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The Magic Cap.
By John T. S. Teller.
It's the Thursday after the bash at Briddon Castle as I watch Michael sorting out the first form boys into proper lines. I can tell by his face that something's not right. He does glance at me, but he doesn't smile, and when I see him again a couple of times during the day when he's with his best friend, Arthur Brookfield, he still looks far away. Thank goodness I'll be seeing him tonight. He's got me worried.
I'm sitting on the church wall when he exits the gates. He still looks unhappy, and he doesn't smile as I go to him.
"What's the matter, Michael?"
He puts his head down and screws up his face, and I can see that he's fighting back tears. "Judy died yesterday. She was dead when I got home. Alex is burying her in the garden before he goes to work. She'll be gone when I get home."
I'm shocked. "How? What happened?"
Michael shrugs his shoulders. "Maybe a heart attack. It happens. Dogs die."
I grab his arm. "Michael... I'm so sorry. I know how much you loved her. Do you want me to catch the bus and go home?"
He shakes his head. "No, but I don't want to..."
"It's ok. I wouldn't dream of it. I don't want to either, now."
We walk in silence to his home, and when we go into the house, it's strange with no Judy making a fuss of us. Michael breaks into tears, and so do I. I lead him to Dada's chair and push him into it and sit in his lap and hug him, and we both sob together. After a while, we control our emotions and go down the back yard to the small vegetable patch and look at the mound of soil that marks Judy's grave. Alex has stuck a small cross in it. Again we break into tears, and then we walk back into the house and hug some more.
Michael looks at the clock. "We need to get you on your bus. Come on."
As we stand at the bus stop, Michael looks at me. "Thanks for coming home with me. I don't think I would have liked to have gone in on my own."
I give him a sad, half-smile. "I'll come home tomorrow with you as well. No special loving. I just want to be with you. Alex will be home Saturday, and you won't be on your own. Will that be ok?"
He nods. The bus arrives, and I get on it. He stares at me, raises a hand, and walks away.
Alex is driving me mad with his prompting to revise and revise before I take my final exams on Monday. "For goodness sake Alex, shut up will you! I've been revising this last six weeks. I know what I'm doing!"
"Revising! Bloody revising! It's July 2nd on Monday and I know for a fact that you've spent more time with Lover Boy than bloody revising! God knows what he's going to do next week when you're sitting bloody exams all week. He'll be fretting like a bloody wench when he can't see you. It's a bloody good job I'm on days. I'll kick his arse from here to bloody Land's End if he doesn't let you get on with it!"
"Shut up Alex! You sound just like Dada. I know what I'm doing, and for your information, so does Stuart. I'm getting grief off him as well as you! Just leave me alone!"
Friday. I'm sitting on the church wall, and Michael has a grin on his face when he sees me. I grin back at him. "How did it go? Do you think you'll pass?"
"I think so."
"How many subjects?"
"Seven out of eight, I think. French was a bit tricky, but I think I'll pass. English Lit and English language should be ok. Geography was a doddle. PE is a cert. Maths went well, and so did Politics. Physics, I'll might just scrape it."
We're walking down the hill now. "You should have taken a sex exam. You'd have passed on that."
Michael laughs. "Don't tell Alex that. We'll never hear the last of it. Anyway, talking about sex, what are you doing on Sunday?"
I smirk at him. "Oh... Sunday. Didn't I tell you? The last time I spoke to Alex, he said he'd be out all day and I've arranged with Mother and Father for us to go cycling again. But we won't be going cycling; we'll be spending all day in bed." I give him my biggest, cheekiest grin. "You deserve a rest after the week you've had."
Michael doesn't stop grinning all the way `home'.
Alex is in the kitchen when we go in, and he shouts through to us, "Dinner is nearly ready. Sit down boys."
Michael gives me a strange look. "What about your bus?"
I grin at him. "I'm catching a late one. Mother and Father know. I told them Alex was planning a celebratory dinner, and had invited me." I shout through to Alex, "Pig's trotters, Alex?"
I hear Alex laugh. "Not tonight, Lover Boy. Pork chops and all the trimmings. Do you like stuffing?"
I break down with laughter, and Michael does too, and when Alex comes in sporting a huge grin, we all snigger together.
