Date: Sun, 3 Sep 2017 15:34:03 +0000
From: Zack McNaught <zackmcnaught@hotmail.com>
Subject: Six Weeks with Jack Chapter 6

Author's notes:

(1) All this is written in British English. Hence, arse (ass), willy
(penis), wank (masturbate), pants (underwear), fanny (vulva).

(2) There is a historical inaccuracy - the Nintendo game, Super Mario
World, was not released for the SNES console in the UK until 9 months or so
after this story takes place. Please forgive me for warping that little bit
of reality.

(3) Part of this story (but by no means all) is accurate to real life, and
it is written about my youth, and so rather than using my alter-ego, Zack,
I've used my real name throughout.

Anyway, enough of that - on with the story.


Six Weeks with Jack, by Zack McNaught

Chapter 6

I didn't really doubt Jack's affection for me, even if he didn't feel like
sucking my dick. I never equated a passion for sex with love, because Jack
would lie in bed with me, wrapped in my arms, and kiss me, and afterwards
lie with his head on my shoulder and lazily draw shapes on my chest with
his finger. Oh yes, he was very much into me (and I, him), without having
to go down on me to prove it.

There were other ways to show devotion, too. One incident, when we were two
thirds of the way through our holiday, cemented our love for each other,
and showed a side of Jack I hadn't quite expected: Super Jack.

The day started off innocently enough. Jack had to go with his grandma into
town so that he could get some uniform for the new school he would be
attending in the autumn. That left me at a loose end, and with nothing to
occupy me I started to hassle my mum, who had, over the last three weeks or
so, grown quite used to her space, and to my independence, and was at a bit
of a loss what to do with me.

"I'll tell you what, Tom, why don't you go to the village shop and get a
few things for me?"

Normally I would've grumbled at that kind of chore, but I was so bored
without Jack around that it didn't actually look too bad. Grabbing my
rucksack (I wasn't going to be seen dead with one of mum's shopping bags)
and my bike, I pedalled off with a list and a crisp fiver in my pocket,
with an admonition not to spend too much of the change on sweets.

The shopping part of the trip went well enough - I even managed to have
enough money left to buy a magazine - but it was after I left that things
went downhill. Feeling braver than I had any right to be, I decided to take
a shortcut along a little alley which ran between the backs of the gardens
of a few of the houses. These were not the houses in the nice part of the
village, and I'd always considered that little alley a no-go area, but
since Jack had arrived I'd used it often enough without any trouble. Jack
just seemed to be able to avoid that kind of attention.

But going down there on my own was a stupid, naive move. I was only half
way down when Gareth stepped onto the path in front of me.

All the kids and most of the adults in the village knew about Gareth. He
was the slightly chubby, scowl-faced, buzz-cut bully who fitted so neatly
into a stereotype that he had little chance to be good even had he wanted
to. Which he didn't. Not even one little bit. Gareth had been thrown out of
Cubs, wasn't going to be allowed into Scouts, and had spent the last few
months of primary school `learning at home'. In other words, he managed to
get expelled from the only primary school for miles around, and had nowhere
else to go. He was a good, old-fashioned bully - you knew what you were
going to get with him. There was no artifice; he just seemed resigned to
the fact that he was going to be bad, and there was nothing he could do
about it.

"Where you going, shitface?" he asked, arms folded across his chest like he
was king of the whole village.

I thought it was pretty obvious where I was going - he knew where I lived,
and knew that if I was going this way down the alley, I must be going
home. But that clearly wasn't what he was really asking. He wanted to know
what I was doing on his patch.

"Nowhere," seemed like a safe and neutral answer. Gareth either didn't see,
or chose to ignore, the logical inconsistency between my answer and the
very obvious fact that I had been going somewhere.

"What's in the bag?"

"Just stuff, from the shop. Mum asked me to get some things."

"Oh, mummykins asked her little baby to be a good boy and do the shopping,
did she? Aww, little Tommy's such a good boy for mummy, isn't he?"

