Date: Thu, 11 May 2023 11:00:12 +0200 (CEST)
From: maxkent69@tutanota.com
Subject: AND THEN HE KISSED ME - Max Kent - YOUNG FRIENDS

AND THEN HE KISSED ME

DISCLAIMER

As with every story that appears in Nifty, this story is complete
fiction. It's a production of the imagination. And, as with every story on
Nifty, it does not condone or promote illegal acts of any description.


DONATIONS

Nifty is a free site, but not for those who run and administer it. They
need our support, not only with our stories but with our donations using
link https://donate.nifty.org/

Please donate what you can. Every little bit helps.



AND THEN HE KISSED ME

It's July 10th. Our last day in junior school is over. Esther, my
girlfriend and I, have come here to Magdalen Park. In September I will be
going to the boys' grammar school, Esther will be going to the girls'
grammar school.

Nothing has been said but we know our time together is over. It has been
fragile at best. Esther is in love, if eleven-year-olds can be in love,
with my best friend, Steve. He is going steady with Amy - whatever 'steady'
means to Steve.

Steve knows he won't get into Esther's nickers. Amy will be "easy peasy" he
tells me. Amy won't be the first girl to fall for Steve's looks and charm.

I know these things because Steve and I do sleepovers. In his house we
share a double bed and he tells me what he did, how to do it, and who did
it with. I believe most of what he tells me, but does he really do it up a
girl's bum?

"'Course I do," he laughs. "That's the safest. Once you start cumming, you
can make babies. Who the fuck wants to be a father when you're only eleven
or twelve?"

Steve showed me how to wank (masturbate), but we didn't do it
together. Steve hated 'gays', 'faggots', 'homos'. I was too shy. I did mine
in the bathroom and wiped away everything and flung the tissue down the
toilet. Then I jumped back into bed with Steve.

"Why don't you just slurp it up?" he tells me. "It's only protein. Hey! Get
Esther to slurp it up. Bet you can't," he laughed.

I have managed to kiss Esther, on the lips, none of that tongue swallowing
like the French do... and once she let me open her blouse and her
bra. She's only eleven, so her tits are small, but really nice. Creamy with
brown cherry tops.

She hasn't put her hand near my zip. I don't encourage her. Not because I'm
shy about it. At swimming, I noticed I've got a bigger penis than most of
the boys in Year 6, including Steve. But I don't get hard kissing Esther,
or even looking at her little breasts, and I wonder if there's something
wrong with me.

We've got lots to talk about anyway. We both sailed through the test for
grammar schools. We both like English and History and Art, and we both
wonder what our new schools will be like.

As we say 'Bye for Now', we both know it's over. We'll meet again, but not
as boy and girl friends. Time and tide won't wait for us.


Liam

I'm twelve. At my new school. I love it. It's October, but it's as hot as
mid-July. Year 7 and Year 8 are playing football at the bottom of the
quarry.

Strange no one ever questioned why a quarry was sited on school's
grounds. A disused quarry, but a real one, though thick grass, burned beige
by the summer, disguises its fiercer slopes. We're twelve and thirteen; we
play up and down the slopes.

Lunchtime over rings. We dive for our blazers, tucking in shirts and
knotting ties as we scramble up the slippery slopes. Liam Mills grabs me
from behind and we go tumbling down the slopes again. For a few moments I'm
winded. I try to get to my feet but Liam is straddled across me, his hands
stretching my arms wide above my head.

What craziness is this?

I hardly know Liam Mills. He's in Year 7, a year older than me. He's nodded
at me a couple of times in the corridors, and he's picked me a couple of
times for his side our lunchtime matches.

Liam's taller than me, stronger than me, shoulder length black hair, and he
wears specs. He's not wearing them now. He's got his face almost touching
mine. Maybe he's short-sighted.

The sound of the bell dies away. The sounds of the boys' voices die
away. Only the birds in the woods disturb the silence, only the birds and
my broken breathing.

Liam sits astride me, looking down into my eyes. His eyes are hazel. I had
no idea what the colour of hazel looked like, but his eyes are brownish
gold with green flecks. I imagine that was the colour of hazel. I know I
should say something, but for the life of me, I can't think of a single
thing to say.

Liam grinds his arse gently into my groin. His heat communicates itself to
mine. My face is on fire as I feel myself stir and stretch beneath his
bum. He must feel it. He must be as embarrassed as me. Still, he sits
there, grinding gently. I look away from his eyes, and in doing so I see
the bulge at his crotch. He must be hard, very hard.

"We've missed the start of Period 4," he whispers. "Hide in the woods? I'll
tell them I lost my bus pass. You've been helping me find it."

I nod dumbly,

Liam releases me, stands, brushes himself down, and helps me up. His touch
is electric. We move quickly into the cool shade of the woods, deeper and
deeper until we come to a small clearing. Liam sits on a fallen tree.

I move to sit beside him, but he keeps me away, keeps me standing in front
of him. His fingers brush my flies; I should move away, but I don't.

