The story is copyright 1999 by "Its Only Me from Across the Sea". If you copy the story, please leave the credits, and the web address of http://www.iomfats.org present, and also the email address of email@example.com. I'd love to receive feedback.
It's not easy being fifteen. I mean, all sorts of hormones are racing round your body. Every morning there's that nervousness about zits. And you can't get out of bed when your mum comes in to wake you up, coz your cock is standing up straight, needing a piss, and it won't go down to let you. It's not easy being fifteen.
It's harder when you're at school with a beautiful blond kid called Fraser. Well, I say `kid'. Fraser was eighteen, just. He wasn't a kid at all. More of a man. About two and a bit years older than me, and I adored him. I just adored him. I don't know why. I'm pretty sure I'm gay. I must be, because I adore Fraser. I adore his face, the way his jacket is just too short, so you can see his bum outlined in his grey school trousers. Come to that, his trousers are too short, too. Yeah, we wear uniform. Grey suit, white shirt, house tie.
Let me take you back a little, in time.
I used to lie awake at night, just imagining him naked, lying beside me on my bed, lying on his front, with his beautiful face looking at me, looking down his body, seeing the curve of his buttocks, rising, and his legs, his beautiful legs. I knew it would never happen, but it was my fantasy. Every night I dreamt of him before I went to sleep. And it was the best possible way to go to sleep, my hand wrapped round my cock, in post pretend-coital glow. I hadn't ever been with a boy. I just knew I had to be gay, because I never ever thought about girls, except in a `why not?' sort of way. I was equally sure that Fraser wasn't. I wasn't certain that I really wanted him to be, because I didn't have any idea what I wanted to do. I mean physically. I knew I wanted to do something, but I couldn't sort out what it was.
After all, you read things, don't you? I had it fixed in my head that one guy is the `girl' and the other is the `guy', and everything sort of starts from there. Trouble was, I wasn't too sure about being one or the other. I kind of wondered why you couldn't be both. Mind you, I had no idea what I wanted to be, if anything at all. Fantasies were one thing, but reality?
Anyway, I went to school each day, and Fraser went to school each day, and I saw him at break and at lunch, amd about the dayroom in the house, and not really much more. He was beautiful, though. Deep, dark, blue eyes, blond hair with an odd hint of curl at the tips of the hair, and a sort of Shy Di expression, downcast eyes, but sooo sexy. He and I were about the same height, but where I was a bit on the boyish side, he was broad shouldered, with a sort of manly, worldly look about him, narrow waisted, sleek, like a tiger, and tanned gold like a lion. I wanted to rip his shirt off and tell him how much I wanted him. But I couldn't.
Trouble was, plan as I would, I couldn't think of any way in the world that I could ever, ever actually talk to him; Even if I could have worked out how to talk to him, ideally alone, I couldn't see how to ever find out if he could possibly be interested in me. I mean, I was as certain he wasn't gay as I was sure that I was. Whatever `gay' is, that is. So I spent breaks and lunch hours just being where I could see him.
Which wasn't altogether satisfactory.
Altogether? Not at all satisfactory.
It kind of 'did', but it wasn't enough.
It was an old school. One of the English Public Schools. A relatively minor one, but it thought a lot of itself. 'On rolling English Downland, with 100 acres of parkland and playing fields, Bumstead [yeah - I changed the name] College is home to 790 boys and 63 girls. They live in 12 Houses... yadda yadda yadda' I took this from the prospectus so that you could see what we had. Well, all except 100 kids boarded. And most of them liked it that way. There was a sort of 'divide' between the boarders and the day pupils. I was a dayboy. So was Fraser. We were in the same house.
During the day we lugged all our books and files to each lesson, and went back to the house at break, before and after lunch, and at the end of games. We had games each day. Strapping stuff. And if we weren't on a 'side' for a game, we had to do a cross country run.
Rolling English Downland is dreadful for cross country. Well, to be fair, it's probably great, if you like running. I don't. The ground is chalky, slippery, with a thin soil on top of the chalk. And it rolls. Up and down, up, up, up, up, always up.... then down. Running uphill on slippery wet soil and mud isn't my idea of fun. 'Character building'. That's what they say. Bollocks!
And Fraser was Cross Country Captain. I was desperate to impress him. Desperate. I tried to like it. I really tried. But it just wasn't my thing. And he never noticed how hard I was trying, either. It was always, "Come on Griffiths, faster man, keep up!" as he jogged backwards as I pistoned, purple in the face, up the Downs. Then he ran back to the front, light as air. I even adored the mud spattered games kit he wore.
