foreskin to expose most of the head. As I had hoped, the boy mimicked my action, and skinned his foreskin partly back as well, giving me sight of the tip of his small, deep purple and glistening glans. We both stood there, almost facing each other while holding our foreskins back and openly staring for about ten seconds. We were both flaccid - I had learned long ago how to suppress an erection while taking in the sight of boys' cocks. The boy looked up at my face and gave a huge cheeky grin, and I grinned back and dared to give him a wink. I decided that that was as far as I could safely go, and so popped my penis away and zipped up, upon which the boy did the same. We rinsed our hands at the washbasins and went back to where we had been seated, and we looked at each other and grinned at our unspoken shared secret from time to time as we walked. I placed a hand on his shoulder as if guiding him around the furniture. I was now desperate to get to know this boy better, and must have thought of and rejected a hundred different plans. The basic problem is the same for all boylovers - how to get to see a boy alone, in private and frequently without arousing suspicion of either the boy or other adults.
The opening, as is often the case, came by pure good fortune. We had been sitting and chatting together easily, as if we had known each other for days. As part of the conversation, I had asked what activities he liked doing in his spare time. He had replied that he liked to fish. Quick as a flash I saw a potential opening and told him that fishing was also one of my hobbies - which was a total lie. We chatted about fishing, and I was grateful that I had once had a friend who was into fishing so I had learned enough to be able to bluff it. The boy asked me where I went to fish, and I gave the name of a small nearby stream I had visited once the previous year - the only area of water I knew of in the locality. I was told in no uncertain terms that that was a useless place to fish, and the boy named another location that he explained was about 15 miles away if you went by cycle across the fields. I excused my ignorance by saying that I was new to the area, and had no idea where he was talking about. The vague plan I had had when deciding to lie to the boy was beginning to take shape, and I then said, as casually as I could, "Maybe you could take me there one day to show me where it is."
Boys love being able to reverse their role with an adult and become the mentor, and just like the fish we had been talking about, he took my bait hook, line and sinker. He immediately made a suggestion that we meet up the next afternoon (being a Saturday) to go fishing, and of course I accepted, hardly believing my luck at having the opening I had vainly been seeking practically dropped into my lap.
I had to get up really early the next day, because before I could meet the boy I had to go shopping for some fishing kit, find out how to use it and make it look as if it was not all brand new. I was grateful that my parents gave me a generous amount of money to spend at college. The proprieter of the shop I bought the kit proved very useful, and I took a quick course in fishing from him. I had recalled the name of the place the boy said we were going, and soon learned what fish resided in that water and what bait and tackle would be needed to catch them. Remembering the boy's appetite, I also bought a generous amount of picnic type food.
I arrived twenty minutes early at the shopping centre we had planned to meet up, and my heart took a joyous leap as I saw the boy sitting on a bench, already waiting. He looked just as I remembered, except he was wearing an open jacket over a T-shirt and cut-off jeans, and the same trainers as at the hotel. He gave a huge smile as I arrived, and in no time we were on our way, he with a backpack carrying his fishing equipment, and me also wearing a backpack, but also two fat panniers on my bike. Besides the fishing stuff, I had gathered together a few other things in case the situation developed as I hoped it would. This time the first thing I did was to ask his name, which turned out to be Michael. I told him my name also.
The fishing spot he had chosen was perfect - and I don't mean for fishing! It was by a small lake surrounded by woodland. The great thing was that the only road to the lake was on the far side to the place we had approached through a woodland path. Consequently the area we arrived at by the reed-covered shore was deserted and inaccessible by car. Michael took me a short distance along the shoreline where there was a sandy area with few reeds to snag the lines. He immediately began putting his rod together, but I had other things to do first. I unpacked a very basic lightweight tent and poles, and erected it on the sand a few yards from the shoreline, leaving the entrance flaps rolled back. Next I extracted two padded groundsheets from my backpack and unrolled one inside the shelter and the other on the ground in front of it. Michael was quite impressed, saying that it would make things a lot more comfortable than he was used to when fishing.
