WARNING: This story – a fictional one - contains sex between a minor and an adult. Do not read the contents if it will offend you. If accessing this story causes you to break local laws (village, town, city, county, province, state, or country, etc.), please leave now.

 

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

 

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Other stories on Nifty by John Teller/The Storyteller can be found here.

 

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Anthony Alboran's story – Crisp Buddies.

 

Written by John Teller.

 

Part eight.

 

I was excited as the Monarch plane banked over the sea and flew over the marshes as it was landing at Faro Airport in The Algarve in Portugal, and as soon as we'd touched down, almost blinded by the brightness of the sunny day, I was staring out of a side window looking for my Crisp Buddy. But, of course, I couldn't see him. It was quite a big airport, and we even had to have buses ferry us from the aircraft to the terminal to go through customs. Then, after a customs guy had checked my passport, with my small cabin suitcase, I waited at the carousel to reclaim the larger suitcase that had been in the hold. Ashton, being well-versed in travelling abroad, had given me a bright red ribbon to tie to the handle to recognise it from the mass of suitcases, and I was really pleased when I recognised it. I dragged it from the carousel, but I hadn't got a clue where to go next, so I followed the other passengers through a small tunnel that led into the airport concourse. There were rope barriers keeping the waiting public from the travellers, and I searched amongst them to see if I could see Ashton. There was no sign of him, but as soon as I'd passed through the milling people and into the open, there he was, leaning against a pillar at the end of the line of car-hire desks. And he'd seen me.

 

My Crisp Buddy was now My Blue Boy. The sun had lightened his hair a little, and what I could see of him was tanned a lovely brown. What I could see of him? It wasn't a lot. He was wearing a lapis lazuli coloured t-shirt and fluorescent blue knee-length shorts and blue and white trainers. I almost came to a halt as I stared at him, and he had his chin on his chest to try and hide the fact that he was upset. Then he pushed himself away from the pillar he was leaning on, ran across the concourse, and flew into my arms. My suitcases went flying when I dropped them to catch him as he flew through the air, and then I was holding an octopus that had its tentacles wrapped around my neck and waist. I tried not to cry, but my eyes were most certainly misty as I hugged my beautiful boy to me. We just couldn't let go of each other, and through misted eyes I could see lots of people laughing at us. So I let go of my inhibitions and twirled us round and round until we were both laughing. When I stopped, Ashton pushed his upper body away from me to look at me, and with tears streaming from his eyes, he yelled, "Uncle Tony!"

 

Uncle Tony. My clever boy! LOL. There, stick that one up you, I thought, so those who had been looking at us and been thinking there was anything inappropriate about our behaviour could get stuffed. (Dirty minded sods! LOL.) In fact, now I'd been identified as kith and kin, I was fully entitled to give Ashton a stupid, pouted-lip kiss. (We're a tactile family, we are.) And then I threw him down and gave him a proper hug. He'd stopped shedding tears, and was laughing. So was I. So I took the large suitcase and Ashton the small one, and linking each other and laughing like two schoolboys, we marched out of the concourse and into the bright sunlight of a hot Portuguese day. What did we leave behind? Probably lots of people who thought we were a smashing family to have no inhibitions. Little did they know it was Shrek and Princess Fiona who had just shared an inappropriate cuddle. (Yes, readers, I did get my own back for Ashton calling me Shrek.) *wink*

 

Ashton never stopped talking as Olga drove the hire car along the road that led to Praia de Luz, pointing out various places he was familiar with, and his face was a joy to behold: laughing and smiling and grinning and excited. I'd missed that face; his exuberance; his sweet voice; his complete beauty. But it wasn't just Ashton who was happy, so were Wendy and Olga who interrupted him frequently to ask what my flight had been like, and other small talk, and to tell me that Ashton had been like a bear with a sore head for a week and how overjoyed they were that I'd arrived to take him off their hands. I'd intended keeping it a secret, but in the melee of emotions, I told them that I'd taken five driving lessons before I came out. Not only that, I'd pushed the boat out and arrived in the 21st century with a new mobile phone taken on contract... a Blackberry no less! Ashton insisted I show it to him, and as soon as he saw it he took it from me and began to fiddle with it. I protested that he was making it more complicated for me, but he summarily dismissed me with a haughty look and continued doing things to it as well as his own which he took out of a pocket of his Bermuda shorts. He was ages messing about, giggling like a five year old, and then he took a `selfie', and when he handed my phone back to me with a massive grin on his face, my desktop was a picture of him. Then my phone rang. I looked at the caller, and there was the same picture of him. Before I could answer it, he ended the call. With a massive grin on his face he told me to call the missed number. I did, and without answering it, he shoved his phone into my face. I burst out laughing. On his phone was a picture of the real Shrek. Then he showed it to his mum and Olga. They were puzzled why he had Shrek's picture showing when I rang him. He gurgled with laughter when he told them it was my new pet name.

