A WARNING. This story is a work of fiction, and none of the characters or places described exist, and therefore bear no relation to anyone living or dead. The story contains explicit details of a sexual nature and if this might offend you, please do not read it, or if in so doing you will break any law that applies to you wherever you may be.
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LOVE IN THE DUNES A Short Story by Rafael Henry
It's August, 1987
Raf tells us...
Can you see that boy down there? The one about fifty yards away behind that big clump of grass?He looks interesting...very interesting in fact. How old do you think he is? I'd say about ten? No, he's older than that surely? Yes, about eleven...or twelve maybe? I find it quite difficult to tell exact ages. He's playing jumping off sand dunes and then sliding down into the soft warm sand, and he's on his own by the look of it...or is he? Yes I'm pretty sure he's on his own because he shows no sign of communicating with anyone else. Usually it's very obvious if they're with anyone. No, he looks like he's at a loose end...wandering around a bit aimlessly and not knowing quite what to do next.
He's gone now.
Ah, back again are we? Yes. He's sitting in the dune playing with a strand of grass he's had trouble breaking of the plant.
Crikey, that was a good jump...he needs to be careful because they're loads of sharp bits of submerged fencing posts and some just under the surface of the sand and hidden. They put those thin posts connected to each other by wire in the sand to help build up the height of the dunes when it's windy. Every winter, so they say, the height of the dunes rises about a foot. The old fences act as an anchor for the sand. Clever.
It's a lovely day today and hardly any wind and already quite warm...warm enough for me to be working with a bare top. That's unusual for this place. Normally it's blowing a bit of a gale.
This chap's just in his shorts too, and like me, he's seen quite a bit of the sun this summer. I can tell even from this distance. He's about fifty yards in front of me and directly in front of my field of vision, almost as if he wants to be seen. That's ridiculous. Wishful thinking maybe? He has no idea I'm up here looking down on him. I wonder though.
That's interesting. He's just glanced up in my direction. He's definitely noticed my presence. I'd lay money on it.
There's nothing I can do other than just keep working away as I am and see what happens, but my guess is that, if he has noticed me, rather like curious young cattle, he'll gradually inch his way nearer and nearer to where I'm standing at my easel, painting.
Once they...they being kids...more often girls than boys...have spotted you, they have a think about it, pretend they haven't noticed you, and then curiosity usually gets the better of them sooner or later. They'll work their way around you at a safe distance giving you the odd glance trying to work out what you're up to, and gradually getting nearer and nearer. Kids cannot resist an artist at work...even at my tender age I will hold some degree of fascination for a boy or girl his age, or any age come to that, in fact the younger you are, the more likely. All I have to do is to keep working, not looking like I've noticed him, and in the sure hope that he has noticed me. I hope this one has anyway. There are boys...and there are boys, if you get my drift. This one looks like one of the latter category.
I like `visitations' when I'm working and all the ensuing conversation, especially from that one down there. He could do with a haircut...not quite blond, and quite wavy in that sort of no particular hair style look. He looks like Mowgli out of the Jungle Book...quite wiry and lean looking. I have a copy of that book at home. It must have been Dad's and I love the illustration of Mowgli with nothing on. There are two of them in the 1921 edition of Kipling's book. I can't remember the name of the illustrator...one of two brothers I think. I know he exhibited at the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition at the age of twelve...three years younger than I did. That's another story, but the reason I'm down here now. Anyway, I have always found those illustrations of Mowgli really sexy, in fact I still do. They are a real turn on for me. There's just something about them.
I suppose it doesn't much matter who I am really...I'm just a fairly average fifteen year old and my name is Raphael Kelly. Odd name, well the Christian name perhaps yes, but I quite like it, and it gets shortened easily to just Raf. My interests are quite average too for a boy of my age I suppose, but with one particular exception...one that I don't discuss with my parents, or anybody actually. Like most adolescents, I think about sex quite a lot, but the sex I think about usually concerns boys, not girls. I think I started to play with myself quite early, probably when I was about eight I think. It was the usual thing, making it go stiff and rubbing it to make it feel nice. I don't remember the first time I actually came properly...had a proper orgasm...maybe at ten or something like that, and the first person who let me touch his penis was my cousin.
