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The Magic Cap.
By John T. S. Teller.
Stuart's father's office is posh. Big style posh, and I'm sitting alone in his big style posh red-leather chair behind his big style posh desk, and in front of me are three phones, and I don't know whether it will be the red, black, or white phone that Stuart will ring me on. And I'm nervous as hell. I look at the art-deco clock on the wall: five minutes to two. At two, nothing, and I'm feeling sick. At just four minutes past, the white phone rings. I snatch it up. It's a foreign lady's voice speaking in not too perfect English. "I have a reverse charge call from Monte Carlo. You accept ze call, M'sieu?"
"Yes, I will. Thank you."
"I am connecting for you... one moment... connected, M'sieu."
I hear a number of clicks on the phone, and then it goes silent, and I think I've been disconnected. Timidly, I say, "Hello?"
And the relief in me is palpable when I clearly hear the familiar voice I love. "Michael?"
"Yes. How are you?"
"Missing you like mad." There's a short, awkward silence, and I know Stuart is crying when he says, "Are you angry with me? I'm sorry. I just had to do it."
I'm almost in tears myself, but I manage to hold them back when I offer words of reassurance to the boy I love. "Of course I'm not. I love you more for being so brave."
"Do you really?"
"Yes. I'm worried about you though."
"I know, I know. It's OK now. It's all worked out. Mother and Father are sorting things for us. Mother was dead against it at first and we didn't speak, but Father has made her change her mind, and now she can't do enough for us. I don't know how Father did it, but he's worked miracles for us. I think we're going to be living in Abingdon."
"Living in Abingdon? Abingdon?!"
"Yes. With Father's friend and business partner, Peter Shawcliffe. He lives in Abingdon. It's only about seven miles from Oxford."
I'm baffled by what Stuart is telling me. "Why should we be staying with Peter Shawcliffe? What about your schooling? I don't understand."
Stuart giggles his beautiful giggle, and that makes me feel so much better. "Peter Shawcliffe is like us, and he lives with his partner in Abingdon. Father has spent some time on the phone speaking to him, and it was Peter who suggested it. When you think about it, it's perfect. Father's a genius. Once Mother had come to terms with what I told her about us, she's been fantastic. She's even said she might move to Abingdon herself. That set Father off in one, but once Mother has got something on her mind, she usually gets her own way. Father's company head-office is in Pangbourne, which is just over twenty miles from Abingdon. She's got it all worked out. And there are lots of Grammar Schools near Abingdon and Oxford for me to choose from. Well?"
I shake my head. "I can't believe it. This morning I was breaking my heart, and now I'm stunned. What clothes are you wearing?"
I hear Stuart giggle again. "Really short green shorts; a green short-sleeved cotton shirt, sandals, and short white socks." Stuart's giggle gets louder. "Oh... and no underpants. It's sexy without them, but awkward when I think about you. Why do you want to know?"
"You know why I want to know."
More giggles. "No I don't. Tell me."
I giggle. "I need to know what you look like when I take you to bed tonight."
Stuart is chuckling now. "What are you going to do to me?"
I laugh. "I'm going to undress you very slowly, and make you suffer for being away from me."
"Shut up! Mother and Father are sitting on the sea wall, and I've got to walk out of this phone box!"
I laugh again. "And then I'm going to tickle your magic spot until you're begging me to stop!"
"You swine! It's sticking right up now! Oh, God! You swine! I'll get you for this!"
Now, we're both helpless with laughter, and when the laughter subsides, I ask, "When will you be home?"
"Another week. Can you wait that long? I love you Michael."
"I love you too, Stuart. More than you will ever know. And yes, under sufferance, I can wait another week... just. But you'd better go back to your Mother and Father now. They'll wonder what we're up to."
"Oh no they won't! They know now, and no more secrets, and I'm really, really happy it's out. Are you?"
"Yes. I've been worried to death about you, but I can wait for you now I know you're OK. You can ring me tomorrow if you want to."
"At the office you're in now?"
"No. I've got the phone number of the public call box by our house. Do you want it?"