Yeah, that's me. David Griffiths. David, not Dave. I'm Welsh, see? Can't speak Welsh, but I have a soft Carmarthenshire lilt when I speak. I can just about work out the Welsh on the road signs, but that's my limit.
My Dad works in Surrey, and we live nearby, nearer school than his office. Left Wales about three years ago, and came here.
And now I was infatuated with Fraser. Fraser Railton. Gregory Fraser Railton. But everyone called him Fraser, or Fraz.
But there was no way we could even socialise together. Seniors, especially grand men in their final year, couldn't fraternise with us juniors. Not without getting taunts of 'is that your little boy, then?' from the rest. It just wasn't possible. All I could do was to make really good friends with my right hand, and pretend.
It was worse, coz I had every detail of him in my mind. We had communal showers. Most of the house was naked together, at one time or another. And I tried to time it so that I was always showering about the same time as Fraser. He had those runner's legs. Not sprinter's, but runner's. Long, lean muscles, that rippled under a coating of blond fuzz,. Clean cut legs, long, well proportioned, not massive, just on the feminine side of full manhood. A tight bum. Neat, fading tan lines from his leonine glow, and a triangle of blond hair, with wisps leading up to his navel, then a well defined musculature from there to his chest, a fuzz of hair dawning between his nipples, and such a broad chest, such arms. And then that neck, and the shy Di downturned face. Beautiful? Beautiful. The rest of him, that bit you might think is so important? Look, I'm not saying. That's private!
And he didn't seem conscious of his beauty, nor of the effect he had on me. It was torture. Seeing his body made me excited. But in the showers? Waving around for all to see? No way. And with care, you can just keep it down!
And watching him towel himself dry. The consummate care he took in getting every last droplet from his body. The luxurious rubbing with large towel, not scrubby like most kids' towels, but large and soft. Black, to be unique. A black towel in contrast with his tan.
What would I have done for him, if he'd asked me?
Whatever he asked me to do. That's what I would have done. Anything. Just to be with him. I needed him so badly I could taste it. And I had no idea what to do. Well apart from some stuff I'd found on the net. And I wasn't too sure about that stuff... Except I was sure.
But a junior can't exactly seduce a senior, can he? And how would I do it?
'Hi Fraser, fancy some cock fun?' I'd read 'Cock Fun' on a toilet door. Sounded repulsive.
'Hi Fraser. I think I love you.' And then what?
Out of reach. Especially since he had a girlfriend.
And I put the actual possibility of touching him out of my mind, except in bed at night, when my image of him exploded nightly under my hand. For most of the term, for ever since I'd noticed him and started to fantasise about him, it was the same.
The noticeboard: March 21st. Inter House Cross Country. All will run. Shit.
2:30, on the dot, dressed in house football shirts, no need for race numbers, we were just tallied by quantity, we set off, en masse. Running, straggling up the downland. Biting wind, sleet in the air, just a football shirt, shorts, socks and trainers. My usual position. At the back, and dropping back fast. I'm not unfit, I just don't run well.
And as the field left me behind, I slipped over in the mud, twisted my ankle, and ended up coated. Covered in mud. Wet, cold, horribly fed up. Fifteen year old boys do not cry. Wish I'd been a twelve year old that day, then! All I felt like doing was crying.
It hurt. It bloody hurt! I was cold, wet, muddy and bloody well hurting. "Fuck cross country!" I yelled, to no-one in particular. And no-one answered. And I was two miles from school, hurting, with no-one there, and the day closing in around me. Sleet and wind. It was cold.
Now it may have been England, but the top of the Surrey Downs is no place to be in just a football shirt in lousy weather. Certainly no place to be if you can hardly walk. So I hobbled. Back the way I'd come. Still hadn't got half way, so it was shorter.
I'd love to say that I saw Fraser coming to meet me, with a blanket and a thermos of soup and stuff. But I didn't. He didn't. I dreamt he would. But he didn't.
Somehow I got back to the school. Hobbling. It was late when I got back. Fraser saw me then, though. "Griffiths!"
"Fuck cross country!"
"Very probably, but where have you been, what's happened? You missed roll call!"
"Fucking hurting!" And I was crying now. The effort had made me desperate. "Twisted my fucking ankle, and, and, and.... "
"It's OK, you're back now."
"It's not. It bloody hurts, and I wanted to impress you, and... "
"It's OK. You don't need to impress me, you know."
"Not so. Some people just can't run. Fact. Now let's get you changed and warm again" And he led me to the boxroom, well that's what we called the changing room, and was about to leave when he said, "You can get changed OK, can't you?"
"Spect so." I was sniffling still, and a bit of a wreck.
"Look," he said, "if you won't take it the wrong way, I'll help you. You look knackered." And without a word, he stood me up, and started methodically to undress me. Just like my mum did when I was little.