The patronising bullshit routine was one of Gareth's favourites. I assume
he thought it was funny, though I have no clue where he got that idea. At
this point, I really didn't know what he wanted for me, so I thought I
might as well get on my way. That turned out to be my second bad move. As I
tried to set off past him on my bike, he said,

"No you don't!" and shoved my shoulder hard, sending me flying into the
fence on one side of the path, scraping my head. I slumped off the side of
the bike and onto the floor. Gareth stepped closer and drew back his foot,
ready to kick me. I closed my eyes and waited for the impact.

"Oi! What the fuck are you doing?" came the shout from back along the
alley. The kick never came, and I opened my eyes at the familiar sounding
voice. Gareth had turned, too, and there was a malicious smirk curling the
corner of his mouth.

"Oh look, it's Tommy's little boyfriend, Jack," he sneered.

Of course, he couldn't have known how right he was, that was just another
standard line of verbal assault for Gareth.

"Fuck off, Gareth," Jack spat. I was impressed. I don't think up to that
point in my life I'd ever said the f-word, but Jack seemed quite at ease
with it.

"You gonna make me, you little shit?" Gareth snarled. He had a point - he
was only a few months older than us, but Gareth was a beast of a boy. He
had every right to think Jack would back out of a fight, but Jack wasn't to
be deterred.

"If I have to," he shouted back.

"Come on then!" Gareth cried, and made his move, lunging for Jack.

My heart leapt into my throat. I wanted to jump to his aid, but I was still
tangled in my bike, desperately trying to get back to my feet, but stuck
between it and the fence I had hit. Jack was surely going to get pummelled
into the mud!

Except, when Gareth went for him, something strange happened. Gareth
lunged, as if rugby-tackling Jack, and Jack just leapt gracefully to the
side, pushing Gareth's shoulder so that he went flying past and stumbled,
falling to the floor. He was't down for long, though, and came back again,
this time with fists flying.

And still Jack defied him, ducking and weaving, waiting for the opportune
moment to strike. He took it, clubbing Gareth hard around the side of the
head with his closed fist. It was the first time I'd ever seen anyone land
a proper punch in real life, and it was nothing like in the movies. There
was no thwacking sound, just a dull thud, and then Gareth was down.

He lay on his side, clutching the side of his head and unable to stop
himself from bursting into tears. Goliath lay slain. I looked up at Jack,
who was breathing hard, his fist still clenched. He looked at me, and the
anger which had filled his eyes drained away from him.

"Come on," he said is a hoarse, shaky whisper. "Let's go."

Jack shook slightly all the way home, his veins pumping full of
adrenaline. There was no celebration of his victory; in fact, he looked
utterly defeated.

"I'm sorry," he whispered at last. "I shouldn't hit people. It's not nice."

"But you were defending me," I said. "Thank you."

"I'll always do that for you, you know," he said, his eyes filling. He
blinked twice, and a tear rolled down each cheek. He started to shake, and
I grabbed him to me in a hug, letting my bike fall to the ground and not
caring who saw us. I just held him while he sobbed onto my shoulder.

"I was so worried, Tom. So worried he was going to hurt you," he said
through his tears. "I know I shouldn't hurt people, but he made me so
scared, and so angry."

I pushed him away and looked at him.

"Jack, you're my hero, OK? Thank you."

He managed to half grin at me, while he still sniffled.

"Can we go out for a ride, do you think?"

"Yeah, definitely," I answered.

"A big, long ride, where no-one can find us?"

"Yeah, OK. Let me drop this stuff at my house, and you get your bike, and
I'll bring food and drinks in my bag, OK?"

He nodded, then grabbed me into another fierce, but brief hug, and then,
for a few minutes at least, we went our own ways.

- - -

I didn't give mum the chance to ask what had happened to my head, or why I
was shaking. I just gave her the shopping, and what was left of the change,
and then hurriedly packed the bag, explaining that Jack was back from town,
and that we were going for a big bike ride because it was a nice day. Well,
it was the truth, just not all of it.

