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A Boy Vignette.


Smoothie and the Pageboy.


By John Teller.


(I dedicate this story to Love, no matter where it’s found.)



I can tell by his demeanour that he’s uncomfortable to be acting as a pageboy. The bride looks beautiful in her fabulous wedding dress, and so do the four little bridesmaids who are holding the side of the long train behind her, but being singular, although he looks splendid and not out of place really, he is self-conscious whilst holding the end of it. Had he been seven or eight then he might not have bothered, but being just a teen, I understand why his face is flushed with embarrassment at being used as a pageboy. But he does look eye-catching in his brushed-linen three-piece silver suit with a mass of light-brown cultured curls cascading down to his jacket collar, and his gorgeous brown eyes - which are almost as beautiful as Jalal’s - enhancing the entirety of what he is. Others will look on him as a handsome young man, but to me he’s way beyond that: he’s stunning, and my perfect age of attraction. He reminds me very much of a kid in an American TV series that I’ve watched - Maxim Knight when he was young and had curly hair - when I was over there, but Pageboy is a older.




I pretend to be interested in the wedding, but I’m not. All I’m interested in is the attractive young man who has stopped almost by the side of the end of the pew where I’m situated, and I’m counting my lucky stars that I was the last one to be escorted into this pew when I was asked: bride or groom? From where I am, I could easily lift an arm and run my fingers through the shining curls on the back of his head as he stands just in front of me while the wedding ceremony is taking place, so it isn’t difficult for me to look at him without arousing suspicions of my feelings. I’m chuckling to myself as he adjusts to the occasion. Once he’s over his initial embarrassment and everybody (except me) is concentrating on the ceremony, he begins to relax and take in his surroundings. I see his jaw move as he moves his mouth; the tip of his tongue as he licks his lips; every blink of the long eyelashes of his left eye; the well-fitted suit expanding and contracting as he breathes slowly now he’s at ease. He looks to the right; to the left; to the right again, and then his head turns to the left again, but further this time, and our eyes meet. I look right into him, and half smile. His face eases, and his eyes blink rapidly to signify he’s acknowledged my presence. That’s what all the preceding movements were about: making contact. I would have done exactly the same in his circumstances, but only if I was interested in someone. But I knew he would look at me again. When he was walking down the aisle he looked too long into my eyes for it to be a casual glance.




Pageboy. I know who he is. He’s the bride’s son from her first marriage. Pete the Groom has explained everything. The young man’s name is George Greening, and although he doesn’t look his age and looks a perhaps year younger, he’s fourteen years old. I’m not sure if Pete has told him about me though. I hope not. My past isn’t something I would want the world to know.




They’ve dropped on a beautiful July day for the wedding, and after the ceremony is over at the Norman church with its original square tower and ancient yew trees shielding the mildewed gravestones from the heat of the day, everyone journeys three miles to The Old Hall with its extensive gardens and ornamental lake at the bottom of a long, shallow descent over well cropped lawns, which was formerly a country manor house that has been converted to a high standard, and which now is used for wedding receptions and business meetings. This is where the photographs and wedding-dinner and evening reception will take place.


George sees me arrive at The Old Hall. He’s looking for me. I’ve been around. I knew he would be.


He looks at me a lot during the photography hour, and I make sure he knows I’m looking at him. It becomes a bit of a game between us. Then we pile into the hall for dinner.


He’s at the main table. I’m anonymous at a large circular table some way away… with other guests. Only once am I really involved. I have to bow my head when, during his speech, Pete the Groom thanks me, his old friend Ray Livingstone, for driving all the way from my home to be with him on his special day. Then he adds the understatement of the day: We were in the forces together. Afterwards, thankfully, I become anonymous again. Well, not to everyone. George and I catch eyes a number of times and he gives me a few more of those shy rapid-eyelid recognition smiles. Perhaps I need to be more circumspect. My interest in him is not a healthy one. Well, not healthy to those who know nothing about those sorts of relationships. That would apply to most people in Little Britain. It isn’t like that where his stepfather and I served in the forces… or where I spend a lot of my time these days in my job as a Security Adviser. The Middle East can be a crap place at times, but to me, Persian boys are the amongst the most beautiful in the world, and they have no scruples when they’re attracted to a man. Girls are out of bounds when Persian boys’ hormones are kicking in, but they still need their release, and just as some of us Westerners find them particularly attractive, some of them seem to prefer a bit of white to their darker-skinned brethren. They rarely speak English, but there is one particular term many of them seem to know off by heart: You like me mister?  They get paid, of course, but that isn’t why some of them do it. They’re no different than most uninhibited boys: they like sex any way they can get it.


The dinner is over, and after the speeches and toasts have been completed, people drift slowly away in groups to drink at the three bars in the place. I’ve driven from my home in the Lake District in Cumbria this morning – a nice cottage situated on the shores of Lake Windermere that boasts a  boathouse at the bottom of the garden, and I’ve got a motor cruiser locked away in there - some three hundred miles from The Old Hall near Reading where the wedding reception is taking place, and I’ve booked a room here for tonight so I won’t have to drive all the way back again.


I’m tempted to have a drink, but because there are a couple of hours between the end of the dinner and the reception that begins at seven, and because I’m a little tired, I decide to take a break from proceedings. So I go to my room, set the alarm for seven-thirty, and lie on my bed. I’m secretly hoping there might be a gentle knock on the door, but it certainly doesn’t happen before I drift off to sleep.


At eight o’clock, I’m showered and changed and go down to the large reception room where a group is set up; the music is playing, and where loads of people are dancing. Without anyone being aware of what I’m doing, I look around the room for George. He’s at the main table with the wedding group, looking at me, no longer in his pageboy outfit, and probably because it’s sweltering hot in the large room is now wearing a Tottenham Hotspur football top and white cotton soccer shorts. I go to the bar and order a tomato juice to line my stomach. Being late, the place is already packed, so I stand at the bar and drink it. Then I order a pint of beer, and while I’m drinking that, I become the Grey Man I’ve been so many times - second nature to me and the groom - which means we see everything without anybody knowing we do. I see George talking to Pete, and he points at me. Pete then pushes the young man from his seat and towards me, pointing a finger as he does so. I pretend I haven’t seen them, but Pete knows better, and when George is walking towards me, I see the knowing grin on Pete’s face.


George is uncomfortable when he speaks to me; pretending to be just a messenger when he says, “Pete says to ask you if you want to come and sit at our table.”


I look into his beautiful eyes, and then at his gorgeous curls, wondering if he knows just how attractive he is, and then I ask him, “Is there room for me?”


He shrugs his shoulders. “I can move up if you can find a chair.”


I wink at him. “You go back, and when I’ve ordered a new beer I’ll come across to you. Make sure you’ve moved over enough for me. Do you want me to bring you a drink?”


He grins and displays his beautiful, white, even teeth. “Yes please. Can I have a Pepsi?”


I nod. “I’ll get you one.”


He walks away. I order our drinks, pay for them, place them on a tray and walk to Pete’s table, and on the way pick up a chair from a table that’s empty because the occupants are dancing. George is watching what I do; and he grins. So I wink at him when I set the chair down beside his, which has been moved so there’s just enough room to squeeze me in. That suits me down to the ground: he will be close-up and personal… something I’ve been wanting ever since I laid eyes on him in the church.


Greetings all round; small talk, and the warmth of George’s shoulders on my upper arm. Because it was still hot and sticky when I woke, I’ve dressed very casually in light slacks and a dress shirt and no tie, and I’ve rolled the sleeves of the shirt halfway up my biceps, which displays the now fading tattoos on my forearms and half those on my upper arms. I pick up my pint, look at George, and indicate he should lift his glass. He grins at me, lifts his glass, and his eyes are really amused when I say, “Cheers, young man. Let’s hope nobody goes looking for whoever has stolen their chair. I’ll say it was you if anybody asks.”


He gurgles with laughter. I look at Pete, and I know by the look on his face that he knows. Of course he knows! When a four man team spends years together in situations where, by the end of them, you’re all still alive because you know so much about the other three than you can recognize them by the smell of their farts, you have no secrets. Pete is straight, but he knows I’m gay and like young men. So what? I might have been a ruthless killer in time of war, but I would never abuse a young man. He doesn’t want me? No problem. He does? Fine. Pete knows that.




