Boys Can Be Lovers Too 11

Any characters portrayed in this story are fictional and not representative of anyone living or dead.

This is a story about the love between a twelve-year-old boy and a twenty-seven-year-old man and it contains graphic details of sexual contact between them. If you are under age and if this is illegal where you live or where you're accessing this site, then I suggest you leave immediately. For those who wish to stay, then this story is a long one of sixteen parts and an epilogue, which deals with a relationship rather than a brief and sexually stimulating read, although there are parts when the sexuality of the liaison is paramount to the story and I've done my best to leave nothing out.

Anyone wishing to contact me can do so at john.thestoryteller@gmail.com

Thanks to all those who have mailed me and enjoyed the story so far.

Boys can be lovers, too.

Part eleven.

Matthew Says:

7th September. We were quiet as we drove to Ross-on-Wye, and when we got there, Dean wanted to go into the college with me, but I was having none of it. "Just go away, Mr. Electrician, and fit some wires or something."

Dean smiled that special smile that told me he was close to tears, took my hand, and pressed it really hard. "Ok. If you need me before four-thirty, ring the firm and tell them to contact me. I love you."

I stood at the side of the road, and watched the Capri speed away. Although I'd acted like the big man, I was quite nervous as I looked at the old, Victorian monstrosity, which was to be my education establishment for at least the next three years. Four stories high, and half panelled throughout with mahogany boards, it had an almost workhouse look and feel to it. I picked up the heavy bag of books and paraphernalia, strode up to the entrance, climbed the seven stone steps, and went in through the massive, arched door.

Since the holiday at Cornwall, the last five weeks had been fantastic. The deep love Dean and I had for each other, helped us through the compromises we had to make to become compatible live-in-lovers, although I must admit, because it was my presence that had turned his world upside down, that it was Dean who did most of the compromising. He still did his own small things, like getting up at six each morning and going for a run along the riverside before showering and making ready to go to work. The journey to his workplace was just fifteen minutes away by car, and he was always gone by twenty minutes to eight, and it was rare not to see him pull into the drive at six in the evening. That was five days a week - Monday through Friday. Once he'd showered and changed on a Fridays, we drove up to Droitwich, and spent the weekends with mum and dad, getting back late on Sunday evening.

Dean was very nervous on our first visit, and made me promise not to have sex while we were there. `I just won't feel right doing it in your mum's and dad's house', was his excuse. When we went to our room, and I saw that my single bed had been changed for a double, I knew he'd got no chance. We did it quietly...with a lot of stifled giggles.

On a few occasions, Dean took me to work with him. That was after he'd explained that his `half brother' was now living with him because I was attending college at Ross. I met his business partner, Dominic Parsons, quite a few times. He was as Dean said, a really lovely man. I could tell from his mannerisms, and a few hesitant words, that he had doubts about the veracity of me being Dean's half-brother, but he never pushed it. I was impressed with the way Dean told the necessary lies, just as I was when I went to work with him and he set about his tasks in a way that left no doubt about his professionalism. I sort of got thrown into the background, useful only for a bit of fetching and carrying. While we were working, Dean chatted to me about what he was doing, and why. I think he was impressed with me that I soon picked up on the basics of his trade.

When he'd finished work and after his shower, he would spend some time in his office, sorting things, and then, after we'd eaten, he would give me all his attention. Sometimes, after his shower, he didn't get a chance to do anything before I made him have sex with me. He knew when those moments were coming. As he was sorting things in his office, I would strip off and lie on the sofa and watch TV and flaunt my butt. He would turn and grin at me. I acted like I wasn't interested, but knowing the sight of me was turning him on while he worked, gave me the hots, and when he did come to me and roughly threw me into position as a sort of punishment for teasing him, I enjoyed our sex more than I would normally have done.

