Date: Fri, 3 Nov 2000 09:26:05 -0000
From: Chas Bryant <charbry@supanet.com>
Subject: uncle-jules-6

UNCLE JULES - 6

The following afternoon I was in my room catching up on some
homework. The sun shone right into the room and I felt warm and lazy,
and sexy.

I had played a good game that morning and had come home to a heavy
Sunday lunch. My mother, whatever her faults, is an ace cook. Now,
somewhat sleepily, I was reviewing the doings of Clive of India for my
next history project. Apparently he was a right racist bastard. The Mozart
tune started buzzing on my mobile. I dashed for it, thinking it might be
Gervase. Surely his family couldn't have left him alone again?

A deep sexy voice said "Hullo Chas. How you doing?"

For a moment I didn't recognise who it was. Then memory flooded back,
here in this same room, that voice, that body. An afternoon like this one,
Jules' muscular body bent over the bed.

"Uncle Jules, where are you?"

"Less of the 'uncle' Chas, it makes me feel too old. I'm in London mate,
had to come down on a job. At a loose end this afternoon, thought I'd
ring my sexy nephew. Who you been shagging recently?"

His sexy laugh made me shiver. "Wouldn't you like to know, Jules? You
sure I mustn't call you uncle, I rather like it?"

He laughed again. "Whatever you want, mate, you know me."

"So are you coming over uncle? It seems ages since you left."

"Me too darling. And have I missed those long hot shags you used to give
me!"

"Mmm, me too. Can't you come and stay the night? Why didn't you tell
us you were coming down?"

"Sorry can't do that Chas, have to catch a train first thing back to
Edinburgh. It's the usual shit, they get me down here at ten seconds'
notice and then now I'm here nothing's doing, the client's nowhere to be
seen and I'm stuck in this dim hotel. What a way to run a business!
Besides which I have a raging hardon and no means of relief except my
own lil hand."

While Jules had been talking the instant aphrodisiac of his voice had
made me reach for my own cock. I was wearing only trainers and a tee
and by now the trainers were down and I was stroking my hard cock. I
got up instinctively to bolt the door.

"Oh, darling Uncle Jules, if only you were here I would stroke it for you,
like I used to do. Love to see you right now bending over my bed, those
great buns of yours ready for inspection. Thighs open please uncle, for
ease of entry. Your boy wants some of that sweet arse."

"You horny little fucker!" he breathed down the phone. "I bet you got it
in your hand right now, you randy bastard."

I was thinking of his body, so big and muscular compared with Gervase's
slight but beautiful figure. I erotically imagined them lying side by side
on my bed, one of Gervase's slim thighs flung over Jules' big strong
thigh, both beautiful but together irresistible. I imagined them kissing,
their lips open, their eyes closing. And then I imagined myself, lying
behind Jules, my cock against his hot moist crack, his face half turned
toward me in a kiss, and Gervase, in front of Jules, joining us in that three
way kiss, me licking Jules' face and then Gervase's, then both together. It
had to be the sexiest scene I had ever imagined. I wondered if it could
ever..

"Jules, did you have sex with two other guys before?"

"What, a threesome? No darling, you're my one and only essay in that
form."

Then I thought of the guys on the Common, Muscle Mary and Blue Suit
and how sexy that had been. But with Jules and with Gervase, both of
whom I loved madly, the ecstacy would be a hundredfold that of the
cottage in the woods.

So much of sex takes place in the mind. It's three quarters imagination
and one quarter actual physical contact. I was looking at a web group last
night in which the members exchanged fantasies and I thought that
sometimes fantasy is more real than reality. (I'm sure Gautama would
agree with that; in fact, I think he would say that all sex is an illusion.) I
could do it now, so easily. The imagination of a threesome between me,
Jules and Gervase could easily become almost real.

Sometimes, in dreams, I meet people who seem as real as anyone I might
meet on the street. Last night there was a guy who I seemed to know who
sat beside me and started wanking himself off, and while he was wanking
he put his lips to mine. (I seemed to be sitting beside him in some public
place, a cinema or auditorium). I could feel his face against mine as he
stroked himself, his lips bobbing up and down upon mine. It was
fantastically sexy, even though it was taking place in public. But the
strange thing is that this guy seemed to have a very real personality, a
vibrant presence - perhaps, in this respect, he was even more real than
someone I might know whom I met in public.