"Damn and blast! I haven't got a pen. Wait a minute. There are some used matchsticks on the floor. Hold on... right, I've got some. I'll wet the end of them and write it on the back of my hand. Go on!"
I give him the number, and then ask, "Have you got that?"
He's giggling. "Yes, but my hand looks a mess. I'll ring you at seven every evening."
"Ok. If I can spare the time, I'll be there."
Stuart laughs. "You'd better be there! Oh, by the way, tell Alex I'm missing him, too."
"He already knows. He's read your letters."
"You're kidding me?!"
"I'm not! You're in for some stick off him when you get back."
Stuart is chuckling away like an idiot now. "I don't care. Alex knows I love him anyway. Is Trotter OK?"
"Trotter is fine. She'll lick you to death when you get back."
"Super, but she'll have to wait her turn. You'll be doing that first."
I laugh. "Go away, you sexy monkey!"
"Ok. I'm sending you a great big kiss. Can you feel it?"
"Yes. Through my pants."
We say our goodbyes with more chuckles, and then the line goes dead, and I sit back in the big style posh chair and let out a long sigh of relief. It's a while before I venture from the office, because my sigh of relief was accompanied by a deluge of pent up tears, and my handkerchief is soaked by the time I've cleaned myself up.
Even though I'm riding on my cycle through the grime of the industrial city, I'm fabulously happy, and life is beautiful. I'm on my way to Eastern Road, to my lover, Michael.
The last week I spent touring with Mother and father had been wonderful. I had more kisses and cuddles from Mother during the week than I'd had for years. And hugs from father, too. Everything changed between us, and Mother seems to have come completely to terms with what I am. I spoke to Michael every evening at seven, and we made love over the phone with words, which was then consummated many times every night and morning in bed as I recalled every word he spoke to me. After the first chat, I made sure to wear my swimming trunks under my underpants to hide my hard cock when I came out of the phone box. We always chatted for at least half an hour. Michael made me laugh because he said there was a massive queue waiting outside his phone box, and they were giving him dirty looks because he was on the phone for so long, and I couldn't stop laughing when he said they would have a fit if they knew he was talking about fucking me.
The long drive back from the South of France had been very tiring, and it was eleven o' clock on Thursday night when we finally got home. I went to bed immediately, and slept like a log, hugging my familiar Michael Pillow to my tearful face. But I got up at eight on Friday morning – this morning - to go and see Michael.
It's just turned ten o' clock. It's taken me an hour to get to Michael's, and I take the short cut at the side of the pub along the backs to Michael's house, and when I open the gate, I see Michael working where Dada's pigeon cote used to be, on the foundations of a new garage he and Alex are building for Alex's new Land Rover, which he's just had after he passed his driving test. Michael is dressed in an overall, and is filthy. He isn't expecting me, because I hadn't telephoned him after we set off from the South of France. The last time we spoke, I said I would come to him as soon as I could when I was back at home.
The moment he sees me, he gives me a gorgeous, surprised smile. "Hello Stranger. Have you run away from home?"
I grin at him through my tears and sobs. "No. I'm feeling sexy."
He laughs through his tears and sobs, and points to his working clothes. "If you fancy a bit of rough, I'm all yours."
I lie on the bed and listen to Michael downstairs. He's having a strip-wash. When we got in the house, even though we were both breaking our hearts at the overwhelming joy of being together again, he wouldn't let me touch him, and he didn't touch me. He just pointed to the stairs. If Michael hadn't done it this way, I would have. I'd been planning this very moment since we first spoke on the phone when I was in France. Michael gave me a puzzled look when I raised my saddle bag teasingly at him before I went up the stairs. But I know exactly what I'm doing.
I'm shaking with anticipation as I hear Michael coming up the stairs, and he comes into the bedroom, naked, and I shudder with love and lust at the sight of the man who fills my every waking moments; who occupies my dreams; who I would gladly die for, and when he sees me lying on the bed, tears stream unashamedly from his eyes and down his cheeks as he sobs like a small child. In the saddlebag were the clothes I was wearing when we first spoke on the phone: the green shorts; the green short-sleeved cotton shirt; the short white socks, and no underpants; and that's exactly what I'm wearing now as I lie on the bed with my arms outstretched to welcome him, and I'm praying that this is going to be a case of déjà vous as I cry like I've never cried before, and my wails of despair; need; love; are outed with just one word repeated over and over again: Michael; Michael; Michael; Michael!