He keeps his eyes on face as he unzips me, and eases Y-fronts past my
knees. I can't take his gaze. I look up into the light and shade playing
through the treetops. He is squeezing me, running his fingers across the
slick liquid on the head of my cock, easing the foreskin back as far as it
will go. His left hand plays with my balls. I know how to masturbate; I'm
no fool, I'm no baby, I know what's going to come.

Me!

Suddenly I gasp. There is a hot wetness around my stiff penis, and a
sucking feeling that brings a lump to my throat. I gulp noisily and look
down.

Liam has taken my hard-on into his mouth; he is sliding it deeper until his
lips brush little pubic bush. His head is bobbing now, up and down, as my
cock slides into his throat, back to his lips, and deep into his throat
again.

The feeling is wonderful, as if my brain was fully of fluffy clouds or
candy floss, as if my own hand was only a shadow of the pleasure this
sucking mouth can bring.

Liam's fingers slide from my balls into the crack between my buttocks,
probing the hot little tunnel that leads to... I clench by buttocks. It
feels good, but it feels wrong, like trying to have an extra helping of
trifle when you're already stuffed to the gills.

The hand moves away and returns to my balls; the other hand is pumping the
base of my cock.

My knees tremble and buckle; I think my legs are going to give way. I feel
myself rushing hotly from below. I try to warn Liam, but he doesn't want to
know, and I'm spurting into his mouth. He takes it all, all of it. He keeps
on sucking till I am so sensitive I have to push him away.

I am panting, ashamed, thrilled. I let myself drop to the fallen tree,
sitting there, head in hands, fly open, my cock dripping onto... onto a
handkerchief Liam has placed in my lap.

I look up. Liam is standing in front of me. His trousers and underpants are
around his ankles. He is jerking his cock furiously. Fascinated, I cannot
take my eyes from him. The head of his cock is like a swollen purple
mushroom; the foreskin makes slurping noises as it blurs over the head;
there are little white bubbles of slime.

Suddenly he turns slightly to his left, and shoots his load in spurts that
travel at least three feet, splatting against a defenceless beech tree. He
reaches for his handkerchief and wipes the end of his cock.

"Christ, I needed that," he murmurs.

We do ourselves up. Liam sits down beside me and pulls out a packet of
cigarettes. He offers me one. I take it. I've never smoked a cigarette in
my life, but then I'd never been fellated till that afternoon either. There
is a first time for everything.

Liam lights me up. I cough and splutter for a few moments, but I get the
hang of it and drag deeply on the fag. Christ, it's good. Sex and
cigarettes are spiritual experiences.

We sit there for the next forty minutes, talking about this, that and
everything except the sex we've just had. That doesn't seem so important to
Liam now that it's over. We hear the bell go for Period 5 and reluctantly
raise our arses. Sugar 'n' shit, I've got another hard-on. I'd like to try
the business on Liam but I'm too shy to ask. Never mind. There'll be other
days.

There were no other days.

Although I dropped hints to Gerry, he seemed entirely uninterested in sex
with me. For a few weeks I was disappointed and desperate. Then I heard
Liam had sucked off 7 boys in the First Year, and never sucked the same boy
twice. That was a relief. It had nothing to do with whether I was
good-looking or not, nothing to do with whether I was desirable or not. It
was nothing but sex. And anyway, the grind of the rugby season left me with
hardly enough energy for a quick wank in the shower.


MASON

Life had another surprise for me - I turned out to be very good at rugby,
not brilliant, but very good. And, Mason, the under 14's captain, found the
perfect spot for me - fly half. Almost every attack goes through the fly
half, and though I wasn't strongly built, I could think fast and get the
ball away even faster. The position was usually given to a Year 7, but
Mason gave it to me!

I first noticed Mason in the showers. Not quite true. we sat together in
some mixed-year classes and enjoyed a passing acquaintance.

Mason was a gifted athlete. We were skinny twelve-year-olds. Mason had the
body of a well-developed fifteen year old. Square of build without in
anyway being squat, his regular features were lit by a smile as generous as
his personality. Mason was handsome in a very masculine way. I was
good-looking, though I never guessed that until others made it clear.

Mason had another special gift.

Mason had an eight-inch penis.

Even as I write this, I find it hard to believe, but having measured it
myself, I know it for a hard fact that attracted me like a moth to a flame,
a magnet to a bar of steel.

Perhaps I would have been taken aback had my own dick not swung a healthy
six inches between my legs. In fact, it was a relief to discover in the
school showers that the object of awe was no longer my male appendage but
Mason's. And he had a year on me.

In modern languages, seated side by side, Mason let me push my thigh
against his as our lowered heads pored over a German edition of 'Emil and
the Detectives'. My hand resting lightly on my own right knee would
casually brush his left until he hissed good-naturedly, "Fuck off, you're
giving me a hard-on."

Don't forget this was a boys' school. Our hormones were in heat, and many
of us were ready to take what we could get.

Why did he decide to let me go further? The pressure of intimacy? Amused
affection, for we did grow to become friends of a sort. Simple boyhood
lust? A desire to see how far I was willing to go - or how far he was
willing to let himself go?