Michael was also impressed with the bait I had bought, saying that it would work a lot better than the tinned fish he had managed to get hold of. We began fishing, with me copying Michael's method. After a fruitless half hour, I suggested that the sun might be a little too high (something gleaned from the fishing-shop salesman), and that we should have some lunch and try later. Michael could hardly believe the stuff I had packed into my backpack and panniers, and we were soon comfortably sitting on the padded groundsheet in front of the tent munching on sausage rolls and sandwiches and glugging cans of Coke. While eating we talked about fishing, and having the beginnings of a plan, I suggested that it might be better to put a hook just outside the reed line. I also tested how comfortable Michael was with me by moving my legs wide apart as I sat, so that one of my legs was lying across his legs as we sat outstretched on the small groundsheet. He did not move away from the contact, which encouraged me. Michael had taken off his jacket on the warm day, and so was clad in T-shirt and cut-off jeans. Oh how I hate jeans, with their thick material that hides everything! I, on the other hand, had put on some tight thin shorts, and the way I was sitting with my legs apart was pretty revealing. After the obvious interest in the gents the previous night, I wanted to see whether Michael reacted at all.
Sure enough, I saw Michael taking frequent quick glances at my deliberately visible bulge. Now all I had to try to do was to get him out of his jeans, and that's what the plan I had just thought of was designed to do.
We returned to fishing from the shore, with a similar lack of results. I reiterated my belief that getting the lines further out would pay off, but there was no way to do so except wading out if we didn't want the lines getting tangled in the reeds. I took off my shoes and socks and waded out with my rod, with Michael looking from the shore. The water was just above my knees when I reached the edge of the reeds, and I cast out a short distance parallel to shore, plonking the float just outside the reeds. After about five minutes, I "struck" and reeled in fast. "Shit," I said, "I had a powerful bite just then." I waded back to re-bait my hook. In fact, I had not had a bite at all. Wading back out, I repeated my performance about five minutes later. As I had hoped, Michael wanted to try his luck outside the reeds as well. He started wading out. "You'll get your jeans wet," I warned.
"That don't matter," Michael replied.
"You'll be uncomfortable later - why not take them off and wade out in your undies - nobody here but me and the fish?" I suggested, keeping my fingers crossed.
Michael replied, "I suppose that's a plan."
Michael quickly took off his cut-off jeans and flung them toward the tent, and waded out near to my position. He was wearing boxers. I had been hoping it would be briefs. Very little was revealed to my eager gaze except his legs - which were very nice indeed even if they were a bit on the skinny side. Ah well - it was a step in the right direction.
As luck would have it, Michael got a genuine bite almost as soon as his line hit the water. There was definitely a fish on his hook, but it wriggled off before he could reel it in. That served to convince Michael that I was correct about where to fish, and the next half hour saw us fishing along the reed line. Suddenly I got a genuine bite, and this time the fish stayed on. It was a fair size as well, and as my line went berserk in the water, I waded over to Michael, grabbed his rod and silently gave him mine so that he could land the fish. Michael went to town playing the fish, shouting to me excitedly all the time. I went ashore to get a net, and we were soon admiring the fish splashing around in the keep-net in the shallows. After a while I let the fish go, and we watched it swim rapidly away.
Michael immediately went back to fishing, but I told him that I would relax at the tent for a while. No sooner had I sat down however than Michael let out a whoop. I grabbed the net and once again held it as Michael landed another fish - if anything bigger than the previous. I used his triumphant excitement as an excuse to hug him in congratulations, and Michael hugged me back. Over the course of the following 45 minutes, Michael caught two more fish, and I caught one. Then we didn't have a nibble for the following half hour.
"I think they've stopped biting, " I said, "Fancy another sarnie and Coke?"
While wading ashore, I pretended to slip so that the hem of my shorts dipped into the water. That gave me an excuse to take them off and hang them on the tent to dry. Now that I was also in my underpants (a pair of briefs), I hoped that Michael would not feel the need to put his jeans back on too quickly. I was correct, and Michael happily sat down to eat his sandwich in his boxers. I sat as before, and Michael was soon taking sneaky peeks at my package. Michael had copied me and sat open-legged, but boxers are not all that revealing. I could however just make out the vague shape of his penis beneath the folds of cloth. Seeing me looking at his groin area made Michael less inhibited about looking at mine, and he was soon making no secret of it. After asking if he wanted a Coke, I leant across him to extract two cans from my backpack. Michael's hand was resting on the ground between us, and I made sure that as I rolled over to reach the backpack, my dick made contact with his hand. I pretended to be having a bit of difficulty extracting the cans, and noted that Michael made no attempt to move his hand - in fact I thought I felt it pressing harder into my dick.