Michael smiles awkwardly through his own tears, and nods. He understands.
Passionately, he sucks my toes and licks my feet, and then kisses his way up my legs, and pushes the leg of my shorts up so that my swollen cock is available to him. He applies slight pressure to my foreskin, and the swollen knob slips out like a gift. He goes down to it and licks the seminal fluid that is escaping from me, and he looks at me with his gorgeous eyes, knowing exactly what I want. All he has to do is stroke the end of my knob very gently with his soft lips, and then, for only the second time in my life, I feel it again. 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, and drips down onto my thigh. 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 a touch, and it drives me to an even greater passion. I feel it building up again, and I hump myself at his face without touching him until my spunk spurts again from me, and when the final moments of this amazing roller-coaster of passion subsides, I collapse back onto the bed in a state of shock and awe at the emotions and physical climax of being back with Michael.
After Stuart has ejaculated twice onto my face, I move up the bed to stare into the gorgeous eyes that have stolen my heart, and through the tears that fill them, I see right into the boy I love; into the grief he has suffered because of our enforced absence, and I experience feelings I thought could never exist. I feel it's not enough to look upon him; I want to be inside him; part of him; a genie-like spirit that can live both within and without him. I need to be of him, and the most beautiful thing of all is that I know he is feeling exactly as I am. There are no need for words... our eyes are saying everything we need to say to each other. His mouth opens, and he pulls my head down to him and he licks his seed from my face and eyes, devouring himself. But it's not himself. The semen that squirted from his penis was not just his love; it was our love. When he's ravished himself from me, he offers his tongue to me, and I suck the saliva and semen juices from it, and swallow them eagerly. He pushes his head up from the pillow, and we come together in a crushing, passionate kiss. Stuart's arms encircle my neck, and the kiss becomes frantic. Both of us are crying now, and Stuart is wailing as we share this moment we've so desperately waited for. Not too gently, he pushes me off him, and rolls on top of me to take what he wants from me, and he's almost eating my lips and tongue. He pulls away, rolls his tongue around his mouth to create as much saliva as he can, opens his mouth to show me what he's produced, and then spits it fiercely into my open mouth. This is raw passion we're experiencing; no holds barred needs; an exchange of more bodily fluids to begin the dance of love
He sits on my chest, and goes to take off his shirt, but I grip his hands strongly and push them away. One by one, I undo the buttons of the flimsy garment, and when they're all undone, I slip it off his shoulders and gaze at the upper body of the boy I love. The sun has tanned him a lovely bronze. I look at his eyes, and see him watching, intently, what I do. I caress his narrow shoulders, and then his slim arms, and the shirt slips from them. I take his hands and rub them against my cheeks, and then I suck each finger in turn, before concentrating on his chest. His nipples are erect when I fondle and squeeze them, and his breathing is becoming shallower as I follow the contours of his belly to the top of his shorts and slip my fingers into the hem each side of them. He lifts himself from my chest and allows me to pull them halfway down his bronzed thighs. Below the waistline, down to a point not far short of the top of his legs, he changes colour from beautiful bronze to milky white. My hands go around him, and I clasp his soft buttocks and draw the pale throbbing cock to my lips, and kiss it. He pushes, and it enters my mouth. Now, his hands are holding my head, and he pulls me even further onto him as he pushes deeper, and I feel him beginning to hump at me. It takes only a few moments before he climaxes in the back of my throat to a crescendo of frantic thrusts and yells, and he continues to hold himself inside me while he gyrates his hips to make sure not one iota of his passions remain before he withdraws the still swollen organ that is covered in my saliva.