George left the table a little earlier and is dancing with some of his peers. I’m still keeping tabs on him. He knows I am. That’s why his dancing and laughter are exaggerated. He’s showing off. On display. And I’m enjoying looking at his supple, small body performing just for me. The Dance of Desire? Well, he most certainly stirs the desire in me, so I hardly take my eyes off him while I’m drinking my beer and chatting to The Family. But after a while, because the reception ballroom is getting full of smoke from people smoking cigarettes, and because I don’t smoke and it’s getting in my eyes and beginning to give me a headache, I decide to take a break and grab some fresh air outside for a few minutes.


So after I’ve bought a round of drinks and have a full pint, and because it’s still daylight and still humid warm, I take a stroll down the long lawn to the ornamental lake and sit at the edge and watch the serenity of a pair of swans that are close by. It’s nice; almost completely peaceful if it were not for the background noise coming from the party. I’m thinking about things regarding the boy who has attracted me so much when I hear a voice I recognize immediately, say, “I thought you’d gone to bed again.”


I don’t even look at my Pageboy when I answer, “No. Just taking a breather from the smoke. I can hardly breathe in there. You had enough of your dancing? Does your mum know where you are?”


He sits on the grass beside me. “Pete asked me to go and see where you were. He said to tell you that he’s missing your company, and that it’s like old times in Muscat.”


(I chuckle inwardly. Pete knows what’s going on in my mind with his stepson. Muscat was where I met my special boy Jalal who had the most beautiful brown doe-eyes on a boy I’ve ever seen. He was just twelve years old, but he certainly knew what it was all about. He took - and wanted - all of me the first time I took him to bed. That isn’t unusual. Contrary to popular belief, quite a few boys are capable of doing that, even on their first time. Some boys can’t take a dick at all, but some can if they really want it, especially when they’ve been ‘practicing’ if that’s what turns them on.)


I glance at George. His legs are drawn up; his elbows are resting on his knees, and he’s plucking at the grass between his legs when I ask him, “How do you get on with Pete?”


“I like him. He’s nice.”


“Do you still see your proper dad?”


“Yes. Well… sometimes. I only see him sometimes. You’ve driven a long way to get here. Bet you’re pleased you’re staying here tonight.”


I look at him and wonder why he changed the subject. Maybe he doesn’t get on with his real dad. I decide not to pursue that line of conversation, and say, “Yes, it was a long way. I was up early this morning to get here on time. It’s a good job I was. The traffic was awful in places. That’s why I went and had a lie down. You’re staying here tonight, too?”


He nods. “Yes. I wouldn’t stop with gran while they went away, so I’m staying here tonight and then going to Morocco tomorrow with them for their honeymoon.”


I look sideways at him. “You been to Morocco before?”


He shakes his head. “No. Have you?”


I look away, and nod. “A few times. Me and your new dad have been there together a few times.”


“When you were in the army?”




He’s silent for a short while, plucking a few more blades of grass from between his legs, and then he says in a voice that’s almost a whisper, “Do you like me Ray?”


Do you like me? I chuckle inwardly. It’s how it happens. Those four words are the culmination of what me and Pageboy have been doing all day: courting, and because of the way I am, they had to come from him before I would be prepared to take it any further. Again I look sideways at him. He’s not looking at me… he’s staring down at the grass between his legs while he plucks at the grass. His knees are raised, his shorts have slipped down his thighs, and because they’re quite loose, a large portion of the tempting pale flesh of the inner thigh of his left leg is visible almost to his underpants. He’s not done it on purpose. Football shorts do that on boys when they sit with their legs apart. So, because George has made the first move by asking me if I like him, I know I can now move on to the next stage. I decide to do it by teasing him. “I like your beautiful legs.”


I see him stifle a giggle. “I didn’t ask you if you liked my legs.”


I pick up the half empty pint beside me, take a drink, and place it on the grass again. “You asked if I like you. Are your legs not part of you?”


He looks at me, and our eyes meet. Then he grins, and says, “You know what I meant.”


I grin back at him. “Yes, I do know what you meant, and I do like you. What is there not to like? You’re a very beautiful young man, and I liked you as soon as I saw you were embarrassed when you were carrying your mum’s train in the church.”


He shrugs his shoulders, and I see his jaw firm. “I didn’t want to do it, but mum made me. I felt like a baby.”


I decide to help him out. “You didn’t look like a baby. You looked splendid in your lovely suit. The most handsome young man in the place. That’s why I like you, so it’s not just because I think you’ve got lovely legs. But you have got lovely legs.”


He giggles when he says, “You like boy’s legs, don’t you!”




He looks puzzled. “But you just said you did!”


“No I didn’t. You’re not a boy. If you were a boy, I wouldn’t have said it. You’re a young man, so that’s why I said it. There’s a world of difference.”


“I’m only fourteen.”


“I know that, but some youngsters, even twelve-year-olds, are young men. It depends on their maturity. I’ve known some sixteen year olds who are still boys, and I’ve known some fourteen year olds who are young men. You’re the latter.”


“Why do you think that?”


I look into his beautiful brown eyes. “In my book, young men are capable of making informed decisions. You’ve just made one by asking me if I like you. That wasn’t easy for you, was it?”


He looks away from me when he shakes his head and mutters, “No.”


I don’t look at him either, and look at the lake when I say, “I understand. It’s always like that until you’ve grown in confidence that you can do it and hide your hurt if you don’t get the answer you want. Most people can never hide that hurt, and that’s why they’re afraid to make a move on someone they like. But the consequence of not making that move is that they then spend the rest of their lives being angry with themselves for not doing so. I always take the view that if you try and it fails, then you won’t have any regrets afterwards if it doesn’t work out. You’re a young man. You’re inquisitive, not only about other people, but about yourself. That’s how you become a real man. You push your boundaries: taking chances. You’ll make mistakes sometimes. You’ll learn more from your mistakes than you’ll learn from your successes, but sometimes you have to trust your instincts, and if you think you like someone and you think they might feel the same way about you, then you take that chance.” He’s looking at me now, so I smile at him when I continue, “You’ve already taken a chance by asking me if I like you. That’s good. You’ve used your instincts that we are alike, so I’ll reward you for your bravery. Yes, I do like you. I like young men exactly like you. But we have a problem. When this wedding is over, because me and Pete don’t see each other very often, I may not see you again until you’re grown up. So I’m going to do what I advised you to do: seize the moment and ask if you would like to come to my room tonight. Why am I asking you that? Because it’s pretty obvious that we like each other a lot; very probably in the same way; because you’re a beautiful young man; because you’ve got beautiful legs, and because I reckon the rest of you is beautiful too and I don’t want to miss this moment and spend the rest of my life regretting I didn’t ask you to come to my room.” I wait a few moments before continuing, and then I add; “Now the choice is yours and not mine. If I’m mistaken about the reason why you asked me if I like you, and it isn’t what you want, I’ll still like you. But do me a favour. I’ve propositioned you, and that’s against the law. If I’ve made an almighty error about the way things are between us, I apologise, so please don’t tell anyone what I’ve said this evening. Okay?”


George nods. “I wouldn’t have told anybody anyway.”


I smile at him. “I didn’t think you would. That’s because I’d worked out that you’re a young man and you’re perfectly capable of saying ‘no’ as well as ‘yes’. Now shall we go back to the party? My beer is almost empty. I hope nobody has stolen our chairs while we were away.” I get up and hold out a hand. George takes it and I haul him to his feet. And I’m still holding his hand while we look into each other’s eyes for longer than we should be doing. Then we stroll slowly back to the ballroom.


On the way, George says, “Can I ask you a question?”


I think I know what’s coming, so I have a half-smile on my face when I reply, “Fire away.”


“Are you gay?”


I give him a puzzled, amused stare. “Do you think I would have told you to come to room twelve when everybody has gone to bed if I wasn’t gay?”


He chuckles, and pushes his shoulder against me when he says, “You didn’t tell me to come. You asked if I would.”


I put an arm around his shoulders and give him a small hug before releasing him. “I never lock my door to attractive young men I like, so you don’t need to knock. We don’t want everybody to know we’re having an illicit meeting in my bedroom or we’ll have a roomful of voyeurs having a party while we’re performing. Oh, I’ve checked it out. There’s no CCTV, so nobody will see you sneaking along the corridors to get in my bed. What room are you in?”


