Date: Sat, 12 Nov 2016 23:42:02 +0000
From: Zack McNaught <zackmcnaught@hotmail.com>
Subject: Milo and Me

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The following story is set in the 1980s in England, and so
should be understood through the filter of societal attitudes to both gay
men and the safety of young children around unrelated adults. These days
what's described here could never happen, because the boy would never be
left alone with the protagonist, and the boy's struggle with his own
sexuality would be tempered by a society which - despite still having a
long way to go regarding alternative sexuality - has come a long way, too.

Before I allow you to get on with reading the story... If you have it in
your power to do so, please donate to keep Nifty running. Without donations
from readers, Nifty will be gone, and you'll no longer have access to
thousands of stories lovingly crafted by authors such as myself, and given
to you without the expectation of any reward.

(c) 2016 Zack McNaught


Milo and Me

His name was Milo, he was ten (nearly eleven, as he was keen to point out),
and I thought his head was a little bit big for his body. Skinny shoulders
and a bit of a pigeon chest, but solid hips, so his backside was nicely
rounded. Not plump. Rounded. Perfect. And the prettiest face, like a little
elf, with shining blue eyes.

These were the only things I knew about him at the end of the first day's
filming. More time would bring more detail, but for that evening I was
content. I had seen him, been introduced to him, even made him laugh a
couple of times, and that was enough to be going on with.

He was an actor. Still is. Made it reasonably big, though we don't really
stay in touch any more. Does a few TV dramas a year, mostly period
stuff. Didn't think he had the face for it at first, but then he grew out
of the cute little lad look into something far more handsome. Shame, from
my point of view.

I knew there would be a lad in the adaptation of my book. There had to be,
because I wouldn't have passed the script without it. I was prepared to
fight that if they'd written the character out, and had prepared all sorts
of excuses for reasons which didn't focus on simply wanting a cute boy in
the flick. But in the end they went with the central conceit of the book
and told the story from the boy's point of view, so I didn't have to risk
exposing my true motivations.

I don't really understand why the book was so popular, and how it came to
be adapted into a film. It was a story my grandfather had wheeled out from
time to time, of the foiling of a German plot by a group of plucky Home
Guard recruits during the Second World War. It had always fascinated me as
a kid, and as an adult - and an author - I decided to write a dramatised
version of the story simply for my own pleasure. I had it published online,
and it almost instantly outsold pretty much everything else I'd written put
together. I never understood why that might be, but I wasn't ungrateful.

Which is how I ended up on a sunny stretch of the Dorset coastline for six
weeks one summer while we filmed it for the small screen. I was officially
an executive producer, but mostly I was there to consult on the storyline,
and add any little details I could think of as things went along. I'd
already been paid when they bought the rights, and there would be royalties
to come later, not to mention more sales of the book, so the production
company weren't paying me anything. They were, however, putting me up in a
bed and breakfast with some of the crew, and a few of the cast.

Including, as it turned out, Milo himself. I was really taken with the
kid. He had such big blue eyes, and a warm smile, but with a hint of irony
in it. Immediately I could see that his intellect exceeded his years, and I
liked that. He seemed very knowing, and the look he gave me when we first
met seemed to cut through me as if to say "I know you, I know what you're
thinking, and if you think you're getting into my pants, think again."

Of course I wanted to get in his pants. I'm a lover of boys, especially at
that age, especially when they're pixie-cute and bright into the mix. Add
in Milo's powerful personality, and I was utterly smitten. I didn't think
there was the smallest chance anything could happen between us, but just
spending that amount of time with him was going to be golden.

It was a beautiful summer, I recall. Actually, it probably rained as much
as it always does, and was probably not quite as warm as anyone would have
liked, but I remember the sun shining every day, lending a golden quality
to the air. I remember the scent of the flowers in the garden of the
cottage where most of the filming took place. I remember the laughter we
had, and sitting drinking a beer with some of the production team, and the
director telling me he couldn't remember ever having such luck with the
weather. Perhaps it really was that wonderful, after all.

But the weather was only part of the reason I remember the summer so
fondly. In the main, it was Milo who made it so amazing. We were, I think,
in love at one point, though with the speed at which young minds develop,
perhaps he was no longer in love with me in the end. Certainly had a crush
on me, I know that for sure. Strange that such a young boy should have such
feelings for someone so much older than himself, but he's told me since how
he felt at the time, and I believe him.

I wasn't a terrible catch, to be fair. My writing career had started
relatively early, as these things do, so I wasn't really that old by the
time I met him. Late twenties, as a matter of fact. I'm fairly good-looking
by all accounts, and at that time I was still a fairly active cyclist, so
middle-aged spread hadn't ruined my physique. And I was successful and
(though I say so myself) moderately charismatic, and I think the package as
a whole might have been attractive to a young boy whose budding hormones
have found themselves whizzing round a body which seemed to react more to
men than women. To put it bluntly, a boy who, though he probably doesn't
yet realise it, is on his way to becoming a gay man.

And it all started with a chance encounter which I in no way engineered. If
I'd managed to plan the event and pull it off, I would have been proud of
myself, but the truth was that the incident which sparked everything was
entirely coincidental.

--

The production team was pretty big - thirty five or forty of us at times,
somewhat fewer on other days. This meant certain facilities had to be
provided, such a catering and toilets. I've ended up working on a few other
TV projects over the years, as a result of my first encounter, and I don't
ever remember there being as good a set-up as that first time. More often
than not, what gets delivered for the crew is a row of three or four
odorous Portaloos, but for once something special was laid on - a trailer
which had a proper trough urinal, as well as a coupe of stalls, and a
separate trailer for the ladies. Both had actual sinks and hand towel
dispensers.

You may well wonder why I was so obsessed with such a small detail, but it
was that consideration, that extra expense, that little piece of luxury,
which meant that for the first time in a long time I saw a real, live boy's
penis.

Milo's penis.

I hadn't intended to stalk him just to perv at him in the gents. It didn't
even occur to me, though in the intervening years it certainly has, time
and time again. But that week was the first time I twigged the potential of
the communal toilet, believe it or not.

It just happened that I felt the call of nature, and as I rounded the
corner to the trailer, he was just going up the steps ahead of me. I didn't
really think anything of it, though I did admire his beautiful bottom in
those tight, period costume shorts.

He was already at the trough, unzipped and with a healthy stream flooding
out when I arrived on the scene. He glanced round and gave me an
un-self-conscious smile, which I returned. Only when I had unzipped myself,
and stepped right up to the trough, did I realise that by simply shifting
my gaze to the left I might actually see his dick.

And there it was. Pretty small, as you would expect. A pale pink nozzle
sticking out of his trousers, with a great long overhang of foreskin
through which a golden shaft flowed, glittering in a shaft of sunlight
which improbably filtered down through a roof-mounted vent.

God, it was perfect. I couldn't even see all of it, yet I knew. Probably a
couple of inches long, I guessed, and totally soft, of course. A little
bulge around it indicated the trailing end of his head, and a blue vein was
clearly visible on one side, branching into a little maze of capillaries.

I don't know how long I stood and stared. It might have been a minute, but
was almost certainly a lot less than that. But it was enough, my God it was
enough. If I never saw it for another second in my whole life, it was
enough to sustain me. Then it was gone, and so was he, and I felt a pang of
guilt, in case he'd seen me staring. He left without washing his hands - he
was a young boy, of course, and they all do - and I stood there not quite
realising that I'd finished.

When I did notice, I also felt the hammering in my chest and the lightness
in my head. In a daze I reeled into a stall and slammed the door behind me,
slumping heavily onto the seat. My dick was still hanging out of my fly,
and I intended to shove it away, but when my fingers made contact I felt a
jolt of electricity, and my brain finally caught up. I was turned on beyond
belief, and now that I had come down far enough to realise it, my body
rapidly responded. I was shaking all over, pumped full of adrenaline, and
suddenly as painfully stiff as I remember getting when I was Milo's age,
but hadn't experienced in years. This was true lust. I didn't have to coax
myself into life, I didn't have to warm myself up with fantasies, and lurid
imagery. I simply needed to shut my eyes, recall the vision of him, and let
my orgasm overwhelm me.

I sat for a long time afterwards, letting my heartbeat return to normal, my
manhood slowly deflate until it looked respectable inside my trousers.

As I stepped down out of the trailer and realised that I had gone
undetected, I also realised that I had been very wrong about one thing:
getting a look at him once wasn't going to be enough. I was addicted, and I
needed more.

--

Despite my best efforts, though, casually bumping into Milo in the loos
turned out to be nearly impossible. I tried to learn his routines, tried to
work out when he might go, but I just couldn't seem to get it right. Things
kept getting in my way, and it seemed the harder I tried, the more
frequently I was thwarted. I began to feel as though there was a master
plan to stop me; my desperation had morphed into paranoia, and painful
degrees of self-loathing. I caught myself acting like a stalker, a true
pervert, and admonished myself, only to fall into the same patterns of
behaviour over and over again.

Once, I overheard him telling his minder that he was off to the loo, and I
tried to head off in the other direction and circle back, but I was
intercepted by the director about something utterly trivial, which could
have waited, and by the time I'd disengaged myself, Milo was already
walking back toward us.

On another occasion, I walked out of the gents just as he was about to walk
in. He waited for me at the bottom of the steps, and grinned at me when I
thanked him, his eyes full of life. I walked away, cursing my luck at
having been twenty seconds too early. Such tiny margins, such enormous
consequences.