The first Saturday in October. We have a rugby match against a rival
school. Mason and I arrive at the school sports grounds half an hour early
to practice combinations between the scrum half (Mason) and the fly half
(me).

It's only October but it's. We scramble through a rear window of the
pavilion. It is snug and warm inside. We are both still sleepy-headed. We
dive onto a huge heap of rubber mats in the storage room. Mason is on his
back, eyes closed. I am lying by his side, eyes wide open.

I run my fingers across the thin flannel of his school trousers. It's a
school match and we have to wear full fucking uniform even in sub-zero
temperatures. There is no sanity in the adult world. I am running my
fingertips from his knees to the V of his crotch, waiting for the imperious
command, "Fuck off, you're giving me a hard-on."

The command does not come; the hard-on does. Growing, swelling, stretching,
elongating until it looks as a length of rubber hose-pipe has been jammed
down his trousers. I take a deep breath and run my fingers its length, half
wincing in the expectation of a punch in the mouth.

The punch does not come; a command does.

"For Christ's sake, get on with it. They'll be here soon."

My brain is as frozen as the icicles outside the window. I ease open his
buttons, part his flies, find the slit in his underpants, and ease out that
monstrous cock. It is a thing of beauty, a thing of power, and thing of
silky softness and steely hardness. I begin jerking the top three inches of
the shaft, the foreskin is loose and slides easily backwards and forwards.

"Hold on, I'll get some loo paper," I whisper.

"Fuck off. Keep going. Find something else. Don't make a mess."

It's a long speech for a boy whose arse is already writhing against the
rubber mats beneath his cheeks.

"I don't have a hankie," I whisper hoarsely.

"I don't want a mess," he hisses.

My face is inches from his cock. I can feel its heat against my... against
my lips. I know what he means. I know what he wants. I remember Liam. It is
disgusting, repellent, and I want it, too.

I open my mouth until my jaws crack, close my eyes, and lower myself until
he slides in. I close my lips around the head of his cock and slide them
down the shaft until I gag, then ease back a little.

This must be Paradise. The simple act of taking this hard flesh into my
mouth is Paradise. I could lie here forever, Mason pushing himself rapidly,
rhythmically into me... into me, inside me!

Coming! Cumming!

Inside me!

The spurts hit the back of my throat, the roof of my mouth. Four, five,
six. Mason jets his most intimate self inside me. His sperm, his semen, his
cum slides down my throat towards my tummy. Mason is becoming part of
me. Little Masons are swimming around blindly inside of me.

Of me!

"Christ, that was good."

I am lying on my back, deeply ashamed.

Mason scrabbles open my flies, flips out my hard dick. His big hot hand is
round my hard-on. He is jerking me hard but with care. I am so ashamed, and
so utterly transported by the memory of his cock in my mouth, his hot jets
of sperm in my throat, the long slow sliding towards my stomach.

"O, O, O."

I feel myself coming uncontrollably. My body spasms. My bum beats its own
little tattoo on the rubber mats. I look the length of my body and see
Mason has wrapped a handkerchief around my throbbing cock. His own
handkerchief.

Mason is on his feet, pulling me to mine. The freckles on his face are
stretched by a wide grin.

"We've broken the rule. That's not allowed, you know," he laughs. "Least
not before a match. 'Remember your body is a temple. It is to be
worshipped, not abused.'"

Mason has the Rev. Ramsden to a T.

The Rev. Ramsden is not only the school chaplain but our rugby coach, and a
mean bugger in both roles he is.

"Let's get changed, and get in a few practice kicks," he laughs. "That's
what we're here for, or have you forgotten?"

I laugh, too. It's as if someone has thrown open the window, and let a rush
of clean, breath-taking, forgiving air into my life. Mason is an athlete, a
demi-god, a hero, and he likes having his cock sucked by me!

Fuck ambivalence! Fuck guilt! Fuck shame!

I'll get back to them - later. We've got all the time in the world.

Actually we didn't.

Two weeks later a bombshell. Mason and his family were moving to Australia
- Sydney - at least for two years. His dad was in the diplomatic service,
and Mason was delighted.

"Right in the middle of the cricket season!"

And like so many things in life, what was here today was gone tomorrow.


DANIEL

Mid-October, half term, what a treat our school offered.

Crammed with 72 boys and teachers, our double decker bus barreled its way
south through a hot humid night on a series of French motorways that took
us from the gloom of London to the sun-stunned beaches of Cap D'Agde on the
Med.

Cap d'Agde turned out to be a fabulous place. Just outside the town there
was a massive camp for nearly 500 boys and girls from all over Europe -
French, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, Belgian, and we Brits. The main
purpose was to have fun AND improve whatever language we liked at the
same. All except the Brits wanted to learn English!

Cap d'Agde had (and has) everything, including its own Naturist Village! No
joking. Teachers tried to keep us away from a peek into the village, but
when there's nudity around we want our share!