"Nature calls," I exclaimed in due course, grabbing my dick briefly to make it clear that I was going for a piss, and walked off toward the water hoping that Michael would follow. To my delight he did. We stood side by side, and I decided to pull my briefs down to my thighs and hitch my T-shirt up to get my dick out. Michael grinned at me and did the same. We both angled ourselves toward each other in a repeat of the previous day's toilet experience, but this time we had our entire genital area and arse uncovered. We were both looking at each other quite openly. I put both my hands on my hips and started gyrating slightly to make the stream of piss move to and fro in the water. Michael giggled and copied me. I could just see a few wisps of long light hair just above his dick. Being blonde, the beginnings of his pubic hair was barely visible, but it looked as if there were only three or four long hairs. His ball sack was loose with the two gems inside clearly outlined, but they did not yet hang particularly low. Finishing off, I went through the actions of pulling back my foreskin again, and Michael again copied me. I pulled mine right back this time, and Michael copied me to expose his entire head. To do that I saw that he had to pull really hard, his foreskin was too tight to slide easily over the whole head despite the fact that his cockhead appeared to be no thicker than his shaft. This time however I could not suppress a twitch as I looked at Michael pulling back his foreskin, and I realised I would have to break off the show before my arousal became obvious, so regretfully I pulled up my briefs. I saw a brief look of disappointment cross Michael's face - and I was not certain, but it looked very much as if his penis was a little longer than it had been a short while before. Then Michael pulled up his boxers and the inviting sight was gone.
Back at "camp", Michael decided to examine the tent properly for the first time, and went inside. "Neat", he exclaimed. "Have you ever slept in it?"
"Oh sure, I've often camped out on fishing trips," I lied, "It's the easiest way to get in some dawn fishing - some fish only bite very early in the morning." I had no idea whether that was true or not, but obviously I was hoping that Michael might suggest camping out with me at some date in the future, and in fact the whole reason I had brought the tent was to try to sow such a seed.
To my surprise however, he had plans for a lot sooner than that. "Can we sleep here tonight?"
I told him that I didn't think his parents would agree to that. Michael informed me that his parents would be out "on the piss" again that night, and he had already told them he was staying the night with a friend, so they were not expecting him back. I questioned him carefully for snags and posed several objections that Michael dismissed. Fancy that - a boylover looking for reasons not to sleep with a boy, and the boy brushing the objections aside and insisting that it should be done. Surely that's arse about face? I have learned that in fact it is more often than not exactly the way it normally happens. It seemed that Michael's parents were never worried about where he was so long as he was not alone in his own house, and they never checked up on him. Suddenly my plans took a huge jump forward as I allowed Michael to talk me into spending a night together with him in a secluded and isolated tent. I was practically salivating at the thought!
I was reasonably satisfied that none of our things would come to harm if we left them for a while, because this part of the lake did not appear to be very well frequented so the chance of a thief happening by in the next hour or two was pretty slim. We therefore emptied our backpacks, put our trousers and shoes back on and rode to the nearest shops to buy food for the evening and Sunday morning. I also bought a battery operated lantern and batteries.
By the time we arrived back at the tent it was starting to get slightly dark and a little chilly. Michael had his coat, but I was skimpily dressed. I suggested making a camp fire, and Michael eagerly agreed. Before it became too dark to see, we went into the wooded area to collect fuel for the fire. Fortunately we soon came across a dead tree, and as it had not rained for some time the wood was dry and it was not too difficult to break off enough dead branches even without having any boy-scout tools. It took a while, but we eventually had quite a decent camp fire on the go. Michael wanted to try some night fishing, but in the dark it was frustrating and unproductive, so he soon gave up that idea. We ate supper sat in front of the fire, with Michael making it clear by his many excited comments how great he thought it all was.
After eating, I informed Michael that we must make some pillows for when we went to bed. I instructed him to fetch two empty plastic bags that the shopping had come in, and we both gathered reeds to pack tightly into the bags. With that done and the bags tied off, I took off my T-shirt and put it over a bag as a cover, and Michael did the same. We were both now bare-chested, which was tolerable as the heat of the fire had taken the chill out of the relatively warm night. We again sat by the fire, and I pulled over my rucksack and extracted a can of beer. I asked Michael if he wanted a Coke - then as an apparent afterthought that was actually very calculated, added, "Or you can have a man's drink with me if you like." I had not thought of it before that point, and had bought the beers intending them only for my consumption, but as I got a beer out for myself I realised that getting Michael tipsy could have some very obvious advantages so long as he didn't consume too much. Michael obviously rose to the implied challenge, and indicated that he would have a beer. "You probably won't like it," I warned, "Just leave it if you can't take it. I managed to drink two cans one after the other when I was your age - the first tasted foul, but the second was nice - it's something that grows on you." My gauntlet had been thrown!