Jack met me outside. He looked pale, and he still shook from time to
time. And he kept looking over his shoulder, presumably expecting Gareth to
appear at any moment. We jumped on our bikes, and with adrenaline powering
our legs, we were soon well clear of the village, and any lingering threat.

We started to climb, and I turned us left along a road we'd never before
travelled together.

"Where are we going?" Jack panted between big lungfuls of air, as we
struggled up the incline.

"There's a field at the top most people don't know about," I
replied. "There's the bottom bit of an old radio tower up there, in some
trees, and there's really long grass all around. If you want, you can get
completely lost up there and no-one will find you."

Jack grinned across at me; I think he liked the sound of it.

We found our way into the field quite easily. Tracks went off through the
grass, and we could see where they wound up to the top of the hill, where
the brick base for the tower still stood. The steel superstructure was long
gone, but the land was still obviously owned by the same people, otherwise
sheep or cattle would've been grazed there, and kept the grass short, just
like practically every other field in the area.

We followed a path a little way, winding up and out of the tree line until
we could look down over the village, nestled in the valley beneath us. The
sun beat down strongly, warming us even more than the climb had, and soon
we were sweating and panting with the effort. Near the top, while the grass
was still long around us, we veered off to the side and struck off through
the grass. A little while later we found a little hollow, where we couldn't
be seen from anywhere, as far as we could tell.

We dumped the bikes on the floor and sat down on the grass, and I fished
out the snacks and drinks from the bag, and for a few moments there was no
sound but the happy munching of chocolate bars and the buzzing of bees
among the wildflowers dotted through the grass. High above us a songbird
hovered on the breeze, adding its own score to the scene. I cannot remember
a time before or since when I have been so utterly at peace, so completely
content.

When we were done with the snack, we took off our t-shirts and lay them
down on the grass, settling atop them so that we could look up at the
clouds, playing the classic game of finding shapes in them. We drifted
slowly into silence one more, lying there at an angle to each other, our
heads touching. I could feel the heat of him through that one, tiny little
patch of contact. Jack drifted off to sleep first, and I lay there
listening to his steady, even breathing until I, too, slipped into
unconsciousness.

I woke not too long after, startled awake by the piercing cry of a buzzard
circling high above us. Jack still slept, and I rolled onto my side,
watching him. He seemed so perfect lying there, an angel fallen to Earth,
that I couldn't resist the overpowering urge to lean forward and kiss him.

His eyes fluttered open, and he smiled up at me. I kissed him again, and
this time he responded, gently at first, and then with more urgency. I felt
a deep need for him, and rolled on top of him, passionately embracing him
now, grinding my hips into his as our lips locked together. I could feel
the hard lump of his stiff boyhood in his pants, as I'm sure he, too, could
feel me.

The sense of closeness was overwhelming. My tummy was fluttering full of
butterflies, and I felt sweat spring up at the base of my spine, cooling
quickly in the gentle breeze which blew across us even on this perfect
day. Jack's hands roved all over my back, and then down beneath the
waistband of my shorts to grab handfuls of my clenching bottom. I moaned
into his mouth at the contact, and moaned even more strongly when his
finger dipped into the sweaty crack between my cheeks. He touched the spot
at the centre of me, and fireworks went off inside. I grabbed him to me, my
head dropping to lie on his shoulder as my orgasm overtook, leaving me a
quivering, gasping wreck on top of him.

When I finally came down, I rolled off the side, and looked down at him. I
could sense my cheeks were burning with shame. I'd enjoyed having my bum
touched a little too much.

"Did you like that?" he grinned up at me. I averted my gaze but nodded
nonetheless.

"Where did you... where did you learn about that?" I asked. I'd never
before even considered doing anything with my bum, though now he had
touched it a whole new world had opened up to me.

"If I tell you, you have to promise never to tell anyone ever."

"OK, I won't."

"I'm serious. Someone could get in trouble if you ever, ever tell anyone. I
haven't told anyone about it ever. I'm only telling you because
I... because."

"OK, I promise. I really won't tell anyone."