He chuckles at my naught remark about sneaking along the corridors, and then says, “Room eight.”


Again I give him a quick shoulder hug. “Same floor; same side of the corridor as you. I’m two doors further down.”


George giggles. We both giggle, and I’m quite pleased he doesn’t say he won’t come as we walk back to join the others. I know why that is. This is his first time, and he’s apprehensive. He’ll spend the rest of the evening deciding what he’s going to do, but he will now have to do it of his own accord. I’ve never taken a boy without it was his decision that he wanted to be with me.




By the time I go to my room, I know what he’s decided.


Things weren’t the same after we got back to the ballroom. He forgot his peers, never left my side all evening, always maintained contact with his leg pressed firmly against mine, and because he did that, I drank very little after we got back. If I was going to have this beautiful young man in my bed later, then I had no intentions of being drunk and spoiling things for him. I intended to give him a night he would never forget, and I also didn’t want the occasion to be ruined for myself by a drunken loss of memory.


****************** ******************* ********************* *******************




****************** ******************* ********************* *******************


“So you’re awake! We’ll be landing in about half an hour.”


I look at mum sitting in the aircraft seat beside me, and grunt, and then try to stretch to ease the aches in my body. I grin to myself. Ray was right when he said Sudocrem would work better than anything and that I wouldn’t be sore afterwards. My bum feels fine.




Ray. He was even nicer than I thought he would be. I’ve thought of a word that describes him: smooth. Everything he does is smooth. Even when we were in bed, even though he was in control he was smooth about it. He was so smooth that I never once felt threatened. That’s what I call him now, and Ray couldn’t stop laughing when I told him that his new name was Smoothie.




Pete said he was a great bloke when we were talking about inviting him, and Pete was really pleased he could make it to the wedding. I knew they’d been in the army together, but it wasn’t until after Pete invited Ray that I discovered what it was all about. Pete never talks about his time in the army except to say he’s been here or there when we’re talking about stuff… and I was amazed when I did find out.


It was a Friday night, about a month ago. Mum and Pete had gone out. I sneaked into their room to see what I could find. I found Pete’s photograph album. It was tucked away at the back of the wardrobe together with an old tin box that rattled when I shook it, and which contained medals and cap badges and stuff when I opened it. It was all there: everything about the man who was going to be my new dad.


I knew he was like mum and had been married before and that he’d got a daughter about my age who he didn’t see because, apparently, it all ended badly for some reason. The first thing I found in the album was an envelope with some divorce papers in it. They said Pete had been granted a divorce because of his wife’s adultery. That would fit in with what he said: that his wife had gone off with another bloke. It was before he met mum two years ago. He was thirty three at the time of the divorce, and now he’s thirty-six. That’s how old Ray is. Pete says they met when they both joined the army when they were eighteen, and he said they did everything together for the ten years they were in the army. They even left at the same time, but Ray has been more successful in life than Pete, who works for Securicor because he couldn’t find anything else suitable because he only knew army stuff. He doesn’t earn a lot of money, and because mum has already got everything we need in our house, he was pleased when Ray said he would make a contribution to the cost of the wedding rather than buy them a wedding gift. Then a cheque arrived for £5,000, and we couldn’t believe it. That’s when mum said Pete should ask Ray to be his Best Man even though it had been arranged that Uncle Dan was taking that part. I don’t know what went on, but the idea was dropped. I think I know why now. It was for the same reason that Pete and Ray have pretended to be just ordinary friends at the wedding.


It was the cap-badges and medals and army photographs that shocked me. I thought Pete was an ordinary soldier… but he wasn’t. He was in the SAS, our Special Forces. You wouldn’t think it of Pete. He’s always a quiet sort of bloke, and he never gets angry. That’s why I like him. He treats me like his own son. He helps me with my homework, and he’s always sticking up for me when mum says I’m doing anything wrong. I like what he says sometimes: Leave the boy alone. Let him grow up doing his own thing. He’s not a bloody statistic. He’s too clever to end up as an idiot. Give him leg room, and he’ll be fine. It must be because he’s been in Special Forces that make him like that. Ray is almost identical how he thinks. And now they’ve left Special Forces, they don’t advertise that they were in the SAS together. That’s why Ray wasn’t Best Man.


There were lots of photos of Pete and Ray together, but one was really special. It was a brilliant coloured photo of them in a rocky sort of desert, in sandy coloured battle dress, and they had guns and ammunition and stuff all over them just like Rambo, and two great big bags they call Bergens by their feet. Both of them were laughing. That’s when I first knew I really liked Ray. He’s better looking than most film stars with his jet black hair and his fantastic green eyes.


I’m gay, and there’s just something about an older man that turns me on. Not all older men. Most of them I wouldn’t give a second glance, but when I see a really attractive one, it makes my dick go hard and I’ll have a wank about them later. If I can remember their faces, that is. Not all men are like Ray with good looks that just stay in your mind, and I’ve never met one with such beautiful green eyes as Ray before.


I’ve always liked men, even before I began wanking when I was about nine. But before I began wanking I just liked them without thinking about sex. In fact, when mum met Pete and brought him home, I wanked about him for a while. But it wasn’t serious, and after a while I reverted back to the film stars I liked. And now I’m fourteen, I wank about four times a day thinking about them: once in a morning; when I get home and go straight to my bedroom, and then I’ll do it twice usually when I go to bed. That’s when I use the umbrella handle; the one I broke when I put my foot on it when it was on the floor in the back of the car. Because it’s got finger grips along it and the end of it is a bit bigger than the rest of it, once it’s inside me, it gives me great orgasms when I’m using it and wanking at the same time. The metal part is broken off about five inches higher than the plastic part, so I’ve wrapped loads of black tape over the broken end, and I hold that part to push the thicker plastic part in and out of me. It’s better than some of the things I’ve pushed up my bottom, but it’s not like the real thing. That’s much better!




Because I hadn’t stopped thinking about him for a month, I was deliberately looking for Ray when I was walking down the aisle, and when I saw him I almost wet my pants because I was so nervous and excited. Although he’s older than in the photograph when he’s in the army with Pete, he’s still bloody handsome! And he’s got a fantastic tan. And he’s big and well built. Although he’s got a few grey hairs in his sideburns, the rest of his hair is still jet black, and he isn’t a bit bald. Pete is thinning on top, but Ray isn’t. He’d make two of me, but that’s how I like my men: big and strong. I like to think of them doing me whether I want it or not. I get up to all sorts of things in my fantasies. Sometimes I surprise myself. But I don’t care. My thoughts belong to me, and I’ll do what the bloody hell I want with them!


I felt like an idiot holding that bloody train. At first, I refused flatly to do it. I was really angry. Then, one day, when mum was out, Pete had a word with me. He told me how it was. He said mum was really upset. I told him that I didn’t want to look like a little kid. We were on the sofa. He put his arm round my shoulders, and said, “Leave it to me. I’ll make sure you don’t look like a little kid. You’ll wear a suit exactly like mine. You’ll be a mini version of me, I promise.” That’s why, although I felt a bit stupid, I was also proud that I looked grown up in the suit when I stopped almost by the side of Ray. That was creepy. I could feel him looking at me. That’s why I looked at him. It was stupid. He might have thought I was weird, but when he smiled at me, I knew he didn’t. His fantastic green eyes told me he didn’t. He looked right into me. That’s when I knew. I almost couldn’t believe it! I was so pleased he looked at me like that, that I was shaking.


I hardly saw anything of the ceremony. I was too busy concentrating on Ray behind me, and the fact that he’d looked at me like that!  Never in a million years would I have thought a soldier in Special Forces could fancy somebody like me. Before the wedding, I was thinking that meeting him would provide me with some wanking thoughts, especially because I’d also have some photographs of him. I was sure nothing would happen, but just knowing I’d been near him was good stuff. But when he looked at me like that, I decided then and there to try and get to be with him as much as I could just in case something might happen.




I look down at the blue sea way below us. My ears are beginning to pop, so I know we’re descending. It’s sort of dreamy. Much like most of yesterday.