By the third day of this I was going out of my mind, and so when Milo just
casually strolled across the lawn of the cottage where we were filming, and
sat down next to me on the wrought iron bench from where I was regarding
proceedings, I was so highly strung that I had to force down the urge to
shout at him for not conveniently showing himself off to me!

But calm myself I did, and tried to engage him in conversation. That turned
out to be the best idea I'd had in a very long time.

"How's it going?" I opened with. Seemed a fairly safe way to start.

"Oh, it's alright. I get bored of all the waiting around, though."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Still, beats being in school, right."

He shook his head.

"Summer holidays," he explained. "Should be playing football in the park
with my mates, but I'm doing this."

He didn't seem thrilled by the idea of acting for the summer instead, and
in a big-budget production to boot, but I could kind of understand. Of
course he wanted to be there, it was just that he would rather have been
somewhere else.

"Well, I'm sure it must be good for an aspiring actor like yourself to be
working with one of the greats."

I was referring to the star of the show, a veteran actor who was a very big
fish in our very insignificant pond, and whom I won't name out of respect.

"Oh yeah, he's really good. He's been teaching me acting stuff..."

He left the sentence hanging, as if there was much more to say.

"But?" I prompted, eager for a little gossip. He stared at the house for a
moment before turning and looking me straight in the eye, and flooring me.

"Well, he's a pervert."

"What?!"

"He touched my bum. Did it a couple of times. I imagine he wants to touch
my willy, too."

"Oh, my God," I said, trying to act like the shocked, responsible adult
looking out for his welfare whilst all the time fantasising about doing the
very same. "Shouldn't we tell someone?"

"What, and ruin the shoot? I'm a pro now, Mr McNaught. It doesn't matter
really, he was only touching it a bit, while he told me how to say a couple
of my lines. I don't mind that much. It's not like he put his hand down my
pants or anything, and I make sure I'm not alone with him for too
long. Anyway, if we have to tell someone about that, we'll have to tell
them you looked at my willy in the bog the other day."

I glanced around nervously as ice filled my veins. We were out of earshot
of the other crew members, though.

He'd seen! I thought I'd been so careful, but he'd seen! Fucking hell, this
could be the end of me.

But he was smiling, not frowning. Carefree, not burdened with negative
feelings.

"It's OK, though, because I looked at yours too, so we're even."

I stared at him, mouth open, not quite sure how to respond. What do you say
to that?

"Did you like it?" I countered, weakly.

He shrugged. Of course he didn't like it, he's a ten year old boy, for
fuck's sake! Stupid fucking question.

"It's a bit wrinkly, isn't it?" he answered with a smirk. "And you have so
much hair down there it gets in the way."

"And I suppose you shave all yours off, do you?" I quipped back
automatically, without even thinking about it.

"No, dummy," he said, rolling his eyes, "I'm ten, remember. I don't have
hair down there."

"Oh yeah. Of course. Look, Milo, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have looked. You're
not going to tell anyone, are you?"

He shook his head and smiled.

"Course not! Anyway, I -"

But he never got to finish the sentence. The producer's voice rang out like
a bell from the house, and Milo shot off to record his lines before he got
shouted at for going missing.

--

I had a lot to think about that night. I went out to the pub with the
others, of course, but hardly touched my pint, and left on my own, early. I
walked slowly through the late evening, the very last remnants of the sun's
light seeing me safely back to the B 'n' B.

In those days, you usually had to be in before a certain time when staying
in a bed and breakfast. In fact, even now that sometimes happens. It's just
one of those oddly British things - a service industry where you really
ought not to expect any service. Guests weren't welcomed, they were merely
tolerated. But we'd so thoroughly booked the place out that the owner had
despaired, and told us that all curfews were off, and that there was a key
under the mat, and God help us if anything went wrong after dark because we
were on our own. So I was expecting no kind of welcome when I returned to
the house, which sat on a rise overlooking a bay. It stood darkly against
the sky, and was unlit except for the orange glow emanating from the common
room.

For those of you unfamiliar with the idea, the common room was a space
where the inhabitants could get out of their bedrooms and mingle a
little. It usually had a few sofas, a television and a bookcase full of
whatever books the previous residents had left behind, augmenting a
collection which had usually come wholesale from a house
clearance. Terrible romantic fiction and appalling spy stories often
featured heavily in those collections.

I found the key in its promised location and let myself in, holding the
door open with my foot to stop it closing behind me as I replaced the key
under the mat. Out of vague interest, and nothing more, I popped my head
into the common room to see who was about, and to my delight found that it
was Milo, and no-one else. He was alone, reading a book on the sofa, feet
up by his bum. He wore soft cotton short pyjamas, which left a bit of a
bulge pushing out between his thighs. He was so engrossed that at first he
didn't spot me, but when the door creaked slightly at the end of its travel
he looked up guiltily.

"Oh, it's only you!"

"Yeah, only me. Came back from the pub early."

"I came down here to read. I'm not really meant to leave my room without
Marie with me, but I think she went to sleep already. I didn't want to read
up there, my room stinks."

Marie was his `handler', for want of a better word. Chaperone, perhaps. She
was nice enough, but I think Milo felt stifled by her, and the requirement
that he was constantly under her supervision. That at least explained why,
during our six week shoot he escaped from her as often as he could. That
was helped by the fact that Marie didn't exactly take her duties seriously.

"Why do you think your room smells? What of?"

He shrugged.

"Don't know. Just doesn't smell nice."

"Well, nicer to read down here anyway. Not so cramped."

"Yep," he smiled, stretching his legs out to demonstrate, and in the
process highlighting the bulge in the front of his pyjama shorts. My eyes
went to it like a magnet, and when I looked up at his face, he was staring
at me with an unreadable expression.

"Anyway, mate, I'm going up to bed. Need an early night."

"OK," he replied. "Um, Zack, could you not tell Marie I was down here?"

"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."

"Just like yours is with me!" he smiled, as the door closed behind me.

I didn't have to go back and ask him what he meant by that. Once again he'd
caught me staring, and he knew exactly why. He was even more perceptive
than I had given him credit for.

--

The next day it was as if the Devil himself was controlling the
weather. Thick overnight fog burned off by mid-morning, to be replaced by
blinding sunshine, so we could start shooting at last. That only lasted an
hour or two, before the heat of the day started playing havoc with the kit,
which wasn't really used to the temperature range. So we had another break
of a couple of hours, by which time the thunder clouds had rolled in and
effectively finished off the day at four.

When the downpour hit, I was near the trailer we used for costume, and
having nowhere else nearby to shelter, I ducked into there. Madeleine, the
costumier, looked up and gave me a smile.

"You're welcome to wait it out in here if you want," she said as the rain
hammered heavily on the thin wooden roof of the hut. She disappeared in to
the endless racks at the back. I shouted my thanks after her, but I'm not
sure she heard.

A moment later the door banged open, and a trio of actors stumbled through
the door, soaked to the skin. Among them was Milo, looking every bit the
archetypal drowned rat.

"Right, let's get changed and head back to the house," one of them said to
the others. "Shooting's over for the day."

They all disappeared into the curtained-off sections where they changed in
the morning, and my heartbeat struggled to return to a normal level as I
realised that I wasn't going to see Milo get changed after all.

The two adults were the quickest to get done, and disappeared past me and
out into the afternoon with a slight nod. The rain had slackened off
slightly, but they both still had to cover their heads and run, presumably
through the rain to their car. I did wonder what had happened to Marie, and
whether she would be desperately searching for Milo, but at the moment I
didn't care all that much.

What I did care about was the fact that just the other side of the curtain,
Milo was getting changed. I knew there was little chance he would get
naked, but I'd love to have seen him anyway. But no matter how I peered
this way and that, without pulling back the curtain there was no way I
could see anything.

I realised he was taking an awfully long time getting changed. There was
the occasional huff from behind the curtain, and though I imagined a world
where those huffs were the sounds made by a boy enjoying his toy, I knew
that wasn't really the case. He huffed a couple more times, and then his
head poked around the curtain.

"Oh, Zack, you're here." He sounded a bit surprised, but not unhappy to see
me. "The zip is stuck on my shorts, can you help me?"

"Oh! Sure..."

I tried my hardest to sound calm and relaxed, as if this was no big deal,
but even in those two words I managed to stumble. He pulled the curtain
aside for me, and when I'd stepped inside he pulled it shut behind me. I
knew I shouldn't have been in there with him, but I couldn't stop myself
taking the chance. I wanted to desperately to see more of him.

He was dressed only in the shorts, his shirt lying in a wet mass on the
floor. God, he was a skinny little bugger. So lean that it almost looked
too much. Tiny, pale pink nipples standing out like grains of rice, his
skin covered in goosebumps. Dark hair, still wet, plastered to his
forehead. He stood with his arms wrapped around himself, shivering
slightly, looking down at himself, apparently waiting to be helped.

I knelt reverentially, my heart hammering in my chest and my head swimming
with a sudden influx of adrenaline. I could feel the pulse in the side of
my head, could almost see it in the way my vision jumped. What kind of a
mess would I be in if something real happened between us?

I remember the feel of the damp cloth of the fly beneath my fingers, surely
so coarse that the material shouldn't have been used to dress something so
delicate as this boy. I looked down to where the hem of the shorts was
rolled up, and his little chicken legs sticking out of the bottom. A proper
little lad.

He watched over me as I pulled the flap aside to reveal the chunky, rather
worn-looking zip. I could see the problem straight away - the material was
caught in the runner - but as I tugged on it, I seemed to be having little
effect.

"See," he whispered, "really stuck."