Or an even better meditation/fantasy would be to imagine that I am not
me but that I am Jules, that that fantastically well-built muscular body is
my own, that that lively and amusing and aware mind belongs to me. The
hand that is placed over Gervase's slight but beautiful chest is Jules' own
strong big hand and Gervase looks up into Jules' almost black eyes.
Jules' thighs, twice as broad and round as Gervase's are pushed against
that slim young body, and it is bliss to see them standing together, the
bigger man leaning down and the boy looking upward.

While I was speaking to Jules on the mobile I went across to the drawer
and drew his shorts out from their secret place. Black and purple stripes
on that soft silk and the still crusty spread where he had come a double
load for me, and still the lingering scent of his body and sperm.

"Chas, you still there? You've gone very quiet."

"I'm just savouring your parting gift uncle."

"My gift?"

"Your beautiful cum-stained shorts." And I breathed heavily against them
so that Jules could hear me. "I only wish your prick was inside them
uncle, and your heavy balls and your lovely lovely bum. Mmmm, I can
almost taste and smell you now."

This, dear reader, was my very first essay in phone sex, although I have
often indulged the taste since then, more than once with Jules when he
was at a distance. It is so good because it involves that element of
imagination which I was discussing above. All you have is your need for
sexual release, the other's voice, and your limitless imagination. Here
again the element of identification often comes into play. If someone asks
me to describe myself, I describe Jules. Often I tell them that my name is
Jules and then I take on all his beloved characteristics. It is a form of art
or acting and you lose yourself in the part and become what and who you
portray. To love someone is often to feel that you want to become one
with them and actually be them.

Are you turned on by pictures of twins? I am. There are well-known ones
on the Net, the lovely Brewers of course, the Hell brothers, the Mendez
twins, those two Italian- looking boys with the uncut cocks whose names
I do not know. These, I am sure, are an image of that identification with
the beloved of which I am speaking. How closer is it possible to be than
an identical twin?

To imagine being created at the same moment, to have been side by side
in the womb, to have been born within the same hour - that is a beautiful
thought. And that is what lovers are, twins. When they first look at each
other they remember a shared past which need exist only in imagination
to be as real as any twinship.

How closer could you be than in the same womb, entwined about each
other, feeding off the same substance at the same time, growing day by
day together?

But however imaginative, you know that the identification cannot last
forever. At the end of your meditation, it must slowly fade. That's the
cruel moment, that's where post-coital depression can sometimes kick in
- no, not depression, that's too strong. Don't the French call it tristesse?
That word describes it so well, better even than sadness. The tristesse
after love-making, when each dissolves into his original state of unjoined-
ness, singleness.

"Chas, you've gone quiet again, but I can hear your breathing and I know
you're wanking, as I am. I am thinking of you and wanting you. I am
thinking of..."

Thus Jules entered his own meditation, his of me just as my meditation
was of him, so that in a way we had changed places and taken on each
other's being. The image of the mirror, the image in the mirror.

*  *  *

When Gervase was better, as he soon was, we became bosom buddies.
Now there was rarely a day when we did not see each other. Our love was
like an opening flower. In fact it became rather obvious to those around
us. A few months later I remember my mother saying "That boy seems to
live over here now. Have they thrown him out of his own house?"

He stayed with me for many weekends, coming home with me on the
Friday after school and not going back to his own family until after
school on Monday. Apparently his parents didn't mind at all. Neither did
mine. In fact I think my mother was besotted with him too. She was
always hugging him. Gervase loved it and I suspected that he didn't get
much affection from his own family, which mystified me.

Gervase and I used to go running on the Common. He was growing now
at quite a rate and the first hairs were beginning to appear which was a
relief to him but a bit of a shame to me. But he still didn't need to shave
more than once a week.

Due to our being inseperable our schoolmates began to call us Chaz and
Vaz, as if we were a couple. Wherever you saw Chaz, there was Vaz.
There was a lot of talk as you would expect but we just denied it all in a
very forthright fashion. I was too big for any one to argue. Some however
didn't want to argue but to join the team! In fact Vaz, as I myself now
began to call him, fell out with me over one particular chap called
Harrison.