There's also a massive water park called Aqualand. We spent one morning
there but when you've got the Med. 30 steps from your tent...

I partnered with Daniel in our own two-boy tent.

I'm looking at Daniel's photographs now, and the same sun seems to glow
from his tanned skin. Two photographs survive from that summer. In the
first, Daniel is sprawled on his back across an unmade double bed, flowery
summer shorts low on his hips, his grin as inviting as the clear blue sea
that sparkled only twenty metres from the ramshackle caravan in which we
hid ourselves.

As seductive as that photograph is, I prefer the second. We are outside,
Daniel has his back to me, but his head is turned to me in close-up. His
cropped blonde hair is repeated in the fine hair along his back, fine
golden hairs bleached by two weeks hot summer sun. His smile is sun-kissed,
lips parted just enough to show even white teeth, eyes as blue as the azure
above. But it is the raised eyebrow and the protruding tip of the tongue
which make it pure Daniel.

Can innocence be a form of lust? If it can, it is the word made flesh in
Daniel. Here is no guilt, no shame, no ambivalence. Daniel wants his
burning flesh pressed against my own; it is in the smile, the raised
eyebrow, the golden hairs on his back. My eyes slide from his broad
shoulder to the silk of his chest. One innocent nipple is turned towards
me. Even now my lips remember the texture of that nipple.

We were in the water, six or seven boys, horsing around. Throwing ourselves
and each other around. Daniel threw himself at me; were his words also
thrown at me. I can hear them still, in an unbroken treble, layered by the
husky patina of approaching puberty.

"Whoever wants me can have me."

And Daniel is in my arms. And I am staggering backwards in the chest high
water. But I hold onto him as he clings to me, his arms draped around my
neck, his cheek to mine, his laughter mingling with mine. And as I bear him
up, I feel his hard cock pressing against my thigh. For the moment I am
startled and almost release him. But I hear his words in my ear again:
"Whoever wants me can have me."

And I want him, o, how I want him!

He nuzzles his nose under my chin. It seems absolutely right. Then in a
single deft movement, he dives from me, slips under the water, and comes to
the surface, his face as crystal clear as chilled champagne.

"Come on, let's do the banana," he calls, and we are swimming together out
to the huge rubber banana being towed from the beach into deeper waters. We
scrambled aboard, just as the motor boat guns its engines. Several boys are
thrown headlong into the warm soup of the Mediterranean.

I hold onto a grip, and Daniel holds onto me, his chest pressed against my
back, my buttocks crammed into the hollow of his groin, his hot hard cock
pressed into the crack of my bum.

Like this, the banana is pulled at high speed through the water as the
motor boat frantically twists and turns in its efforts to dislodge
us. Five, six, seven boys go flying into the blue. Only Daniel and I are
left, clinging to each other, and to the wreckage of the inhibitions that
have kept us apart.

As the banana slows down, he shamelessly presses his hard-on into me as his
hand slides across my crotch to find its twin, as hard as his own in its
hot desire. I feel his breath on my ear, and the words come again: "Whoever
wants me can have me... as long as it's you."

We are back at the caravan. The curtains are drawn. The shadows are backlit
by the Mediterranean sun prowling at the window. It is a teacher's caravan;
they have caravans, we have tents.

But Mr Finch has left the camp. He is town, probably blind drunk by now. He
leaves the key under the second step; all the boys know where to find the
key, for when Mr Finch staggers back from town, it is we boys who see him
safely dumped on his unmade double bed.

The unmade double bed. It takes up most of the photograph.

Daniel is sprawled across the bed facing the camera, the window above and
behind the bed. There is one crumpled white sheet, two others, pastel blue
and pastel are bundled in a corner. Daniel's legs hang from the bed, his
legs as wide open as his shorts will allow.

His arms are raised behind him, but flat on the bed. he is wearing the
floral shorts, battered trainers and a wristwatch on his right wrist. His
smile is as open as his legs. His armpit is innocent of hair.

I sat beside and above him.

"My skin is on fire," he said.

I reached for the bottle of suntan cream on the bedside table. It had never
been opened. Mr Finch did not take the sun. I twisted the cap open and
squirted some on my right palm. A delicate fragrance rose up. I ran my
creamy palm across Daniel's chest.

"Mmmmmmmm," he murmured. "That's nice."

I moved my palm around his chest, his tummy, his upper arms, refreshing the
cream every now and again. His skin was hot; my fingertips were on fire.

I slid my palm down to the top of his shorts and ran it the length of his
waist.

"Better not get cream on my shorts," he smiled.

He raised his bottom and pushed his shorts down to where the base of his
cock met his body. Traces of fine, blond hair. My trembling palm caressed
his pubic area. Ivory skin as delicate as a butterfly's wing. My palm slid
up his body again, his nipples were erect. Up and down his torso slid my
cool, creamy palm, my fingers recalling the path it took.

"Might as well go all the way," he smiled.

Daniel raised his hips and bottom, and pushed his shorts down to his
knees. His prick sprang up hard against his belly.

"That's hot, too," he laughed. "Needs a little cream."