Yesterday. At the wedding reception. I wasn’t pleased when I saw where Smoothie was sitting. He was miles away. But at least I could see him when I shifted to the right a bit, and it seemed as if he was smiling at me every time I looked at him. Then he really smiled at me when he had to look at us when Pete thanked him for driving all the way down to Reading for the do. I nearly started laughing when Pete said: We were in the forces together. Probably mum knows, but apart from them, I don’t think there was anybody at the wedding who knew they were in the SAS together. I think that’s why Pete kept it short when he mentioned Ray. It was sort of a code-speak between them. I know Ray gave out a suppressed giggle when Pete said it, and he winked at Pete when he was grinning. I couldn’t see Pete’s face, so I don’t know whether he returned the wink. Winking seems to be an SAS thing. Ray is always winking at me. It was the last thing he did this morning before he got into his car and drove away, but that’s because he knows what’s happening. I gave him my email address before I left his room, and I’ve got his Hushmail address, and we’ve both exchanged mobile telephone numbers. We’re going to keep in touch.


I was disappointed when Ray went to have a lie down before the evening dance and buffet. There was two hours to kill, and I was hoping he would spend it with us. But he went to his room! I was as miserable as sin when he came across to us and said he was going to get a rest because he’d been up since five. I nearly asked him which room he was in, but I didn’t dare. But I was happy when he came down again. Because I was looking for him, I was the first to see him arrive in the reception room. That’s why I told Pete that his mate had arrived. Pete told me to go and get him and bring him to our table. I was dead nervous going to him, but he’s one of those men who can put you at ease in a flash. He’s smooth! He’s also got one of those soft voices that drawl rather than being sharp. There was a massive twinkle in his eyes when he asked if I wanted a drink, and I couldn’t stop laughing when he pinched the chair from the table as if it was nothing. He knew I knew he was stealing… that’s why he winked at me. When he put the chair between me and Uncle Dan, he just didn’t care when he pushed in as if he owned the place. We were so close that our bodies were touching, and he leaned his leg on mine as if it didn’t matter. I got a hard on thinking we could be like that in bed with nothing on.


He never took his eyes off me when I was dancing. But I was showing off. For him. I wanted him to look at me. When I saw him pick up his pint pot and go out, I was really disappointed. I thought then that he’d gone off me. I felt sick about it until Pete said he’d gone for some fresh air because it was too smoky and Ray didn’t smoke. Then Pete did something that’s made me think ever since that he knows about me. He winked at me, and said, “George, go and see if you can find my mate Ray. He’ll probably be sitting by the lake if I know him. Tell him he’s missing the party. Tell him it’s like old times in Muscat. He’ll know what I mean.” Then he giggled. “Go on! Tell him I sent you!”


Smoothie was sitting by the lake. He looked so lonely when I saw him. In fact, that’s when my affections for him grew a lot. His situation echoed how I feel sometimes: lonely and not able to communicate because of how I am. Until last night, I haven’t told a single soul about how I feel about my sex side. I just can’t do it. But Ray knew. When we were in bed, after we’d done it, he said he knew as soon as I looked into his eyes in the church. He said he spent the rest of the day making sure I fancied him. He said he wouldn’t have propositioned me if he wasn’t sure I was gay. He said the only reason he didn’t do anything at the lake was because he wasn’t quite sure that I wanted him enough to do it. That’s why he said all those things when he was giving me advice. He was making me make the choice. But he made it so easy. Well, I was as nervous as hell when we all went to bed at one o’clock this morning. Mum and Pete had the wedding room on the other side of the place, so I knew they wouldn’t see me going to his room. But Ray left me talking to mum and Pete on the top landing and went to his room before I went to mine, so it was about fifteen minutes after we parted that I went to his room. I didn’t bother changing my clothes before I went to him, and because it would have messed my hair up, I didn’t have a shower, but I did give myself a good clean before I went. I brushed my teeth and washed my bum and dick in the bathroom, and then sprayed some deodorant on me.




There was just a bedside lamp on when I went into his room, and Ray was sitting up in bed, his top half naked, and he was reading a book. He looked up at me, grinned, pulled the corner of the thin duvet back, and winked at me. “I thought you’d decided not to come,” he said, “but I’m glad you have. Get in then!”


“Do I take my clothes off?”


He shook his head in disdain. “It’s not the middle of bloody winter… of course you take your clothes off!” Then he grinned. “Leave your underpants on if you’re shy.”


“Have you got any on?” I asked him.


He looked down at his book, and shook his head. “Nope. I’m in my birthday suit.” Then he looked at me again. “Unless you want me to get dressed?”


I giggled, and he giggled, so I slipped my footy shirt and shorts and socks off, and slipped into bed beside him. It was crazy. He was still reading his book, and I was shaking with nerves and excitement. In fact, I was so nervous that I started giggling and asked him, “Are you going to read all night?”


He glanced down at me, winked at me again, turned a corner of the page to mark where he was, placed it on the bedside cupboard, scooted down the bed so he was facing me, and pulled me right into him. Our faces and bodies were together, and he looked into my eyes. Then he studied my face for a while until he smiled, and said, “Has anybody ever told you that you’re beautiful?” I shook my head. He ran his fingers through the curls of my hair, put his hand on the back of my head, pulled our faces together, and kissed me gently on the lips. Then he said, “Well, you are, and now I want you to do something for me. You need to tell me if you’ve done this before.” I shook my head. He smiled. “That’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I know you’re nervous, but you’re in safe hands. Now let’s set the rules. What you don’t like, you don’t do. Okay?” I nodded. He smiled. “Good. Now I’m going to kiss you, and after I’ve kissed you, you’re going to take off those damned briefs. You’ve got something in there that I need!” I giggled. He smiled. Then his face became serious, and he pulled our heads together.


He’s an expert kisser. He was gentle at first, just using his lips to caress mine. Then he opened his mouth and began to suck on my lips. It was driving me crazy, so I opened mine and did the same to him. Then I felt his tongue enter my mouth, so I touched it with my own. Our tongues were making love. It was fantastic, sending shock waves right through me. While we were doing it, Ray wrapped his arms around me; one over me and one under me. The only thing I could do with mine was to wrap them around his neck, so I did, and locked them together. Because he’s so much bigger than me, my dick was on the hairs of his belly, but the knob of his dick was pushing between my legs right by my balls. I lifted my top leg up, it slipped between my thighs, and I let my leg down and trapped it between them, and I felt it throbbing as much as mine was. That’s when his hands began to do things with me. They were caressing my neck and hair, and then my shoulders, and then he went right down my back and pushed both hands inside my underpants and grasped the cheeks of my bum. Then he pulled my bum cheeks apart and I felt his fingers working their way down to there. He wasn’t being gentle. I liked that. Because of the way I was kissing him, he knew that I liked it. That’s when I realized what kissing meant. That’s when I realized that he would know if I didn’t like anything. That’s when I realized that sex is all about signals. You don’t have to say anything; you make signals. That’s why, after he’d tickled the sensitive nerves around my bumhole for a while and I felt him prise me open and I felt his fingers exploring just inside me, because I loved what he was doing, I went crazy with my tongue and made noises to tell him I wanted more of what he was doing.


He pushed a finger inside me. Ngghhhh. He pushed it further in. Ngghhhh. He pulled it out. I redoubled my attack on his tongue. He really prised my hole open, and I felt fingers trying to get inside me. Ngghhhh. Ngghhhh. Two fingers inside me; probably his middle fingers; one of each hand stretching me open and he was pulling me against him as if he wanted me to fuck his belly. I was so worked up that I was nearly cumming. Ngghhhh ngghhhh  ngghhhh. Then he stopped everything and broke the kiss. I must have looked surprised, because he smiled, and said, “Pants off time.”


The duvet was on the floor; I was on my back with my hands on the pillow beside my head; my legs were wide apart, and Ray was kneeling between them, feeling at every part of me; really being Smoothie! Occasionally, while he was gently pulling my foreskin on and off my knob, he fondled my balls and slipped a finger under me to push it in me and then pull it out. It was easier because he’d plastered my hole with gel. Then he pushed two fingers and then three up me. I knew what he was doing… testing to see if anything had been up me, and by the time he’d got three fingers right inside me and I was taking them okay, I knew he wouldn’t need to ask if anything had been up me: he already knew something had. But that’s Ray: Smoothie! He’s clever, and he just knew he wasn’t doing anything I didn’t like. But at that point he hadn’t done something I did want. He’s got a beautiful dick. It’s like mine, but a lot bigger and thicker. As soon as I saw it I knew I wanted it inside me. I wanted it to fuck me. But that came later, after he’d sucked me off.