I'm hungry, and Alex's pork chop dinner is superb. I'm sitting next to Alex, and every time he eats a piece of stuffing, he gives me the evil eye, and I giggle like a schoolgirl. When I've finished eating, I look at him and grin. "Alex, that was fantastic: almost as good as your pig's trotters."
"Well done, Lover Boy. Never mind your foydee grass stuff, wait until you taste Alex's steak pie. That will make your little pinkler grow."
Alex and I are giggling, but Michael finishes his meal, picks up all the plates, and walks to the kitchen, muttering how disgusting we both are. When he's out of sight, Alex hunches his shoulders and gives me a stupid grin.
On the bus home, I think about the time I've just spent with Michael and Alex. It was wonderful. Michael is my lover, but I wish Alex was my real brother. I'm beginning to love him like one, and I'm also wishing I wasn't going back to my own home. I could live with Michael and Alex forever.
It's quite chilly as we wave goodbye to Mother and Father and cycle away from my home, but instead of heading out into the countryside, we head through the city to Eastern Road.
I'm about to take my clothes off, when Michael stops me." No, not yet. I want to lie on the bed with you as we are. Can we do that?"
I'm puzzled, but we get on the bed together, and kiss softly. I look into the beautiful eyes I love. "Why?"
Michaels strokes my cheeks. "You're different when you've got your clothes on: these clothes; not your school uniform. You look more grown up in these clothes. Now, whenever I'm in bed thinking about you, this is how I imagine you. This is where I start."
I stick my tongue out and lick the tip of his nose. "I'm disappointed."
Now it's Michael's turn to look puzzled. "Why's that?"
"I thought you loved the Magic Cap."
He smiles. "I do. When you have a new one, I want that one. May I have it then, please?"
I give him an evil grin. "You'll have to pay me in kind! Anyway, back to how you imagine me now. In your fantasies, you mean?"
He nods, and tries to catch my tongue with his, and we play a little game of chasing tongues. Eventually, he becomes exasperated because he can't catch my tongue, and he grabs my head and crushes his mouth to mine. I can't resist his mouth; it's a part of him that I like to be deep inside, and I chase and chew his tongue, and suck the saliva from it. My cock is as hard as nails now, and I want to fuck, but Michael seems bent on doing something different, so I play the game.
He lifts a part of my dark-green woollen pullover, and kisses it, and then his hand goes slowly down my body, feeling at the contours of it through the pullover and through the texture of my brown corduroy trousers. His hand moves from my knees back up to the top of my trousers, and he undoes the buttons and opens the flaps; pulls my shirt above my navel, and his hand passes over my nakedness and down onto the white underpants I'm wearing. When his hand is on my swollen cock, I shudder and take a deep breath. I'm excited as I watch what he's doing. His finger manipulates my cock until it's bulging out from my underpants, and then he strokes it through the fabric. I know this isn't just sex; this is also deep love, and it heightens my senses even more. The man I love is doing his own loving, the way he wants, by the way he sees me. The swollen cock is not just an object of sex; it's a part of me that he adores. He could be doing it to my nose and I know he would be feeling as he is now.
He fiddles about, and manages get my cock through the hole in my Y-fronts, and it pops out like a cork, free of the restrictions of my underwear. He applies slight pressure to my foreskin and the swollen, purple knob slips out like a gift. It is pure me. I am giving myself to him, and he knows it, because I don't do the usual, push my hips up to make him do me. He goes down, and puts his lips on the small amount of seminal fluid that is escaping from me, and when he takes his mouth away, the sticky fluid hangs in a thin streamer between his lips and my slit. And then the love I have for Michael is too great for me to control, and I feel it coming. It starts deep inside me, in my heart, and travels to my tickling spot, and then to every erogenous zone I have, and my body begins to shudder of its own accord, and the sensual feelings spiral to what he can see, and as I lie, fully compliant, my spunk spurts out of me and onto Michael's face. He doesn't close his eyes, and nor does he make any move towards me to stimulate me more. I don't want him to; the sight of what is happening is more stimulating than touch, and it drives me to an even greater passion, and my ejaculation is more plentiful and more powerful that any I have ever done; and I realize that I have just experienced a wide-awake wet dream. And then the tears flow from my eyes like small rivulets as I sink my head back onto the pillow. Where before I was ignorant; now I am not. I am sexually and spiritually completely spent knowing I have just discovered the love that surpasses all others.