I squirted cream onto my palm and fingers. I took his hard cock in a gentle
grip, and began drawing the skin up and down his uncircumsized penis. There
were already bubbles on the head of his cock, and his balls were drawn up
tightly in a hardly wrinkled sac.

I stroked his shaft, and ran my thumb around the slippery head. Daniel's
cock was just over three inches long, and I was surprised by its
thickness. The loose foreskin slid halfway down the shaft.

He moaned and giggled. It was a beguiling combination. It set me free. I
lowered my mouth and let him slide between my lips. I was surprised as
always by the steely hardness of the shaft and the velvety skin that
covered it.

His cock slid deep in my throat. I felt his hand caress the hair on my
head. I gripped the bottom of his shaft, making little jerking motions, the
kind Eric had loved so much. My free hand stroked the tissue-thin skin of
his inner thigh.

I felt him pulse and swell in my throat. I speeded up my ministrations.

"Not yet, not yet," whispered Daniel, his voice a husky giggle. He slid
himself from me and flipped over on the bed, his bottom raised, his shorts
stuck behind his knees. "I'm hot there, too."

I pushed down his shorts, and he kicked them away from his ankles. He
raised his rump and wiggled it suggestively. I took it as an invitation.

Putting aside the suntan cream, I prised open the cheeks of his bum and
peered at the little brown hole at its centre. What was this fascination
with an area which I'd always been told represented something dirty? How
could something so beautiful be dirty? How could something so small be so
beautiful. I prised Daniel's cheeks wide apart.

I lowered my face into his crack and ran my lips across the delicate inner
skin. Why did I do that? How did I know that is what I wanted to do? How
did I know that was what Daniel wanted me to do?

The musky smell of sun, sea, sand and sweat rose up to meet me. How fragile
the little puckered centre seemed. The desire to kiss the little brown
centre overwhelmed me.

I ran my tongue along the serrated edge, then kissed it gently, twisting my
head so that we could be lips to lips in this most intimate of kisses. I
held my lips there for a long time, feeling them tingle. and hoping Daniel
felt the tingle, too.

Is that when it began?

Is that when I was seduced as much by arse holes as I was by the erect
penis? It seemed to me then, it seems to be now, that one male gives
himself utterly to the other by this act of surrender. It is not submission
but surrender.

It seems to say: "There is nothing of each other that we do not find
beautiful. There is no part of us that is forbidden, not gentle act that is
prohibited. I offer myself to you in a helplessness that equals trust. I
trust you so much that I surrender my most intimate part to you. All else
is public; only this act is ineffably private."

Of course at thirteen years old no such thoughts were in my mind. I was
frantic with inchoate desires, and I only knew that this was one of the
acts which slaked the thirst of that burning desire.

So I kissed Daniel's arse hole. I licked it, kissed it, and thrust the tip
of my tongue as far in as it could go. Daniel pushed back to signal his
desire and to assure me of our shared need. How many minutes passed, I have
no idea; the minutes were centuries, the centuries were aeons, the aeons
became infinity.

Daniel flipped himself over. His cock was so hard it burned a fiery purple
and red. My mouth covered his again. His hand grabbed mine and forced it
between his cheeks. For a moment I failed to understand what he
meant. Then, as I sucked him fiercely, I jammed my middle finger up his
hole, and worked it in circles. I raped his cock with my mouth, and fucked
his ass with my finger.

His whimpers became moans. His head rolled from side to side, his body
began to thrash. I leaned my weight across his legs, and finger-fucked him
ruthlessly.

"Please, please, please..."

His legs juddered. His cock swelled in my mouth. I choked but kept on
sucking hard, my lips running the length of his pulsating shaft.

"Oh... Oh... Ohhh..."

He was squirting against the roof of my mouth. I gulped as jets of semen
coated my tonsils. The 'glue' stuck to the back of my throat. It became
harder to keep it all down. Some of it burst from the sides of my mouth.

I pressed Daniel to me, he wriggled my swimsuit to my knees. I felt my hot,
hard, aching, throbbing cock press against the softness of his deflated
erection. I felt the slime of his last few drops of cum lubricate my prick
as it rubbed against him.

It was my turn to gasp and moan, my moans increasing as his finger found my
hole and penetrated me to the knuckle.

My penis throbbed, pulsated and squirted a stream of cum between us. I say
stream advisedly; I usually come in hot little spurts, but this time there
seemed to an unending stream of semen firing between our bodies. As we
pressed together, it felt like a trail of warm glue stretching from my
belly button to just under my chin.

We could hear it squelch as our bodies rubbed frantically together. My body
shook, trembled and juddered while Daniel held me tight, excavating the
cavern of my mouth with his tongue.

At last we lay still, satiated for the moment. Our noses touched, our eyes
blinked open, the grey-blue of mine gazing into the cat-like green of
his. Our sighs were deep and long. Daniel murmured in my ear, words
unrecognisable but meaning passionately clear.

Did we fall asleep?