While I was on my back with my legs apart, he suddenly dipped down and took my dick right into his mouth and began to suck it. That’s when I realized he was an expert. He never gagged once, even when he managed to get my dick and balls in his mouth at the same time, while he had three fingers up my hole and all I could do was Ngghhhh ngghhhh  ngghhhh ngghhhh ngghhhh  ngghhhh until I felt my dick swell and my spunk spurted out. Well, it didn’t spurt out! It spurted in! He swallowed every bit of it, and after it was all over, he gently sucked my knob until he knew nothing else would be coming out of me. That’s when we had a rest.


There’s a coffee machine in every room of The Old Hall, and he made us coffees, and we sat up in bed drinking them. That’s when we talked. That’s when I told him about the umbrella and he couldn’t stop laughing. That’s when I told him I had a nickname for him – Smoothie – and he was in stitches. That’s when I told him I knew all about him and Pete being in the army, and that’s when I told him I fancied him as soon as I saw his photograph. That’s when talking became easy… and that’s when our nakedness didn’t bother me. In fact, I finished my coffee first and snuggled beside him and began to play with his dick. I was even brave enough to lean over and suck on the end of it for a while until he pulled me off and said he had other plans for that. I found out what that was when he’d finished his coffee.


He didn’t ask me. He didn’t have to. He knew I would tell him if I didn’t want it. So when he fitted a condom and plastered it with gel, I knew what he was going to do. I helped him by holding onto the back of my knees when he pulled my legs up onto my chest. But he did say something before he fucked me. When he put both hands under my lower back and lifted me up so I was the right height without him being uncomfortable, and when he pushed the end of his dick almost through my hole, he said, “If it hurts too much, tell me to stop.” I smiled, and nodded.


I felt it slipping into me, so I tried to help him by pushing out as he pushed in. It was a bit of a tight fit, but it didn’t really hurt, and eventually, when he was leaning right over me and supporting himself with both hands above my head and I was almost rolled into a ball and stretched as wide as I could be to help him, we managed to get every bit of his dick inside me. Ray was impressed, and he said, “Clever boy! I didn’t think you could do that!” I could only grin at him as a reply. I was too shy to say anything else, but I was really proud that Ray was impressed with me. Then he took complete control of the situation. While he was fucking me, he had a fierce look on his face when he was staring into my eyes, and said, “You’re beautiful, George. You’re fucking beautiful!” I felt like a million dollars when he said that. But he wasn’t Smoothie when he said it. That’s when I saw Ray Livingstone The Soldier who was not afraid of anything. But I wasn’t frightened either. I felt completely safe with him. In fact, he was the man of my fantasies: the man who would take me and not fuck about. That’s how I knew my instincts had been right. That’s why, after he said it, I wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck and gave him a massive kiss while he was slamming his dick into me and filling the condom with his hot spunk. I was so worked up by everything that was happening that I cummed on my belly exactly at the same time as Ray was shooting his load. It was fantastic! It was even more fantastic because he talked dirty to me. I was fucking beautiful! Wow! Smoothie thinks I’m fucking beautiful! Well, I think the same about him!


After he’d been to the bathroom and flushed the condom away, and after he’d washed himself, he brought a facecloth and a towel back with him. Then he cleaned me up. By then, I wasn’t shy, and I let him lift my legs like a baby and wash my bum, and he even washed right inside it with one finger inside the facecloth. When he’d finished, we had another cuddle, but he wasn’t finished with the sex stuff. That’s because my dick was still hard and wouldn’t go down. He was playing with my foreskin and I was giving him signals that I wanted it again by humping at his fingers. He grinned at me, pinched my dick mischievously, and asked how I wanted him to do it. I grinned, shrugged my shoulders, and told him to do what he wanted. He asked me if I knew what a trombone was. I told him it was a musical instrument. He couldn’t stop laughing when I said it. Then he showed me what a trombone really was, and that’s when I understood why he spent so much time cleaning inside my bumhole.


He made me go on all fours and knelt down behind me. Then he pulled my bum wide open and put his tongue right inside my bumhole. It was fantastic! It was even more brilliant when he reached between my legs and began to wank me off, and I was ngghhhh ngghhhh ngghhhh ngghhhh’ing like a slut when I was holding my bum wide open for him so he could go deeper with that fabulous tongue, and climaxed. So that was my third time; each one different, and every one fantastic. But everything he did was fantastic. You can only imagine what it’s like having someone doing things to you, but never in a million years could your thoughts be like the real thing. When somebody like my Smoothie does things to you, it affects you in ways you can’t imagine. He played with my nipples and it made my teeth chatter; he kissed me and my dick throbbed like a steam hammer; and when his tongue was up my bum, I was on another planet. It was as if I was floating with the sensations he was creating. And I want more. I have to have more, and it has to be with my Smoothie!


We spent another half hour cuddling, and then, because it was three o’clock in the morning and I’d got to be up at eight, after he’d given me a small tub of Sudocrem and told me to apply it outside and inside my bottom before I went to bed so I wouldn’t be so sore today, he told me to go back to my room. I wanted to stay with him, but he wouldn’t let me. He said I should never take chances if it wasn’t necessary. That’s when we exchanged email addresses and telephone numbers so we could try and make it happen again. When I was dressed, we had a long kiss by the door, and then he patted my bottom and told me to go.




It was mum who woke me up. I was fast asleep when she knocked on my door at eight. I had a shower and a wank thinking about last night, put some more Sudocrem on my bottom, and then went down for breakfast. Ray was already there, sitting by the side of Pete. He winked at me: I grinned. We all talked about the holiday, and then Pete asked Ray what he was doing these days. Ray told him he’d not long got back from the Middle East and that he’d be working from home for about six weeks before he had to go back there for about a month. I already knew that. We’d talked about it before I went back to my room. Then it was time for Ray to leave. Me and Pete accompanied him to his car… a late model silver Jaguar. Pete kicked one of the tyres, and then laughed when he said to Ray that there was some easy money to be made if Ray could own a car like it. Ray laughed, and said to Pete that if you’d got it, then why not flaunt it? They hugged. I felt self-conscious… left out and not sure what to do. Then Ray looked at me and told me to give him a man hug. So I went to him, and he hugged me. Then he was gone. I felt sort of sick. Pete put his hand on my shoulder when we were walking back, and he asked me, “How do you get on with my old buddy?”


I wasn’t sure what he meant, and I said, “He makes me laugh.”


Pete laughed. “I know what you mean. We’ve drifted apart over the years, but I often think about the times we had together. They were great times. The best days of my life, and I would trust him with my life. I often did when we were in the forces. He never once let me down. I reckon we should keep in touch more. What do you think about that, George? You really like him, don’t you?”


Again I had that feeling that Pete knew more than he was saying, but I didn’t dare let on just how much I did like Ray. So I just said, “Yes.”


Pete looked down at me; I looked up at him. Our eyes met. He squeezed my shoulder. He winked. “Leave it to me.”


That was it. But it wasn’t it. That’s when I was certain Pete knew I was gay. That’s when I knew I would be seeing Ray again… and it wouldn’t be when I was fully grown up.


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It’s a Saturday, three weeks after the wedding. I’ve just done some business with my main client in Saudi and am sort of grinning to myself as I sit on the patio at home, watching the world go by and wondering if George has managed to work things since he last rang me on his mobile, when my mobile phone rings. I check to see the caller, and a grin comes on my face when I see it’s Pete. I open the call, and say, “Hiya Bastard. Did you have a good time on your honeymoon? What do you want?”


I can tell Pete is amused when he replies, “Had a great time. Just thought I’d give you a call.”


I laugh. “Bollocks! You want something. I know you. What do you want?”


“Franny asked me to call you. Me and her go back to work on Monday.”