 

And that's how the one and a half hour journey went; a mixture of fun and laughter and obvious joy that we were together again. Well, it was for me. I hardly ever took my eyes off the young man who I'd missed terribly for a week even though he had phoned me every day. And it was tactile. Not inappropriately, but we both had a job to keep our hands off each other, and especially I wanted to stroke the wonderful brown thighs I could see when his shorts rose higher up his gorgeous legs. What I really wanted to do was discover where his tan line was. I was hoping it would be almost as high as the bulge I could see in his shorts. Yes, readers, he was well-erected again, and the little bugger even teased me when he adjusted his seating so he was out of sight of his `parents' and outlined his erection to me by pressing the fabric of his shorts with those piano fingers to reveal both the state of his body and his mind. I was pleased I was wearing Jeans, because they revealed only a partial view of my own restricted feelings.

 

Olga knew Praia de Luz like the back of her hand, and after she'd negotiated a maze of streets, she stopped the car by a row of bright white terraced two storey apartments adorned with many colours of bougainvillea and pots of geraniums in full flower. But there was no sign of the sea, so as soon as we'd stopped, I asked Ashton, "Where's the sea?"

 

He grinned. "Let's get your cases and I'll show you."

 

I took the large suitcase, Ashton took the small one, and we went into the apartment. Ashton leaned his suitcase by the wall and told me to do the same, then he grabbed my hand and dragged me through to the opposite side of the apartment, onto a patio with safety rails, bedecked with table and chairs, and before and below us was a magnificent view down onto the beaches of that wonderful place. Immediately below us was a road lined on the other side with interspersed palm trees, and from the edge of the road the shoreline went down black rocks to the sea. To our left was the main beach area of the beautiful town, and across the bay stretched towering headlands going out into the sea. It was beautiful, but not as beautiful as the young, excited young man who was clinging to my hand like a drowning man. I looked at the view, and then at Ashton, and said, "I love it!"

 

"I knew you would." Then he smirked. I knew that smirk. It meant trouble. I was right, because his next comment was, "Shall I show you our bedroom?"

 

Wendy and Olga were beside us, and I was embarrassed. But it was Batman to the rescue again. Olga grinned and said, "Take your suitcases upstairs. Oh, and don't blame me and Wendy for what he's done."

 

I gave her a puzzled look. "What's he done now?"

 

Wendy giggled; Olga laughed, and then gurgled, "He's spent the week searching for something for you. Don't blame us! Nothing to do with us! It was the only way we could stop him being miserable."

 

I looked at Ashton, who was laughing so much that he was holding his dick to stop himself pissing in his shorts.

 

The bedroom. When we'd lugged the two suitcases upstairs following the comment from Wendy that they would make us some lunch while we were `messing about', I looked around to see what the little bugger had been up to. Then I heard the bedroom door click shut behind me.

 

I soon discovered where his tanlines were... just above the small bush of dark hair above his raging hard dick, and in a perfect line across his thighs just below his tight balls. I found that out when he threw himself onto the bed on his back with his lower legs dangling over the side... after he'd pushed his shorts and underpants to his ankles. Then he stared seriously at me and pointed to his swollen erection. There was a job to be done, one that I'd been dreaming about for a week.

 