Harrison, known affectionately as Aris, was also in our team and
definitely on our side. I was sitting next to him in the changing rooms one
day and noticed that he had a hard on. He was looking at Vaz who was
across the room in animated discussion with another lad.

Aris leaned over to me and said in a whisper, "He's fucking gorgeous.
Who fucks who?"

I played the outraged maiden aunt, suddenly confronted by a flasher in
the High Street. "Who's that you're talking about?"

"Your gorgeous mate, Vaz. What I wouldn't do for a few rounds with
him. It's OK Chas, I understand about these things." And he winked.
This was a bit unsettling for me. Hostility I could deal with easily but
eagerness of this sort was a difficult one. Besides which I was also
secretly attracted to Aris who was turning into a bit of a teenage Muscle
Mary. Non-plussed, I was!

"You must be queer mate," was what I said.

He put his big thigh against my own and flexed it, unsettlingly recalling
my beloved Jules on the sofa.

"Sometimes I think I might be," he admitted. "Fancy giving me a few
lessons? As long as you bring Vaz along too."

"Oh sod!" I mocked. "I thought it was me you was after."

"You too bro. I wouldn't leave you out. Great pecs man!" And he rubbed
his big hand over my chest. The sensation was not unpleasant.

Just then the whistle blew for everyone out. As we trotted onto the field
Aris felt my arse. "Sick pervo!" I shouted, using Vaz's phrase.

"That's me!" said Aris smiling all over his ruggedly handsome face. It
seemed to me that he had somehow sensed his attraction for me. Feelings
are never as discreet as we imagine.

Aris was good natured as well as sexy, which was another attraction. I
can't abide moody people. I had never seen him lose his temper. He was
open, even about his more dubious tastes. He never directly propositioned
Vaz since Vaz's sarcasm could be devestating at times even to one so
well balanced as Aris. But he was always dropping hints when he was
around me and always seemed to manage to squeeze himself up against
me wherever I went. He seemed to be perpetually semi-hard and I could
tell that it was quite a hot packet.

I began to play a little game with Aris. Catch me if you can, it might be
called. It was an endless tease between us, a most delightful temptation to
which I never quite gave way. I knew he would not react badly to this and
that he would enjoy it as much as I did.

I had already come to the view that if one is too successful in the game of
sex one is quickly satiated and this leads either to boredom or to more
inventive kinkiness, neither of which appealed to me. I already knew that
the moment of release is the apogee of the process and that after
ejaculation the whole house of cards comes tumbling down. That is when
one is most subject to despair. One could avoid this by never ever getting
to the point of relief and release. It was not my own idea of course, the
Indians discovered it long ago.

I already had avenues of release, Vaz being the most constant one at
present. But this left plenty of energy still to be used. Stimulation was the
name of this game and Aris, I hoped, would be a willing partner. I was
quite sure that he too had had as much sexual experience as me, with both
boys and girls - and who else besides? He was the ideal playmate and I
knew that he would take it in the same spirit as me.

I allowed him to take liberties but never to get to the point of endgame. I
similarly took liberties with him but always refused to go into details. We
both knew that the other one liked men and that we both had an active sex
life, but the who and where was deliberately left vague. It never came to
the point of confession, I did not want that at all.

It began of course in our first little talk in the changing rooms. Then the
scene changed to the school library where we were both engaged in
research. Our school was very old and the library was a massive
Victorian creation which resembled a high-roofed chapel with stained
glass windows and masses of fumed oak.

Aris and I sat in a book-lined alcove on opposite sides of a medium sized
desk. It was an autumn day, quite cold, and the central heating was on.
There were several others in the room but we were more or less intimate
in our own especial place, unseen and unheard.

I was deep in my studies when a piece of paper was pushed across the
desk towards me. I looked first at the paper and then at Aris. He gave me
a long suggestive wink and nodded. I took the paper and read it. It said
"Have you ever fucked the lovely Vaz? Tell me what it was like."