We'd now reached the stage when we began to use each other to satisfy our individual sexual needs. For instance, every morning after his run, and after he was showered and as I was still dozing, he would come into the bedroom, naked, and go down on me, and devour Willie and his juices as if it was his daily sustenance. Sometimes, I would pretend I was still asleep, and I didn't even mention it when he brought coffee up for me before he went to work. After he'd gone to work, I would lie and think about how beautiful and empowering it was that he worshipped my body. I would run my fingers over it, just as Dean did, and try to feel what he was feeling, and then get up and look at myself through the full length mirror of the wardrobe and caress the body that Dean loved. I was never a vain person, but even I began to understand what it was that boy-lovers saw in boys. I was beautiful. Except that I didn't have the large hips of a woman, the curves of my body were similar to a woman's, and my skin was supple and soft. I preferred, just as a woman would, Dean's mature, hairy body, which oozed masculinity. On one occasion when I was doing this, because I knew that within a few short years, this beautiful body would become masculine, and Dean would no longer find it attractive, I broke down and cried my heart out. And what would I do then? The thought was too much to bear, and I went back to bed and sulked all day, and when Dean came home in the evening and sensed something was wrong with me, I still wouldn't tell him. It was only later that night as were lying in each other's arms that he got it out of me. He surprised me. I thought he would be sympathetic, but he was quite angry.

He twisted my face so we were looking into each other's eyes. "Matthew, you think too much. You're digging holes for yourself. Yes, I'll always be attracted to beautiful boys' bodies, especially yours, but I love you for more than your boy body. You're special, and I can't ever see the day arriving when I won't love you." Then he grinned. "One day I'll probably be in a nursing home having my incontinence pad changed, and the nurse will be looking at me and feeling sorry for me. She'll see a silly smile cross my face, and think I'm going senile. What she won't know, is that the reason I'll be smiling, is because I'll be remembering this moment. So, can we stop this shit and enjoy what we have?"

I hugged the man I loved, and knew I would also feel as he did when I was old and past it. Perhaps I did think too much. Mum had told me the same. We made very special love that night.

Dean Says:

Saturday. November 13th.

Today, the weather was awful, as it had been yesterday and we'd decided not to go to Henry and Janice's because of the number of accidents on the motorway. It was also my 28th birthday. I'd been giggling to myself all week at Matthew's sniping at me that his `old man' was getting even older and he wouldn't want me for much longer if I couldn't keep up my sex drive. I never celebrated birthdays, but Matthew said we'd better do something on this one, before I was senile and forgot how old I was. Part of the reason I loved him so much, was that he was such a funny young man with his quick-witted, acidic tongue, and demeaning innuendo. When I'd had a particularly bad day, he could change my mood completely with one of his amusing quips.

It was almost four in the afternoon. The log fire was blazing merrily away, and Matthew was lying on the sofa with his shirt pushed up his back and his jeans halfway down his butt, displaying most of his cleft. I sat beside him, gently caressing what was available while I read a paper and he watched Teletext on TV for the football results.

Matthew whooped. "Liverpool have scored again."

I looked at the TV. "Liverpool are rubbish. Let me know when Bristol Rovers have scored."

After a short while of nobody saying anything, Matthew turned his head, and looked at me. "I've got you a cake."

I looked at him. "Good. Have you got me a present?"

He turned his head to me and grinned the cheeky grin that touched my heart, and patted his butt. "What do you think this is?"

I laughed. "It's your butt. I meant something special."

My comment made him chuckle. "So, you don't want it then?"

I knew my paper reading time was over, and put it down. When Matthew wanted my concentration, he had his ways of getting it. "Where's the cake?"

"It's in the kitchen, in a box, with your twenty eight candles. Why?"

I didn't answer him, and got up and went to the kitchen. The box was there, as he said, so I opened it, took out a candle and hid it in my hand with my cigarette lighter, took the Vaseline out of the kitchen drawer and slipped it in my pocket, and went back into the lounge and sat by Matthew's side. He was looking back at me, wondering what I was doing. I opened the cleft of his butt, and stuck the candle in. He began to laugh, and he laughed even more as I held him down and lit it. Then I knelt on the floor, sang `Happy Birthday to me', blew out the candle, removed it, and began to chew on his butt. We ended up on the floor, wrestling and laughing, and it only stopped when I was on top of him on the sheepskin rug in front of the fire, holding his hands above his head. I kissed him softly on the lips.

He stared up at me. "I'm your birthday present. Do you want it?"