I went to my knees between his legs and stared at the object of my passionate desire; stroked it gently with my finger ends, and as the foreskin rolled off to reveal the bright pink head, I devoured it with gusto. With Ashton's hands behind my head forcing me down onto him, it took less than a minute before his hot spunk spurted out of him, and I devoured his cream eagerly, savouring the wonderful taste and texture of the young man who was, by then, my whole life. When we'd whispered sweet nothings to one another and kissed for a while, he told me to stand up. I did as ordered, and after Ashton had ripped off his t-shirt, he went to his knees in front of me and undid my jeans, yanked them and my underpants down my legs, and grabbed my own raging erection in both hands. He was going crazy when he kissed away the precum that was oozing from me, and I watched four inches of my dick disappear between his hot lips. Using both hands to wank me and his hot mouth and tongue to stimulate every sensory nerve in my body, and not being the least bit gentle, he forced me to an amazing climax that had my semen spilling from the corners of his mouth because he couldn't swallow it quickly enough, and what he couldn't swallow, ran down his chin and onto his bronzed breast and even down his belly to settle around his still hard dick. Have you ever seen a boy worship a dick? My God! There's no sexier sight on earth, especially when, like my Crisp Buddy, after he'd brought me to my climax, he closed his eyes and rolled my saliva and spunk covered dick all around his face. In fact, even though I'd just gone to my sexual Heaven, I just couldn't resist hauling him to his feet and pushing him back on the bed again so I could get at him. I forced his legs open and sucked his balls, and went to work on his still hard dick, mauling it so much that he couldn't stop himself letting out a strangled squeal when he climaxed again. Then we kissed some more until we were giggling at what we'd done, and finally, still giggling, we went to the bathroom to clean up.

 

I couldn't stop laughing when Ashton held up the white t-shirt. Neither could Ashton. In bold letters across the front of it were the words: Cheese and Onion. Then he held up a smaller version white t-shirt, and I saw Prawn Cocktail. Oh what a mood he was in! He just couldn't stop giggling as item after item emerged from the drawers of the dressing table and from the wardrobe. It must have cost Wendy and Olga a fortune to stop him from being miserable. But the item that had us both rolling about on the bed in each other's arms, laughing until we were crying was a white t-shirt emblazoned with a large, green effigy of Shrek on the front that he insisted I put on. Then our laughter stopped as quickly as it began, replaced by the most intense coming together as we lay in each other's arms. Because we'd cleaned our teeth, the passionate kiss and saliva we shared was beautifully minty and sweet and tasty. When we broke the kiss, Ashton stared into my eyes and said, "God! I've missed you!"

 

I smiled into his eyes, and replied, "Thank goodness we're together again."

 

He smiled, and nodded. There was little else to be said.

 

I felt like a right pillock when I went downstairs with Ashton holding his hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter, and when Wendy and Olga saw me, although they, too, tried to stifle their amusement, they were unsuccessful, and we were all in stitches at my presentation. As well as the white Shrek t-shirt, I was also wearing white shorts and brand new size 12 white and green trainers without socks. But they weren't the reason for the hilarity... it was the colour of my legs. I was a typical Brit just arrived... skin that had not been exposed to the elements: as white as driven snow. But what really brought tears of laughter flooding from our eyes was seeing my Crisp Buddy holding his dick to stop himself wetting his pants when he gurgled out, "You look like the abominable snowman."

 

The meal was nice... a salad with lots of different meats and cheeses and washed down with Vinho Verde: a speciality of the Algarve I was told. The wine was quite tasty, and I had three large glasses of the stuff, which, because I'd eaten very little (the meal on the plane hadn't been enough to feed a church mouse) since I got up at three in the morning to be at the airport at five for the early flight which took off at seven, and because it was two in the afternoon, it went to my head. Ashton liked that. It gave him licence to be over familiar, and we spent most of the latter part of the meal with him being very affectionate towards me. At one point, he grabbed my arm and planted a juicy kiss on my cheek. That brought a comment from Olga, of, "Somebody's missed you Tony."

 

I grinned, and replied, "It's not just one way. I've been bored to tears without Trouble around me."

 

Ashton giggled. "You should have gone fishing. Apparently, according to you, I come second to fishing."

 

I couldn't resist, and my comment was made for the same reason Aston had kissed me: I was slightly under the influence. "Actually, Princess Fiona comes first nowadays."

 

It's funny, isn't it? One simple comment can reveal all one's trade secrets, and by that comment I'd revealed to Wendy and Olga which role Ashton took in our relationship. That's why he blushed and looked down at his meal while he giggled. Wendy and Olga also went quiet, but they, too, were grinning as they ate.