"Mmm-hmm," I replied, applying a little more force, rocking the zip back
and forth. I was genuinely trying to solve the problem, but I was also
distinctly aware of a small, quite firm little bulge sitting behind the
metal of the fly. I guessed he was in y-fronts, because back then that's
what all boys wore.

Eventually, and somewhat to my dismay, the zip gave, and slid down the rest
of the way with a growl. Immediately what had been caged behind it sprang
out - Milo's little dick, probably not hard yet but well on the way, made a
distinct bulge in the front of what turned out to be very low cut y-fronts,
which themselves were wet from the deluge.

He gasped slightly and pulled away, bending at his hips in an attempt to
cover it up. It was a bit late for that, but I could sense his
embarrassment, and I felt for the lad, so saying, "There, fixed," as calmly
as I could, I turned and got the hell out of there.

Suffocating in the heat of the trailer, I rushed outside into what was once
again bright sunshine. Marie was coming the other way, asking if I'd seen
Milo.

"He might be in the changing rooms. I think I saw him heading that way," I
called over my shoulder, as I rushed away, hoping just to be clear of the
area before the shit hit the fan.

--

I didn't see him that evening. Not that the opportunity wasn't available to
me, more that I didn't want to find out whether it was or not. I hid,
complaining of stomach pains, and lay on my bed analysing, and dreading
what might come of the little encounter.

In hindsight, what did I really do wrong? I helped Milo out, and nothing
inappropriate happened, at least from my side. Yes, he'd got an erection,
but boys do, it happens for all sorts of reasons, and I didn't make it
happen deliberately.

However, that night, when it was just me on my own and the event was all
too real in my mind, I lay on my bed and panicked. No matter how hard I
tried to rationalise it to myself that night, I knew that if Milo told
anyone what had happened that I would be in deep shit.

I didn't even think for a minute that he would be far too embarrassed to
tell anyone. It didn't occur to me that he might be sitting in his own room
feeling terribly ashamed at what went on in that changing cubicle. That's
how self-centred I was - I didn't even stop to wonder whether he was OK
after it all. I'm not sure how I would have gone about checking that he was
alright, and reassuring him that it was fine without making the situation a
great deal worse for him, of course. That wasn't really a speciality of
mine. Is it a speciality of anyone? Not much call for it in everyday life,
reassuring the boy who's just got an erection in front of you that it's
perfectly normal. Much easier to brush it under the carpet.

Of course, I wasn't thinking any of those things. I was waiting for the
bang on the door, the local constabulary bursting through, arresting me. I
was thinking about the headline in the grubby local newspaper, and then the
bigger headlines in the national press. I was in the spotlight enough that
they would definitely have reported it. Some smug little constable would
get a backhander for leaking the story, and my name would be mud by
morning.

I agonised back and forth and eventually slipped into a fitful slumber. At
some point during the darkest hours of the night I woke drenched in sweat,
and groaned as I felt wetness at my groin. I reached down and felt the
sticky mess, and as my hand grazed against the still-swollen mass of my
dick, the dream suddenly came back to me. Kneeling in front of the boy,
pulling down his pants as well as his zip, watching his hard little spike
bounce free. I had been dreaming of sucking him when I came, and when I
recalled the image my mind had created, I felt myself stiffen despite my
recent emission. Only another orgasm was enough to let me slip back to
sleep. This time, I slept deeply until woken by the morning sunlight.

--

If Milo was bothered by what had happened the previous afternoon, he didn't
show it.  As I made the half mile walk along the coast path to the set, he
bounded up behind me and gave me a playful shove, then walked along with
me, chattering happily. He'd once again escaped Marie, by getting up and
out before she had, and was gleeful in the knowledge that she would be
panicking about where he had got to.

I was far less energetic than he, given my restless night, but was quite
content to let him carry the conversation. He chatted about the filming,
about the upcoming World Cup, about everything on his mind, and he strung
it all together effortlessly.

"I know a secret," he said at one point, gleeful at the knowledge.

"Oh yes? What is it?"

"Can't tell you."

"Well, then why did you bring it up."

"Dunno... OK, I'll tell you, but you can't tell anyone else, OK?"

"Sure."

"Marie's bonking Martin, the cameraman!"

At the revelation of his little gem, Milo doubled over in laughter, unable
to contain his mirth at the very thought of two people having sex.

"How'd you know?"

"I saw him going into her room last night. They must be doing it, right?"

"Probably," I grinned. "Still, people do it all the time."

"Yeah, I know. Don't think I want to do it though," he replied, though the
little subconscious tug he gave the lump in the front of his shorts
suggested otherwise.

"I'm surprised you know what it is they're doing," I said, trying to tease
out of him just how much he knew about sex. As it would turn out, quite a
lot.

"My dad's a doctor. He's got all these books in his study about stuff like
that. There's this one called The Joy of Sex."

I was slightly taken aback, though I suppose there was good reason for a
doctor to need to know how to advise people in certain areas. The book
itself had been out for more than a decade by that point, but it was still
pretty unusual for most people to have seen it. As it happened, I'd sampled
the pleasures of its contents at university, when a battered old copy was
handed around. Despite its focus on hetero sex, it still proved to offer
some very interesting insights for a gay man, and even for the average
boylover. I had no idea that rimming was even a possibility until I read
that book, but if there's one thing guaranteed to shock and delight a young
boy in equal measure, it's having your tongue up their jacksie.

"So you've read the book have you?" I asked, fishing for more details. My
heart thundered in my chest at the possibility of finding out a little more
about Milo's budding sex drive.

"Yeah, but some of it looked pretty horrible. I mean, would a girl really
want to... no, sorry, forget I was about to say that."

"I bet I know what you were about to say," I grinned.

"No way. This was too weird."

"Shall I guess anyway?"

"Yeah, go on," he said with a giggle.

"I bet you were about to ask if a girl would really want to put a bloke's
willy in her mouth."

His eyes went wide as saucers and his mouth hung open.

"You've heard of that?"

"Was I right?"

"Yeah. I mean, that's exactly what I was going to say. Don't you think it's
weird?"

"Not really. Not any more."

"Have you had sex then?" he asked, unaware of the boundary he was crossing
by asking the question. But I was far too horny to care that he was getting
personal. I wanted him to ask more intimate questions, in fact.

"Yeah, a few times," I replied, trying to keep it casual.

"Wow. What was it like?"

"It was OK, I guess," I shrugged.

"Only OK? I thought it was the best thing ever. That's what everyone at
school says. Michael Thomas says he did it with Sarah Minnow out in the top
field at school one lunchtime, but no-one believes him and she said he's
just making it up."

"He probably is making it up. His willy won't really be big enough for the
job."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know where it has to go, right?"

He nodded, blushing.

"Well, unless the girl's really flexible, his hips will only get so far, so
unless he has a really long willy for someone your age, he isn't going to
be able to get it very far inside her fanny."

"Oh right, I see."

He went quiet then, his hand going to his crotch again, grabbing at the
folds of the fly of his jeans, behind which he was quite clearly hard. He
gave a little grunt of surprised pleasure and bent over slightly as he
realised what he was feeling.

"Do you think he has a long willy?" I pressed, eager for the conversation
to continue.

"Dunno. Never seen it. I know Sam Bryant has a really big one, he got it
out in the toilets once and it was sticking up, and he was showing anyone
who wanted to look. It was like this."

He held his hands about four inches apart, and I was quietly impressed. It
sounded like I'd quite like meeting this Sam Bryant boy. Still, no matter
what he had swinging between his smooth little thighs, there was no way his
personality or his looks would be a match for Milo. Nor his raw sexuality,
either. Milo was practically in heat.

"That does sound big," I said, in the most casual tones I could muster.

"I bet yours is bigger, though, isn't it?" he said with a giggle, and a sly
sidelong glance.

I knew he was trying to goad me into telling him how big my dick was. What
he didn't realise was that I was quite keen for him to find out.

"It's not massive. Maybe six inches, or a bit less."

"How long's that?"

I spread my hands half a foot apart, and Milo gasped, then giggled with
glee.

"No way!" he almost shouted. "That's huge!"

"It's not that big, I don't think," I said, speaking from experience on the
gay scene in London. I knew it was pretty average, nothing special.

"That's flipping massive. Honest. Mine's not even half that big."

It was out of his mouth before he realised he'd said it, and I could
immediately see that he wanted nothing more in the world than to be able to
take it back. He'd just admitted to me that he had a little willy. It
wasn't a surprise of course, given that he was a young boy, but it still
wasn't something you wanted to admit if you could avoid it.

I could see only one way out of this which might leave his honour intact.

"Sorry," I lied, "I missed that. What did you say?"

The look of relief which flooded his face masked any sign that he might
have realised what I was up to.

"Oh, nothing..." he whispered, the hint of a shy smile on his lips.

And that was that, for now, because we'd reached the set and the director
was already striding toward us across the lawn.

--

I loved those long days filming. Some would say it was hard work, and for
some of the crew it certainly was, but I could sit and watch the process
happening and occasionally chat to someone about some detail or other. It
was utopia.

And the best part of it was my budding friendship with Milo. He was a
captivating soul, a little elf with a mischievous smile and a quick wit. In
between scenes he had to film he would get around the place making himself
useful where he could, helping with a camera here, some scene-setting
there. And when there was nothing he could do, he would come and find me,
and hang out with me. Those were jewels in the golden crown of the day.

I can't tell you why he was drawn to me. He claimed to have read the book
I'd written which had led to the film adaptation, but when quizzed on the
details admitted that he'd only really read a little bit of it, and only
because his mum had told him it was a good idea.