We would sit on my bed, or his if I was round at his place, and we'd take our shorts off first and sit opposite each other just in our little boy's knickers. We knew what we were going to do because we always played that game first, so we'd watch each other to see who cock went stiff first. It was usually him. Whoever got stiff first would have their feeling first. He would watch my hand intently while I did it to him with fingers and thumb until he got his feeling, and then he would do me in the same way while I watched him...and felt him at the same time. I remember that just after he had his feeling, it would go all floppy quite quickly, but when he started on me he got stiff again, probably something to do with my holding him there. We did it loads of times and I know at the time that I found him profoundly sexy with his lovely dark hair and nice bottom which wasn't averse to accepting a finger up it, and when I say `up it' I mean right up it. It never crossed our minds that bottoms had other uses. I know about all that now of course, but not then. Having said that, the finger up the bum game, albeit a tad unhygienic, was extremely satisfying.
Quite often he'd want me to do him twice, and of course I always obliged. He always said that the second time was better than the first. He's right of course...it's like that with me too. When we'd got that game out of the way, we'd play other stuff, until we got in the mood again. Neither of us produced anything of course, apart from a tiny bead of completely clear and sticky substance. You could touch the end of your willy, or his, and then slowly extrude this peculiar substance away from the nice pink tip in a sort of string. You could get it at least an inch long like that. It didn't taste of much, but certainly not unpleasant.
We thought it rather good fun and it was quite a regular occurrence, until he was no longer interested for some reason I never really found out, but I could hazard a guess. He heard no doubt later that it was something you didn't do with other boys, and anyway there were girls around now and they were much more interesting...but not to me. No, I'm a bit stuck in the boy routine because I think they're beautiful and lovely...fun and very sexy...and intensely loving if you'll let them. I go to a boarding school which helps considerably of course. They're enough other boys who want the same thing as I do, and lots of opportunities to do sexy stuff in private, or sometimes in groups believe it or not. Our House Master, when we lower thirds first arrived gave us his usual `pep talk' as he called it, which included his famous dictum `if you must play with private parts...play with your own, not someone else's'. Like most of what he said, we took with a pinch of the proverbial salt.
Some of us, quite a lot of us in fact, as I've suggested, had a tendency to ignore that last bit of his dictum. The problem for us is that we all of a sudden have no family around us, but we still have all our emotions. It can be a lonely time, especially at night. You try to find a special friend, and if you're lucky it will become a proper and meaningful friendship which might develop into a sexual thing if both of you want it, and know how to tell your partner that you do. That last bit can be a tricky process, but if you both want it, it will happen eventually and quite naturally. It did for me just by little touches and quite insignificant body contact, and eye contact. Once each of you becomes confident that the other person wants the same as you want, then it's easy. That's the hard bit, making sure there is no misunderstanding. Usually, it a matter of one or other of you taking that risk...a touch, or a word that tells the other person what you're thinking. With Edward, it was his distress, his unhappiness, and he needed comfort of the physical kind and our touching quickly became sexual events.
So what's he doing now, our little scallywag in the sand down there?
It's looking quite promising. He disappeared for a minute or two while I was digressing, but now he's noticeably nearer, and he's trying to make it look like he's just noticed me, but I'm bloody sure he'd noticed me ages ago. I'll smile at him.
No, that hasn't worked...too far away. I could give him a quick wave maybe? No, that's way too obvious. Now he's stopped leaping about and he's just standing there looking down at the sea having struck rather a lovely pose.
A moment ago he looked in my direction. I'm excited now. There he is again...he's looking up again...yes, he's definitely spotted me. Dare I give him a wave now? No, I going to leave the ball in his court...just for a bit longer, but that's risky because he might just wander off, but I don't think so in this case. He's definitely thinking about it. I know he is because he's stopped all the running and jumping stuff. He's not showing any signs of moving away...now he's working his way sideways...and getting nearer! I'm going to go for it and give him a subtle wave...brush in hand. That'll tell him I've seen him, and then it's up to him. He's watching the seagulls wheeling about making their noisy calls...standing just like Mowgli in the book...beautifully straight with nice shoulders held back. He's telling me to look at him I reckon, that's why he's standing like that.
He's saying with his eyes...`look at me'.
Don't worry whoever you are...I am.
