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://gay.sexhound.net/iomfats/ present, and also the email address of firstname.lastname@example.org. I'd love to receive feedback.
Not good, I thought. Not good at all. First I couldn't move, second I was impaled on Nigel's wilting boyhood, third I had regained the pain I'd set out to cause myself, and fourth. Sod it, I couldn't think of a fourth, but three were bad enough. And I heard "Chris, I need to talk to you!" half whispered, half shouted through the door.
It was what I'd ached to hear, but not then. Not running with sweat and smelling of sex, and exhausted astride Nigel. And certainly not with the effect it caused of immediate and catastrophic cock-wilt.
"Hang on!" Well it was the only sensible thing to call back. I couldn't exactly have said 'come in'.
I thought fast, "we're trying out costumes and aren't decent. Give me a couple of minutes?"
"Dining hall, then, in five minutes. I can't hang around here."
"Phew," Nigel gasped. I think it was the first time he'd actually got his breathing back under his own control. "That was a close thing."
"What do I do?"
"Go and talk to her, idiot. That is if you can walk! That was awesome. Awesome, but I saw your face."
"We've still got an hour and a half. I'll think of something while you're gone. Tell her they're a surprise."
"Ow!" I was extracting a rather important bit of Nigel from a rather bruised part of me. "Oh wow! Ow!"
"Stop complaining! At least you won't suffer from piles!"
"Bastard!" And I kissed his forehead as he lay there. "Shit, I've got to get dressed." And I hauled on joggers and a tee shirt, and raked my fingers through my hair, and went out into the corridor, and to the dining hall.
"Let's go for a walk, Chris. I can't talk here."
So we headed out to the sea front. "Carol? I, er, I'm sorry."
"Yes, well, you may be sorry, but you are, er, were my boyfriend, and you're gay, Chris, you're gay. And I'm hurt. And I love, loved you, and I thought you felt something for me, too."
"I did. I do, and I don't feel gay. I don't think I am."
"But Nigel. You and Nigel. I mean you do things to, er, with each other."
"Er." I wasn't too sure either how to answer, or where the conversation was going. "Er yes... "
"Is it my fault? I mean have I done something to make you gay?"
It was a reasonable question. It just didn't have an ordinary answer. "I don't think anyone made me love Nigel. It wasn't anything you did, or didn't do. It's no one's fault exactly. No-one made me love him, and no-one made me love you." I felt older than fourteen but younger, too. I guess I was actually thinking about someone else for the first real time in my life. I didn't feel very good at it.
"You love me? Even now? After all that's happened?"
"I love you. I love both of you."
"Because you do things together. Disgusting things. Things that aren't right."
I reckoned it wasn't the time to argue about the rightness of anything. "I didn't expect you to understand."
"I don't. I don't. I mean I didn't have wedding bells in my head, but I kind of felt we were permanent, sort of."
"Me too. I wasn't planning this. I didn't come on the trip to fall for a boy, for Nigel. I don't know what's happened." This was getting deep. "I, er, "
"I still love you, Chris."
"I didn't just have sex with you on the beach. I made love to you. I just don't know what to do any more, what to think. And Miss bloody Coker is going to tell my Dad when we get back, and I'm going to be in dead trouble. And now you're gay."
"I've told you. I'm not."
"Of course you are. You do things with Nigel."
"Look, let's get this straight. I love Nigel. I make love to Nigel. He makes love to me. He loves me. It sounds as though I'm gay, but I don't walk with a mince, I don't have a limp wrist, I don't wear makeup, I don't sound camp, and I'm not gay."
And she started to cry. I hate it when people cry. I can't cope when people cry. I tried to put my arm around her shoulder, but it didn't seem to help, so I kissed her. Hard. I couldn't think of anything else to do, so I kept kissing her. And as I did, she stopped pushing me away, and started to soften, and then to respond. And then her arms were round me, and mine round her, and we were kissing as though nothing had happened that lunchtime. And I didn't want to stop. I didn't want to stop. I held her as though she were a lifeboat and I had sunk on the Titanic, and it felt so safe and good I didn't want to stop. She was beautiful. 'Girls are different,' I thought as we kissed. 'Lovely, but different.' I was wondering if that meant we were OK again, when I found it didn't.