I know Daniel did. His breathing grew shallow, his lips parted, and a faint
bluish tinge spread beneath his eyes. When I came to myself, the shadows
were aslant the bed; they hinted of early evening. I shook Daniel awake.

Sleepily we slid into our swimming gear, slipped out the door and padded
down to the sea to wash away the evidence of our passion before the gong
for tea.

Later I retrieved my camera from the caravan. Mr Finch lay comatose on the
bed. I wondered if the scent of our love-making had filled his
nostrils. Perhaps given him a hard-on. I laughed to myself. Each to his
own, I thought, each to his own.

But it wasn't quite each to his own.

Next day Daniel taught me lots of things. What was 69 and how to do it -
both with our pricks and our bumholes. How he liked to be fucked with a
Coca Cola bottle - carefully. What 'deep throat' meant - he liked that; I
didn't. What 'fisting' meant and how our little hands... yuk! To be honest,
I was looking forward to a few more sessions before we set off for England
and the caravan was available. But...

On Thursday, as we were heading for the beach, Daniel stopped and said
"Wait a minute? What are you doing this afternoon? Do you want to come to
the caravan again? We could go all the way this time. You can do it to me
first?"

My smile was a huge Yes!

"There's only one thing."

He paused, the continued:

"Is it okay if Mr. Finch is with us?"

I was bewildered.

"Mr. Finch? You mean in the caravan - doing it with us?"

"Didn't you know Mr. Finch is my home tutor. He comes every Friday after
school. You could come too."

I paused.

"Let me think," I said.

"That would be great, Daniel," I lied. "But I want to spend more time with
the French kids. My German's okay, but I'm near failing French."

"Okay," said Daniel. "But remember all that stuff's a secret. Keep it
secret, or there could be big trouble."

I didn't need the hint of a threat.

I couldn't keep images of Daniel's fist and wrist deep inside Mr. Finch's
rectum. Mr. Finch was sweet and kind and generous - liked and loved by lots
of the boys. But it was over... and I would make a determined effort to
improve my French. That's how I met and partnered Alexandre, known to all
as Lexy.


Lexy

At fourteen, a few months older than me. But he was bigger than me, better
built than me, more handsome than me, and more naïve than me! Or was he
playing at being naïve?

Even as I slipped down his tight white underpants, Lexy smiled up
innocently at me, as if the hands which had been massaging and caressing
his legs, chest and belly, had every right to massage and caress his groin
and throbbing erection.

It began after our tennis match on our third day together. I knew Mr. Finch
and Daniel had gone off 'shopping' and wouldn't be back to the caravan for
a couple of hours, at least. Lexy threw himself face down on the bed,
chattering away in French.

He was a large, well-built boy of 14. Big-boned, not an ounce of fat. A
body that had been kissed brown. His hair, straight and longish, remained
silky black. His huge eyes were of the same intensity, sparkling
black. Sparkling black - does that make sense? It is the closest I can get
to them. I am no writer; I can only report how they seemed to me.

Lexy groaned a little, sat up, stripped off his white tennis shirt, and
threw himself onto his back, shielding his eyes. He groaned again, and
stretched his arms as if they were cramped. I sat down beside him, drinking
him in with my eyes.

His nipples did it.

Huge and fleshy, without seeming in any way abnormal or out of place, they
rose like small pink and brown mountains on his upper chest. I let my left
hand stroke the length of his sweaty chest. He moaned in pleasure, opened
his eyes, smiled and closed them again.

Bolder I ran both hands across his chest, letting the sides of my palms
find their own way over the hillocks of his nipples. I felt them stiffen
and elongate beneath my touch. I shivered in terrified delight; Lexy merely
stretched his arms above his head, revealing little shocks of silky black
hair in his arms pits. I licked my lips.

I lowered my face to his chest. My falling hair brushed his nipples. I
flicked my hair back and brushed his right nipple with my lips. Slid my
lips across his chest and licked his left nipple. I opened my lips and let
his nipple slide in.

The flesh was warm. I gently nipped him with my teeth. I sucked his nipple
hard into my mouth, holding the base between my tightening lips. Was this
what it had been like suckling at my mother's breast?

There was something elementally satisfying about the action. My fingers
brushed one nipple, while my lips sucked and pulled on the other. How long
did I spend on Lexy's nipples? Time had lost its meaning. Only an unsubtle
push on the top of my head directed my attention lower.

I let my hands flutter along the skin where cotton met hot flesh. Lexy
raised his bottom from my bed. I eased his tennis shorts, and tiny blue
slip down to his knees.

A fat, hard cock bobbed up before me; the smell an instant aphrodisiac.

I choked back a gasp. Though Lexy was only a few months older than I - his
Gemini to my Sagittarian - he had a cock that matched Mason's Seven, maybe
eight inches; as thick as a baby's wrist; uncut, throbbing and pulsing tiny
veins that ran around the shaft. The loose foreskin already drawn back. The
thick mushroom head slickly purple.

Lexy raised his head from the pillow and looked down his body. he looked at
me and grinned.

"Sorry, it's my body."