And then he rolls off me and lies by my side and stares into my eyes. But I've not finished yet. His shorts are still pulled down to his thighs, and I lean up on one elbow and pull them back up. And then I take the shirt and make him get up while I put it on, and when he falls back onto the bed, I refasten the buttons. Stuart watches, fascinated by what I'm doing, wondering what will happen next. What happens next is very simple. I just look at the creature I love. I've been dreaming of this moment since he went away. I want to look at what he is; the boy who has turned my world inside-out and upside down; the boy who is so deep within me that he is an integral part of my being now; the boy who has stolen my heart and made it so that no one else can permeate it; the boy who, not so long ago, I was prepared to die for had anyone tried to come between us.
As he lies beside me, my eyes take in the beauty of what he is; the hair that is now bleached a perfect gold, and is ruffled because of the sex we've just had, and I stroke it back into position, making sure his parting is just as I like it. I stroke his eyelashes, and he closes his eyes, and I kiss each one in turn. I kiss the end of his nose and push my tongue up his nostrils; and then I play with his gorgeous, full lips with my own lips, and push my tongue into his mouth to explore his teeth and tongue. I move down to his neck and rub my lips along each side of it before moving down to the slender upper body draped in the beautiful green shirt. I kiss my way down it to the shorts that are so short that the distance between the bottom of them and the white sports socks he's wearing seems like million miles of beauty. Sometimes, as now, I prefer to look at him when he's dressed, because the clothes he wears always enhance his being. So it was the first time I saw him: the splendidly fitting school uniform; the tie that was just out of sync; the leather gloves he wore to keep out the cold from his precious fingers; the shoes that were well polished. Very slowly, I allow my hand to stroke all I can see. The touch of my boy is electric to my senses, and I feel my heart beginning to react to what I am touching, and what my eyes are seeing, and the hurt begins with a series of inner sobs, and leads to me grinding my teeth to try and contain my emotions. But I'm not successful. How can I possibly be? My love for this boy is all consuming. It controls everything I do, and everything I am, because what I have discovered is that the love that dare not speak its name, if it's allowed to germinate and grow without hindrance, will blossom into the most beautiful of all loves.
Michael's face is twitching uncontrollably as he looks at me. It's as if another being has taken over his existence, and I know who that other being is: me. I don't think he realizes that his lips are moving and I can see and hear what he's whispering. It's as if he's lost control. There are no inhibitions now as he utters his deep love for me, and tells me how beautiful I am, and how he belongs completely to me. I listen, fascinated, as he talks to each part of my body as if that part was an entity in its own right. He even talks to my clothes, and tells them how much he loves them. This is powerful stuff, and I'm spellbound, and deeply moved by what he says. I knew Michael loved me, but I wasn't aware of how much until this moment. His words are describing what his heart is feeling, and I lie perfectly still so as not to break the spell. And not once during his appraisal does he allude to me as a sexual being, and not once has he looked into my eyes. That joy is yet to come, and I wait patiently for the moment.
And that moment arrives, as I knew it would. Michael is above me now, and I can feel his warm breath on my face as he stares, unblinking, down at me. I look at the fabulous hazel eyes that captured my soul the very first time I looked into them, and I watch as his eyes examine every part of mine. And then the examination comes to an end when our pupils lock, and he looks into my very soul. Very slowly, his face comes down to me. I open my mouth to receive him. His lips touch mine. I put my arms around him, and hold him tightly, and we come together in an almighty hug, and the most fantastic kiss that we have ever shared.
An hour later, and still he has not done to me that which my body is aching for: his beautiful cock as deep inside as it will possibly go. I ask him a number of times to do it, but on each occasion, he puts on a stern face and refuses. And, although not once does he experience a climax, he doesn't neglect my lust. After the initial, dual, wide-awake wet-dream, and the one immediately after when I was sitting on his chest, three times he brings me to a squealing climax during his thorough examination of all I am, and my examination of all he is, as we don't miss a square inch of our bodies with our searching lips and tongues. Michael is fascinated by the abrupt change of colours on my body; from the bronze to milky white, and he tell me that he loves me for keeping my precious parts for his eyes only. But the examination drives me to a state where I can stand no more foreplay, and I need Michael inside me, and I tell him with no ambiguity about how I'm feeling. He comes over me, and stares into my eyes.
"Shall I get the Vaseline?"
