This story contains explicit descriptions of sexual acts between the characters in it. Although the characters are teenagers who may be below the age of consent in the country or state where this is read, nothing written here should be taken as approval of, or encouragement for, sexual liaisons between people where such liaisons are either illegal, or objectionable for moral reasons. Although this story does not include safe sex practices, it is everyone's own responsibility to themselves and to each other to engage only in PROTECTED SEX. It is a story. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Nothing represented here is based on any fact known to the author.
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 firstname.lastname@example.org. I'd love to receive feedback.
Wherever I looked, there was Harry. Every corridor I walked down, Harry was walking towards me. Every time I walked into the dayroom in the house, there was Harry. Every time I was in class, there was Harry.
And Harry was beautiful.
And he didn't know I existed.
He was the sort of acknowledged leader of a group of kids at my school, and he was always hanging around with them, laughing with them, teasing them, as they almost paid homage to him. On match days, when we all had to watch the first XV play rugby, Harry was there with his friends grouped around him, cheering wildly for our side, but sort of fenced in by them, a kind of impenetrable barrier of boys. And I couldn't join them.
And Harry was sooo beautiful. He'd spoken to me once or twice, you know, about non-school things. Stuff like "Where do you live?", "Which team do you support?", and I'd hardly dared even look at him, look anywhere near those clear, deep, bright, blue eyes. I'd answered him, sure, but I'm useless at small talk, even the usual boy stuff. And he seemed to have passed through my life before he had even come into it. I know he never bothered with me much.
We're about the same height, about 5' 10". I guess he's a little taller, but I don't get close enough to find out. Both slim, no indications of beard growth on either face yet, and both blond. Well, I'm sort of mousy blond and reasonably short, and Harry's hair is long, down to his shoulders. It's a beautiful light, sun bleached, bright blond, and he parts it in the centre, and sometimes pulls it back into a ponytail. When it hangs straight down, it frames his face, and those special, spectacular eyes. I can't look him in the eye, but I've looked at him. I could recognise him in total darkness! And he doesn't know I exist.
I'm Pete, by the way. I think I must be gay, because I don't get the same feelings when I see any girl as I do when I see a good looking boy. I don't want to be gay, I don't think. Heck, I'm seventeen, and I'm still pretty sure that I'm just 'going through a phase'. I've been reading the books, you see. They say "Most adolescent boys go through a phase of apparent homosexuality, often fixated on a particular boy, before growing into maturity as normal, heterosexual adults."
Well, I've had this phase since I was thirteen years and one month old, ever since I came to this school; ever since I first saw Harry. If it's a phase, it's taking its time, as it stays with me constantly. I can't tell anyone what I'm going through. My Mum and Dad would freak out. They just aren't into guys getting it on with each other as an acceptable possibility
The good bits about it are that I look forward to going to school. The bad bits about it are that I hate going to school. I hate it because I'll see Harry. I love it because I'll see Harry. And I know what I want to do with Harry, if he wants me to, if he'll ever let me into his life. And it isn't the 'normal, heterosexual adult' stuff I want to do.
We go to a great school. Most of the kids are boarders, but there are two houses of dayboys. The school is one of those British Institutions, the Public School, just built for boys. There are 75 kids in my house, and we live during the day in a sort of communal dayroom, going to lessons, coming back to the dayroom for more books, going to get changed for games in the changing room downstairs, showering after games, all that kind of stuff.
And everywhere I look, there's Harry.
I guess that sets the scene that faces me every day. If I tried, I could count the weeks, the days, the hours I've looked at Harry, waited to see Harry, thought about Harry.
Three weeks into this school term, I made a resolution. 'Somehow, I will get to speak to Harry.' And I got the chance.
A week or so after I decided to speak to him, he came into school with his hair, his beautiful hair, cut off, and was carrying a paper bag. He was wearing a red nose. And I realised what he had done.
"Hi, Pete!" a bit sheepish, I thought
"What have you done to your hair?" Well I knew the answer already
"Comic Relief - Red Nose Day"
"I was dared to cut it off. I was sponsored to cut it off. If I cut it off, I would raise... Well, look at the sponsorship sheet. $500 to go to the charity."
"Wow! But it was beautiful, er I mean it really suited you, er, well you know what I mean."
"It wasn't a big deal, honest"
"Well, maybe not, but it looked good on you. Let's see how the new look suits you?" I was surprised with myself. Actually I was terrified, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to look at him 'with permission' as it were.