Perhaps it was the fact that I spoke to him. Not just at him, but to
him. We had conversations, and I didn't treat him like he was incapable of
responding. Not that the other adults around treated him badly, but he was
very much talked down to. I treated him as an equal, and clearly he thrived
on it.

In the middle of the second week, we were given the afternoon off. Some big
changes were required for the next few scenes, and it was going to take the
afternoon to get the grounds of the house modified. It was another
wonderful day, and a group of cast members decided to take a trip down to a
nearby beach to relax. I wasn't really a fan of sitting around on the beach
all afternoon, but when Milo asked me if I was going - at the same time
revealing his intention to do so - I changed my mind immediately. I grabbed
my notebook and a pen, and bundled into one of the cars the crew were
taking down. I was disappointed not to find myself squashed into the back
seat with the lad, but then I couldn't have it all my way.

The beach was splendidly isolated, lying beyond a parkland of rolling grass
downs, which were kept neat by roaming flocks of sheep. We weren't the only
people there, but given that it was a hot summer's day, and the beach was
nigh perfect, it was a surprise to find it as empty as we did.

The crew set up camp in short order, all sorts of beach kit having
magically appeared - a windbreak was erected, followed by some parasols,
and one car even held a number of deck chairs, though not enough for all of
us by far. I stood in the middle of it all, quite awestruck by the way the
little village suddenly appeared. But these were TV crew, I should've
realised how resourceful they would be, and how quickly they could build a
scene.

It was all happening so fast that I didn't even twig the fact that Milo was
already in the water, until I looked for him. Then I spotted him splashing
about in a tiny pair of black Speedos, an my stomach instantly tied itself
in knots. Oh fuck, the sight of him, his skinny little boy body with his
unexpectedly round, firm little bum poking out the back of his swimming
trunks. It was practically pornographic, and I'm fairly sure I wasn't the
only one lusting after him that afternoon.

I made a quick scan of the area, and found Marie and Martin snuggling up
together under the parasols. Milo's carer clearly wasn't going to be paying
much attention to the boy for the rest of the afternoon.

That sounds predatory, I realise, waiting to see if I could get the boy on
his own. At the time, though, I was merely concerned with the idea of being
able to spend time with him, and I saw Marie as a potential hindrance to
that. I was so paranoid that I thought simply wanting to talk to him might
reveal my intentions to the world.

I sat down with my sunglasses on, and pretended to be searching for
inspiration as I spent the next hour or so watching Milo play. I began to
realise that he wasn't merely skinny; he was in fact very well toned. His
body was stockier than I'd thought, but there was hardly an ounce of fat on
him. Everything beneath his skin was muscle, including the glorious mounds
of his backside.

Oh, how I longed to peel the wet fabric from his bum and plunge my tongue
in between those cheeks, to lap greedily at his hole. I'd never before had
the urge to rim anyone, but by God I was longing to try it with him.

I wanted what was in front, too, though there was hardly a bulge worth
writing home about in his trunks. It was cold in the sea, though, and so he
could be forgiven for showing very little. That and the fact that he was
still only ten years old, for fuck's sake.

He tired of being the only kid playing in the surf after about half an
hour, and came scampering back up the beach. He came straight to me, rather
than going to Marie, and my heat skipped a beat as he came near. He noticed
me looking, and gave me a wry smile, but didn't make any move to shield
himself from my eyes.

"Can you chuck me my towel?" he asked, when he came right up to me. I sat
there frozen by the sight of him dripping wet in front of me, the tube of
his boyhood now quite clearly visible in the sodden, clinging material of
his trunks. It took him asking a second time before I snapped out of it and
actually did as he had asked, picking his towel up from on top of his pile
of clothes.

So, he wasn't just coming to show himself off to me, then. Damn. Still, he
stood there and chatted while he dried himself, giving me plenty of chances
to check him out, which I gladly took. I really wasn't in the mood to
complain. When he was dry, he grabbed his t-shirt and slipped it over his
shoulders and then folded his towel in half and sat down on it next to me.

"It's really hot, I don't want to get burned," he said, by way of
explanation for the t-shirt.

"Yeah, makes sense. Don't you have any sunscreen though?"

He shook his head. "Never works. Mum says I have really fair skin, and I'll
get burned no matter what. I got it really bad on holiday last year and it
hurt for about a week. A bit of my back peeled off and is was this big!"

He held his hands out to the size of a small saucer, and giggled at the
memory.

"Do you want to get off the beach then?" I asked. Again, the predator. This
time perhaps a little more deliberately so.

He looked sidelong at me.

"Where are we going?"

"Dunno. There's a few trees up there in the meadow. We could go and climb
one."

He smiled broadly.

"Yeah, that sounds cool. I'll go and tell Marie."

From where I was sitting, an interruption was the last thing Marie wanted,
but I also understood that our little excursion ought to be legitimised. If
we'd just snuck off, questions might have been asked, questions I wanted to
avoid.

As I surmised, Marie did little more than acknowledge the fact that Milo
had asked the question, waving him away immediately. He came bounding back
to me, then waited for me to climb to my feet. A couple of the crew saw us
leave, but none did anything more than glance at us.

He walked ahead of me up the hill away from the beach, his t-shirt failing
to partly cover the beautiful twin globes of his behind, wrapped in his
speedo. He had a pair of Dunlop Green Flash trainers on, and one of the
laces had already come undone. I followed him in a haze, not quite sure
where else my eyes should be other than glued to his bum. It was right
there, and between his legs was the pouch of his scrotum, pushed this way
and that by the actions of his legs.

"There!" he said after a few minutes, when we were well away from the
beach. "That one over there."

He was pointing to a tall old chestnut, standing stoutly in the centre of a
field. There were no fences around, so I assumed we were OK to just wander
over and climb it.

He was right about the suitability of the tree, too - under the shade of
the dense canopy, one of the branches dipped lower than the others, coming
near to the ground.

"Give me a boost up!" he said, and I complied, lacing together my fingers
in the classic manner. He placed his shoe in the cradle and as he pushed
with his leg I hauled with my back, and before long he was hoisted high
enough to climb onto the branch. I stood there mesmerised for what seemed
an eternity, because the little pouch at the front of his trunks had just
rubbed damply past my face. It was a shame it was still infused with briny
water, because I would've loved to have smelled the essence of him beneath
the fabric.

He snapped me out of my reverie by asking if I needed a hand, which of
course I didn't, standing a good foot and a half taller than him. I joined
him on the branch with little effort, and then we went about making our way
higher into the tree. All the time he climbed ahead of me, giving me
breath-taking views of his posterior.

He stopped when he deemed we had gone high enough. The trunk split in two
here, and a branch emerged, and that meant there was enough space for the
two of us to sit there with our legs dangling down. It really was a most
excellent choice of tree to climb, and judging from the number of pairs of
initials carved into the bark, we weren't the only ones to think so.

"You can see miles from up here!" he exclaimed, and indeed you could,
through the branches of the tree. The views weren't amazing, because of the
canopy, but when it shifted in the breeze you could see anything.

"Do you think anyone can see us?" he asked, a slight tremor in his voice.

"Uh, no. No, I don't think so. Not unless they're right under the tree."

"And we could see them coming before they got here, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Um, it's really bumpy under my bum and I want to take off my t-shirt and
roll it up so I can sit on it. Do you think that would be OK?"

"Oh yes," I said, with more relish than I intended. "Except, you'll get
your shirt wet with the trunks."

"Oh yeah..." he said, glumly. "Oh, hang on! I know, what if I took them
off? It's only the two of us, and you don't mind, do you?"

He gave me a knowing little grin.

"Um, yeah, OK," I squeaked. Here I was twenty feet up a tree with a young
lad asking me if if was OK to get naked. What boylover in their right mind
would say `no'?

"Cool," he said with a smile. Then, without further ado, he lifted his
shirt over his head and handed it to me, with a `hold this'. He stood as
best he could on the branch in front of me, leaning against the trunk for
support, and with a nod of his head indicated that I should fold the
t-shirt and put it down where he intended to sit. I did so, and as I laid
it down, he peeled the very brief little Speedos down to his knees.

And there it was. Jutting out from his smooth, unblemished groin, sitting
fatly on his wrinkled little sack. Small, delicate, and perfect. A slight
bulge where the shaft met the head, a long pucker of foreskin hanging over
the end. A shaft of sunlight fell across his hip, and lit up the tiny
little fuzz which grew, transparent, underneath his taut little scrotum.

He stood longer than he needed to, looking down at me as I looked up at
him. I met his eyes at last, and they smiled down at me, though his lips
did not. His mouth stood slightly open. He panted slightly, as if he'd just
run up from the beach. Unconsciously, his hand went to his waist, and he
tugged at the morsel of flesh there. It twitched, and expanded, and we both
watched as it swelled and in what seemed like only a handful of heartbeats,
it pointed to the sky, dancing in time with his pulse. We both watched it,
mesmerised.

"Sorry it's not bigger," he whispered at last. He needn't have worried - it
was only about three inches long at best, probably not that, but it was
everything I had hoped.

"It's really nice. I like it," I reassured him.

He smiled faintly, and tweaked the end of it, making it jump even further
upright. Then he finally sat down, and pulled the trunks the rest of the
way off, draping them over a branch to his right.

Neither of us knew what to say, so we said nothing. We looked out over the
trees and his erection subsided, the imperative gone. Young boys' erections
have that tendency; they appear without reason, and to dissipate in moments
if not maintained.

"Um, do you..."

"Do I what?"

"Um, are you... do you... with, like, men?"

"Do you mean am I gay?" I asked, heart hammering in my chest.

"Yeah, are you...?"

"Yes. I am."