I can hardly speak, and I just nod.
My legs are folded over my shoulders, and we are joined by a delicious kiss when I feel him enter me. Nothing in the world is as wonderful as feeling my lover's beautiful cock slide into me, and when it touches my tickling spot, because of my heightened state of need, I climax immediately. I produce nothing, because Michael's previous loving has drained me of my sex juices, but my squeals of ecstasy tell Michael what has happened. Oh my God! My body is shaking with anticipation of what is to come, and when Michael begins to manipulate himself inside me, my auto-sexual reactions take over, and I begin to shudder and vibrate. Wave after wave of sexual convulsions take over my body, and then the final, fantastic moment when Michael goes deep and slams himself against me has me wailing like I have never done before, and as I feel his spunk filling me, and as I watch the contortions of love on his beautiful face, I grab Michaels' head and pull us together in a kiss that is ferocious beyond belief.
As I lie beside Stuart, he is sobbing as he stares into my eyes. I know why he is. Everything I have done since we went to bed was to create this moment of supreme fulfilment for my boy. A number of times I had to use all my willpower not to take him and empty myself deep inside him, but this special time was worth all my own sexual sacrifices. This is my boy to whom I belong. I am his solution to all his needs of love and sex. And now I have given them all to him, I know he will want no more for a while.
I smile at him. "Are you hungry?"
He smiles through his tears. "I'm bloody starving!"
"Good. Shall we go downstairs and have something to eat?"
Stuart grins at me while we're sitting at the table looking at each other while we eat a salad lunch. "You're a swine!"
I grin at him. "Why?"
"I nearly exploded up there wanting you in me."
I wink at him. "It was worth the wait though, wasn't it?" He wrinkles his nose, but doesn't say anything, and I know it was worth waiting for, even though he won't admit it. I take his hand. "I hope you've saved up some loving. We've got the afternoon to go yet."
He gives me an evil grin. "And tonight... and tomorrow night."
"And tonight... and tomorrow night?"
Another evil grin. "Oh, didn't I tell you? It must have slipped my mind. Mother and father are going to Abingdon today, and they're picking me up on the way back on Sunday."
I start to laugh, and Stuart starts to laugh, and soon, we're both helpless, and when we control ourselves, he fills his mouth up with salad and comes and sits on my knee. He stares into my eyes as he puts his lips to mine and pushes the partly chewed food into my mouth, and I swallow every morsel. Then I grin at him. "This is the sexiest meal I've ever had."
He fills his mouth with food from my plate this time, chews it, feeds it to me again, takes my hand and pushes it onto his swollen cock inside the green shorts, and says nonchalantly, "Me too. I've never had a salad that's given me a hard cock before."
I feel my own cock swell to its full size. "Me neither. Get up a minute."
Stuart looks puzzled, but he gets off my knees, and after I've turned my chair, he stands in front of me. I pull his green shorts off, and then slip my swollen cock out. "Sit on that awhile."
Stuart is giggling like mad as he straddles me as I guide my throbbing knob into him, and he sinks down all the way until all of me buried deep inside him, and he puts his hands around my neck to hold onto me while I pick up my fork and put food into my mouth. When my mouth is full, we stare into each other's eyes as I chew the food. Stuart manipulates his insides on my swollen cock. I respond by manipulating my hips to work my cock around inside him, and as I chew, we fuck our way to a fantastic dual climax, and the moment it happens, Stuart opens his mouth as I feed him the food like a bird feeds it's chick.
When the passions are over, Stuart wipes his lips, and grins at me. "You kinky sod!"
I make googly eyes at him. "You've got treacle pudding to come yet!"
And my boy roars with laughter.
It's six in the evening, and Alex has his nose pushed against the window, and he's pulling funny faces at me. Then he opens the back door and lets Trotter in, and she bounds onto my knees and licks me to death. Then she jumps onto Michael's knees and does the same. I get out of Dada's chair and go to meet Alex as he walks into the living room. Open arms, and I sink into them, and he hugs me. I am in heaven, and also in the safest pair of arms in the world. I just can't help it; I cling to him and weep. I stay like that for a while, and then he pushes me away, wipes the tears from my eyes with his gnarled fingers, and smiles at me.