We sit at the table and pick at Alex's pig's trotters. `I'll do them especially for you, Lover Boy,' Alex had said, with a twinkle in his eye the last time I saw him, `They will put some meat on that little pinkler of yours.'
No words; just touching. We do it often as we sit and eat. And eye contact. Glances that meet, and our souls dance a loving duet.
After the magic moment, Michael had taken most of my love, and then cleaned us up with the cloth, and redressed me. The silence between us was beautiful as he leaned above me and stared down into my eyes and watched the tears flow. He knew I had just experienced something so deep, that even he could not comprehend it. Michael, my perfect, unselfish Michael, had not asked what I had felt; instead, he brushed his lips over mine, and allowed me come out of the spell in my own time. Eventually, I did, and I grabbed his head and pulled him fiercely to me, and crushed his mouth with mine. That was all I needed to say.
Michael goes to the kitchen and makes us two mugs of tea, and sits beside me again. "Have you had enough?"
I grin at him. "Upstairs or downstairs?"
He giggles. "Either or both."
I shake my head. "I want you again; but my way this time."
He smiles, picks up the tea cloth, and gently wipes some grease from my lips, and then takes my hand. I pick up my mug of tea and take two gulps from it, and then allow him to lead me up the stairs and back to the bedroom.
While he lies on the bed, fully clothed, I strip naked, and then go and sit on his chest, and take his hands and run them over my body. Then I push his hands behind his head, and lean forward and brush his lips with my stiff cock. His mouth opens, and I push it into him and feel the warmth of his suckling. But I don't want him to suck me off; I want to pleasure my man, so I slip down his body and sit on his legs and undo his trousers and pull them and his underpants down onto his thighs, and then push his pullover and shirt above his nipples. I smile as I play with them and watch them rise in the centre of the ha'penny-sized, darker brown flesh than the rest of his chest. The hairs on his chest are not complete yet. I know, one day, they will be like Alex's are when I've seen him stripped to his waist having a wash; they will meet with the triangle of thick bushy hair that surround the large cock that I worship.
I run my fingers through his chest hairs, and then, gently, caress the naked flesh below them. I come to the part that always tickles him, and I grin at him. He knows what's coming, and he giggles when I get there. I love his giggles, and I want to dwell there and continue to listen to them, but I know he'll push my hand away if I do, so I spare him and continue down to his pubic hairs, and brush my fingers through them. They're curlier than the hair on his head, but the same brown colour. His cock is pulsating, which pleases me, because I know how much my ministrations have got him worked up. I stroke it, and then push the foreskin back. Our cocks are very similar, and I know what will please him and what will make him sore, so I don't dwell with my fingers on the swollen, purple knob. Instead, I stroke the parts beneath it, and then reach for the Vaseline, which is open and ready, and I apply liberal amounts to his cock. I do that, because it will save me touching myself. I wipe my hands on the cloth, and rise up.
I pull my buttocks apart, and when I lower myself, I'm in the perfect position, and I feel the bulging head pop through my ring. This is the part I like best, and I slowly lower myself until he's on my magic spot, and I moan as I help myself to some ecstasy before I go down further until he's completely inside me, and I'm sitting on him. This is where Michael likes to be, and he knows what I'm going to do next, and his hands begin to caress my body. That's why I stripped naked before we started; to give myself to him.
I begin to work my stomach muscles, which makes my inner passage masturbate him. I know that what is going to happen will not bring me to a climax, but this is for Michael, and not for me. My climaxes will come later, after I've brought my lover to his first peak. As I manipulate my insides, I know the exact moment when I also need to jerk my body to stimulate him further. I watch his breathing become more rapid, and hear the sharp intakes of breath, and I know that I need to do the rest of my stuff, so I grit my teeth and shake my body and make him spurt his spunk deep inside me, and when he does, his mouth opens wide; his face contorts; and his hips push me up as he tries to get even deeper to plant his seed. When it's over and he sinks back on the bed, I continue to manipulate him inside me to squeeze every last drop out of him. I want it, and the thought that I'm now full of my lover's juices makes the fuck a much more rewarding one for me.