I took my time. "It's cute."
"Yep, cute. You look older and younger at the same time.
"Thanks, I think," he said, laughing.
"So what's in the bag?"
"It's kind of stupid. The guys asked me to bring in the hair I cut off. Some of them have sisters, and they're going to offer to buy locks of it for them."
Before I'd thought, "I'll buy a lock."
"You don't have a sister?"
Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit. "Well, no, but my money's good enough isn't it. I mean it's for charity"
"OK, keep your hair on! Oh, silly me; keep your hair on indeed! But what do you want it for?
We were both alone. I thought 'what the heck? I'll risk everything.' "Because I want to remember it as it was, as well as see it as it is now."
"Harry, haven't you noticed anything about me ever?"
"What, like mousy blond hair, similar height, dark blue-grey eyes, always around but never talks to me? That kind of stuff?"
"That kind of stuff. Anything else?"
"Well, maybe it isn't as obvious as I think it is, but..."
"I e-e-e-enjoy," deep breath, "I enjoy, "Oh God how do I do this? "Harry I enjoy looking at you!"
He stared at me. It felt like ten years. He was standing, his mouth slightly open, staring, as though he was seeing me for the first time. Not a look of horror as I had expected, nor a look of pleasure, nor even a neutral look. He was just staring, staring, staring. I had no idea what to do. I had got this far, and I had no idea what to do next. Panic took hold. I was trembling with all the adrenaline this had taken so far. I guess it was the adrenaline high. I looked at Harry's face, open eyed, open mouthed. 'Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb' went through my brain, as I put my lips on his, and kissed him.
Then I panicked.
Why then, I have no idea, but then I panicked. I ran as fast as I could to the bike sheds, unparked my bike, threw my leg over the saddle, and sprinted away from school as fast as I could pedal, away from the horror I had started, away from Harry. I either covered the five miles home in 13 minutes, or the 13 miles in five minutes. I flung the bike into the shed in our garden, and ran indoors, past my mum, into my bedroom, and under the covers on the bed. And I buried my head in the pillow, and tried not to cry. And I might just have managed if mum hadn't knocked on the door.
"Pete, can I come in?"
"Can I help?"
No, Go away, no-one can help, no-one. I've just kissed a boy, I love him and I've kissed him and almost told him. That was what I wanted to shout at her.
No, no, no, no. Nothing's wrong. I'm destroyed. I can never go back to school, ever, ever again. I've kissed a boy, and I want to kiss him again. It all screamed through my head.
"Sniffle, I, er, I don't feel well." True enough, I thought. I feel sick. Sick at heart, sick of the deceit, sick of loving with nothing in return, just sick.
"Do you want me to sit with you?" I'll swear she knew I wasn't sick, but she seemed content to pretend with me.
"I'd rather not."
"OK, if you're sure." And she went out of the room, quietly.
And I let go. I didn't think it was possible to cry yourself to sleep. It is. And it isn't fun. As I cried, all the images of the disaster went through my brain. Harry telling all his crowd that I had kissed him. His crowd telling all their friends. The staff hearing about it. The end of my school career - I'd be expelled for sure. Harry laughing at me, about me. Never seeing Harry again. Never seeing Harry again. Never seeing Harry. Never seeing. Never. Oblivion. And I slept. Badly, but I slept. About 4 o'clock Mum came in.
"If you feel better, I have to go to work?" She's a nurse, on nights this week at the hospital. Dad will be home at about 8, but I can stay until then if you need me to."
"It's OK. You go."
"There's some food ready for the microwave, if you feel like it"
"OK. I'll be all right"
And she went. And it was lonely, but good at the same time. I put the TV on, and started to watch the kids' programmes. Why anyone thinks that The Simpsons are a dysfunctional family I have no idea. I mean, Bart isn't gay, is he?
About 5 o'clock, there was a knock on the door. Shit. I don't feel like seeing anyone. Another knock, and the bell rang too. I went.
I looked through the spyhole, and saw the back of a head. "Who is it?"
"OK" and I opened the door to see... to see... HARRY "Er."
"Can I come in?"
"Er?" Oh good grief, get a grip! "Er?"
So he came in.
"Are your folks in?"
"Er?" When am I going to stop talking in drivel and grunts? "Er, I mean no, er just me."
"Pete, I brought the lock of hair"
"You wanted it. It's for you."
"Will you stop gibbering at me! I've brought you something else, too."