"It's good to have you home, Lover Boy. We've missed you."
I nod, and go back into his arms, and he cuddles me. When I've composed myself, I pull away from him, take him by the hand and make him sit in Dada's chair, sit on his knees, and he enfolds me again in his arms. Then I look up into his face. "I've missed you, too."
There's no foolery from Alex when he says, "I know you have. But you're back home with your Alex now. I hear that you're going to be leaving me soon. Is it all arranged?"
"Mother and Father are in Abingdon now. They're sorting things. You will come and see us, won't you?"
"Of course I will. And Trotter. We'll sort things. Everything is going to be fine. You did a great job while you were away. Alex is proud of you for being so brave."
I allow my head to sink onto Alex's shoulder, and I wrap my free arm around his chest. "It's done now. Are you hungry?"
Alex lifts my head and grins. "Pig's trotters?"
I giggle. "With lots of salt and vinegar."
Michael comes down the stairs in his running kit, grins to me, and goes off to do his training. An hour he said he would be, which gives me some alone time with Alex. That's good. I need to speak to him alone. He's in the kitchen washing the dishes, so I go to him, pick up the tea cloth and begin to dry the plates as he washes them. "You don't mind me staying tonight and tomorrow night, Alex?"
Alex grins. "Of course not. How did you wangle that then?"
"When Mother and Father said they were going to Abingdon to sort out the accommodation for me and Michael, I said I would rather stay here. Do you think we're doing the right thing?"
Alex stops washing the dishes, and looks at me. "Do you want the truth?"
I stare at him. "Yes."
"Well, no, I don't think it is the right thing."
"You're only fourteen. It's not right that you should be living with someone at that age. At eighteen; yes. Fourteen; no! Has that upset you?"
Alex's words cut to the marrow, but I know he's right. We finish the dishes and go back into the living room. Alex sits in Dada's chair, and I sit on his knee. I still haven't answered his question, and he tells me that I haven't.
"Yes, it has upset me, but I know what you're saying is right. But I've got us into a hole now, and I don't know how to get out of it. Being away from Michael drove me crazy, and that's what I can't do; be away from him. Well, not for any length of time that is. What shall I do?"
Alex looks directly into my eyes. "Let Kiddo go and do his stuff at Oxford, and I'll make sure you see him often. Every weekend. I'll go and fetch him on a Friday night, and take him back Sunday night. Or he can catch the train. You can stay here if you want, if it's ok with your Ma and Pa. I'd say they'd jump at it if you put it to them."
I think about what Alex has said, and I know he's right. "But what about Michael? I've told him we'll be living together now. He won't be very pleased with me if I change my mind and tell him we're not going to now."
Alex squeezes my hand. "Kiddo won't mind. He and I have had a good talk while you were away. He would go and live with you, but he thinks like I do... and like you do. He doesn't want to be away from you for a minute when he doesn't need to be, but he knows it would be wrong you two living together... yet. The reason he hasn't said so is because he doesn't want to hurt you. Do you have the telephone number where your parents are now?"
"Yes. I've got a contact number for them. They're staying at Peter Shawcliffe's place. If I need to speak to them, I've got to make a reverse charge call to them."
Another squeeze from Alex's hand. "Then go and do it. The sooner the better."
I shake my head. "Not until I've spoken to Michael. If he says `yes', then I will."
Alex is quiet. I am quiet. We're both deep in thought. I'm terribly nervous. Alex says that Michael is in agreement with him. That means they've discussed our situation. I'm wondering what else they've discussed. Michael and I living together would have made our affair permanent. Perhaps they don't want to make it permanent because they think I'll `grow out of it'. Or, which makes more sense; they are giving me room to be sure that being with Michael forever is what I really want? I hope it's the latter... I don't want to be treated like a child. Well, not by Michael and Alex I don't. Perhaps even now they don't really understand that my love for Michael is all-consuming, and that I would rather die than live without him.
To be continued...
Other stories on Nifty by John Teller can be found here under my name in the list of Prolific Authors.