All my dreams of being undressed by Fraser, and it was happening like this. Not how I'd imagined it. But I was too tired to argue, as he stripped me, almost clinically, and led me into the shower, turned it on, and prodded me under.
"I'm not washing you, though! You have to do that for yourself." But the shy Di look vanished, just for a moment, and he met my gaze, and had a wet, watery, muddy, tear stained face look back at him.
I didn't reply. I couldn't. I would have bawled my head off. It was all horribly wrong.
When I was clean, and warm, and it took a while, he was there, in the boxroom, waiting for me. "How do you get home?" he asked.
"Bus and train."
"Reckon you can ride pillion on a motorbike?"
"Probably!" My heart skipped a beat. Senior men where allowed bikes at school, for transport. "Got a crash hat?"
"A spare. Let's get you home."
Not just adorable. Not just beautiful. Kind Fraser.
"Right," he said as I got onto the perch. "Sit perfectly still. Don't try to lean or anything, hold me round the waist tight, and let's get going. Just shout directions to me, and if we go too fast, tell me to slow down."
My arms, round his waist! Oh, wow!
We were home in about ten minutes. "Your folks in?"
"Mum's on 'lates', and Dad gets home at all hours. 'Bout nine, probably"
And I was taking the crash hat off, when a thought struck me "Want to come in for a coke, or something?" And I held his gaze, almost for too long.
I could see his eyes under the visor. Something, surely, something passed across them.
"Look, I said. You're great. Have been great, I mean," I corrected myself a little too quickly. "I'd like to say 'thank you' even in a little way." Nothing in mind, just wanting to talk to him, be with him, anything to keep this bond. It would evaporate tomorrow, I knew it would. Just today, to be with him...
"Well, OK, but I'm not sure I should.."
And he was taking his helmet off, and getting off the bike, and setting it on its side stand. I let us in, and he came into the hall, and I got it, the idea. And fell over towards him, grabbing to save myself. And we both ended up in a heap on the floor, me on top of him. "Ankle" I said. "Can you help me bandage it?"
"If you get off me," Fraser was laughing. "Where's the first aid stuff?"
"Get me upstairs, and I'll show you?" I was laughing, too. Jeez, how do you seduce someone older than you? So we go upstairs. "Dump me on my bed, then the first aid kit's in the bathroom cupboard."
He sat me down, gently, and went to the bathroom. "Your trousers are too tight. Got anything looser? Joggers, something like that?"
"First drawer down. Mum keeps everything in order!"
"Mine does, too. Right, get 'em off, and I'll bandage your ankle. Then we can put the joggers on."
He had such gentle hands. Firm, strong, and gentle. And his face, as he was looking after me. Kind, deep, compassionate. As he touched my leg, even my lower leg, a thrill was going through me, and it reached up right to my jockeys. A growing bulge. With Fraser looking at it. Well, glancing at it. I blushed crimson. I wanted him, and wanted to die at the same time. "That feels good, er better," I said, meeting his gaze. I wanted this moment to last forever. For ever. Couldn't see how.
Here I was, the most beautiful, bronzed god at my feet, yes feet! And I couldn't work out how... Unless...
No. I can't..... but if you don't?....... I can't....... Can...... Can't
Did. I leant forward, just enough, and kissed the only part I could reach. His forehead. Just gently, brushed it with my lips. Panic. Couldn't look at him. Daren't. Bright red. Ashamed. Scared. Hugging myself tight. Foetal position. Help! I've kissed him!!!.
Gentle voice. Kind Fraser. "David?" A whisper, no more.
Couldn't speak. Tears. Not yet, but if I spoke....
"David?" Closer now, kind, gentle, soft.
"Did you mean to do that?"
"(sniff) (nod)" Oh no, what will he be thinking? he'll hate me. But wait a minute, he's still here, near me... Stroking my hair. Stroking my hair?
"When you got back this afternoon, you said you wanted to impress me?"
"You do impress me, David. In a very special way. A difficult way. A way... "
He was kneeling, still, where he had been bandaging my ankle. No shy Di look now, just his clear eyes, looking at me, at mine, locking contact, seeing into my soul. "Do I?" Could this be real, really happening, really happening to me?
"Everything. But I never dared... you're.... I'm.... Oh shit! I've never... "
"Are saying what I hope you're saying?" Crass, but I couldn't think how to break this cycle..
"That I think I love you, David? That's what I'm saying. You're hair, your voice, your face, your eyes. That I think I love you?"