And he moved close to me, took my head in his hands, tilted it to the left, and kissed me, full on the lips.
"This isn't happening," I mumbled.
"This is happening, Pete. That is, if you want it to."
"I want it to. Oh yes, I want it to, but?"
"You never noticed me, ever."
"I never dared to notice you, Pete." And he kissed my cheeks. "I never dared."
"This morning, you did something I've been wanting to do since I first met you. You tried, started to tell me how you felt. I couldn't speak, and then you kissed me. And before I could say anything, you ran away, and I didn't know what to do."
"Love you, Pete. I love you. I've been daring myself to tell you for ever."
And we had our arms around each other, and we were both so near to tears that we burst into hysterical laughter instead.
"Oh, your poor face," he said, as he kissed me, "your poor puffy eyes." And he kissed the puffiness, and stroked my hair. And held me close. And I felt I had died and gone to heaven.
"I want to do things with you. I mean I want to, Oh God it sounds so crude, I want to, want to, to, to rip your clothes off and touch your body and kiss you and hold you and love you, and I don't know what or how, or anything....."
"Let's go slowly?"
"Will we be lovers? Please? I need you?"
"Now, Pete, upstairs, in your room, now, but slowly."
So I took him by the hand, and led him upstairs. I felt dirty. "A shower?"
We have a bath with a shower in it, and we both undressed almost shyly, and got in. Do you know, we didn't even think to soap or wash each other, we were both so nervous, but when Harry turned to me, and I saw his cock starting to rise, when I looked at his body, with it's light covering of blond hair, when I looked at his perfect legs, I suddenly couldn't keep my hands to myself. I daren't touch his cock, not yet, but I took him in my arms and kissed him again, and felt our two cocks touch together.
"Towel," Harry's voice said. And we were out of the shower, and he was drying me, tenderly, softly, thoroughly, down my back, between my buttocks, down my legs, drying the hair at the base of my cock. "Now me."
And I did him the same service, and when he was dry, we moved to my room, and I kissed him again, and neither cock went soft during the whole process. And I slid to me knees in front of him, and looked at his beautiful, erect, wonderful, cock, standing proud, erect and uncut in front of him. "May I kiss it?"
"Don't ask me anything, just do it." I almost didn't hear him, it was kind of under his breath, and trembly.
I raised my right hand, and so carefully took hold of his cock halfway up the shaft, between my fingertips and thumb, and moved the skin down towards the base, all the time watching the tip. I watched the skin open to reveal his shiny, glossy pink cockhead, straining to be free of that tight, sensitive skin, and I licked the shaft, the soft surface of the inside of his foreskin, and the ridge, the rim, of the head. And I heard him gasp. Then: "Let's get on the bed" Well he said it, or I did. I'm not sure.
Whoever said it, we lay down, face to face. "I want to kiss your cock, too," Harry breathed, and he turned so his mouth was at my belly and my mouth was at his. And I felt him touch me in the same way that I had touched him, and felt the skin withdraw, and his tongue on my cock, and an exquisite tickling feeling as he licked upwards to the tip, and engulfed it in his hot mouth, with his beautiful lips, closing round it, and I did the same to him. I was scared of hurting him, and scared of offending him, and he was stroking me, lying on his side beside me, milking my cock for all he was worth, as I was with his, sucking, licking, nibbling. And I felt his hands grabbing my buttocks, and pulling them towards him, pulling my cock deeper into his mouth, and I did the same to him. This was amazing. I'd never been touched before, and I was so close to cumming, cumming in Harry's' mouth. And then his finger touched my asshole, and it sent me straight over the edge, and I came hard into Harry's mouth, so hard, hard, pounding, pulsing for ever, as I felt he was sucking my very soul into him. And suddenly he tensed, and his cock drove into my mouth, and he filled me with his juices, suddenly, hot, pulsing, more and more, so much it spilled before I could swallow it, and I swallowed as hard as I could, still sucking, stroking, holding until we had to break apart, out of breath. And I loved him, and wriggled round to kiss him.
And as we kissed, our juices mingled, and we held and loved each other, and kissed and stroked and held. And neither cock went soft, not for ages, but I couldn't bear him to touch mine, nor he bear me to touch his.
"Hold me, Harry, just hold me."
"I love you, Pete."
"Grow you hair again for me"
And I just knew, just knew that I was loved, and that I loved him. And I felt safe and whole at last.