"This isn't right," she said, pushing me away. "It just isn't right. It feels good, but I'm really not sure we should be doing this. I need to think."
"So why did you want to talk to me?"
"To try to get my head round everything, to, to, to... I don't know, but I'm not going to finish like this. It's so unfair. So unfair... "
"Look, if it makes a difference, I don't want anyone else, er that is no-one except you and no-one except Nigel. I don't chase other girls, and I don't chase other boys. I just don't know how to deal with, well, everything at the moment."
"So, where does that leave me?"
"What do you want to happen?" A difficult question, I thought, and one I wasn't able to answer myself. I wondered what Carol would say.
She was pretty definite. "I wish we'd never come to France. I wish we were back home, in England, without Nigel, just you and me. I just want us, Chris, just us. I've been in love with you for ages. I just didn't know it until, until, until... "
"Until I kissed you sort of 'differently'?"
"I don't think I knew what kissing really was until this trip. I mean, it was fun, all right, but just kissing, not, er, well, er, oh not sensual." Do you know, I don't think I'd ever used words like 'sensual' before!
"I don't know what to do, Carol. I can't bear not being friends with you."
"I can't cope with you and Nigel. I don't dislike him. He's cute and good fun. I just can't cope with you and him together, doing things. It's not natural. It's disgusting."
We'd been walking along the sea front, and had turned round to get back for the party. I couldn't see what to say to make it seem better, so I just walked beside her, not too close, in hand reach if she wanted to hold it. She didn't seem to want to, so we just walked back, together. "What are you wearing tonight?" I asked her.
"Wait and see. You?"
"Wait and see, too!"
By the time we got back, we were friends again. I doubted we'd ever be lovers, but at least we were friends. And we separated to go and get changed.
When I got back to the room, Nigel wasn't there, and we still hadn't any idea what to wear for fancy dress. I had an outrageous idea of dressing him up as a beautiful girl, and dancing with him all night, a bit like Cinderella! Foolish, but fun! In the end I found him playing table football.
"What are we wearing?"
"I told you. Sorted. Come and join in." So I did. I'm worse than useless at table football. No, worse than that, even, but it was fun.
We went back to get changed after a while. "Romans."
"Romans. We're going as Romans."
"Are you thick tonight as well as sexy? Romans. In togas."
"And where do we get... "
Light dawned. The I looked at the sheets. "But... "
"Can't use these. Well you can see why! So I've blagged some from the linen cupboard. Look." And he threw a bedsheet at me. "Get changed." And he started to strip off, and I remembered some unfinished business from earlier.
"We haven't time," he said as I put my arms around him as I stood behind him.
"I love you," I nuzzled his neck and stroked his chest. "I just wanted you to know that. I love you."
"Love me, you may! Make love to me, you may not! Not till later, anyway. What happened with Carol? You haven't told me anything since you got back."
"Nothing much? For almost an hour and a half?"
"Well, she likes me, loves me, still. She thinks you're good fun. Er, 'cute', she said. She likes you, I think. But. But she thinks we are disgusting. I'm sort of relieved and not, at the same time."
"She thinks I'm cute"
"She's right. You are. Carol has good taste," I laughed, still holding him, and kissed his neck again.
"Gerroff!" He was wriggling and half struggling, and my cock was pressed hard into the back of his briefs. And I mean hard! "This is not the time. We just have to get toga'd up, or we'll be late, and they'll come looking for us. At least you can still walk!"
"Makes me wince a bit."
"Serves you right, you silly sod. I mean, fancy ramming a cricket bat up your ass!"
"Call me a silly sod again, and it's not mine that'll get a cricket bat!"
"Get your sheet tied on."
"Dare you not to wear underpants."
"Double dare you back!"
But we didn't. Dare that is. And we wound our sheets round us carefully to conceal the underpants we didn't dare leave off, and went to the dining hall. Everything happened in that hall, I guess it's the same as most schools. One big room, used for plays, parties, concerts and stuff.
You can hold hands under a toga. Nigel held my hand. Almost all the way to the hall.