He's looking up at me now...this is the make or break moment. Did you see that? That was nice...he's returned my wave albeit rather apologetically with just a little movement from his hand...nothing too obvious...just telling me that he has seen me. That was rather nice. Now he's walking, or rather climbing up the steep sandbank towards me... see...he couldn't resist it could he...I knew he would, sooner or later...they always do...well almost always.
This is a great place to observe kids at play, if that's what you want to do, and on warm sunny days there are loads of them all having huge fun in the dunes here which makes it one big free playground. Parents are sitting down there on the beach with their offspring letting off steam amongst the hills and valleys that make up this long range of sand dunes on the Hampshire coast, probably at least half a mile long if not more. This is the bit I like best as it's one of the highest points with great views down to the beach and the Isle of Wight in the distance, all blues and mauves and misty. The tide goes out for miles and there's plenty of space for hundreds of youngsters to play in. Most of them are down there on the beach proper...but the more adventurous ones, usually the older ones, will get all the way up here where I am, in a little hollow under an overhanging and very large clump of marram grass, all spikey and grey green in the mid-morning August sunshine. I love it here. It's a truly beautiful place, especially in the evening light when the sun goes down in the north west, and still warm on my bare skin, and the blue grey shadows lengthening on the warm colour of the sand.
He's struggling a bit with that very steep slope...he's on all fours trying to make progress upwards which isn't easy as the sand just disappears under your feet as you try to go up the hill. Now he's closer I can see him in more detail. Oh dear, he's one of those....oh yes...I can see his little embryonic muscles working hard in his upper legs and arms...beautiful...and lovely to draw. Bugger, he's given up.
No, no he hasn't. I thought for a moment that he had.
He's just sat down for a rest but he's still looking up this way. Was that a smile he just gave me? I'm going to yell at him...no, don't you idiot! That'll put him right off probably. Far better to let him come to you. Patience my boy, patience.
I love his faded green shorts...very fetching...and the thin line of white just above the waistband. Yes... I do know what that is...and I doubt very much if it's a pair of swimming trunks he's wearing underneath his shorts. Boys don't have white swimming trunks do they? No, definitely not. Cute hair too...quite light and not exactly neatly combed...interesting indeed...a sort of tousled look. Now he's playing with some spikes of grass, bless his little cotton socks. He's sat down on one of those sand hills formed around the roots of the grass. He's trying to break one of the bits off but it's very tough stuff and he can't do it. That failure has embarrassed him somewhat, because he knows I've seen him. He's looking up at me now...no more than ten yards away, and he's giving me a bit of a smile...at least I think it was. I'm pretending I haven't noticed him. That's the best strategy. He won't be able to resist it...not being noticed. It'll make him all the more curious.
Bare feet and faded green shorts. He's nearer now...just a few yards away. He's sat down. It's time to acknowledge his presence before he loses interest. I'm going to go for it...take the plunge, and why not? I call out to him.
`Hello Mowgli.' He looks up but doesn't get the reference.
`I said...hello Mowgli.'
I've laid down the challenge by actually saying something to him, and he's responded...that is progress definitely... and yes, he looks about twelve, or a bit less maybe. Hard to tell. Come on, come on...please...no tee shirt or trainers...and he looks like he's been in the great outdoors for a while judging by his colour...might even live around here...maybe in the new houses over the back there, all bought as second homes no doubt. Here he comes...oh bloody hell, it's butterflies in the tummy time for me. Now patience Raf, let him speak to you first...pretend he's not there ok? Just keep working, or pretending to. Painting is a one hundred per cent concentration exercise and there's no way I'm doing that right now. The only thing on my mind right now is getting into a conversation with this boy.
He's stood up and facing me holding his little strand of grass. Here he comes. I don't look at him, but just keep pretending to paint as if he's not there. As if he's not there indeed!
He doesn't stand right in front of me which quite sensitively he realises would obstruct my view, so he stands in front of me but a bit to my right. I can see his face properly for the first time now. I'm very careful not to look down the boy's figure. He'll notice, which might be bad news...or possibly good news, but I'm not taking any chances on that one. His face is an open one. He's not smiling, but he wants to know. There are traces of dried salt on his forehead and cheeks from the sea presumably.
`What are you doing?'
No sarcasm please Raf, be a nice boy now...
`Err...I'm painting that over there.'
I'm pointing with my brush at the distant headland.