I nodded, took off his shirt, and yanked his jeans and underpants off, and lifted his knees onto his chest. Not once did his eager eyes leave off what I was doing. I took out the Vaseline, smeared some on three fingers, inserted them, and lay by his side propped up on one elbow, and stared into his eyes as I milked his prostate. It didn't take long for his first ejaculation; three goodly spurts of proper semen that reached his belly. Because I knew this was one of those times that Matthew wanted more, I didn't take my fingers out. A few kisses later, and he ejaculated again. Just a small amount this time that trickled from Willie's slit. On the third time, no more came out. Matthew was breathing heavily as I went down and washed Willie with my mouth, licked away the small amount of semen that was nestled in the few pubic hairs, which had sprouted since we got back from Cornwall, and then, greedily, licked off the thicker stuff that lay in globules on his soft belly. If I had nothing else for my birthday, I was satisfied with what my boy had already given me. And he knew it.

As we sat in the dining room eating our meal, by his side, on the table, Matthew had two similar sized presents. When we'd finished, he handed one to me. I unwrapped it. It was a video; All the Presidents Men. He wouldn't give me the other present. `That's for later', he said.

Later, we snuggled on the sofa in our favourite position, watched the film, and then showered and went to bed.

Now it was my time to be served, and I wasn't going to miss watching this. Matthew was on me, and William was being mauled by the passions of his mouth and hands as he squeezed and tormented me to a tremendous climax that had my semen dripping from the sides of his mouth. He didn't come up to me to share it as he sometimes did, instead, he applied the Vaseline, and sat on me, and my shaft sank deep into him, and then, with his tongue out and my semen dribbling from his mouth, he brought us both to a thrashing and tremendous final climax of the day.

When it was over, he looked down at me. "Was that good?"

I nodded. "Was it good for you?"

He gave me that cheeky grin. "It was the best birthday present I've ever had."

I laughed. "You cheeky sod, it was my birthday, not yours."

He was still grinning as he got off me and went to the bathroom to clean up, came back with a flannel and cleaned me off, and then took the flannel back. He switched on my bedside lamp, and switched off the main one, and then he lay by my side and gave me the other present he'd brought to the bedroom with him. I peeled off the wrapping paper. It was a book, Special Friendships by Roger Peyrefitte. I looked at Matthew.

He smiled his beautiful smile. "I know you like books. This is a special one. I read it a while ago, and it made me cry. When you read it, try to think of me as your Alexander. He loves you as much as the Alexander in the book loves George. Give me a kiss. I'm going to sleep now. I love you Dean."

I gave him a gentle kiss, propped myself up on my pillows, and he snuggled beside me with his arm over my lower abdomen and his leg over mine. Before I'd read the first two pages, he was asleep.

I couldn't put the book down, and read it from start to finish. When I had, I placed it on the bedside table and, carefully, adjusted my pillows so as not to wake Matthew. The bedside lamp was still on, and I was able to study the sleeping boy beside me: my Alexander. The book he'd given me was about an older boy's love for a younger boy. There was no sex in it, but the love they shared, was as Matthew's and mine. It was, without doubt, the most beautiful book I'd ever read. Now, in the dimmed light, and the shadows, I looked at the boy I loved. As usual, when he was sleeping, his mouth was half open. I placed my own mouth near to it, and inhaled his breath, and exhaled mine back into him. It was a delicious moment, knowing we were enjoined by the air we breathed. Very gently, I brushed my lips across his, and over his closed eyes and the rest of the beautiful face before me. Tears flowed from my eyes as I became intoxicated by his beauty and the strength of my love for him, and I knew that as long as I was on this earth, I would never, and could never love anyone as much as I did my `Alexander' at this moment.

`Alexander' stirred, and opened sleepy eyes. "I need to pee."

I got out of bed and pulled back the covers, and took him by the hand and led him to the toilet. There, I held his soft Willie and guided the urine into the bowl. He didn't protest. Then I led him back to bed and tucked him in. I got in beside him, put an arm under him, and hugged him to me, and then switched off the bedside light. And `George' and `Alexander' fell asleep.

To be continued...