He lay back, squirmed into a position comfortable, sighed and closed his
eyes.

I continued my massage, fingers sliding into the thick, black, silky hair
of his pubic area, the back of my hand brushing the straining head of his
penis. It was unbelievable. Surely this boy felt the desperate lust in my
finger-tips. Surely he knew I couldn't stop there. Was he that naive? That
innocent?

His big balls hung loosely in the V of his crotch, his cock rising like
some mini Eiffel Tower. I opened my mouth, cracked my jaw, and wondered if
I could even begin to take him. I let my hand slide casually the length of
his erection.

"Aw, fuck this for a month of Sundays." I couldn't take it anymore. I
leaned over Lexy and ran the tip of my tongue experimentally across his
exposed glans, once, twice, three times.

The boy's eyes flew open. His expression was hard to read.

"What you do?" he whispered.

"I want to suck your cock," I said as blandly as I could.

"What is suck?" asked Lexy, who was always keen to improve his vocabulary.

"This is suck," I said, lowering my head to engulf half of his rigid penis
in my mouth. I managed a few short, sharp sucks. I raised my head,
expecting a powerful smack across my already-aching jaw.

"Suck, yes. Fuck, no."

Lexy settled himself back on his pillow, and thrust his groin up in the
direction of my waiting lips. I sighed and blessed whatever angel was
organising this mystery for me. My mouth closed over that big French
erection. I would now demonstrate exactly what suck meant. My school would
be proud of my language skills!

Within minutes my jaw ached, but the ache was filled with pleasure. I
experimented, letting the head of Lexy's engorged cock slide into the back
of my throat, holding it there till I choked and gagged, then releasing him
to the head, bobbing up and down on his shaft - slow, slow, quick, quick,
fast as I could till my saliva ran freely down his shaft to mingle with
sweat and pre-cum. I could feel his cock thicken and swell.

Lexy pulled me onto him. Without freeing his cock, he pushed down my tennis
shorts and slip, then swung himself sideways on the bed until my throbbing
cock was at his lips. I felt myself engulfed to my hair and wondered which
of us was naïve. We settled into a steady rhythm, Lexy keeping pace with
me, then urging me faster and deeper in response to his own desires.

Another twist of the body, and I found myself straddling him from above,
supported by my knees on either side of his body. He jerked me forward
until he had my cock in his mouth again. He sucked me hard and fast till I
was there, almost there, then pushed me back until I was sitting over his
cock.

I felt the hot hard head of his cock push into my crack until its mushroom
pressed against the ring of my anus. Fear trickled with my sweat down my
back.

This French boy had said: "No fuck," but what this? Was he going to impale
me on his prick? I'd burst wide open. My mouth could hardly take him. How
could my virgin anus?

My fear must have shown on my face. Lexy grinned and said something in
fast, incomprehensible patois. I felt his big hard cock slide up and down
the length of my crack, faster and faster it went, generating its own sweat
and grease, helped by saliva and pre-cum.

Every few minutes he would pull me forward, engulf my cock, and suck me
hard and fast. Each time the cum rose to my shaft he pushed me back, and
rode his cock in the crack of my ass again.

Without warning he gasped. I felt warm jets of cum shoot up the small of my
back: four, five, six. Before I could decide what to feel about this new
experience, he pulled me forward and swallowed my cock to the hilt, sucking
with what amounted to controlled ferocity.

I had not time to think, only to feel, and what I felt was an explosion of
pleasure as my cock fired its own jets of cum into his contracting
throat. I leaned forward all the way, and gasped as I felt his teeth round
my right nipple; he bit it fiercely, and I was sure he'd drawn blood.

My cock pulsed out of control. I moved my ass back and forwards over his
cock, gathering the last of his cum onto myself.

I fell forward. Lexy's arms gripped me. He embraced me. I returned the
embrace and swooned in his arms. Swooned! What an old-fashioned word, but I
cannot think of a better one to describe my complete surrender to this
surprising boy.

Lexy licked my ear.

"Now you teach difference from simple past to present perfect, then we suck
again."  For the next thirty minutes, I fulfilled my share of the
arrangement: Lexy got his English lesson, and I got his big fat hard cock
deep in my throat.

For the next two weeks we traded sex for English lessons. When Lexy left
for Lille, he was expert in the basic tenses of English, and I could deep
throat as well as any French boy my age. It was fun, good, dirty fun, and
nobody was robbed in the exchange.

It's funny to think how far I'd come from my first real encounter with sex
with Liam. No, that's not fair. Esther and I did what we were capable of,
and those little breasts... shit, am I pervert?

But once a boy takes a step forward, the next one is easier, and the next,
and the next. What was next I didn't know until we got home from France.


ROBERT

Did I tell you my mother is/was a teacher of English language? She ran a
school for foreign kids in the summer, and, occasionally she took in other
pupils in the Autumn, Winter, and Spring. When I was in Year 9, she took in
Robert.