`It's good...can I watch for a bit? Who's Mowgli?'
Can you watch for a bit? You most certainly can, and all day preferably.
`He's a character in a book called the Jungle Book. You must have heard of it surely?'
`Oh yeah, I have. I saw the film ages ago. How long have you been doing it then...your picture?'
Yes, we have a dialogue.
We go through all the usual questions which I have heard umpteen times, all of which I answer honestly and in a tone that encourages his interest, after all why not...he is interested possibly...I think he is, and I can usually tell if there's a spark there, and I think there is. What I'm doing has hit somewhere inside him hopefully and he's, if not hooked, at the very least interested. Gone is the cute smile and in its place is that very particular expression that's looking for answers to questions he hasn't yet thought of. I need to play him carefully to keep him here. Anyway it's nice to have company up here, especially this chap. I look sideways treating myself to a glance, just occasionally. He stands very well...nice and upright with a good straight back and head held up well. He has green eyes!
I love green eyes with a passion...and good boyish features...not pretty but very boy like if that makes any sense. He needs a haircut this lad. He probably won't bother until his mother makes him go the day before school starts. Nice little nose too...and mouth...quite expressive and mobile...and that attractive inquisitive look about him. I'm still careful not to look at him.
`What do think of it so far...rubbish?'
`No...no it's good...I wish I could do that.'
`You could if you practice long enough. So what are you good at then? I bet you can do loads of things well. You look rather a bright spark.' His train of thought is not to be diverted.
`Do you sell them? How much do you sell them for?'
`No, I just do them for fun, and because I do art at school as an exam subject, it's good practice for me.'
`Where do you go to school? I go to Bearstead College...it's in Suffolk...I'll be in the Fourths next term...I'm twelve. How old are you?'
`I'm just fifteen. It was my birthday yesterday. I do my GCSE's the year after next. I go to a boarding school so...'
`So do I. Do you like it...being a boarder I mean?'
`Yeah, on the whole I do...at least I think so. I'm with my friends all the time instead of just sometimes. I like that. There's lots to do in the evenings and...'
`Do you mind if I sit and watch you...can I stay for a bit?'
`Ok. For how long?'
`Dunno. Can I?'
`Yeah...of course...you can stay as long as you want to...it's nice to have the company. Do you want to tell me about yourself Mowgli? You don't have to. Then I'll tell you about me. There's a sheet there if you want to sit on it...put it on that ridge of grass if you want, then you can see better. You've got sand all over you...did you know? Use that bit of towel if you want...brush the sand off before it starts irritating your skin.'
There I go...doing my `I want to look after you' bit. I'm already worrying about him.
Mowgli speaks nicely too...I don't mean posh `nicely' but...well enunciated...not sloppy. As choristers, we all have to learn to pronounce the whole word, not just bits of it, and particularly the last sound. I've finished with the singing now as my voice has gone...well the bit that was useful to the authorities when I was Mowgli's age. Actually that's not fair...I loved it really. That's what really started me on the sex thing I think...there were always other choristers wanting it...but not during the services I hasten to add! Anyway, the men behind us could see everything we did, and if they didn't like something...like a sneaky bit of conversation, they'd poke you with a finger which meant shut up...or else!
Mowgli...the boy in the dunes...
I think I've seen him before...I thought it was a man up there until I got closer and saw him. I'm here most days, especially if the weather is nice like today. We're here for the holidays...the whole time. Our house is one of the new ones on the small estate on the road behind the dunes. My mother brings us down here ...me and my younger sister...and my father stays up in Surrey so he can get to work as usual. I was a bit scared to go up there to see what he was doing but...well I was curious and...and I had to get a closer look. It looked like he was painting something which you don't often see here so...now I'm here it's fine...he's nice...he talks to me and stuff...like he's interested in what I think.
I think he's quite enjoying me watching him. Every now and again he turns towards me and smiles at me. He's nice. I want to stay here all day if I can...yes, he is nice...and something else too. He looks nice...quite handsome. I'm looking at him now...and not just him painting...him...I mean him. He's not as brown as me...but he is a bit. He's quite thin with only his shorts on like me, but they're nice white ones. He put his right hand in his pocket a moment ago. That made his shorts go tight round his bottom and he's wearing pants...don't think I can't tell because I can. I try to make mine show a bit...I think it's sexy. His don't show...except when he does what he's doing now, and then they do. He's got hairs on his legs...fair ones like his hair. I like boys that are older than me, like the ones at school. His thingy is sticking out a bit too, his penis thing, but that might just be me wanting it to. I wonder what it's like...big I bet. I asked him what his name was, and he said it was Raf. Mine's Jem. I like him...I mean...I like him like that if you know what I mean. I saw him look at my shorts for a second but that was long enough for me to tell...I think. I can't be sure of course, but I think I'm right.