“So we’ve got a lad here who will be at home for the next two weeks, all on his own. Franny is a bit worried that he might get into trouble, or spend all his time in bed while we’re at work. You know what these kids are like.”


“Send him to his grandmother then. She gets him up early.”


Pete remembers the conversation at the table when George said he wouldn’t stay with her while they went on their honeymoon because she wouldn’t let him have a lie-in, and he giggles. “You heard what George said. That’s a no-go. I was just wondering if you could do me a massive favour.”


“And that is?”


“You said you weren’t going to Saudi until almost mid-September, George seems to like you a lot, and he gets on well with you. Any chance he could spend this next couple of weeks with you?”


“Is Franny okay with that?”


“It was her idea.”


I chuckle. “I’ll bet it was. You didn’t have anything to do with it then?”


He laughs. “A bit. I’m being selfish. It will save me a fortune on topping his mobile up if he’s with you. So?”


“How’s he getting here?”


“I can put him on the ten o’clock train from Reading tomorrow, and he’ll be with you at Carlisle by three? He changes at Birmingham New Street.”


I laugh. “You crafty sod. Of course he can come. He can travel in style. Book him first class. I’ll do you a bank transfer. Mail me all the details. How is he?”


“He’s fine. I’m getting a bit sick and tired of hearing Ray this and Ray that though. He thinks the sun shines from up your arse.”


I chuckle when I say, “I’ll get the boat ready. She hasn’t been out for a couple of months. He’ll enjoy that.”


“I’ll tell him.”


“Good lad Pete. After this holiday is over for him, why don’t you all come up here and spend a few days with me? You know. Half term… and stuff like that.”


“Sounds good, Ray. I was saying to Franny that we should get to see you more. If you’re not off on your travels, we’ll do that.”


“I’ll make sure I keep the dates clear. You just let me know when you can make it. Is that it?”


Pete laughs. “Not quite. I’ve got somebody who wants to speak to you. Me and him are out in the car. I’m popping into Tesco’s for a few bits. I’m standing outside the car so he can’t hear what I’m saying, but he knows I’m ringing you and he’s got a grin on his face like a Cheshire Cat. You can have a chat to him while I’m gone. I’ll speak to you later. Here’s your mate. I’ll pass the phone to him.”


Then I hear Pete telling George that he’s going to stay with me.




I hear my Pageboy’s voice say ‘Hello’, and I reply, “Hiya George. You okay?”


I hear a nervous giggle. “I will be when I see my Smoothie tomorrow. I’ve missed you. Are you sure you don’t mind me coming to stay with you?”


I laugh. “Not at all. I told you on the phone that I wanted you to come. So how did you manage to persuade them that it was a good idea?”


George laughs. “I’ve learned to be sneaky like you. Ever since you said I could come if I could work it, I’ve made their life a misery since we got back from Morocco. I told them I’d run away before I would stay with nana. Then I said I would spend the days with some of my mates. They didn’t like that. A couple of my mates are always in trouble. You told me to push my boundaries, so I took a chance and said that if they didn’t trust me, then could I go and stay with you if they asked you nicely.”




“I was surprised. They both agreed. They said it was a good idea… that was if you’d have me.”


“And why do you think that was?”


“I don’t know. Do you?”


“Yes. They know about you. They know you’re gay, and they know about us.”


“Know about me? Know about us? What do you mean?”


“Well, let’s just put it this way… you don’t need to come out to them. No need to say anything. Sometimes it’s best when you don’t. It’s what people do all the time… pretend. So you pretend me and you are just buddies; they pretend we’re just buddies; you and me know different; they know different, and things are okey dokey. Pete knows you’re as safe as houses with me, and your mum trusts Pete. And no doubt they’ve looked at the alternatives.”


“The alternatives? What do you mean, Ray?”


I mean that you’re in good hands with me. Pete knows that and he will have explained it to your mum. And he’s been around the block enough times to know that if you didn’t choose me, he would be worried about who you could finish up with? He will have explained that part to your mum, too. He will have explained that you could finish up with somebody far less trustworthy. Anyway, enough of this serious stuff… how’s that cute bum of yours?”


George laughs. “It’s fine. I told you the Sudocrem had done its job.”


I laugh. “I told you it would. Do you want me to get some more in?”


More laughter. “Yes please. Half a dozen tubs.”


I chuckle. “Myyyyy! You are an eager young man!”


My Pageboy turns the tables on me. “If it’s only me that’s eager, I can cancel the trip.”


I laugh. “Don’t you dare! I’ll be down there as fast as a jack-rabbit and kidnap you if you do!”


He chuckles. “So you want me then!”


“Can’t wait.”


“Me neither.” There’s a short hesitation, and then George says, “Ray…?”




“Do you really like me?”


“Of course I do. Why would you ask that?”


“I mean… do you really like me?”


I know exactly what he means. Ever since I left him, I’ve not stopped thinking about him. And it’s not all about sex. I don’t usually get emotional, but I know I’m falling for a fourteen year old young man. In fact, I’ve been kissing a photograph I took of him during the wedding photography hour ever since we parted. But how to handle this? He’s a young man, and I’m not sure whether he’s ready for it, so I reply, “Let’s just say that I don’t want to burden you with anything.”


George is quiet for a short while, and then he says, “I’m pushing my boundaries again here Ray, and taking a chance. You told me I should. At first, although I liked you a lot, I just wanted to go to bed with you, but when I was in Morocco, I missed you like mad. I’m missing you now, and I’m not even thinking about bed, if you know what I mean. I just want to be with you. Sorry.”


I think about the young man at the end of the phone; of his gorgeous curls that drape seductively down to his neck, his beautiful brown eyes; his ready smile; the wide mouth and the full lips that I kissed and which made me forget everything except his presence, and I decide to do as he’s done: push my boundaries. “I feel the same way, George. I can’t stop thinking about you.”


I expect emotions, but I get a chuckle, and, “You’d better not!”


I chuckle too. “And why is that?”


“Because I’ll kill you if you do!”


My lovely Pageboy! Time to reward him and get things back on track so the emotional stuff doesn’t get in the way. “I was referring to your sexy legs.”


He laughs. “Yeahhhh! And I was referring to your boat!”


I laugh. “Is that what you call it? What a strange lad!”


Giggles then, lots of them, and then he says, “See you tomorrow, and you can take me for a ride in your boat.”


I laugh. “See you tomorrow, but you’ll be riding on my boat.”




The sun is setting and reflecting across the calm waters of the lake as I sit with a large brandy at the rustic wooden table by my cottage. I’ve been thinking ever since the serious conversation with my beautiful Pageboy. It’s happened; something I’ve made sure not to do all my life: fall in love with someone. I’ve been very near before, with Jalal. I can see him now: all four feet six inches of him; naked, and his three inch dick always at attention. It was something I never got used to. While he was with me he never stopped playing with it… pushing it down and allowing it to flirt back up to slap on his gorgeous tummy. Even when he was eating he would do it. He was so small I could have fitted him in my Bergen at a push, and I often wished I had when we were on ops. He was beautiful; he could kiss like a pro, and when his tongue was dancing in my mouth, it wasn’t pretend stuff like many of the others. He adored sex; he adored me, and I adored him. It was a heartbreaking moment when I knew I wasn’t going to see him again, and he cried when I gave him two hundred dollars and told him to be happy. But I steeled myself to reality and put him away at the back of my mind. But George is different. He’s touched me somewhere inside that won’t allow me to be practical about him. As soon as I open my eyes I’m thinking about him, and he’s with me when I go to bed. That’s why I decide not to fight it this time. He’s only fourteen; impressionable, and in a few months he could just as easily lose his affections for me as quickly as they’ve grown. But my instincts are telling me that isn’t what’s going to happen. I told him to follow his instincts. Perhaps that’s what he’s doing, so why shouldn’t I follow mine? Things can be arranged so we see each other quite often. I’ve obviously got his parents’ permission to be with him. There’s no need to advertise anything. There are ways and means of doing things without causing a stir. So? Time to let go, Ray Livingstone…. Smoothie! There’s a curly haired young man who needs you. And admit it… you need him! But there’s something even more special about my Pageboy: I don’t just look on him as a boy… I love him enough to imagine that I’ll still love him and want him when he’s grown up, and that really is a very first for me. Could it just be that I’ve found that elusive young man who could be my partner for many years… or even longer?