We were pretty well the last to arrive. The place was seething with kids in fancy dress. I couldn't spot Carol anywhere. There was a disco. In discos I danced with Carol. In this one I wanted to be with Nigel. But you can't dance with a boy. Not at a school party, and not on a school trip to France/
After a while we kind of got separated, and I wandered around chatting to my mates, and generally making a Roman of myself. Well, as best you can with chicken drumsticks and Pepsi! Then I saw something which made my heart seem to stop.
Nigel, dancing. With a boy. A boy.
He was over the other side of the room, dancing with a boy. My Nigel. In his toga, dancing a slow dance with a boy, wearing a fancy dress schoolboy uniform, you know, shirt, tie, shorts, that kind of fifties stuff. A boy who looked kind of familiar. Did you ever read the 'Just William' books? Exactly. William Brown, to a 'T'. 'OK,' I thought. 'I've died. Or it's a hallucination. Or...' But I hadn't, and it wasn't. It was Nigel, cheek to cheek with a boy.
So I rushed over. Except you can't rush with a room and a half's worth of people between you and your target. And they'd gone by the time I got there. And I was getting pretty hot with the temperature of the room and the temperature of my, my, what was it, jealousy? Yes, jealousy.. and I was getting more and more, well not worried exactly, but more put out by the whole thing as I looked everywhere for them. And I didn't see them. Not them. But I did see him. And I made my way towards him, almost ready to hit him. Not Nigel. The other him. The boy he had been dancing with. I saw him from behind, and he didn't see me coming over.
And I put my hand on his shoulder. And he turned round. And he said "Hi, Chris!" in Carol's voice. "How do you like my costume?"
"Huh? Er? But? You're?"
"Who did you think I was? No, never mind. I want to dance with you." And she led me onto the disco floor.
I really couldn't get things straight in my head. I mean, here I was, dancing with someone who was dressed as a boy, dancing together in the middle of a crowded school disco, though she was a girl, when I couldn't dance with someone who was a boy, because he was a boy. But this pretend boy and I could dance, and this pretend boy had danced with my boyfriend, and she was my girlfriend. And they had been dancing close together, and she'd said he was cute, and...
"I feel a bit silly," she said. "I had this crazy idea of dressing up to be the boy you wanted, and I feel silly about it."
"You look nice," I lied a bit, there, but not much.. Carol always looked nice. It was just interesting to see what she looked like now, a bit like a boy, but a bit, well wrong.
"You don't really mean that." She'd caught my hesitation. "You think I look stupid." Nearly crying.
Why did tears come into love so much, or was it just around me that everything went strange? I hadn't got through a day of this trip without being in tears myself, or having Nigel or Carol crying at me, or about me, or about themselves. If this was love, it was sure a hard world. "Don't. Don't cry. You look great. I was just surprised, that's all. I think you look great like that." And I kissed her, at first to stop her crying, and then with passion as she melted me, there, on the dancefloor, with loud music all around, and heaving bodies all too close together. And she melted back, and we held each other tight, right there. For ages. Until the fool DJ got out an awful old Osmond tune. 'Puppy Love'. Enough to put anyone off.
"I'm scared, Chris. Of losing you." Carol was whispering in my ear as we were holding each other. "It's so unfair."
"You're not losing me. We are going to get through this." The confidence of the fourteen year old, shining through, not knowing how or why, just confident. "I'm not losing either of you."
"But nothing. I love both of you. That's awkward, well difficult. But you each know about each other, so there's no lying. You don't hate each other, and you both love me. I don't know how, but I know, hope, we can..."
At which moment Nigel came up and brought us each a can of coke. "Coke?" And he gave that smile of his which sort of says 'argue with me if you dare!', not that you can argue about coke. "I, er, wanted, er, wondered, er... "
Carol looked at him, took the coke, and did the strangest thing. She ruffled his hair, and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Er, but... " I was more than confused, "but... "
"Chris, shut up for once!" Carol looked me straight in the eyes and shut me up. I mean, I'd stopped anyway, except for the 'but'ing. "I told you, I don't dislike Nigel. I like him. Quite a lot. He's cute, and he makes me laugh."