I'm going to put him to the test now, by sitting so he can see more of me and see what he does...see where he looks. I'll watch his eyes and smile a bit, and if he's looking, I'll know straight away. I know I can do it from where I'm sitting. Here goes...if I put my legs like this I know what my shorts do because I've done it in front of a mirror and I know what they do. It makes the leg bit go really wide open so you can see right up them...any second now...come on Raf...go on look please. He will in a minute.
Smile nicely Jem. There...he looked again, and a bit longer that time. I'm excited!
He looked alright. Maybe I made it a bit too obvious. I hope not.
`Am I putting you off Raf? Sorry.'
`No Jem...you're not putting me off. It's just that I think I've done enough on this for a while anyway. If I stop, are you going to go off and play? You can stay if you want?'
`I want to stay. Can I?'
He's just given me the signal, without any question. There's no way I can go on painting now. I can hardly breathe let alone paint! What did he do you're wondering. Well, he sat himself on this mound of marram grass a bit above me, about my eye level, then he put his left leg up and the other down and over to the right which opens up a view right into his shorts...right to the top. Actually, there isn't far to look. He only has to open his legs like that and it's all there, naughty boy. That was no accident I can assure you...he meant it...and he was carefully looking to see if I was interested in what he had to show me. He saw me have a pretty good look. He knows and I know he knows...and he knows I know he knows, so...what next? What would you do? I know what I'm going to do...I'm going to find out why he did that. Maybe I I've read it all wrong, but I don't think. I know boys are often unaware of what they're showing you. Some are very aware and are careful about all that stuff. If he does it again, there won't be any doubt.
He's adjusted his position now.
No, there's no doubt in my mind now. He's just given me another glimpse. I can't tell exactly what, but they're white, at least the bit I can see is. Cute shorts too. They look great with his tan, all faded and those nice little slanted pockets too. They're perfect on him. Actually it would be quite difficult not to show everything the way he sitting, so there's a possibility I have got it wrong.
`That's a nice pose you're giving me there. Stay like that much longer and I'll have to draw you.'
He didn't respond to that, but just smiled back at me.
He hasn't altered his pose.
I put my brushes down on the easel which is a flat box with a lid on which you mount the board you paint on. All that then is mounted on a tripod.
It worked then! He's seen...in fact he's making a point of telling me he's seen. He's just raised his eyebrows at me as if to say so. It's making go all tingly in my tummy. I can feel it.
I like his shorts...they're not like mine though. Mine are kids ones. You know the type...quite short, but enough of them to cover your pants, just about! Mum said they would last the summer. Anyway I like them...I feel really sort of good in them, and I always wear them down here. Sometimes in the morning I put them on, or my other pair which are exactly the same, with no pants on underneath and they rub me a bit which is nice and then I undo my shorts and watch it go stiff, and put my fingers round it. I sit on the edge of my bed and do it really quickly with them still on with my hand inside...dead sexy that is. If nothing happens today, I'm going to imagine him tonight in bed doing it with me. No, not with me...to me. I can just imagine it. I'll try to stop him, but I can't because his hands are too strong, and of course I don't want to stop him, so I give in after a bit and then I let him and he does me wonderfully and I have this lovely lovely feeling. The question is, what do I do now?
As it happened, I didn't need to do anything.
`Do you ever swim here? You haven't got any trunks or a towel have you...not with you? Are those swimming trunks you've got on?'
`Sorry Jem, but it's the way you're sitting. Were you aware of that by any chance?'
`No...I mean...I don't think so.'
Hmm, a likely story. I think not.
`Ok, fine, Jem. So what about bathing then? Do you ever go in the sea?'
`Yes. I just take my shorts off and run in. No one takes any notice. I can't be bothered with trunks and all that stuff. I go up in the dunes out of everyone's way and dry them off on the warm sand...it's easier than swimming trunks and all that stuff...towels and so on.'