It was the first time I'd ever really said it to anyone, though I'd been
with men before.  What I still couldn't say was the other word, the one
beginning with `p'. But to a young boy like Milo it didn't matter. I could
sense what was going on in his head, because I had been there myself. He
was just beginning to understand that perhaps there was something different
about him, and he needed validation. He needed to speak to someone who
understood the struggle. The show he had given me was his way of ensuring
that he wouldn't be laughed at - or worse, shouted at - for asking the
question. It was obvious I'd gawked at his little performance, and that was
good enough to reassure him.

"Sorry, I shouldn't be asking all this stuff," he said. "Mum says I'm
always saying things I shouldn't."

"It's OK, I don't mind talking about it. It's a bit scary, actually,
because I don't really talk about this with anyone, but it's good,
too. It's nice to be honest. I don't have to make excuses about `not having
found the right girl yet', and all that crap."

He giggled, and I delighted at the way his little penis jiggled along.

"You like looking at it, don't you?" he asked, reaching down to pull at the
end of his foreskin, stretching it out obscenely in the way only a young
boy can.

"Yeah, I do," I admitted. My heart was once again pounding in my chest, and
adrenaline made my head spin. He continued to fondle his little prick, and
in moments it once again jutted upright from his smooth groin.

"I don't mind if you want to look at it."

He didn't say another word. He didn't need to. He just leaned back
slightly, supporting himself with his hands on the branch on which he
sat. He was utterly exposed to me, and the invitation was clear as day.

I could see his heart pounding in his chest as he looked down at me. He
frowned very slightly, the only expression on his face. He watched me like
a hawk as I reached out to grasp his absurdly rigid little spike between
forefinger and thumb, and grunted slightly when the contact was at last
made.

I peeled back his foreskin, watching with glee as the title purple head
emerged. Rolling it back over made him hunch his hips upwards, perhaps
involuntarily. His little spike was hot beneath my fingers, and so, so
stiff. I could take his pulse just by holding it.

I wanted to say something, just to break the silence, but I didn't know
quite what to say. He kept looking down at me as I gently wanked him. I
hadn't asked for permission, but he hadn't stopped me either. His little
bum kept clenching, lifting his hips a little higher each time it
happened. Looking up at his narrow chest, I could see his heart thumping
not far beneath the surface, and the pulse in his neck, too, was clear as
day. His foreskin glided effortlessly over the hardness beneath, a silken
counterpoint to his granite boyhood.

His eyes drifted shut, and a barely audible whimper started up in the back
of his throat. It would come and go, growing louder and more insistent,
then quieting once more. Sweat sprung up on his brow, and his cheeks
flushed as his arousal built towards the inevitable.

For my part, my head was spinning with the enormity of what was
happening. This was a dream come true, more than I could ever have hoped
for. It wasn't a furtive glance at a urinal. It wasn't a sly look in the
men's changing room at the swimming pool. This wasn't me forcing myself
onto some unwilling boy, or molesting him in his sleep. Milo knew what he
wanted, and had made a decent job of getting it. He might not have been
quite as desperate for this to happen as I was, but that's only because I
had spent so long imagining that I would never experience the pleasure of
satisfying my perverse urges. Yet here I was, with a willing, young and
above all wonderfully pretty lad.

Milo's moans were becoming increasingly urgent, and the movement of his
hips more pronounced. I knew what was coming, but did he? Had he yet
experienced orgasm at his own hand, or even at the hand of another? He had
some vague idea about sex, obviously, and he'd read the book, but had he
actually managed to bring himself off? I remembered my own first cum, a dry
one at about his age. I knew what was going to happen in a text book way -
having been given a book all about that sort of stuff by my mum, and then
left very much to my own devices - but nothing could have prepared me for a
pleasure so intense that it hurt. I really thought I had broken something,
and it was only the next day that it dawned on me what had happened.

For Milo, it was going to happen any moment. His stomach clenched over and
over, and then it was upon him. He gasped and his eyes flew open, and then
he hunched forward as it took hold. His little boyhood jerked spasmodically
in my fingers, trying desperately to fire out a load his prostate wasn't
quite ready to provide yet. His hands came forward from gripping the branch
to latch onto my wrist instead, holding it still because he could no longer
take the intense sensations my hand was giving him.

He almost fell forward onto me, but I moved to hold him up. Unexpectedly
his arms came up around my shoulders, begging to be hugged, and so I pulled
him into my lap. He curled up against me, occasionally shuddering still,
naked as the day he was born, save for the trainers on his feet. I held
him, providing comfort. Clearly the experience had been a little too much.

We stayed that way for some time. I thought he might have drifted off to
sleep, but after a while I felt his bum shift a little in my lap. My
arousal came storming back in - though I didn't particularly wish it to -
and within moments I was hard again. He must have felt it was there, the
way he shamelessly ground his backside into the lump in my shorts.

"That was the best ever," he said in a tiny voice. "I mean, I've done it
before, but it never felt that good. That was an orgasm, right? Did I
really have one?"

"Yep," I answered simply, giving him a little kiss on the top of the
head. He sighed contentedly and wriggled in my lap.

"You have a hard on, don't you?"

I laughed - was there really any uncertainty in the matter?

"Yeah, pretty much. I have a young, naked boy in my arms who's just let me
wank him off. I'd be basically dead if I didn't get a bit hard at that."

He giggled, and ground his backside extra hard into it.

"One day I'm going to do it to you, too," he said. Not quite what I was
hoping for, but the promise of something was better than nothing at all. I
got the hint, though - it wasn't going to be here, now, in this tree.

"I think we should get back," I said. "They'll probably be missing us by
now."

--

They hadn't missed us at all, at least as far as I could tell. Marie and
her boyfriend were nowhere to be seen, suggesting they'd gone off to find
somewhere quiet to take care of their needs, which left me in charge of
Milo.

`In charge' wasn't quite right. In the eyes of most he was a young boy who
need an adult's watchful eye, but with me he was closer to a friend. The
incident in the tree hadn't changed his attitude toward me one bit - he
loved to question me on a huge range of subjects, taking advantage of the
fact that I have a huge hunger for general knowledge, equalled only by my
desire to share it. Milo was a sponge for all of it, happy to sit there and
listen to me prattle on about all sorts of things.

Not that that's all we did. Some nearby rock pools afforded a little
entertainment - Milo was still young enough to enjoy looking for critters
under the water, so we spent a happy half hour trying to coax crabs out
from underneath rocks.

All the time, he wore nothing more than his skimpy little trunks and the
t-shirt, leaving plenty of opportunity to admire his lean, lithe young
body. It was especially hard to concentrate when he leaned over a rock pool
to explore its contents, practically shoving his neat little behind in my
face. On one occasion, he noticed I had gone quiet and looked back at me,
catching me in the act. He looked confused for a moment, then giggled and
waved his rear at me.

For my part, I was imagining what he would look like in the same position
but without the trunks in the way. My heart thumped in my chest and
adrenaline turned my stomach to jelly as my mind's eye conjured up an image
of the pale pink pucker between smooth white cheeks. I'd be able to see his
balls beneath, too - would his little sack be drawn up tight or dangling
loose, and would his dick be a floppy little worm or a pointy little stick?
Would he let me touch him there, or even go as far as using my tongue?

But I was getting ahead of myself again. I'd just wanked the boy off, but
there was a huge gulf between that and the more serious things I want to
do. I had to have a dose of reality - there was no telling how far he would
be willing to go. Instead, I forced down my inner boylover and concentrated
on just spending time with him and enjoying that. It was only later in the
day, as I lay on my bed and reflected on what had happened that it occurred
to me that having fun with him was just as important as having sex.

--

I imagined that perhaps having had our encounter in the tree, Milo would be
more willing to explore further, as if some sort of barrier had been
breached. But real life is not that linear, not that black and white, and
nor are the emotions of young boys.

On set the next day, Milo acted as if nothing at all had happened between
us. I'm not sure how I expected him to change, but to see nothing at all
was a little disturbing. I should perhaps have been reassured that he
wasn't cowering and avoiding me, but I wasn't. Seeing his cheery
disposition and the carefree greeting he gave me only made me concerned
that it had meant nothing at all to him.

That's how wrapped up I was in him. I was more concerned that what we had
done had affected him in some way than I was about him being silent. But he
was normal old Milo. At least so I thought.

"Hi," he whispered, sitting down next to me on my usual bench.

"Hi, Milo. Why are you whispering?"

He thought about it for a long moment.

"No-one can hear us here, can they?" he asked after a moment, already
knowing the answer. I grinned at him in reply.

"How am I doing?" he asked.

"How are you doing at what?"

"At acting like we didn't... you know, silly!"

"You're acting? I thought you were just ignoring me."

"No, of course not! I wanted to come over here earlier, but I didn't want
anyone to think it was strange and start thinking things. I know we have to
keep it quiet. I'm not stupid."

Clever boy. Most kids his age would blurt it out to the first person who
asked how their day had been. I hadn't even asked him to be circumspect
about it, but I was seriously relieved to find out that I didn't need to.

"So, do you want to do it again some time?" I asked.

He noted eagerly, with a bright grin, and tugged at the little lump in his
shorts.

"How about you come to my room tonight after you think Marie is asleep. She
won't notice, will she?"

He shook his head.

"Her boyfriend keeps going in her room," he said in a conspiratorial
tone. "They do it every night. I listened once, it sounded gross."

"Well, if they're tied up doing that, they won't notice you going, will
they. Just make sure no-one else is around when you knock on my door."

"Its OK, I used to play a spying game with my best friend, I'm really good
at sneaking around without anyone seeing. What time shall I come?"