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I leave off playing with my Gameboy and stare out of the window of the speeding train and think about things as we go past villages and towns and cities. Before I met Ray I thought I was a freak, but Ray told me when we were talking in bed that I was not unusual. He said the world was full of men that like boys like me, and there are quite a few boys like me that like men like Ray. The biggest problem, he said, was boys and men meeting one another. Most don’t do what we did… push the boat out and take a chance when we meet somebody we like. Ray made the running with me, but it was me that started it by asking him if he liked me. I was pretty sure he did, but the asking bit was the hard work. I already knew what people thought about our type, but it was Ray who said society didn’t like intergenerational relationships. He said he could understand why parents wouldn’t allow them. He said that’s why so many of our type of associations were done in secret.


We’re passing a huge sports complex with lots of football pitches, and I stare at the dozens of kids my age and older and younger. Amongst that lot there will be kids like me, and they will probably never get the opportunity to do what I’m doing. They’ll grow up and always regret that it didn’t happen. Some of them will be gay and won’t dare tell anybody. They’ll be like I was before I met Ray, and I know how awful it is to keep those secrets hidden away. I used to cry myself to sleep sometimes because I was so depressed that I was gay. It’s getting a lot better for older gay people now, but it isn’t getting any better for the thousands of kids like me who like an older partner. It’s purgatory for kids like me. I want sex with a man. Those others do too, but they’ll never get to know what it’s like to do it.


It’s fantastic feeling yourself in strong arms and having a man make love to you. But perhaps I’m lucky? From what I can gather, many people are selfish when they’re having sex. All they think about is what they can get out of it. Ray isn’t like that. He told me when we were talking in bed that knowing I was enjoying it was the most enjoyable part to him. But then he said something that’s been on my mind ever since. He said: That’s because you’re special. So what does that mean? I just know he’s been with lots of boys besides me. He didn’t talk about anything, but it was obvious by what he did and how he did it to me that he has, but were they not special? I was thinking about his words; That’s because you’re special when I asked him if he really liked me. I couldn’t quite get the words out to tell him what I really think about him when I said: I just want to be with you. What I really wanted to say was that I’ve fallen in love with him. I have. I just can’t stop thinking about him, and it isn’t just sex. But what did he mean when he said: I feel the same way, George. I can’t stop thinking about you. Did he mean what I meant to say… that this is love? I hope so. I want him to love me. That’s why I’ve made sure I look good when he sees me again. I’m travelling first class, and I’m dressed first class. Mum was moaning when I said I was going to travel up to Carlisle in my wedding suit. Then Pete helped me out. He said I should wear it because I was a growing lad and needed to get some wear out of it before it was too small for me. Then he winked at me, and we both grinned behind mum’s back. Pete knows why I’m wearing it.


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The Virgin train pulls slowly into the station, and I look for my Pageboy. He’s travelled first class, and he’s dressed for it. He looks stunning dressed in his brushed-linen silver wedding outfit without the formal waistcoat and wearing just a blue shirt beneath the open jacket, with his mass of light-brown cultured curls cascading down to his jacket collar, and his gorgeous brown eyes enhancing the entirety of what he is, and the tan he’s got from his trip to Morocco makes him even more attractive. Others will look on him as a handsome young man, but, to me, he’s way beyond that: he’s the boy I love - my very own Pageboy, and I’m hoping I’m about to take the most beautiful journey of my life.


Pulling his suitcase, he walks right up to me. His beautiful brown eyes are misty when he looks up into mine, and says, “Hello. Are you glad to see me?”


I put a hand on his shoulder, and smile into his eyes. “I’ve never been more happy in my life. Now shall we get on with it?”


He grins. “Can’t wait.”




All boys are different. Most, if the reason they want to be with you is a sexual one, as soon as that part of them is satisfied, they become distant and have little interest in you. You’ve served a purpose. It’s never bothered me. They’ve served a purpose, too. Mutual serving of purposes. Some boys like a cuddle when it’s over. I like to cuddle a boy when it’s over. There’s something gratifying about having a naked boy in your arms when you know what has gone on between you has been a happy experience for both of you. And that’s certainly true of this moment.


Even though George is asleep, we’re sharing a cuddle. I’m lying on my back, and George is by my side with his left leg sprawled over my belly; his head is on my shoulder, and his left arm is still wrapped loosely around my neck. My left arm is underneath him, which is allowing me to caress his slim waist and the two soft and pliable buttocks that have been my delight since he first arrived.


It’s a toss up with me which sexual part of a boy I enjoy most: their nail-hard dicks throbbing away, or two masses of amorphous, relaxed muscle that is a boy’s bottom. George has got both. His bottom is so soft and curvaceous that I could eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and he’s certainly got a beautiful dick. For a below average height fourteen-year-old, he’s certainly well developed. He’s at least five inches long, not short in the girth department, and I had to take him in my throat to accommodate all of him, especially when he climaxed and thrust himself as deep into me as he could when he was serving me his sweet boy juices. But at least it didn’t come as a surprise to me this time. I was surprised the first night we spent together how much cum came out of him. After I’d sucked him off and we were having a cup of coffee, I made him giggle when I said he could produce almost as much as me. He’s an early developer. He was still giggling when he told me he’s been using tissues since he was eleven. That didn’t surprise me. He’s got two nice sized balls wrapped away in his lovely ballsac.


And I’m not surprised he’s asleep now. He was different tonight than the first time. I know why that is. He’s had three weeks to think about things. He’s certainly been planning for tonight.


The first thing he did was strip naked and lie on the bed with his legs wide apart and with his hands on the pillow. He was telling me that he wanted me to suck him off like I did the first time. So I did… exactly like the first time, and he was making his noises all the time I was sucking and fingering him, but this time, because he didn’t care if anybody could hear him, he practically screamed with passion when he was spurting his love juices into the back of my throat. I know why he did that. I located his prostate while I was fingering him, so he got two doses of stimulation when he climaxed.


When we were resting after I’d sucked him off, he asked me why I used a condom last time. I told him it was because I didn’t want him to have any hang-ups that I might give him any diseases. He asked me if I’d got any. I told him I had regular check-ups and I hadn’t, so he told me not to use one again when I was with him. As a consequence of his command, my own juices are being digested into his system at this very moment, just as everything he could produce tonight are doing the same in mine. But, whereas his juices were injected into only one orifice – my mouth – he took mine into two orifices: his bottom and his mouth. In fact, that was his first task after I’d sucked him off and he’d had a rest.


I tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen to me, and after he’d gone down and taken me in his mouth, because I’d abstained for the last few days, he got quite a serving. Sucking a man off isn’t every boy’s cup of tea, but because George seemed to be intent on doing it, and he seemed fascinated with my unsheathed knob while he examined it and licked it and kissed it, I didn’t protest too much. He took it well for his first time. Most of it ran out of his mouth and back down into my pubes, but he didn’t spit. In fact, he was grinning when he swallowed what was left in his mouth, and then tentatively licked his lips. I asked him if he liked it. He made me laugh when he said it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. The matter was dismissed after I asked him if he wanted me to use a condom the next time he did it. He frowned at me and told me “No way!” Then he made me laugh again when, with a big grin on his face, he said, “I think it will be an acquired taste. I’ll be able to give you a more detailed analysis when I’ve done it again. I’m only a learner, you know.”


I laid that lie to rest when I fucked him. The first time we did it must have been a ‘crash course’ for him, because when we did it this time, he was brilliant. As a matter of fact, he directed things. After I’d got all the way in him, he told me to pull out of him. When I asked him why he wanted me to do that, he said it was because he enjoyed the sensation of me going into him. So I had to do it a few times before he told me to concentrate on stimulating his prostate with my knob. That was good… for both of us. I really enjoy giving a boy pleasure, and George certainly enjoys receiving it. He’s got this strange way of going, “Nnnnnnnggggghhhhh” when he’s really enjoying something, and for ten minutes that’s all I heard while I was stimulating him to his second climax, which arrived when he yelled, “Push it in me and tell me I’m fucking beautiful!” So I gave him the full seven inches, told him a few times that he was ‘fucking beautiful’, and he squealed when he reached his peak and ejaculated onto his belly while I was sending my own ejaculate deep inside him. When it was over and after I’d kissed him softly on his hot lips, I said to him, “You really are fucking beautiful.” My reward for that comment was that he wrapped his arms around my neck and gave me a wet, giggling-kiss.