`What, you go in with nothing on?
`No, I've got pants on. They look like swimming trunks anyway don't they?'
`I don't know. Do they?'
`My mum says they do.'
`I think I could tell the difference.'
Jem has a nice sense of humour too. He seemed to find my comment amusing, so I thought I would give it a bit of follow up. I had another look, and he duly obliged by widening the gap between his knees, smiling rather knowingly.
`I would say they're trunks Jem.'
`Then you'd be wrong. Can you help me get down please?'
`just jump. It's not that high up.'
`I can't. Help me please?'
I looked up at him. From his position on top of the large tuft of marram grass, Jem put his arms above his head like a child would asking to be picked up...smiling broadly. He could perfectly easily jump from there, but he wants to play games. Fair enough, we'll play if that's what he wants. I have no objections.
He has a lovely smile this one...really open and very disarming I must say. I took the short steps towards him and duly obliged by placing my hands under his arms and to the side of his chest...his ribs visible under his quite spare covering, his skin stretching around his tummy, now flattened as he kept his arms aloft. I was close to him now.
`Stand up straight then. Yes, like that...that's nice.'
Looking down, he stuck his middle forward which was about a foot below my face, so as to emphasize the little bump at the front of his shorts. The thin cotton material couldn't disguise the mood he'd got himself into. As my hands tightened on the sides of his chest, his arms closed behind my neck as I lifted him down onto the sand in front of me.
`No, not that Jem. Do you have a problem with it?'
When I put my arms around him he felt lovely...all firm and warm...and when my feet touched the ground I didn't let him go but just slid my hands down his back and I laughed and wouldn't let go. Then I felt his hand go up my back and I pressed the side of my face against his chest. He's of course a bit taller than me so I could feel his front against my tummy. I let my hands slip down a bit until they were on his shorts. I could feel where his pants went on his hips. When I did that he held me tighter to him...really hard. I was pressing on his leg at the top...I can feel it now pressing against him...he must be able to feel it...I hope he can...I'm deliberately pressing it into his leg...he must be able to feel that surely?
He's so cute this boy, and not slow in coming forward either. I can feel him against my leg. There's no doubt about it. I've got my hands around his back. His back feels gorgeous...all warm from the sun. I am sorely tempted.
He feels big...it's digging into my tummy.
He let go of me then. I didn't want him to. We looked at each other. Raf seemed a bit flustered.
`Why don't you go for swim Jem...cool down maybe?'
I said ok. At least it will sort out whether I'm wearing swimming trunks or not.
`Can I leave my stuff here with you?'
He smiled and nodded. I went off to find my tee shirt and sandals I'd left on the beach, and brought them back up to where he was painting. It looked finished to me, but he kept looking at it as if he wasn't sure.
`Just stick it all down there Jem. Do I get to see your swimming trunks now?'
My shorts have an elasticated waistband, so they come off easily. I folded everything up and stood there.
`Nice trunks Jem.'
`They're not trunks Raf.'
`Oh. Well they're very nice.'
`I don't want to go swimming Raf.'
`Ok, you don't have to. It was just an idea, that's all. What would you like to do then?'
Raf. The sandy hollow.
It's more of a sheet than a blanket actually. I let him go and he arranged it in the sandy hollow that we had found together. We were below the level of the surrounding dunes, so unless someone actually happened to come and stand right over us, they wouldn't see us lying there. Jem lay down on my right side, as he smiled up at me. He was quite right...he is totally erect...as much as he could be in fact, and it was pushing up in his rather restricting brand of shorts, and over to one side. He had put his left hand on top of it. I think he was ever so slightly embarrassed, but not enough to stop him doing what he wanted, or rather had to do. He'd told me that he'd come to the beach to find sex if he could...and he'd found it with me the way things were going...and I was extremely glad he had. I come to the beach to paint and to `notice' boys, maybe evn get into conversation with them, but not expecting anything physical to happen unless I get very very lucky. It's only happened once before.
I arranged myself to his left, propped up on my right elbow and looked down at him returning his smile. I put the palm of my hand against the right side of his face...
`I'm glad you came to watch me work...did you know you are a very attractive boy?' Jem liked that very accurate observation and smiled broadly, and after a moment or two...