"Just as soon as Marie is occupied," I replied. "The longer we have, the
better."

He grinned at me.

"I want you to do something to me I remembered from the book," he said.

"What?"

"Not telling!" he shouted over his shoulder as he ran off, giggling.

--

Little else occupied my thoughts that day. There was obviously a limited
range of things he could ask me to do, and none of them was exactly a
turn-off. Sucking him? Licking his arse? Fucking was certainly not on the
cards, not unless he had a long history of which I was unaware. I spun it
around and around in my mind all day long, living in a state of constant
arousal.

It was agony to wait for him. I was so excited I couldn't eat dinner, and
retired to my room complaining if feeling unwell. I tried to write to take
my mind off him, but it didn't work, I just kept having flashbacks to the
incident in the tree. I felt a dull ache in the pit of my stomach, a sense
of fearful anticipation, and nothing - not even taking matters into my own
hands - would bring me relief from the tension.

I watched the clock like a hawk, wondering what time he would come. If he
would come. Perhaps he had chickened out, and I wasn't going to see him
after all. Seven o'clock and eight passed, with my mind in turmoil. Half
past eight had been and gone, and I was growing desperate. Several times I
went to my door, peeking out in case he had knocked and I hadn't heard it,
but he was never there. I would close the door and retreat to the bed, my
ears straining for the slightest hint that he might be outside.

When the knock at my door finally did come, I was so startled that I had to
stifle a yelp. It was actually him, this was actually happening. With my
hands shaking in anticipation, I made my way to the door and pulled it
open, trying to act casually, just in case it was someone else.

But it wasn't. It was him, dressed in a pair of flannel pyjamas which
looked as though they were old favourites, judging by how short they were
on him. He grinned and dashed past me, and I shut the door carefully behind
him.

He was sitting on the bed looking up at me, with his hand in his pyjama
bottoms, casually pulling at himself, unashamed to show me. He didn't need
to be shy any more, of course, but it was still a bit of a surprise to see
him so brazen in his desire.

"I walked all the way down here with a stiffy!" he exclaimed in a loud
whisper, pulling down the front of his pyjamas to show me the
incontrovertible proof.

My heart leapt into my mouth. I'd seen it before, of course, up in the
tree, and had become intimately acquainted with it, but I still couldn't
believe how wonderful, how perfect his little spike was. It jutted up from
his hairless groin like a flagpole, straight and true, and topped with the
pink-tinged nipple of his foreskin.

He looked up at me and grinned once more, as delighted as I was with his
own naughtiness. He kept his clothes pushed out of the way, but fell back
on to the bed, looking up at the ceiling and sighing loudly as the started
to wank once more.

"What was it you wanted me to do?" I asked, stepping closer to him, not
sure whether or not I should touch him yet.

"In a minute," he said, sitting up as if suddenly remembering
something. "Can I see yours first?"

I had changed into the shorts and t-shirt in which I slept - just another
activity designed to waste a little time - and so it was the work of
moments to make myself naked from the waist down. My manhood jutted
straight out toward him, a very modest thing barely scraping six inches,
but he was agog.

"It's massive!" he said in awed tones.

"It's not that big. Actually, it's a bit small."

"Yeah, but it's massive to me. Huge. Humongous. Gigantic. It's much bigger
than mine. Let's compare!"

So I knelt on the bed next to him and after a bit of messing around, and
much giggling from him, we managed to get into position so that they lined
up closely enough to compare.

He was right, it really was a lot bigger than his, but there were striking
similarities - our long foreskins, the straightness of both, the way our
balls hung. The differences were acute, though - his baldness contrasted
strongly with my untrimmed hairiness; his shaft wasn't darkened by a
dribble of precum escaping from the tip; his didn't quiver with its owners
rapid and powerful heartbeat in quite the way mine did.

Touching them together was high tide amongst a sea of new experiences for
me. I had no idea the sensation would be so strong, the softness of his
little spike touching the sensitive skin of my shaft, a hot little dry
kiss. His came away with a string of fluid attaching it to mine, and he
made a face.

"Wipe it off!" he demanded, and I was happy to comply, using my fingers of
course. He shuddered at the touch, and his stomach clenched.

"Did that feel good?" I asked teasingly, and with his eyes fluttering shut
and a dreamy smile on his face he nodded. I gave him one more squeeze, and
his mouth dropped open, a low moan escaping his lips. Still with eyes
closed he fell sideways to lie upon the bed, and reached his arms out over
his head, stretching languorously, like a cat might in the warmth of a
particularly friendly ray of sun. His groin was exposed, his pose a clear
invitation.

"Yes..." he whispered when I reached out to hold it. God, it felt so hot
under my fingers, so hard and yet silky soft to the touch. His foreskin
retracted easily, suggesting his was a well-used erection, and revealed a
shining purple helmet with just a hint of wetness at the slit. I dabbed my
finger in it, and it came away with a little stringy fluid attached. I
wondered if Milo had any idea he was lubricating, and what it signified,
but in the middle of our lovemaking didn't seem the appropriate moment to
point it out.

I wanked him gently at first, rolling the skin back and forth over the
head, delighting in the way his little droplet of fluid spread around the
glans. He lay there with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling; he was
completely still other than the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and the
occasional stiffening of the muscles in his stomach when he felt a little
spike in pleasure.

Then his legs started to twitch. Just sporadically at first, then more
frequently. They were spread wide, and would without warning flex upward
from the bed, higher and higher each time until his knees all but touched
and my hand was trapped between his thighs, unable to move. He would
release me after a few moments, and the whole game would start again - the
building up of pleasure, the increasing reaction on his part and the
conclusion, where he would force me to stop. We played this game for some
time, until his eyes had drifted shut, and his mouth had fallen open. His
tongue would flick out to wet his lips every so often, dry from the gentle
panting which indicated his arousal.

I was concentrating so hard on the task in hand that I didn't notice he'd
moved. All of a sudden he was leaning on his elbows, looking down at me
intensely.

"With your mouth. Please," he said, huskily, his voice altered by lust from
his high pitched youthful soprano to something far more adult. This, then,
was the `other' thing he'd seen in the book and wanted me to do to him.

I didn't hesitate. Now was not the time for teasing, for delayed
pleasure. I skinned him back and dived straight down onto his groin. He
gave a yip of surprise, startled at the intensity of the sensation, and his
hands came down to grab handfuls if my hair, desperate for something - more
or less, neither he nor I knew which. With gentle suction, I raised and
lowered my head in his lap, my nostrils full of the scent of him - boy,
skin, sweat, sex, musk. All of them tingled on my tongue, too, making my
mouth water so much that saliva dribbled out and down over his tight little
nuts and the smooth curves of his groin.

He was quick to start writhing beneath me, the pleasure building to a point
where it was almost agony. He wanted so badly to get off, but he couldn't
quite. I shifted around to lie next to him, then, holding back his foreskin
with my hand I sucked as hard as I could and bobbed so fast I started going
dizzy. A few seconds of that tipped him over the edge, and he gasped in
surprise as the sensations hit.

The little stick in my mouth jolted over and over, and in between each kick
it quivered, and all the time he groaned and writhed beneath me, his hands
tugging at my hair, forcing my face hard into his groin as he jerked his
hips up at my face.

Bruised and battered by the force of his cum, I pulled off when he finally
released me. His cute little dick was already deflating, but still sat
fatly glistening with my saliva as it bobbed gently downward with his
heartbeat. I raised myself up and looked down at him, my mouth alive with
the flavour of his dick and the slightest salty tang. He lay with his eyes
closed, arms and legs spread wide, his skinny little chest rising and
falling with his ribcage starkly outlined not far beneath his pale skin.

I left him lying there and went to push the window wider open; the room had
suddenly become very warm and humid. Thunder rumbled around the horizon,
and there was a flash of lightning among the rolling clouds out over the
sea. Down below a few of the crew were returning from the pub, and one of
the cameramen waved up to me. I waved back, my heart hammering in my chest
- if only he had known that Milo lay naked and spreadeagled on my bed,
having just that minute cum in my mouth.

I turned back to the boy, who was sitting up and regarding me with a shy
smile on his face. His hand was in his crotch, preserving his modesty even
though there was nothing I hadn't seen or experienced.

"Good?" I asked, and he blushed prettily, looking down at the bed.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"What for?"

"For asking you to do it."

"It's OK to ask for that kind of thing, Milo. I'll do anything you
want. And anyway, I really, really enjoyed doing that to you."

"Really?"

"Really. It turns me on so much to touch you and suck you, and to make you
cum."

"Cum?"

"The good feeling."

"Oh yeah. I call it fizzing."

"Good name for it. Feels like something fizzing out of your dick, doesn't
it?"

"Ha, yeah. So you really like doing it?"

"Yep."

"What's it like?"

"Well, there's one way to find out for sure..." I replied, suggestively.

He knew exactly what I was talking about, and shook his head with a
horrified look on his face.

"I don't think I can do that!" he said, sounding a little scared.

"It's OK, mate, you don't have to do it to me. I'll still do it to you if
you ask."

"Any time I ask?" he said with a sly smile.

"Any time except for in the middle of the set. I don't think we should do
it in front of the cast and crew, eh?"

He giggled and shook his head.

"Now," I said, aware of the danger I was in despite the fact that I was
still desperately horny, "it's been quite a while since you came down. I
think you better go back up."

He looked startled, and jumped up, grabbing his pyjamas and wiggling into
them. His dick was already half hard again, and by the time he was dressed
he was pinching and squeezing quite a prominent little lump at his groin.