Confused? You bet I was. 'Must be something in the French air,' I thought. My girlfriend thought my boyfriend was cute, and she'd kissed him on the cheek. I didn't know what to make of it. That mach 2 feeling I'd had earlier? Gone. This was more like wading through treacle. I almost felt that these two were planning something quite outside my control; it was almost as if Carol was moving in on Nigel, trying to teach me a lesson. And I was holding a can of coke, mouth open, eyes wide, doing probably the best goldfish impression of my life. It was like watching my life running in front of my eyes, except I wasn't drowning. My fault, I supposed. Trying to have my cake and eat it. Except I hadn't chosen anything. I hadn't chosen anything.
"Er," I was muttering again, "but you, but we, but, but I... "
"Are being teased rotten, I should think!" Nigel was laughing at me. "I'm sorry! Come and get something to eat. Both of you, I mean."
"Just stay cool, Chris. Nothing's wrong. I think Carol and I have called a truce, is all," he managed to say this to me without Carol overhearing in the noise from the disco.
And we went over to the buffet and grabbed, well less than I'd grabbed at the barbecue the other day anyway, and sat down at the edge of the room to eat. He looked gorgeous in his toga, hair glistening in the disco lights, face glowing, and that special smile. "How long before we can get away?" I asked him.
"Ages. Even of it's half an hour, it'll be too long." And as he said it, he looked deep into my eyes, and I surrendered to him all over again.
I felt the same as I had when he seduced me, all those few short days ago. Giggly, soft, lost, heart pounding, leaping out of my chest, just like that weird film, what was it, 'Mask'? And with my tongue trying to escape from my mouth towards his, and my hands wanting to grab him and hold him. And we were in public, so I didn't dare. But I wanted to. 'One day,' I thought. 'One day. I'll be brave enough. Or I hope I will.' I think our eyes were locked together for all time. Nothing else mattered, and I couldn't hear the disco, even. And Carol? No idea. I wasn't being nasty to her, but I don't think I was very nice, either. But Nigel. He seemed to matter to me more than breathing.
The curve of his face, the corners of his lips, his nose, his eyes, his beautiful hair, spun silver shot with gold, or tonight with red, and green and white from the lights. And that voice, just husky teen, but a ripple of gold thread, even with the music.
We spent that party evening just being together. Sounds daft, but actually getting to know each other properly as people, not just hot, sticky, urgent bodies. Finding out what Nigel liked, wanted to do, where he lived, what his hobbies were. And some of those things I did as well, and others I wanted to do. And we talked on and on. Funny we hadn't really talked before. I guess we were finding out other things, too, then. Odd. Neither of us liked football, or supported a team. There didn't seem to be enough time, even if we couldn't wait for the evening to end either.
Midnight was the deadline for us to finish. Right in cue, the staff were given the presents we had collected for them to say thank you for the trip, and we sang Auld Lang Syne, all in a circle with linked hands. I wanted to keep one of those links for ever. I planned to keep one of those links forever.
Togas are very easy to take off! We'd raced down the corridors to our room, and into each other's arms. Urgent, desperate, we kissed each other. I wanted to eat him completely, and I moved down his body, starting with his neck, graceful, smooth, linking to his chest, I kissed his shoulders and down his arms, all the way to the tips of his fingers. And I heard him whimper as I moved across his body, as I moved my hands down his arms, as I stroked his back. And I remembered something, and turned him round and licked his shoulders from behind, and nibbled the tips of his ear lobes, stroking, stroking all the while, not quite tickling, nit quite stroking, trying to hypnotise him with my fingers, with my touch, licking down his spine, feeling each knobbly bit with my tongue, seeing a down of blond hair dampen under my licking, moving lower as my chin met the outcurve of his bum, kissing each cheek, moving my hands over his stomach, but round his cock, where it stood proud and erect, straining upwards, needing to be touched, and kissed down the back of his thighs, down each thigh, downwards on the outside, moving from left to right and back again, stroking the front, all to the hollow of his knees, and then upwards, on the insides this time, to his bum, his beautiful bum, there with the tan line, the pale part where no sun had ever touched, licking each cheek, kissing each cheek, finding the base, just the base, of his boyhood with my hands, and gripping him there, holding one like on a London tube train, holding tight as I kissed his bum, moving him towards the bed, any bed, to lie him down, face