 

I refused point blank to wear the Shrek t-shirt when we went out for a walk to the small town, but we were still conspicuous wearing our crisp flavour t-shirts, and I didn't miss the grins from many of the people we passed, but maybe they chuckled because a twenty-seven year old man was holding the hand of a fifteen and a half year old boy? Oh yes! The lower age of consent in Portugal had given Ashton a licence to kill, and he wasted no time in killing procedure that had been left behind in England. Uncle Tony had gone, and was replaced with unashamed affection. Well, obviously not kissing or anything like that, but holding hands was not kissing, was it? But none of it was easy to me. I was torn between propriety behaviour and making my boy feel I was not ashamed of what we were doing, so I sort of tried to maintain a balance between the obvious and the ambiguous. I did notice that Wendy and Olga had no such hang-ups. They held hands everywhere we went. And then something really strange happened. It's a bit like when you get a rare disease and you think you're the only one who has it, but when you're having treatment for it, you discover that there are many more who have the same affliction. And that's what it was like in Praia de Luz: there were loads of gay people around when you really looked, so by the time we got back to the apartment, I'd been sort of brainwashed into accepting our unusual situation, and I even had an arm around Ashton's shoulder as we strolled back `home'.

 

One glass of Vinho Verde as we sat on the patio watching the sunset, and my eyelids began to droop. It had been a long day. So I was ordered to bed to `get some rest' by Olga, and I didn't miss the steely look in her eyes when she added to Ashton, "Sleep! Tony is tired!"

 

Bless my young man. Even he allowed me to rest that night, but only after we were naked and he was wrapped around me like an octopus, and only after I'd declared my undying love to him, and only after he'd wanked himself off on my belly and said he'd have to get used to being in love with an old man. Thank God for air conditioning. Despite us having only a thin white cotton sheet over us, my boy wrapped around me was like having an electric blanket switched on. But I wouldn't have had it any other way. Spending an entire week without seeing him had taken a toll on my emotions. I'd missed him like crazy.

 

All things in life have a price, and the following morning I had to pay for my idleness of the previous night. It was in the shower after Ashton had naughtily woken me up at seven-thirty because just looking at me wasn't enough for him.

 

Because it was a shared bathroom, we couldn't mess about, so while the cool water was running over us as we were lodged in the small shower cubicle, with my boy hanging from my neck and his legs wrapped around my waist as he lowered himself onto me, he made me fuck him. Pederasty for Dummies would have a section on `shower fucking', but they should contact me before proofing it. For it to be successful: your boy must be small and lightweight enough for you to handle easily, and he must also be very agile. My Ashton filled both those requirements. In fact, once I'd hiked him up and lowered him onto me, I hardly had to do anything. He did the work down there by clenching his buttocks while I concentrated on kissing his luscious mouth, and in no time at all I was filling his insides with my man-cream. To his delight, of course... and with a giggle afterwards when he told me how good he was getting to be at this sex stuff. Then it was his turn, completed with me on my knees and his dick in the back of my throat until he rewarded me with his boy nectar, which I could still taste as I was eating my cornflakes at breakfast. Boy nectar and cornflakes. I can highly recommend it to you readers. Trust me... it's delicious, especially when the boy who has produced the nectar can't stop giggling at breakfast because he's remembering what happened after. The silly bugger had forgotten to lock the bathroom door and we'd been disturbed by his mother, who hurriedly apologized and make a quick exit, but not before telling us to hurry because she needed to use the bathroom. Fortunately, we were on the actual washing stage and had not been caught in the act. LOL.

 

On the beach. It was already filled with regulars when we got to it loaded up with all the paraphernalia of Sun Worshippers, and we had to bag a place just across the road from the apartment, in a small space between the rocks that allowed us to erect a sun shade and have enough room for four of us to lie in the sun. But the beauty of having a place right by where we were camped out was that we could slip across to the apartment for anything we needed. That's why we hadn't bothered to bring any food... just plenty to drink and lots of suncream.

 

Suncream. What delightful stuff that is! It's a conduit to sensuality. But be careful! Applying it liberally to a fifteen and a half year old boy has consequences, especially when you discover why his tan lines are so high on his lower half and so low on his upper half. Ashton's swim trunks were the type that were much like the boxers I bought for him: snug and tight and very fetching. The next stage would have been speedos, but boys his age in 2010 wouldn't be seen dead in speedos. So boys his age wore two kinds of swimwear: baggy things that went to the knees, or if they were sexy little buggers like my Ashton, they were as I've described them: swimwear that revealed his sexy little body in all its glory.

 

And it was to that sexy little body that I applied liberal applications of suncream. At his insistence, of course! Thank God his mother and Olga knew him well, because they just ignored us as they lay stretched out side by side. With his hands above his head and his legs slightly apart as he lay on his beach towel, I did his back first. It was beautiful... like having sex in the open. So, legitimately, I fondled every part of my beautiful young man under the pretence that I was protecting him from the sun. And there was suncream on his swimming trunks before he turned over. No way could I not have fondled his delicious orbs. But the real fun was about to begin.