I shooed him out of the door and he snuck stealthily away and up the little
stairway towards his room. Once he was safely gone I shut the door and fell
back against it, sinking to the floor. My heart was still hammering, and
adrenaline coursed through my veins, setting my fingers shaking. I was far
too hyped up to sleep, so I grabbed my jacket and put on my shoes, and
headed out for a walk.

It was a blustery night, with the storm heading our way quickly. I stumbled
along in the late evening gloom, my head spinning. I knew there was a
well-trodden route across the moors inland, and found it easily enough. It
was still light enough that I could see my way, and I headed for a rock
outcrop some of us had visited. I reached it in short order and clambered
up onto it, looking back the way I'd come. One corner of the house was
visible from where I sat, one window lit up. I wondered who was behind that
window, and what they were doing. Was it anything so insane as what I'd
just done with Milo?

Fuck, it was madness, what we were doing. Even back then, when there was
much more of a culture of acceptance about these things that there is now -
they just happened sometimes, and as long as the boy didn't make a fuss, it
was sort of ignored - it was a crazy thing to do. I didn't worry for a
moment that he was in any way being pressured into the relationship, nor
indeed that he might be regretting what we were doing. He was up for it,
that was sure. But still, if I was found out there would be trouble.

I felt the first fat drops of rain falling around me. Thunder rumbled
distantly. It wasn't safe to be out on that rock in the storm, but I was in
such a fatalistic mood. If I was struck by lightning, fine. I deserved
it. I was a monster, a child molester. If I wasn't, I would take it as a
sign to carry on.

An hour later, with the storm gone and the skies rapidly clearing, I walked
back drenched to the skin.

--

The following day dawned bright and clear after another thunderstorm had
rolled through in the early hours.

Milo's smile for me as I walked in to breakfast lit up the whole room -
there was no subtlety there, no acting. He was past the point where he
cared, all he wanted was to see me.

"Have you heard?" he asked, after I'd poured myself some cereal and got a
glass of juice.

"What?"

"They've had to cancel the shoot today! We've got a day off. And they say
it's going to be really warm."

"Want to go to the beach then?" I asked, quite interesting in seeing him in
his trunks again. There was something about the way his bum filled them...

"Nah, not really. It's not that much fun. Is there something else we can
do?"

"You like steam trains?"

"Yeah, they're cool."

"Well, there's a preserved railway near here, want to go and check it out?"

"Yeah, let's do that!"

Of course, Marie was happy to have her charge off her hands for the day, so
she and her boyfriend could disappear off together. Thus, half an hour
later Milo and I were barrelling along a country lane on a bus which had
seen better days, driven by a man who appeared similarly careworn. We took
the opportunity to sit right at the back of an otherwise empty vehicle and
slide about on the ancient vinyl upholstery, behaving like kids. Well,
behaving in my case; Milo was just being himself.

We arrived at the other end sweaty from the roasting confines of the
bus. Milo rushed straight into the engine shed and started getting
enthusiastic about the old steam locos there, chatting to me constantly,
showing a knowledge I had no idea existed. These days it's hard to find
boys who still show this enthusiasm for old machines, but back then it was
quite common for young lads to still get excited about steam trains until
their early teens, sometimes beyond.

When we actually climbed aboard the train, we found ourselves in a carriage
of our own, in a little cabin which somehow didn't connect to any others. I
found out later that it was a very old carriage from the earlier days of
steam, and carriages were often made up of mixed classes, each in its own
little compartment. Of course, at the time all that mattered was that we
had the place to ourselves, and Milo could be himself. He spent most of the
journey on tiptoes with his head half out the window, looking up and down
the track. I allowed myself the pleasure of watching his tight little bum
in his shorts the whole time, spending much of the journey with an
uncomfortable lump in my jeans.

When he finally sat down he looked across at me, and must have noticed I
was distracted.

"What?" he asked, with a smile on his face.

"Nothing. Really. I was just..."

"What? Is it something I did?"

I sighed heavily, knowing that he at least suspected that I had been
watching him. At this point I might as well come clean.

"I was staring at your bum."

"What? Why?"

"Because it's sexy."

He covered his mouth with his hand and giggled uproariously.

"I have a sexy bum?"  he asked. I was surprised this was news to him -
surely he realised it was a bit of a stunner. Small, taut, round,
neat. Fucking delicious.

"It's amazing, Milo."

"Does it make you get stiff?"

"Yep."

"Really?!" he asked, getting up and turning around, shaking at me. "Just by
looking at it?"

"Yes," I whimpered. I glanced out of the window - we were in the middle of
the countryside. No-one would see me.

"It's even better to touch, though," I breathed, as my hand reached out to
hold it.

He stopped wriggling immediately, then made a tight little noise in the
back of his throat.

"That feels good," he breathed as I gently cupped and stroked his bum. I
pushed my hand a little lower between his thighs, to brush against his
little bulge. I must have been right up against his scrotum. He made
another little whimpering noise, and pushed his bum further out at me. I
gripped his package from behind, and felt him swelling within.

He stood upright and span around, and I could quite clearly see that he was
straining against his pants.

"How long to the next station?" he asked, with a hint of desperation. I
looked at my watch.

"We're due in three minutes. But its the end of the line. It stops there
for ten minutes, then we can get back on."

"Can't we just stay here, and make sure no-one else gets it?"

"I don't think so, Milo. Let's just see what happens, eh?"

He looked glum, but agreed, and sat down, fidgeting every so often and
grabbing at the bulge in his pants.

When the train pulled into the station, we were indeed turfed out by the
inspector, leaving us to look around the station for about ten
minutes. Milo caught my arm at one point, and with an exaggerated flick of
the head pointed out the toilets. Grinning, I followed him in. Someone was
in the only stall, so that was out of the question, but there was a long
trough and we stepped up together. Milo's dick was out of his pants
immediately, and though it had deflated since we stepped off the train, it
quickly hardened again. I stood between him and the wall, so that there was
room for about one more person on the other side of him. He looked across
at me and smiled when I took my dick out, letting it get fatter and harder
in front of his eyes. He grinned and wanked himself, though only gently,
not really with any intention of getting off.

Suddenly, the door opened, and in an instant we turned serious, and tried
to appear to be getting on with what we ought to have been there doing. But
when our interloper came around the corner, I saw it was a boy of about 7
or 8, blonde and unbelievably cute, and my heart started beating even
harder than it had already been.

I glanced across at the boy as he came to the urinal, and noticed that Milo
was unashamedly looking at him, making no effort at all to hide what he was
doing. He even turned his whole head sideways, and I noticed he'd unhidden
his hard little dick. The boy only had to look across to his right, and he
would be able to see everything Milo had.

And, a few seconds after his stream started arcing out from the hidden tip
of his little willy, that's exactly what he did. He looked round at Milo,
and then straight down at my preteen boyfriend's little spike. His eyes
went wide, and he grinned and looked up at Milo, who turned to face him,
wanking his hard dick. The boy himself smiled, and turned a little towards
us, and into view came his wonderful little dick. It was somewhere between
two and three inches long, and was slightly swollen, perhaps because he'd
really needed to go, and it had stiffened in response to the need. Now, as
his stream faltered and stopped, it stiffened once more, but this time for
a totally different reason. Here he was doing something very naughty in a
public place with another boy, and probably just because of the illicit
nature of what he was doing, in moments it was posting skywards.

It jutted up from his groin like a flagpole, curving gently upward. His
foreskin was very long, and even when he was completely stiff it extended
over the end by a centimetre or so. He was wanking himself, too, in time
with what Milo was doing, and the two boys were grinning at each other. It
was as if I was completely invisible.

Just as I felt my orgasm building, watching these two cuties at it, we
heard a shout from outside the toilets.

"Thomas?! Are you OK?"

"Yes, dad, just coming!" the lad called back. With a giggle, he pushed his
dick back inside his shorts. He gave Milo a little wave, and then walked
out.

When he was gone, Milo turned to me with a huge, shocked grin on his face.

"That was so cool!" he whispered to me. I nodded my reply, but before he
and I could mess around any more we heard the toilet in the cubicle
flushing. Before the door could be opened, we bolted out of the toilet.

--

Back at the train, we did indeed manage to get our compartment, and as we
pulled away from the station, and it was clear that we would be absolutely
alone for the next twenty minutes or so, Milo looked at me with a shy grin
and a gentle blush in his cheeks.

"That boy's willy was nice, wasn't it?" I asked him, knowing full well what
he felt.

"Yeah," he said, breathlessly. His hand travelled down to pinch at the lump
in his crotch.

"You see why I like young boys now?" I asked, and he grinned and nodded.

"What would you do to him?" I asked, feeling myself harden as I waited for
him to reveal his fantasies to me.

He fidgeted in his seat, and no longer made any attempt to hide the fact
that he was squeezing his dick through his shorts.

"Um, I think I would play with his dick. You know, do him with my
hand. And..."

At this point he licked his lips and swallowed hard. He was almost panting.

"I would... I would, um... I would suck his stiffy."

The last bit came out in a rush, and he looked down at the floor, blushing
deeply.

"I'd like to do that to him, too," I said, honestly.

Milo looked up at me and smiled shyly.

"It was a nice one," he admitted. "I never thought about wanting to do it
before, but then you did mine last night, and I... I started thinking it
might be nice."

"Come here," I said, softly, patting the seat next to me. He stood and
twisted so that he could sit next to me instead of opposite. "Push your
shorts down a bit."

"Here?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Want to do it? I'll suck you. No-one can see us."