Not that Robert needed to learn English. Like Mason's dad, Robert's dad was
a diplomat, and Mason's father had referred Robert to us. Robert's mum and
dad didn't want to have their son in Afghanistan - Would you? - so we took
him in at least till next summer.

Let me how you a couple of photographs.

Here's Robert sitting on the carpet in our shared bedroom. In his tennis
gear. Gazing directly into the camera as if challenging it to capture his
beauty. The eyes are wide set, nose straight, mouth as enigmatically set as
any Mona Lisa.

The skin, still flushed after tennis, is suffused with a pink light. There
is a hint of darkness above the upper lip. Shock of brown hair. Strong
curved eyebrows.

His white tennis shirt is too big; his white tennis shorts too tight.His
upper body is strong. His sun-tanned legs are worshipped by a camera that
has turned the boy into art.

Here's another tennis photograph. Head and shoulders in profile. We have
been playing doubles at a school indoor tournament. I forget to whom Robert
was talking; I am glad of that because no one deserves that smile but
me. The smile starts on his lips and suffuses his whole face.  This is a
boy utterly at peace with the world, utterly content with his lot.

Shall I show you another photograph? Could you read its message without my
interpretation? Yes, you could, but you would read it to mean something for
you, and its real meaning, hidden, is for me.

Robert is on stage.

He's sprawled along a bench in a make-believe speak-easy. This is 'Bugsy
Malone', and Robert is Dandy Dan. He is wearing a dark tuxedo with a splash
of yellow silk at his throat.

His legs are to the forefront of the photograph, revealing a stretch of
skin between his grey sock and his pulled-up right trouser leg. He is
holding a splurge gun. The stock is between his legs; the tip of the barrel
just touches his lips.

The photograph doesn't show what happened next.

Dandy Dan left the stage. He stepped into the dark. Standing there, on his
own was Bugsy Malone himself. Dandy Dan stepped up to him, took him by
shoulders, pulled him in, and kissed Bugsy Malone fully on the lips - and
held the kiss until we heard my cue.

Two days later, a day off school, mum and dad gone up to London:

I lay on my back on my parents' double bed, my legs hoisted over my chest,
my toes touching my ears. Robert knelt in the gap between my spread-eagled
legs. His cock brushed the inner walls of my buttocks. He leaned over me, a
question in his eyes.

My eyes answered yes.

For nearly half an hour he had teased my hole, kissing, sucking, probing
with tongue and fingers until I felt I was being turned inside out, until I
felt I was blossoming like a rose, a tight puckered rose opening to him.

He made love to the tiny core at the heart of my being, lavished love on it
with tongue, fingers, thumb, nose, any part of himself that touch me at my
centre.

I had gripped him, clung to him, sweated with him till the bubbles on his
skin popped. Sucked his long, rigid, soft as velvet, taught as steel,
thick, gorgeous, palpitating, throbbing hard-on till it oozed and dripped
the pre-cum that would ease his entry into me.

Robert leaned into me.

I felt the hot mushroom-head push at my hole. Push, ease back, push
again. I willed my arse hole to breathe, to open, to welcome the beloved
infidel. Something in my stomach seemed to give way; I arched my back, and
felt the head of his cock burst through my thin-walled defences.

It burned, o, how it burned, but I welcomed the flames, fed hungrily on the
fire, felt the thick swollen shaft slide past my sphincter an ease itself
home.

All the while, Robert fixed his eyes on mine. Wide-open eyes welcomed him
into my wide-open anus. My ring closed round him as possessively as a child
sucks on his mother's teat.

He was in me. His thickness filled me. More than that, his thickness
fulfilled me. It filled an emptiness that had always been there, at the
centre of my being.

I pulled his head down to me as I pulled his head inside me; we kissed, we
fought like panthers, struggling not for supremacy but for submission.

We wanted to give each other everything we had, our bodies, our selves, our
souls. Each thrust carried the same message; each counter-thrust its echo:
I love you, I love you, I love you.

Is that the moment you knew?

No, the moment came at the Christmas disco. The floor was crowded. Boys
dancing with girls. Girls dancing with girls. Robert dancing with me.

The elimination dance.

The music stopped.

Everyone froze.

One couple, tapped on the shoulder, left the dance floor.

There were two couples left.

Harry and Ruby.

Robert and me.

Harry and Ruby were tapped and left the floor.

The spotlight shone on us.

The music played on.

And that's when he kissed me - French kissing.

And that's when I kissed him - French kissing.

And the school cheered.

...

Thanks for finding time to read this story. You may like some of these:

Meant to Be - Adult Youth
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/meant-to-be

Arlo My Love - Adult Youth https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/arlo-my-love

Boarding Boys - Adult Youth - https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/boarding-boys

One Boy's Story - Adult Youth - https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/one-boys-story

Learning with Leo - Young Friends - https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/learning-with-leo

Let Me in - Adult Youth - https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/let-me-in

Beautiful Games - Young Friends - https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/beautiful-games

In My Secret Life - Young Friends - https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/in-my-secret-life

Telling Tales - Young Friends https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/telling-tales

Here We Go Again - https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/here-we-go-again