 

He had a permanent grin on his face while I `protected' his front... and a permanent erection, and to be quite honest, I was glad when I'd finished the task, because only then could I tell him to move his arse and be decent. For my reward, he giggled like schoolgirl and ordered me to lie on my belly while he applied the suncream to my back and legs. But I outright refused to allow him to do my front, and that was because I'd noticed that we'd attracted attention.

 

Attracted attention. That attraction came in various guises. For a start, there was a woman with a young family not far away who had been giving us the evil eye. She was disgusted at our behaviour. In fact it was as clear as the nose on her face that she was homophobic, and I hadn't missed the sly comments she made to her husband, who then tried to look at us without looking, if you know what I mean. But that's when I had to stifle a giggle. The look on his face wasn't one of disgust. In fact, he couldn't keep his eyes off my Crisp Buddy. Gotcha! He couldn't fool me. Well, it takes one to know one, and because I was myself going through a boyloving stage with Ashton at the time, he and I shared similar feelings for sexy young trollops like my Crisp Buddy. But I didn't say anything to Ashton. I'm one of those folk who often keep my people-watching thoughts to myself.

 

And that first day on the beach became a day of discovery for me. You try it readers! Take a beautiful unclad boy to a beach with lots of folk on it, and look out for those who can't keep their eyes off him. Of course, always pretending that they're not looking at him! They come in all shapes and sizes. By Tuesday I was beginning to count the members of his fan club. Maybe our fan club? Yes, I didn't miss the knowing looks I was getting from a few men. Most of them were in their late thirties/early forties, but a few were over fifties. Although we never did anything inappropriate on the beach, by the way Ashton acted when we were together and because he'd found liberation in the Portuguese age of consent of fourteen, it must have been obvious to those who were interested that we were an item. And it was Tuesday night when, after we'd had our sexy time when we went to bed that Ashton revealed that he, too, was aware of the attraction we were generating. He began with, "You fancy that tall, slim lad, don't you?"

 

I pretended I didn't know what he was talking about. (I knew exactly who he meant... a lovely, shapely eighteen year old or thereabouts who I thought was French and who had been giving me the eye all day.) "Who would that be?" I asked.

 

Ashton giggled. "The same one I wouldn't mind going to bed with if I didn't have Shrek. The French boy. Do you know what his name is?"

 

I continued the pretence. "I don't know what you're talking about. Which French boy?"

 

Ashton cuddled into me and gurgled with laughter. "Liar! Anyway, I can put you out of your misery. He was in the restaurant tonight as if you didn't know, and his name is Pierre. That's what his mother called him. He really fancies you! I saw him looking at you when we were on the beach. He'd got a hard on all the time he was looking at you."

 

I chuckled. "You've got a vivid imagination. I don't know what you're talking about. Anyway, look who's talking! You've got your own fan club out there, and they range in age from ten year olds to seventy year olds. Mind you, I'm not surprised. You flaunt yourself like a tart when you've got nothing on."

 

Ashton put his arms around my neck in the usual position, grinned into my eyes, and said, "Are you jealous?"

 

I put our noses together and inhaled his warm breath. "I'd only be jealous if you were with somebody else."

 

Ashton kissed me. "That's lovely. I'd be the same. I've enjoyed watching that Pierre swooning over you. He's got great taste. If he's on the beach tomorrow, I'm going to make proper friends with him. He's already spoken to me."

 

I was surprised at his comment, and drew my face back to look at him properly. "Proper friends? You've already spoken to him? When? I didn't see you. What did you talk about?"

 

Ashton chuckled again. "When you were dozing this afternoon. I went and had a dip in the sea. He came in and we sort of got talking a bit. He can speak English. He said the sea was cold. I asked him how long he'd been here. He says this is his second week and they're going home on Friday. I asked him whereabouts in France he lived. He said he lives in Calais, and they come down here every year. Then he asked if you were my dad. I laughed and told him you weren't old enough to be my dad. I told him you were my special friend."

 

"Your special friend? You daft bugger! He'll know what you meant when you said that!"

 

Ashton couldn't stop giggling when he said, "That isn't all I told him."

 

"What else did you tell him?"

 

"Just that I was going to marry you one day."

 

"Liar!"