`Ummm...you've already told me that...so are you.'
`Because...because of how you look and are. I feel like I've known you for ages. Isn't that weird? You're sexy too...you make me feel sexy. Do you think we're going to then? I want to...do you?'
`Umm...so long as you do, but I'm a bit older than you Jem...is that a bad thing do you think?'
`No, of course not...I like it because you're older...you can do things properly...can't you? Can we do some pretend kissing please? you don't have to for real, not if you don't want to. Just a bit maybe? Anyway I like boys who are a bit older. They can do more things, and they get...you know...that. Can we start then?'
`Yes if you want, but I need to tell you something first. We can have a play later ok...when you're really ready?'
`How long do I have to wait? I'm ready now Raf...look...now please Raf.'
I did look. I wasn't going to deny him any longer. He'd done it before...that was very obvious...and he couldn't keep his hands off me while we played lips and tongues. He'd got my shorts undone and the zip all the way down and his hand found its way very rapidly inside my shorts, gripping me almost uncomfortably hard, going from my penis to my balls and then back again. I played with his bare chest, tickling his nipples which stood out nicely as I squeezed and licked them. I smelt his skin and all round his eyes and cheeks...the side of his neck and under his chin...a wonderful sensation which he responded to with little squeaks of delight. I was painfully hard...and wet too. He'd noticed.
`Have you had a feeling Raf? It looks all wet and...can I see properly now?'
I let him expose me completely. He looked for a few seconds and then gripped me hard just under the glans of my penis...hard enough to express a little moisture.
`It's feels slippery Raf...right on the end...nice though. Is it sperm?'
`No Jem...that's something else. It's what comes out before I get a feeling...sorry...'
`It's on my thumb...it's all slippery...look.'
He rather surprised me as he put his glistening thumb to his lips for a few seconds before replacing his hand on my penis which now rested on his shorts, just above the bump in them. He'd managed quite deftly to hook my pants under my testicles, and as he gripped me again, tightly, again just under my glans, he watched spellbound as a little more of the familiar clear viscous solution emerged forming an elongated drip down the side of my flared head of my circumcised penis.
`Don't let it go on your shorts Jem...it won't come out easily.'
`Can I take them off now?'
He lifted up his bottom and I helped them off him and down and over his feet which he held up. He lay there in his quite spare knickers, his trapped little penis rigid within, and straining at the thin material. There was no sign of moisture in his case.
`These are very sexy if I may say so...your choice or mum's Jem?'
`From the school outfitters...my mum gets them there. She says they're expensive so I have to wash properly and stuff, otherwise she gets cross. I do try Raf.'
`I'm sure you do Jem...they're just right for you.'
They were indeed lovely...pristine...bright white in the noon sunshine...not particularly brief and as I suspected, an exclusive brand available from a rather posh boy's outfitters...and perhaps one size larger than he needed which left convenient little gaps in interesting places for me to gently explore with my finger tips eliciting further giggles from my very willing subject. He surprised me somewhat by his next question...but I wasn't about to refuse him his wish.
`Will you kiss me there now please...'
`What...here? Are you sure Jem? Is it the only time...?'
`No, I have before. Will you?'
As I got up onto my knees he drew his legs right up towards his chest, knees together and with his thumbs he hooked the waistband of his pants from under his bottom, letting them come to rest a few inches up his thighs, exposing himself fully to me. He's quite magnificent...totally perfect.
`You're a naughty boy Jem.'