I'm on my back now, and Michael is towering over me, and his cock is rubbing my magic spot, and he begins to reward me for my earlier efforts. I know now that I can lie back and enjoy the wonderful ecstasy of pure sex with the man I love.
It's almost 3 o' clock, an hour past kicking out time at the pub. I'm sitting in Dada's chair and Michael is sitting in the one adjacent to it. He looks through the window, which gives a view down the back yard, and nods. "He's here, the drunken sod!"
I grab the wooden arms of the chair and lift myself to peer down the back yard. My lovely Alex sees me watching him, and he grins a silly grin. Alex comes through the back door and into the living room.
"Out of my chair, Lover Boy!"
I laugh as Alex stands in front of me, pointing a menacing finger at my face. Then I stretch out a hand so he can lift me from the chair, and he does. But he doesn't let go of my hand; he falls into the chair and drags me onto his knees and hugs me to him. I'm giggling as the hug tightens and his hand strokes the hair on my head as it snuggles under his chin, and his drunken voice is comforting and wonderfully slurred as he speaks in his drawn out colloquial dialect that is, sometimes, difficult for me to understand.
"Come here, my little beauty. Let Alex give you some loving." He pushes my head back so he can look at my face. "Did you enjoy Alex's pig's trotters?"
I can smell the beers on him, and the clean smell of carbolic soap, and a heady, but not repugnant scent of his manly sweat. The mixture of all of them is quite moving to my soul, and I relax back into him to show him that I'm more than comfortable to be in his arms. "It was lovely, Alex. I ate all of mine."
The way I'm sat on Alex's knees, I'm facing Michael, who is smiling and enjoying me sharing his brother's love. But he has to say something. It's expected of him; the way he and Alex bounce retorts between one another.
"Leave him alone, Alex, you drunken sod!"
"Leave him alone?! Don't bloody kid yourself, Kiddo! Lover Boy here loves his Alex!" He puts his rough hand under my chin and lifts my head again. "Don't you Kiddo?"
I smile into his eyes, and melt back into him again and tighten my hug, and I feel him kiss the top of my head.
He jerks a thumb at Michael. "Go and get my bloody trotters, Kiddo. I'm bloody starving."
Michael looks at me. "Will you be alright with the drunken sod?"
Alex raises his voice. "Will he be alright!? Of course he'll be alright! He's in the safest pair of hands in the world, is Lover Boy. He won't come to no harm with his Alex! Now just sod off and get my dinner."
Michael looks at me, and grins, and then goes into the kitchen.
While he's gone, Alex lifts my head again, and whispers in my ear. "Have you two had a good time while I've been away?"
I smile at him, and stare into his gorgeous eyes, and gently smack his face. "Mind your own business, you drunken sod."
He giggles, and winks at me, and then whispers in my ear again, "You two should get married!" and he can barely contain his laughter.
Michael brings Alex his dinner, and sets it out on the table, and Alex pushes me roughly off him and goes to eat it. I can hear him munching from where I'm sat in Dada's chair, and he keeps winking at me, and I can't stop giggling. When he's finished, he points a finger at me: "Take these plates away, lover Boy!" Michael goes to get up, but Alex's voice is demanding: "Oi, you! Sit down. Lover Boy is perfectly able to take a few plates away!" And he yanks his finger at me again.
I pick up the plates and take them into the kitchen. After I've passed the Victorian copper boiler on my left, I come to the massive Belfast sink under the small window to the right, with a wooden draining board fastened to the right hand side of it, and just past it is the cool-cupboard. It looks like a tall rabbit hutch with a close-mesh at the front to keep out the flies. I open the door and look at the contents. Cheese in a Cheese-dish; butter still wrapped in paper; lard; margarine still in its paper, and sundry other perishable items, and I compare it to the large, modern fridge we have at home. I decide to wash the dishes, and look around for the washing up liquid. I can't find it, so I shout to ask where it is.
Michael comes to me, and he grins. He takes the aluminium kettle from the gas stove and fills it with water from the single brass tap in the sink, puts it on a gas ring, turns a knob, and lights it with a match. There's a loud `bumph!' as the gas ignites and flames shoot all around the kettle, and then Michael sprinkles some soap flakes over the dishes.
I look at him. "Don't you use washing up liquid?"
He grins. "Washing up liquid is for fairies."