 

"Who's a liar? I am going to marry you one day! Don't you want to marry me? It's almost legal now."

 

"Never mind that! I meant that you didn't tell him that we were going to get married!"

 

Ashton snuggled into me. "Well, I didn't quite tell him we were going to get married, but I did tell him that you loved fucking me."

 

By then I knew Ashton was winding me up, and as I've told you before, I love my Ashton for his wonderful sense of humour. It was obvious in his laughing eyes the very first time I looked into them, and everything he did after that pretty much had a humorous side to it. I hugged him a bit tighter and grinned to myself. Then I decided to tease him. "See if you can fix me up with Pierre. He's got a lovely bottom."

 

"I will. But you'll have to wait your turn. I want him first."

 

"You've got no chance. He likes older men like me. Big men who will dominate him. He's a Princess Fiona like you. I'll fix you up with Ginger."

 

Ashton lifted his head and looked quizzically into my eyes. "Ginger?"

 

I nodded. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed Ginger! The English bloke with the pot belly... the bloke who wears those baggy green Bermuda shorts who's always got a hard on whenever he walks past us. He even took some photographs of you today. I saw him pretending to take photos of the beach, but when you stood up, he swivelled and took some of you. You'll be in his bed tonight."

 

I thought Ashton would be disgusted at what I'd said, but he wasn't. Instead, he grinned and said, "That's nice. I'm becoming a porn star. I saw three more blokes taking pictures of me today. I'm used to them. They've been doing it here ever since I was about ten years old to my knowledge." He gave me a gentle kiss on the lips. "As long as they're gentle with me then I don't mind."

 

"And if they're not?"

 

Ashton took in a deep breath, and then sighed, "Then I'll just lie here in your arms where nobody can hurt me."

 

That's when the tables were turned. I hugged my wonderful young man into me and sobbed my heart out. While I was doing it, Ashton clung to me like a leech, and when it was over, he kissed away my tears and told me that he loved me so much that it hurt. What could I do after that except love him and love him and love him until he eventually drifted off to sleep. Then more tears from me as I pushed Ashton away from me so I could study him. Awake he was magnificent in his vibrant persona, but when he was asleep he was transformed into a sleeping beauty. I traced my forefinger over his delicate features; his soft cheeks; his long dark eyelashes; his cute nose, and along those sexy, pouted lips. More than anything in the world then I wanted his dreams to be peaceful ones of love and not be spoiled by those awful memories that he would never be able to forget. Olga and his counsellor had taught him to put everything into little boxes and only open the bad ones when he felt he was capable of dealing with the contents. He had opened a bad box slightly that night. I had unwittingly led him to do so. But my beautiful Ashton had been able to deal with the seepage. "Then I'll just lie here in your arms where nobody can hurt me." I had become the means to refasten the box, but I suspected that it wouldn't take a lot for Ashton to slip back into the dark world he once inherited. I had to be vigilant at all times, and most important of all, I had to protect him against people like his father. That was the night when the true nature of my responsibilities to Ashton became clear to me; the night when I really understood what being an adult meant.

 

Try as I might after those troubled thoughts, I couldn't sleep, so I got out of bed, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and pullover, and crept quietly downstairs so as not to wake anyone. On the occasional table was a half bottle of red wine that hadn't been put away, so I poured myself a large glass and went through the doors and sat on the patio, looking at the sea. The air conditioning had been needed in the bedroom, but out there the cool breeze blowing in from the sea lent a chill to the air, and I was glad I'd put a pullover on. I wanted to play some Freddie Mercury to go with my melancholy mood, but the faint sounds from the town and the sound of the sea were my only comforts as I recalled every detail from the moment I met Ashton. A chance meeting; a shared affection, blossoming into the love affair we had then. That in itself was a miracle to me, but the greatest miracle of all was the responsibility I'd inherited. Responsibility is not a burden, it's the greatest joy one can have if the responsibility is to someone you love deeply, and I wasn't frightened of taking on that responsibility. What scared me was whether I was capable of acting responsible enough. Pederasty for Dummies cannot deal with that. Experience of life is the only way to understand responsibility, but I was learning fast. And then I had some assistance.

 

I heard a sound behind me, and Ashton, wearing my Shrek t-shirt, which, on him reached down to his knees, came onto the patio rubbing his sleepy eyes. "What are you doing," he asked.