"I've drunk beers before," bragged Michael, "Loads of times!"
With that he opened a can and chugged it all back in one go, then looked at me proudly and gave a massive burp. I burst out laughing and Michael was literally rolling on the ground with laughter. I chugged my beer back, opened another can for myself and held out one to Michael. Michael knew it was a challenge, and the second can was emptied as quickly as the first. I had only bought six beers, and so there was one can each left. I suggested we drink them more slowly to make them last, and so we sat chatting and nursing our last beers. Three cans of the lager I had bought will get me a light buzz, but I knew the effect on Michael would be greater. As the alcohol invaded his system, Michael began exhibiting the effects, becoming loud and showing off, but was not overly drunk as his speech had not become slurred.
As we both drained the last drops and threw the last empty cans into the fire, I gave Michael a playful push on his shoulder. "Pisshead!" I said, "Look, you can't even sit straight!"
"Look who's talking," retorted Michael, giving me a strong push.
One thing led to another and we were soon grappling together and rolling about on the groundsheet, laughing hysterically. The feeling as our naked torsos rubbed together was incredible, and my "wrestling" holds became excuses to hug him close to my chest. I then started tickling Michael under his ribs, and his laughter became gurgling giggles as he squirmed to get free. It was then Michael's turn to try to tickle me, but his efforts had no effect. "I'm only ticklish in one place," I announced, "And that's for me to know and you to find out!"
It was a very obvious invitation for Michael to touch me all over, and his hands moved around my body trying to find what place would have an effect as I lay still and passive. It was not long before he became emboldened to do what I knew he must have been thinking about for some time, and his hand grabbed the bulge in my shorts as he tried to tickle me in a place he knew very well was normally forbidden territory, but which I didn't appear to worry about. "No, it's not there either," I laughed, and grabbed his crotch as well. He was of course still wearing his cut-off jeans, and so the thick cloth made it impossible to feel very much, but I knew that my hand must be squeezing something down there, and Michael did not try to pull away. I did not move my hand in a tickling motion as he was doing, but just held the wodge of material under which I knew I must be gently squeezing his balls, prick or both. Michael stopped trying to tickle me, but kept his hand where it was. While I had no idea what exactly I had hold of, my thin shorts meant that Michael could have been in no doubt whatsoever that he was squeezing my penis. He also could not have been unaware of the sudden twitch that his pressure invoked in it. I knew that I had to get him out of those darn jeans!
"I gotta get rid of those beers," I said, standing up. Then, hoping that I was not going too far and that Michael would copy me, I suddenly skinned off both my shorts and underpants, and walked toward the lake to pee, stark bollock naked. I dared not look back to see what reaction my outrageous behaviour had caused. I began to piss, disappointed that Michael had not taken the cue I had wanted him to take. Then I became aware of Michael standing a short distance away by the lakeside, also peeing. I looked at him, but he was just a dark shape now that we were outside the firelight, and I had no idea whether he was wearing anything or not. I finished and waited for the tinkle of his stream on the water to stop, and went over to Michael and put an arm around his shoulder to walk back. Michael put his arm around my waist, and as we touched I knew that he was as naked as myself.
I did not want Michael to chicken out now, so saying, "Bed time, pisshead!" to Michael, I quickly picked up everything on the groundsheet and put them by the side of the tent where it was dark. I pulled the outside groundsheet into the tent, so that there were now two padded groundsheets, which together with the sandy soil would ensure that our bed was not too uncomfortable.
"Lie down there," I told Michael, throwing one of our makeshift pillows into the far side of the tent to indicate where I meant, "And tell me if it is comfortable enough."
Michael did as I instructed and lay on his back inside the tent. Unfortunately it was too dark inside the tent to see anything but a shadowy outline. I had had some tantalising glimpses of a completely naked Michael in the firelight, but had been intent on getting the bedding prepared quickly in case Michael decided that he no longer wanted to be naked. I unrolled the single sleeping bag I had packed that afternoon (seemingly a lifetime ago), and unzipped it completely so that it made a single large blanket to cover us both. I had also brought a thin blanket to lay on top of that. Then I remembered the lantern I had bought, and grabbed it and a packet of batteries before getting into the tent and sitting beside Michael's prone form. I pulled the sleeping bag and blanket to lie at our feet, ready to be pulled over us, and closed the flap of the tent. Next came the trick of fumbling to unpack the lantern and insert the batteries in the dark. Fortunately I had used the same type of lantern before, and so knew how it was constructed.