You can always tell when a boy has enjoyed sex. They become all soft and luvvy-duvvy while they’re recovering, and George spent as much time afterwards lying by my side nibbling on my ear and giggling as the time we spent fucking. But he could only keep that up for so long, and eventually, he fell asleep. I didn’t try to stop him. He probably didn’t sleep much last night because he would have been excited, and he’s had a long journey as well as his exertions in bed since he arrived.


But it’s only seven o’clock, and I’m not tired yet.




At eleven I’m just thinking of going to bed when I hear the toilet flush upstairs. Then, after a while, I hear the shower going. That makes me grin. He will have spent a few minutes working out how to operate it, and now he has, he will be trying to adjust the temperature. I time him. Thirteen minutes. He likes his showers. Perhaps he’s been relieving himself? I doubt it. He’s got somebody to do it for him. Boys don’t miss any opportunity to have it done for them. Now he’ll be drying himself. That might take a while with his long, wavy hair. Will he go back to bed? Definitely not! There are three things schoolboys don’t like: homework, going to bed, and getting out of bed in a morning. But there are two things they do like: food and sex, and right now I know I’m going to have to get George some supper, and very probably, after he’s eaten, provide more of the latter.


Some things are beyond beautiful. When George comes into the lounge wearing one of my white dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up, three buttons open at the neck, and his lovely tan legs glowing seductively beneath the hem of the shirt, I’m overwhelmed with his presence. He grins at me, plucks at the shirt, and asks, “You don’t mind me using this, do you?”


I smile at him. “Not at all. It looks better on you than it does on me. Are you wearing anything under that?”


His grin becomes even wider. “No.”


I pat my lap. “Then you’d better come here and let me find out.”


So he does, and when he’s settled, I wrap him in my arms, hold him so his head is snuggled below my chin and on my chest, and kiss his hair while I’m fondling the softness and warmth of his wonderful body. When there’s nothing left for me to explore, I ask him, “Has anybody ever told you that you’re beautiful?”


He giggles on my chest. “You didn’t swear.”


I grin, and kiss his hair again. “No. Swearing is for special occasions.”


“Isn’t this a special occasion.”


“Yes, but this is different.”


“In what way is it different?”


“I just want to hold you close.”




“Because I do.”






“Do you love me?”


“Does it mean a lot to you to know that I love you?”


“Yes. But I don’t want you to say it just for the sake of it.”


“I won’t say it just for the sake of it. They’re very important words, so do you mind if I say it to you in my own time, and in my own way?”


“No. I can wait. I love you. Does it bother you that I can say it?”


I kiss his hair again. “No, it makes me feel great.”


“Me too. What are we going to do?”


I hug him a bit tighter. “Just get on with it and see where it takes us. Is that okay with you?”


“Only if you make me something to eat. I’m starving.” He lifts his head from my chest and looks into my eyes with a sparkle in his, and adds, “And I’m not tired now either.”


I grin at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”


He takes my hand and places it on his stiff dick. “It’s recovered.”


I chuckle. “Then I’ll make you some supper… and we’ll see to that afterwards.”


At two in the morning, after he’s been well fed and well fucked and his dick has finally gone soft after three ejaculations, and his bottom is creamed up with Sudocrem, he eventually falls asleep properly, and because he’s made me work hard the second time, I soon follow him into the Land of Nod.


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After I’ve spent an hour on the train watching the fields and the towns go by and thinking about the wonderful two weeks I’ve spent with Ray, using the new phone Ray bought me, I send him a text: I love you. A couple of minutes later I get a picture come up on my phone. It’s a picture of me and Ray when we were standing on the cairn at the summit of Scafell Pike - the highest mountain in England – and the words: Play our song. Ray has sent the picture to me to remind me of our precious moment together, when, in his own way and without actually saying the words, he told me he loved me.


Being together on the mountain was not a problem. Even though there were quite a few other people there, because of our age difference, they would have thought I was his son. In fact, that’s what Ray intimated when he asked the woman to take our photograph. He said, “Excuse me, but would you take a photograph of me and my lad, please?” Afterwards, I said how clever he was. He winked, and then asked me if he’d told any lies. When I said he hadn’t, he winked again and told me that it was all about perception, and that providing we didn’t get doing anything inappropriate when we were out together, nobody would be any the wiser about us.


When we reached the summit of Scafell Pike, Ray said how lucky we were that it wasn’t covered in mist or cloud. He was right. We could see for miles in all directions. It was fantastic. So we sat at the cairn, eating our sandwiches and drinking coffee from a Thermos Flask, and when we’d finished, he packed the stuff away in his backpack. Then we sat close together with his arm around me for a while. He was quiet, and I knew he was thinking. So was I. I was on top of the world with the man I loved. After a while of being quiet, he reached inside one of the side pockets of the rucksack and took out an Ipod. Because Ray’s got lots more money than mum and Pete and he’s bought me lots of things while I’ve been with him, I wasn’t surprised when he said it was a gift for me, so after I’d thanked him, I giggled and asked him why he’d given it to me on the top of a mountain. He gave me a strange sort of a smile and told me to fit the earphones. When I had, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and hugged me even more tightly, and then he played the only tune that was on it.


While I was listening to the song, it was the only time I cried during the two weeks I’ve been with him. Ray didn’t cry. He never gets emotional like that. But him not crying is not the real Ray. Inside he’s a very beautiful person who can only do things his own way. The song told me that. So, wrapped in my man’s arms, I cried while I was listening to the song, and when it had ended, it took me about ten minutes to stop sobbing before I was able to look at Ray again, and when I did, I asked him, “Is that your way of telling me that you love me?”


He looked right into my eyes, and nodded. Then he got up, pulled me easily to my feet, and said, “Come on. We’ve got a long trek ahead of us.”


It was a long trek, but all the time I was walking with Ray, I couldn’t stop thinking about the song. Ray finds it difficult to speak his emotions, but the song told me all I needed to know about the man I have come to love with a passion. And it’s not just about sex. That’s an important part of what we are, but the rest is important too. Almost every day we’ve been out and about, and we spent quite a few days on his boat. It’s a beautiful craft with a double bedroom and a shower and everything. We spent three days cruising the lake during the first week, and three more the second week. This last Thursday we climbed Scafell Pike, and Friday we spent it at ‘home’ making sure I would go home with a sore bottom. Today, Saturday, he took me to the station and put me on the train. It will be half-term; seven weeks before I’ll see him again, but, strangely, although I wish I wasn’t going home, the thought of not being with him doesn’t fill me with dread. As well as knowing we can keep in touch most of the time, I know why it doesn’t. What Ray and I have is too strong to allow regrets of any sort. Ray has spelled it out. Four of the seven weeks he’ll be in Saudi; one week he will be in Germany, and I’ve had strict orders to concentrate on my schoolwork because our future is important. I intend doing just that. I intend making Ray proud of me. Why is that? Because I’ve found what I need: my very own man to love me. But even more significant is the: our future is important. We spent two hours last night discussing things. Ray told me that I’m the only one for him now. He said he wants to be my partner for as long as I want him. I told him the same.




I’m pleased I’m in first class. There are only four other passengers in my carriage. Maybe more will be joining later, but for now, especially because the attendant has already been round and stamped my ticket, I know I won’t be disturbed if I put my pillow against the window and turn away so nobody can see my face and pretend to be asleep. I don’t want anybody to see me crying. I fit the earphones, and while the miles flash past the speeding train, and when tears are streaming from my eyes onto the pillow, I picture the man I want to spend the rest of my life with… my Smoothie… the man I love and who loves me, and even if he finds it difficult to say the words, he’s told me in his own way how much he loves me with the song I’m listening to over and over again: the song that he made me listen to at the summit of England’s highest mountain: Joe Cocker singing You Are So Beautiful – To Me! 


The end. 


You can find my other stories on Nifty here. If you wish to comment on this or any of my other stories, just drop me a line to JTST449@gmail.com Genuine comments will be appreciated. All flames will be extinguished in the trash bin.