I giggle, and take a closer look around the kitchen. It's about eight foot by six, and there's not enough room to swing a mouse round, never mind a cat. But it's whitewashed and clean, and the tall cupboard opposite the sink is painted a light green, and somebody has stencilled autumn leaves on both doors.
The kettle boils and whistles through the removable spout, and Michael removes the spout, and then pours the boiling water over the flakes and the dishes before switching on the cold tap to mix the water to the right temperature. When he's sure it's not too hot, he points to the tea-towel hanging from the side of the cupboard, grins, and leaves me to it.
I enjoy washing the dishes, something I would never do at home, and when I'm done and the dishes are washed, rinsed and dried, I return to the living room with a grin on my face.
Alex is back in his chair, and he beckons me to him. Because there are only two easy chairs, if I want to be part of the company, I have no option other than to sit with him, unless I want to sit at the table, so I go to him, and he drags me onto his knees again. Of course, I can go and sit on Michael's knees, but I wouldn't feel comfortable doing that in front of Alex.
Michael is sitting in his chair with his legs stretched out; his feet resting on the brass fender, and he grins at me again.
Alex turns my head towards him. "You haven't got a dog, have you Kiddo?"
I shake my head. "I wish I had."
Alex beams a silly smile, and then pushes me off him. He staggers to the back door and sways his way down the backyard. I look at Michael, who is grinning.
I have to ask. "Where's he gone?"
Michael is stifling a laugh, but he doesn't answer me. I look through the back window, and Alex is swaying his way back, and he's got his arms behind his back and a daft look on his face. I hear him come into the house, and then he's behind me.
I'm shocked when he leans over me and deposits a tiny puppy in my lap.
"There you go, Lover Boy; you've got one now!"
Michael and Alex both burst out laughing when I pick up the black and white puppy and bring him to my face. He stares at me, and then a tiny tongue licks my nose, and I almost burst into tears. "He's beautiful! What's his name?! What sort is he?!"
Alex is standing on the other side of Michael, leaning against the shelf above the iron grate to steady himself. "He is a she, and she's a Jack Russell. She'll be a great little ratter when she's bigger."
I can't stop giggling, but I know I can't take her home, and I look at Alex and say so.
"Not to worry about that Kiddo, she can stay here. Anyway, you've got two homes now; this place and your posh place over yonder."
I hug the small creature to my face. "You haven't told me what her name is."
Michael puts a hand out and tickles the little dog's head. "We thought we'd leave that to you. What do you want to call her?"
"Really?! Am I to name her?"
Michael's hand strokes my hair. "Yes. She's yours. You name her what you like."
I look at Alex, and he nods. I stare at the tiny creature, and a thought enters my head, and I begin to giggle. Then I look at Michael and Alex. "Could we call her... `Trotter'?"
Both Alex and Michael burst into laughter, and so do I, and when Alex says, `That's a bisexual name!', we can't stop laughing, and when I tell him he means asexual, we laugh even louder, and when `Trotter' pees on my trousers, we collapse into chaos.
I switch off my bedside lamp and draw my `Michael comforter pillow' to my breast, and think about the day. I can't remember another in my whole life that has had such meaning as this one. From the moment Michael picked me up in the morning, to the wave he gave me after we'd cycled back to my home, it had been full of emotion and fun and sexual satisfaction. I'm still in partial shock at what happened to me on `our' bed. It's beyond my comprehension that just the sight of Michael loving me could bring me to such a powerful and dramatic climax. I know why it happened - because my love for Michael is so deep - but I wouldn't have imagined it possible for it to happen. But it did, and even now I'm still basking in the wonder of it. My cock is hard and I begin to masturbate, and when I climax, the thought of what happened flashes through my mind, and my hips rise from the bed to try to emulate the same feeling. Of course, it's impossible, but I'm part way there. I'll settle for that. I clean myself up and settle down to sleep.
The final thought on my mind before I drift into unconsciousness is the lovely brown eyes of my little `bisexual' Trotter looking into my own. I've got my very own dog, my very own man, a wonderful new brother, and life is unbelievably beautiful. I'm too sleepy and too much in love to even think about the future. Changes are inevitable, and no-one can know which way the wind will blow, but right now I don't care anything except the fantastic day I've just had.
To be continued...
Other stories on Nifty by John Teller/The Storyteller can be found here.