"OK, fine... when I was... last year, in the summer holidays. I went on
holiday with my uncle. He doesn't have any family of his own. It was just
us two. And he started, you know, playing around with me. I didn't mind, he
was really nice. He was the one who told me about stuff."

"So you knew about lots of this before?"

"Yeah, kind of. But he never sucked my willy like you did, and I never
kissed him. He just wanked me off, and I did him. And this one time when we
were in the bath together and he was washing me (he always liked washing
me) he put his finger inside. He said it was meant to feel really nice, but
I didn't like it that much. It was nice when he just touched it though,
just on the outside."

I stared at him. It explained a lot, but I didn't know how to feel. You're
taught to feel sorry for someone who gets molested, but Jack wasn't sorry
for himself, he didn't seem to think he was the victim or anything.

"Didn't you mind?" I asked, to which Jack shrugged.

"Not really. I really like my uncle, and it's not like he's fat or ugly or
old or anything. He's really fit, and he has a lovely dick..."

Jack gasped and went wide-eyed, clasping his hand over his mouth. Even
after all we'd done, it was still a bit of a shocking admission for a young
boy to make. I giggled, though, and felt a lurch in my tummy, as my mind
filled with images of the man at the swimming pool from the week before.

"It's OK," I said. "I like nice dicks!"

And, as if I needed to prove it, I shoved my hand down into the hot, damp
confines of his pants, where his sticky dick lay glued to the silky skin of
his ball sack. It fattened at my touch, and when it was all the way upright
I ran my hand over the tip of it, tugging and stretching his foreskin. It
was already slimy, and I cast a raised-eyebrow glance at Jack.

"What?!" he asked with a laugh. "I shot my stuff in my pants when you were
on top of me."

I laughed, and moved to sit upright next to his hips, so I could reach down
and peel down both shorts and boxers, and release his rock-hard willy. It
caught in his waistband and sprung up, flinging a little droplet of his cum
up to land on his belly. With a laugh, I leaned down to lap it up, keeping
eye contact with him all the time. He groaned and covered his eyes in mock
horror, and then giggled along with me.

Still watching him, I kissed my way down his tummy, and then lifted his
stiffy upright so that I could plunge my mouth down on top of it. He
groaned and arched his back, and grabbed handfuls of my hair as I bobbed
quickly up and down on him. I wanted to bring him off, but I was also aware
of how exposed we were, and the fact that anyone could stumble on us at any
moment.

Thankfully, Jack was worked up as anything, and even though he'd already
had his shivers not long before, he was quick to get there. His legs came
up and he pushed my head hard down into his crotch, smothering me in the
hot, sweaty cavern of his naked lap as his stiffy kicked and lurched in my
mouth. His cum was dry this time, his juices spent on the previous turn,
but that didn't stop it feeling wonderful to have him reach such pleasure
between my lips.

He was done just in time, because we heard a snuffling, bounding thing
heading towards us, and just as Jack managed to wriggle his way back into
his shorts, a Labrador came hurtling into our clearing. I recognised it as
Bouncer (yes, named after the dog on Neighbours!), a dog whose owner,
Margaret, was friends with my mum. A moment later she appeared with a smile
on her face, chasing after him. Thank God Jack had at least got his pants
back on, even if we were still both topless.

"Oh, hello Tom and Jack!" Margaret said, when she appeared through the
grass. "Been out for a ride then? Hot day, isn't it? Look at you strapping
young men, eh? Bet all the girls are after you if you go round without your
shirts on!"

I nodded, not really sure what to say.

"Bouncer loves it up here," she went on. "Can't get enough of the long
grass. I expect you boys love hiding in it, eh?"

"Um, yeah."

"Well, I must be on my way. Come on, Bouncer. Come on!"

And she was off again. Jack looked at me, and I looked at him, and we both
burst out laughing.

"Oh, wow," Jack said, when he'd caught his breath. "If only she knew."

I looked across at him, the love of my life, and smiled warmly.



End of Chapter 6

zackmcnaught@hotmail.com