I screwed the paper up and put it in my pocket. I leaned forward over the
desk and looked straight into Aris's eyes. "No, I have not," I whispered
(which was quite true). "We are just good friends and you have a mind
like a latrine."

"If you say so Chas. I believe you." And he winked again.

I went back to my papers. Next thing I know Aris's ankle is brushing
against mine in a suggestive manner. He sank in his chair as more of his
lower body came into contact with mine. Soon all I could see was his
head and shoulders as his legs began to wrap around me. I tutted and
went to look out of the window in the alcove. I was feeling fairly randy.

Aris got up and stood beside me. His cock was hard and he was playing
with his zip. I made up my mind and pushed my pelvis and thighs against
his and we were both hard. It felt good. Then I kissed him full on the
mouth, picked up my papers, and left the library shamelessly sporting a
boner.

He came running after me and walked along with me. "Pretty good Chas.
You're a fucking randy cunt."

"I ain't no one's cunt pal."

He put his arm around my shoulders, his hand in his pocket. "I'll be your
bitch if you like. Yours and Vaz's."

I think he meant it too. I shrugged him off and went about my business. I
felt so fucking hot! I looked back and saw he had gone into the loos. I
could guess what he meant to do in there and I was tempted to follow
him. But no, that was not the name of the game. Arousal without relief
was what I was after. I felt about ready to cum and dared not touch
myself.

Gervase was ill at ease when Aris was around. He sensed something but
couldn't tell what it was. I knew I had to be careful. I would not for the
world cause Vaz any slightest suffering if it could be avoided. He was
like my most precious casket of immortal jewels and nothing must be
allowed to dim their pristine splendour. I cherished him and would not
have him droop.

"He's always there," grumbled Vaz. "Always getting in the way. And
what are you two always whispering about?"

"He knows we're in love," I explained, twining my fingers through his
and kissing the soft flesh on the back of his hand, each knuckle, each
joint. I stared at his hand and could hardly believe it was real.

"How does he know? Hope you didn't tell him."

"How do they all know? Probably just from the way we look at each
other. The way my dad looks at Mum when he's randy. Besides love
gives off an odour of its own, the most beautiful fragrance in the world."

"You're starting to sound like those Arab poets you're always reading."

But there was no resistance when I leant forward to kiss his lips. He had
started to grow his black hair long, much to the annoyance of the school
authorities, and he looked so ravishing everyone wanted him, me
especially. It was difficult to believe he wanted me back.

"Aris is a friendly guy, that's all. And you know he is in love with you
himself. He told me so."

"I didn't ask him to be. So long as he isn't in love with you too."

"When you and me are together, all people see is you. Quite
understandably." My tongue exploring the enchanting dimples at the
corner of his mouth, him starting to smile, won over.

"They're mad Chas. You're much better looking than me."

Kissing his chin, his eyes. Looking at him as if to capture his soul, his
essence. Wondering always what this experience was and knowing that at
base it was just the usual procreational urge which in our case had gone
slightly off-beam.

"You're nuts, Gervase." Note the Gervase. It was always Gervase in our
romantic moments. Vaz was for public consumption.

You see, this was why Aris was of some importance to me, as an escape
valve from the tremendous head of steam that Gervase built up inside me.
I doted on him absolutely and sometimes it seemed a little unhealthy,
even to poor besotted me. But then of course I was not actually doing
anything with Aris, just thinking and looking and just occasionally
touching, as in the library. I think I was becoming a little confused by
now. But it was most definitely a happy confusion.

Aris was confused too. "Don't you want to shag me Chas? I am sure you
do really, you randy bastard. Or is there something else you want from
me?"

He could be quite earnest at times for one so light-hearted. He certainly
did have the most pluggable arse. But I was determined to stick to my
schedule. I had a feeling also that he would only fancy me (and Vaz,
come to that) up to the point when he had us and that afterward his
interest would wane.

"I'm a one man woman ole chap."

This on the footie field and he tackled me and jumped on me when I was
down, his hardon between my thighs. Quentin, the rather fanciable footie
master, looked the other way. Vaz rushed to my aid.

"Oh-oh, here comes your lovely knight in shining armour."

Pushing Aris off and trying to hide my own erection, I smiled at Vaz.


As always, comments are welcome at charbry@supanet.com