I flicked the switch and the tent was instantly bright. I had been looking towards Michael's head as I switched on, and saw him turn to look me straight in the face, a smile on his lips and his brilliant blue eyes wide open with the pupils shrinking slightly in the sudden light. I smiled back at him, and his smile grew to a sloppy big-assed grin. I had intended to grab our clothes and cover up at the slightest hint of distress or concern from the boy, but the look on his face showed that he was completely at ease with the situation, cramped up naked next to an equally naked man, and was making no attempt whatsoever to cover himself up. I had been sitting with my right hip touching his left hip, and now leaned back, adjusting the home-made pillow so that it propped my head up as Michael had done with his, our hips still touching. I continued to stare into Michael's face as I did that, and as I watched his face I saw him shift his gaze downward until he was looking at my dick. As I have said, I was well practised in controlling my penis in the company of naked boys, and it lay flaccid to one side across the top of my left leg. I switched my gaze to the area I had been longing to see, and immediately saw that Michael was not quite as practised as I. He did not have anything like a full erection, but he was not completely soft either. He was on his back with his legs slightly apart, and his smooth penis curved straight down over his scrotum. But it was not hanging loosely. There was a gap between his penis and his scrotum showing that his dick must be a little bit stiff to raise it up like that, and my intent gaze detected a slight movement at the tip of his foreskin as his dick jumped up and down ever so slightly in time with his pulse. In addition, there was a distinct bulge under his foreskin that had not been present when I had seen it before, which told me that his cockhead had become slightly engorged. I drank in the sight, running my eyes from his wonderful boyhood, up across the slight cave of his lean stomach with its cute innie belly button, over the distinct outline of his ribs to the twin circles of his nipples, which were incredibly dark in contrast to his light skin, and unusually large and plump. Michael looked up into my eyes again, and gave me another of his huge grins. This time one eyebrow moved slightly upwards as if to say, "What now?"
What now indeed. Having got that far I was a bit uncertain of how to initiate action. We had been completely silent, and breaking that silence by saying something would, I thought, spoil things. And what could I say anyway? When I had been a boy myself it was pretty easy. I would have simply said, "Let's have a wank." I didn't even know whether Michael knew what masturbation was or even that the situation was sexual.
I became aware that Michael's left arm was trapped between our bodies, causing a bit of discomfort. I grabbed his elbow and freed it from between us, and pulled so that his elbow rested on my pelvis and his lower arm flopped down along the top of my right leg, his hand resting on that leg above my knee. I then moved my right arm so that my elbow rested above Michael's left shoulder and my open palm lay on his belly just above his belly button. Michael must have come to a sudden decision, because without any further preamble he moved his left hand up awkwardly and touched my penis with his fingertips, completely taking me by surprise. As he did that. Michael looked up to my face to see my reaction. I smiled at him and moved my right hand down to cover his penis. As soon as I touched it I felt it rear up strongly against my cupped palm and so I closed my hand to form a fist around his suddenly fully erect tool. His cock was long enough that its tip just peeked out from the top of my fist. There was no way I could continue my mental control over my penis, but also no longer any need to do so. I became instantly rock-hard against Michael's hand.
Michael rolled slightly onto his left side to partially face me, and swapped his left hand to grasp my dick in the fist of his right hand just as I was doing to him, except that his hand could not close completely and he was able to hold less than half the length of my shaft in his fist. I squeezed the tip of Michael's cock with the thumb end of my fist, and as his foreskin was pulled up by that action I felt his dick throb strongly in my hand. Michael mimicked the action on my dick as best he could. I released his penis and moved my fingers down between his legs to fondle his balls. Michael copied every move, rolling my balls between his fingers as I was doing to him. I ran my hand around to stroke his buttock, and as Michael moved his hand to do the same I rolled a little toward him to give him access. Moving my left hand up to his back and my right hand up to stroke his long blonde hair, I cuddled him as I rolled further to face him. Michael continued with copy-cat motions, and as he rolled to bury his head in my chest, our hard erections touched. I thrust my hips forward in a fucking motion, and Michael thrust back, pressing our dicks together. I moved my left hand down his back to cup his bum, and felt his buttocks squeezing as he copied my rhythmic thrusting. Michael's breathing had become heavy enough to hear, and his breath was warm and moist against my chest.