He's uncircumcised and perfect of course. What twelve year old's penis is not perfect I'd like to know...whatever the shape or size. I've seen tons of boys' penises, and Jem's was a pretty average size for his age...a creamy white with an even white ring of his slightly raised corona underneath the translucent membrane of his prepuce which extended maybe a centimetre beyond the rounded tip of his glans...visible as his pants held his erection down between his legs, only to spring up and against his tummy on their removal. I placed myself in front and a little between his feet and pressed my head between the boy's thighs pushing them apart at the same time. I started with his tummy button working my way down using my tongue to good effect judging by the boy's reaction...taking in the perfume of his tight little textured ball sac and along the perineum towards the anus. As I neared that most intimate of places, he told me that's what he really wanted by drawing his legs back further using both hands to lever his bottom upwards inviting me to pleasure him there. I used both hands to prise the boy's buttocks further apart and looked at him there...just to look at what may lay in store for me later perhaps? He's quite perfect there too...very obviously tight and probably unused to any sort of invasion...from his own hand and certainly anyone else's. I began to run my tongue along the moderate length of his erect penis, before enclosing it with my mouth firmly...taking all of him in me...perhaps four inches of it, foreskin in place...I wasn't going to mess about with that as some boys his age were not necessarily completely separated and it's not a good idea to force the skin back. I moved forward to cover him, resting on my elbows either side of his chest and we began to touch each other with our mouths, toying at first, but then quite quickly exploring with our lips and tongues. It was blissful indeed...and he gave me every possible signal that he was enjoying the experience, just as I was. With his legs raised and apart, and my body poised over him, he felt me against him, but there was no question of my attempting an entry yet...that would take time and a good deal of preparation I suspect if it happened at all, and anyway I couldn't be certain that he would wish it...or me come to that. Lots of boys, and I have beautiful Olaf in mind now, love to present their bottoms for stimulation as they climax but are not at all ready to be fully penetrated there. Olaf, in my dorm, is a natural lover...generous of spirit and immensely giving. By Jem's body language I knew he didn't want to wait much longer and as he forced his hand between out tummies to feel himself I turned onto my side once more and to his left to watch him.
`I need to do it now Raf. You will watch me won't you?'
`Ok sweetheart. I'm watching you.'
He held my arm tightly with his left hand as he masturbated with his right. I gently tickled him between his legs...and around his tight little balls now drawn up into his abdomen and almost disappeared. From there, as his feeling began to come I pressed on his anus gently, making light circles around the darker skin around his opening...his legs now wide apart to allow me easy access to give him this particular pleasure as he neared the summit for the first time this morning. His strokes slowed as he took in air audibly in short gasps...and came with a watery jet onto his tummy making a small pool of the liquid amongst the scattered grains of sand adhered to his soft skin. It was a few seconds before he began to come down...his head turned away from me...his breathing slowing now. He looked round towards me. I looked at him smiling.
`Are you ok?' He just nodded, still in his reverie somewhat.
I felt the strands of his fair hair as they fell onto his forehead, glistening with perspiration. He began to move the hand that still held me...a wordless request for me to begin my short journey that he had just taken. I held his head angling it towards my middle so he might see...
`Hold me here please Jem...yes, like that...squeeze a bit more...'
`Where will it go Raf...when it comes out?' His voice was soft and enquiring...
`I'll put my hand over it so...'
`No don't...just let it go where it wants...it won't matter...'
`It's pointing at your tummy now Jem...you don't want that do you?'
`Will there be a lot Raf...how much?'
There was a good chance there would be a fair amount as I had been quite `rested' for two or three days for one reason or another and I knew I was very ready for what was surely going to happen within a minute or so. I had started quite early, by the age of eleven if not a bit sooner, and now at fourteen I appeared to be more productive than most of the others I had witnessed, or experienced at school. Oh dear...I hope Jem's ready for this...anyway there's no way I'm going to hold back at this point. I angled myself so that I would let go onto the boy's tummy, a little above his tummy button. I must have been half way there as I began to stimulate the shaft a little below my unnaturally exposed glans, with all four fingers, and thumb firmly on top, beginning with short rapid strokes, but within a minute slowing to intermittent slow and fast...and at the last...the very last...just the gentlest friction. The tip glistened...and then dripped, with the usual display of the crystal clear viscous solution I seemed to produce almost at will in large quantities which was rapidly becoming a curse and embarrassment, before the main event overtook me. Jem's little squeal of delight made me laugh which didn't do much for my concentration I have to say, but made little difference to the final result. My first contraction sent semen up and completely over his chest landing on the sand just beyond his shoulder. The second landed on his chest and partly on his hand which was resting on it. The third and fourth found it way between my hand and his tummy. I very much doubt if he had hitherto seen the like of it, and if he had, I wouldn't mind hearing about it.
We lay there very quietly for quite a while. I had my right arm around his shoulder and my left palm on his gorgeous little tummy, as I resisted the very strong temptation to go on playing with him. I had got his pants up to cover him, and mine too, and he was obviously enjoying the sensation of my touching as he had hardened once again inside the soft and yielding material.
END OF PART ONE