down, elbows on the pillow, back arched. Looking at the curve of his back, arching upwards, past my kissing tongue, and darting my tongue between his cheeks, little darts, spreading his legs gently, holding his cock with my hands under him, probing with my tongue, probing and spreading his cheeks until I found my goal, sensitive, ridged, and oh so pink in the middle, and just tickled him there with the very tip of my tongue, tickling, probing, smelling that musky smell of Nigel, so personal, yet so clean at the same time, licking, kissing, with my lips surrounding his rosebud, ['feuille de rose', I later heard it described] kissing, probing, pushing my tongue into him, inside, and hearing his whimper of delight, feeling his body vibrate with pleasure, feeling his cock pulse in time with his heartbeat, breathing in the delights of boy, pure boy, feeling him twist and writhe, half to get away, half to push back, to open up to me, to my urgent probing, kissing, kneading tongue, feeling him tense, gripping his cock, and starting to stroke it, holding it tightly, up, then down, moving the exposed head against his stomach, against the duvet, stroking, kissing, and gradually moving so that I was ready, poised between his thighs, my head involved with his bum, and my cock ready, so ready, glistening with precum, ready to swap for my tongue, pressing against his tight, relaxing pucker, pressing now hard, now gentle and I kissed now the back of his neck, pressing against the muscles, opening him, gently, firmly, now easily slipping first the head - a gasp - then, oh so slowly, the whole shaft. So hot, so tight, such a grip. "Wait!" He gasped at me. "Just wait. I want to feel you there, still, not moving. You feel so good. I just want to be filled with you."
I was almost cumming when he spoke, because he spoke. Until then I'd felt everything for me, the urgency, the heat, the sweat, the smell of him, the heat rising from his body, clasping my cock. I felt love flow anew, and Nigel's needs come to the forefront of my mind. Nigel. Love him for himself, not for me. Not just animal lust, but love, tenderness, compassion, kindness.
I held still, holding my hands still, one holding his cock, the other gently gripping his balls, with the smooth skin of his sack between my fingertips. It seemed like ages we were still, together. And then he moved, slowly, imperceptibly down my shaft, and gently back, and I watched his back muscles move beneath his skin, saw the downy hair on his back, admired the curve of his bum, saw where my cock was stretching him so tight as it was moved in and out of him, watched as he impaled himself on me, and moved my hand, now gently on his shaft, moving his foreskin over and back from his cockhead. "I love you, Nigel, I love you, love you...." and he wriggled, sort of in reply.
Oh that wriggle, just having him even acknowledge me, there on the bed, lying face down, back arched, my boyhood so deep inside him that he could have brushed his teeth with it from the inside. "I want to see your face," he said, muffled by the pillow. "I want to turn over, and watch your face."
And we managed it, somehow, almost without breaking apart, and ended up with Nigel on his back, his legs bent, resting on my body, with me, vertical, pumping in to him, eyes locked together, breathing in unison, my hands working his cock, the gap between his balls and my thrusting cock, the ballsack and those beautiful elliptical orbs, his cock, shining, glistening with precum, the skin so different in texture inside and outside his foreskin, the inside sooo sensitive, and his cockhead, the slit weeping tears of precum, streams, even, each time I hit that special place inside him, watching his body, his face, feeling the tension in his thighs, gripping each thigh, watching him arch his head back, seeing his face contort, feeling his muscles contract, gripping me, holding me, watching the tip of his cock as pulses of pure, white boycum jetted out, dripped out, and lay in pools on his chest, watching him, feeling him, hearing him whimper, a sort of giggly, whimpery, breathless cry, a cry that brought me all the way as the ripples of his orgasm drive me to the brink and beyond, and I threw my head back, and pushed into him so hard I though I would break him, and came into him, into that tight vastness that was my Nigel, into that hot wetness, gripping me so hard, and locked together with him, panting, no athlete, but as out of breath as a 100 metre sprinter, and heard his voice over and over "I love you, Chris, I love you, love you love you" over and over as we collapsed together, sweating, made slippery by his cum, holding each other, kissing, gripping, holding tight in case we were dreaming.
I was in heaven, and with my boy, and he was with me. And we started to drift off to sleep, in that post oragsmic relaxation rush. And as we did, I swear I heard the door closing. Just faintly. Or did I dream it? And sleep overtook me, us, as we held each other.