I rolled apart and once again grasped Michael's exposed penis with my right fist. Michael was the perfect parrot and did the same to me. Lustfully I pulled back hard on his foreskin, exposing the full extent of his bell-end, which was now engorged and thicker than his shaft. Michael gave a little yelp, and his hand grabbed mine, pulling it off his dick. I had hurt him! "Sorry," I whispered in his ear. Michael took his own dick in his fist.
"Do it like this," he whispered, and started wanking himself, using short strokes that did not fully uncover his knob-end. He then grabbed my hand and put it back on his penis, and grasped my manhood once again, starting a wanking movement. I did as commanded, knowing now that Michael knew exactly what was happening, and wanting it to continue. I started wanking him as he had demonstrated, using fast, short strokes. It could not have been longer than ten seconds later when Michael breathlessly whispered, "I'm gonna cum!" and his hips started bucking to thrust his penis more deeply in and out of my hand. I felt his cock swell and begin to spasm, and that drove me over the edge as well. Just as I started to orgasm, Michael reached his peak and that caused him to stop wanking me. Desperately I thrust my hips and fucked his now immobile hand just as I saw a thin spurt of clear juice eject forcefully from the slit in his purple helmet and hit me square in the chest. As a second, smaller spurt came out of Michael's pulsating dick, the first of my own semen ejaculated, thick and white as it hit the boy's belly-button. Michael's grunts were in counterpoint to my deeper noises as we both succumbed to sexual ecstasy.
We both flopped onto our backs. Spent and exhausted we turned our faces toward each other at the same time. Michael was sporting a huge lopsided grin and panting heavily, and I guess my face looked as soppy as his. I groped around and found the roll of toilet paper I had placed in the tent, and started to mop up the mess I had made on Michael's tummy. Michael grabbed a length of the tissue and started cleaning me up. For some reason I suddenly got a fit of the giggles, and that started Michael off as well, and we both sat up facing each other and hugged, giggling uncontrollably. Eventually I reached down and pulled the covers over us, turned off the lantern and we collapsed into each other's arms. I later learned that Michael fell asleep as quickly as I did.
It felt that I had been asleep for mere seconds when I was awoken. As I opened my eyes however, I realised from the dim light that dawn had just begun to break so I had slept all night long. I also realised that Michael was playing with my cock and had managed to make it rock-hard while I slept! He was incorrigible.
We didn't do a lot of fishing that Sunday, but just enjoyed each other's company. And sex. Several times. Five times actually, if you must know, and we worked out all by ourselves how to get into a "69" position even though neither of us had ever heard of such a thing or even experienced oral sex in our lives before. Pretty clever of us, eh? I told Michael that he mustn't tell anyone what we had done together, and he replied, horrified, "Of course not! I don't want anyone knowing I've even met you, because they will probably have a fit and we won't be able to see each other again." Smart lad.
Michael then cast his eyes downward and uttered a phrase that was to echo in my mind through every relationship I was to have for the rest of my life. Whether speaking to himself or to me I have no idea, but Michael's young lips muttered softly, "Nobody would ever understand."
Michael and I saw each other every weekend after that, usually repeating our camp-out, but not always in the same place, and we didn't always fish. We both enjoyed having sex, and there was of course plenty of that as we tried out many different things, but the times we had just "hanging out" together were even better. I'm pretty certain I was in love with Michael, and I think he was in love with me also. None of my college buddies were interested in where I went or how I spent my weekends, and amazingly Michael managed to keep my existence a complete secret also. In a pattern that was to become very familiar to me however, our meetings gradually became less frequent over a period of a year or so. Michael had gained a great deal of self-esteem while we had been together, which I'm certain had a lot to do with our relationship. His confidence had also increased and as a result he was no longer a loner but had gained quite a circle of friends, and his time had to be divided between more and more people. I was happy for him, but at the same time sad that our relationship was inevitably coming to an end. By the time I finished college two years later, we were only seeing each other infrequently, though I later found out that Michael secretly called me his "fixer" and always came to see me if he was feeling depressed or had a problem, because he said that I always made him feel better about things.