And then I kissed him. Clumsy. Banged noses. Forced my lips onto his. No idea how to kiss. Nor did he, really. Pulled him backwards onto the bed to lie with me, grabbed him, felt him tense, then relax. And the urgency. His arms round me. No dragging clothes off. Just holding, hugging, tasting. Tongues for the first time. His mouth. Hot. Fierce. Strong needs. Grinding my body into this. No space between. Urgent, terrible, fierce need. Fraser's voice "I don't know what to do."
"Nor me. But I need you. I dream about you. Undress me again. Slowly this time."
Slowly! If Concorde's a slow plane, then he undressed me slowly! And then his own clothes. About mach 7, I think was the undressing speed. And I was on the bed, with Adonis standing at my feet, both about to burst. Both hugely excited. His cock was beautiful. Smooth, almost tanned, straining upwards, his foreskin, like a turtle neck, tight, pulled taut, cockhead pushing through, darker, leaking.
"You're beautiful, David. Beautiful. Can I touch you?"
Could he touch me? I leant forward and grabbed him by the hips, and pulled him off balance on top of me, crushing myself beneath him, his cock fencing with mine, and we lay, clasped together, for a moment "I need you, Fraser. I need you to touch me. I've loved you for ever."
And I felt his hands on me, all round me, stroking, gripping, moving down my back, between my legs, one in front, one behind, and touching me, and mine in return moving over him, all over him. And I felt cock for the first time. Firm, iron hard shaft, soft skin, delicate skin, and soft and hard at the same time on the head. Movable skin, as I moved my hand, now gripping, now gentle, up and down the shaft. Exciting. Tensing feeling. NO, I can't cum yet. "I'm going to cum!" And I did, all over his chest. "I wanted to wait!"
"It's OK. I wanted you to."
"I want to love you David. Want to be with you, to hold you. I want to make love to you in all possible ways. I've been imagining this for so long.. so long. Now I want to love you. Will you trust me?"
And Fraser, my Fraser, started kissing me all over. He kissed my knees, my thighs, my stomach, my chest, nipples, and face. He nibbled my ears, massaged me all over, and turned me onto my face. Nervous? You bet. I mean, you read things...
And he kissed all down my back, down each leg, and moved them gently apart, kissed my neck, my ears, murmuring nothing at all as he did, licked me all over, and then...
His tongue tickled the top of that gap at he base of the spine, and darted downwards, wet this time, and then I felt him stroke me with his hands, and then unbelieveable a finger, gently, wetly. slippery, just teasing me, teasing, probing gently, pushing, easing, twisting. And he started gently to push it in. I tensed. "Relax." But I couldn't relax. I wanted to feel it, and opened my cheeks and pushed back. Oh the feeling. Wrong. And right at the same time. Then he hit it. That spot. The one you can only just reach if you try sooo hard yourself. And he had two fingers, I'm sure it was two, deep inside me, tickling, teasing, twisting, stretching, relaxing. I nearly came again, just from that. "Still trust me?"
"Oh yes, yesss!"
"Yesssss. Anything... Everything..."
And he did. Something huge, pressed where his fingers had been. Hot. Pushing. So tight. "Baby oil!" It wouldn't go in.
"Where?" he asked urgently
Mach 9. And it worked. So slick. smooth, pressure again, taut pressure, pulling, pushing into me, and then a shot of blazing.... Gone. Full, and pressing that spot, hitting it, sliding in and out of me, huge and hot, all of him, all of Fraser, grinding, pushing, pumping, driving me crazy. Pushing myself back onto him, bucking and rearing, back arched, face hot, feeling him hitting that spot again and again. Feeling him, so hot, stomach hitting my bum, raising my hips bending knees, trying to get more and more of his, of his wonderful, hard cock, deeper and deeper inside me, feeling that bliss of knowing you're loved. Feeling him, losing control, losing rhythm, shorter, harder strokes, pushing close, tight, hard, deep inside me, and the cry, yell, and he came, so hot, so deep inside me, feeling him tense, feeling his seed planted in me, feeling his sweat running down him. Hearing him pant, out of breath, feeling his breathing, out of control, yet still very much Fraser. And then that emptiness as he withdrew, replaced by his lips on mine, then on my chest, and down to my cock, caressing it, still so sensitive from before, and charged from being fucked so hard, so desperately, it didn't take more than a few seconds, and I came again and again, jetting into his mouth, making his splutter, gag a bit, and swallow some, and spill more.
Afterglow. Holding each other. Sticky, sweaty, sweet. Ankle all but forgotten. 'He loves me', sleepy, yet urgent, so tired, so happy, fulfilled.
"I love you."
"I love you, David"
"Does that mean we're boyfriends?"
"No David. Lovers."
"Yes David, my love, for ever."
Then I cried. Huge sobs of happiness. And so did he.