 

I reached out a hand to him; he took it; I drew him to me and pulled him onto my lap, and then folded him into my arms to keep him warm. I kissed his forehead. "Nothing much. Just thinking."

 

"About me?"

 

I nodded. "And about us."

 

"What about us? Is it because we mentioned somebody hurting me earlier?"

 

I hugged him. "Yes, and I was thinking how I could make sure nobody ever hurts you again."

 

"Those men taking photos of me doesn't hurt me. I see it as doing them a favour. If it makes them happy to have me in their naughty thoughts, then what harm does it do?" Then he got off my knee. "Wait here. I'm going to put something warmer on. It's not very warm out here." He was a while upstairs, and when he came down he was wearing a red mohair pullover and his red chinos. When I looked at him, he smiled and held out a hand. "Come on. Let's go for a walk."

 

"For a walk?"

 

"Yes. Let's go sit on the rocks and look at the sea." He grinned. "It will be romantic. I've got my Ipod with me. We can listen to some sexy music and you can do me again. Grab a couple of coats we can sit on. Those rocks are murder on your arse."

 

We found the perfect spot, in a small recess facing the sea but where we couldn't be seen from the road, and it was there where I put the two coats down so we could sit on them, me leaning back against a rock and Ashton between my legs leaning back into me. I thought he was serious when he said he wanted me to do him again, but that wasn't what Ashton wanted at all. What he wanted was for us to be together and just talk and listen to some music. He even insisted I listen to some of his rap music, and we had fun arguing about it. He asked me what I wanted him to do when he grew older, and I told him that whatever he decided he wanted to do, it was fine with me. So he made me laugh by pointing to a bright star and said he wanted to be spaceman. Then I looked at my watch and because it was almost two in the morning, I said it was time to be getting back to bed. Of course, that made him giggle, and he said it was about time we got to the sex bit. I laughed, and was about to get up and pull him to his feet when he stopped me, half-turned and looked right into my eyes. Then he kissed me softly on the lips, and said, "Not yet. I want to play one more song. I downloaded it while you were back at home. It made me cry when I played it. I want you to promise me you'll do what it says in the song."

 

I was intrigued. "And what is it?"

 

"Have you ever seen the film, Stand By Me?"

 

"Yes. Have you?"

 

Ashton nodded. "Yes. It made me cry. So will you?"

 

"Will I what?"

 

"Stand by me. Is that what you were thinking about when you went downstairs?"

 

"How did you know?"

 

Ashton shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't, but I knew you weren't happy when I fell asleep. I won't blame you if I'm too complicated. Olga always said it would have to be somebody special to understand me. I was hoping it would be you."

 

More tears as I hugged him to me and said, "Play the bloody song and I'll show you whether I'm special enough."

 

So, while we were wrapped in each other's arms and loving each other under the stars with the sound of the surf gently washing against the shore, we did it to Stand By Me. It was beyond beautiful: it was heavenly love that comes to very few people like us. Did I cry? Of course I did! I'm an `old' softy. But my Crisp Buddy sobbed with me. Why should we not shed tears when they're the most beautiful tears one can shed: Tears of Love! Shared, beautiful love between a boy who needed a man to love him, and that man who is both his mentor and lover.

 

(I'll give you a short break here readers so you can listen to the song and get the gist of what was happening. Love and responsibility and mentoring the boy you love is a wonderful thing, especially when he plays a song like this to bring it all home to you.)

 

Then we went to bed and he made me wank him off before we went to sleep properly, giggling as we usually did, especially when Ashton said our song should be stand up for me, referring to my refusal to let him wank me off because it was so late. But that was my Ashton. One moment he was a complicated child who could reduce me to tears, and the next he was a trollop who could make me laugh. Would you not love him? I wish you could have known him back then. He would have led you a merry dance I can tell you, but if you're a big softy like me, then he would have broken your heart a few times, and it wouldn't have been because he had run off with somebody else. All he needed to do to break my heart was look right into my eyes and tell me he loved me. That's why Love Hurts. Now see if you buggers can keep your eyes dry after listening to that song! I know I'm in tears here myself while I'm telling you about me and Ashton and thinking about those times with my wonderful, gorgeous, complicated, special young man.

 

But it's not over yet. There's lots more I need to tell you about me and my wonderful Crisp Buddy, and I guarantee that you'll shed a few more tears when I do. But you'll laugh as well. Never a dull moment with my Ashton Johnson I can tell you! LOL.    

 

To be continued... 

 

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.