He gulped and nodded. He was flushing bright red, and his hands shook as he
undid the button on his shorts, pulled down the fly, and lifted up his bum
so he could push them down to mid thigh, along with his pants.

His little boner sprang out and slapped against his belly, making a little
thump noise because his t-shirt was in the way.

I wasted no time. He was already well and truly hyped up from messing
around first on the outbound journey, then at the station, and then again
in the last couple of minutes, but I wasn't going to rely on being able to
bring him off. I needed to get right down to business.

I slipped down to kneel on the floor. My senses were invaded by two
competing smells - the fragrance of sweaty young boy crotch, and the
ancient, musty upholstery of the seat on which he sat. I grasped his tool
by its base with forefinger and thumb, and bent it out to an angle at which
I could sink my mouth onto it. I rolled his foreskin back, revealing the
shining purple helmet, with its slick of precum; Milo might not be shooting
just yet, but by the look of things it wouldn't be long, and early at that,
though I had no idea back then. I licked my way around the head - his
fluids were almost flavourless, just a hint of saltiness to them - and felt
the pressure of his hands on my head, urging me to take the whole thing
into my mouth.

I did as he desired, and sank my lips down to the base of it, then pulled
up, applying suction and using my lips to re-sheath him. I carried on up,
nipping the very tip of his prepuce with my lips and stretching it well
beyond the end of his dick. He gasped at the sensation, then again as I
plunged straight back down and sucked him to the root once more.

But I was wasting time I didn't have - what I needed to do was get my horny
little boyfriend off before we got back to the station. I set to, bobbing
my head rapidly, applying suction all the time. He began to rotate his
hips, pushing up at me each time they came round. I pushed up his shirt so
I could see his abs working as he humped up at me, and almost lost it at
the sight of them flexing.

He was making desperate little moans, which grew longer and closer
together, so that at last they merged into an almost constant note of
fevered arousal. I looked up into his face and he had his head thrown back,
eyes closed, mouth dropping open, and then closing, open, closed, until
finally it stayed open and he started to pant.

Now I knew he was near, I slowed down a moment to peel back his foreskin
once more, holding it in place as I applied one last big suck, and a few
rapid bobs of my head.

He cried out in shock when he came, and grabbed handfuls of my hair so that
he could thrust into my face, mashing my nose into his pubis. I continued
to suck as his dick twitched uselessly in my mouth, trying to fire a load
which wasn't there.

I pulled off him slowly, sucking all the way up, feeling him twitch once
more and hearing the pained groan that went with it. I sat back on my heels
and examined my handiwork - Milo lay with his head rolled to one side,
mouth open, face flushed red. His dick was slowly wilting, still glistening
with my spit, his heartbeat evident in the way it bobbed gently down to one
side until the tip rested on the open fly of his shorts, and then retracted
a little further so that his willy perched cutely on top of his firm little
pouch.

He roused himself as I climbed back to sit next to him, brushing the dust
off my knees so it didn't look quite so much like I had been servicing
him. I glanced at my watch - we had about a minute left until the station,
a fact I related to Milo with great glee, giggling to myself as he
frantically shoved his dick back into his pants and pulled his shorts
up. He was just about presentable when we rolled into the station with a
squeal of brakes.

I couldn't help thinking, as the engine let off steam at its destination,
that it was a metaphor for something or other.

--

That afternoon, Milo and I found the crew at the local pub, occupying the
tables outside, gently getting themselves drunk in the warm sunshine. We
were greeted warmly, and without suspicion. I made my way into the cool
interior to get myself a cider, and a Coke for Milo, and by the time I had
returned he was happily chatting away to two of the cameramen about the
steam locos we'd seen, doing an admirable job of suggesting that's all he'd
been up to all day.

I sat down next to him, and without any sign of self-consciousness, he
leaned into me. One of the cameramen (Mike I think his name was), smiled
and said,

"We weren't at all surprised to find out your little secret!"

My blood froze, and I'm sure I must've turned white as a sheet.

"About you being mum's cousin!" Milo chimed in. "I told them all about it."

"Yeah," Mike went on. "I mean, Milo's a good actor alright, but you only
really get these parts by knowing someone. Have to say, you kept it
quiet. No wonder you two are such good friends, though, given he lived with
you for all those years."

"Yeah, well," I said, trying to hear myself over the ringing sound in my
ears, "I didn't think it would look good if people knew. Milo got the part
on his merits."

"Yeah, yeah," Mike said with a smile. "Of course..."

We spent the rest of a wonderful afternoon drinking and chatting, and
putting the world to rights, and the whole time Milo sat leaning against
me, or with his hand on my leg, playing for the crew the part of the
devoted nephew. Even when Marie turned up with Martin, they simps gave us a
wave and a smile, and Marie made no attempt whatsoever to take back charge
of the boy she was meant to be looking after.

--

Milo went to his own room that night, and I to mine, and we made no attempt
to meet up. He was too tired, and I was too horny for it to work. I could
feel myself considering making demands of him, from built-up tension and
the loosening effects of alcohol, so I suggested he might be better off
getting some sleep. He nodded and yawned, and pulled me down to peck me on
the cheek when he was sure we were alone.

"Thanks for taking me to the trains. It was really fun," he said in a low
voice, his eyes sparkling.

"Don't mention it," I replied with a leer. "I enjoyed it a lot myself."

When I got back to my room I finally had a chance to release the tension
which had been building all day. An absolute torrent of semen coated my
stomach, chest and upper arms when I was done, and I just lay there basking
in the afterglow of the most intense orgasm I'd had in a long time.

--

Next day we were on set again, and the director was pushing us hard to
catch up for lost time. I saw Milo only fleetingly, and when I did he was
looking tired out. It seemed like he was in every scene, and several of
them involved him running around and getting very sweaty. At one point he
was given a bit of a break, and he and Marie came to sit with me on my
customary bench, while Milo had a drink.

I had to try really hard to stop my eyes roving all over him. The costume
for the day was a very small pair of shorts and a vest, the kind which
usually gets called a `wifebeater' these days. I could see sweat glistening
all over his arms and legs, and on his forehead and upper lip, and
gloriously trickling in a little bead down from the nape of his neck, over
the bumps of his upper spine. I wanted to strip him naked and lick every
drop of sweat off him, and lick clean all the crevices where it had
gathered. It was a strange desire, one which I'd never before felt. But
there was something about Milo, something which deranged my natural
inclinations. I had never before found myself imagining what it would be
like to slowly lick down a boy's back, over each little bump of his spine,
until I reached the valley at its base, and to carry on into that valley
until my tongue laved his hole. And even better if at the time he was
bathed in sweat.

I literally had to shake the image out of my mind. Marie looked at me a
little strangely when for no apparent reason I started rubbing my eyes, but
she thought I was somewhat odd anyway, so I don't think it altered her
perception of me.

He disappeared off shortly after, with a knowing glance over his shoulder
as he went.

--

It was late in the day when I finally caught up with him again. The whole
crew ate together for once, a barbecue put on by the production company to
thank us for the hard work so far, and to motivate us for the remaining two
weeks. It came as a bit of a shock to find that there was only a fortnight
left, and to no-one more than me - that gave me two weeks tops with Milo
before the chances were our paths would never cross again.

That evening, with the party dying down and Marie very much tied up with
Martin, I offered to take Milo back to the B'n'B. Marie eagerly agreed, and
so there we were walking back together. I could have taken him to my room,
and we could have spent the whole evening doing thoroughly depraved things
together. I did for a moment think of licking him clean, but in the end I
decided something more wholesome was more appropriate.

I'd spotted a book in the common room the last time I'd been there, so
while Milo waited outside on my instruction, I nipped inside and got it.

"What is it?" he asked as I came back outside. I handed him the book, and a
confused look came over his face.

"Butterflies?"

"Yep. There's a meadow up in the hills a little way inland. It's a really
nice evening. I thought we could go and look for butterflies together."

"Um, OK," he said, looking a little less sure about this than I was. But I
had a special trick up my sleeve, something I'd secreted in the bag in
which I habitually carried around my notebook and pen.

We walked up the path past the rock where I'd waited in the rain to receive
my judgement, and beyond into a broad, rolling meadow. The sun was sinking
in the sky in the west, giving the whole place a magical, golden air.

I took Milo's hand in mine, and holding hands we walked out into the long
grass. I knew where I wanted to go, because I'd already scoped it out. A
small hollow lay a couple of minutes' walk through the field, a hollow
which would allow us to stay hidden, but which still caught the remainder
of the sun. It was a romantic location, and one where we wouldn't be
disturbed.

When we reached it, Milo looked confused.

"There really aren't very many butterflies here," he said with a frown.

"Hang on, give me the book," I replied, holding out my hand for it. When he
gave it to me, I tossed it to the side. "Won't need that, it was just a
cover."

He looked at me as if I'd gone crazy, but I carried on.

"No, what we need is this."

I opened my bag and took out a bottle of cider I'd smuggled away from the
pub, stoppered up with a spare wine cork. When Milo saw it he gave me a
huge grin.

I sat down in the grass, and he sat down next to me, and over the next
twenty minutes or so we drained the cider between us. I was taking big
gulps, trying to ensure that while Milo got a buzz, and his inhibitions
were perhaps relaxed, he wasn't so drunk that I would just be taking
advantage of him.

With the cider gone, I lay back on the grass, and Milo followed, his head
on my arm. The sun still reached us, and we lay in its warm, orange-yellow
glow and looked up at the sky.

"Milo" I started, feeling my heart beat pick up for the first time since
we'd come out into the meadow, "do you think it would be OK if I kissed
you?"

I turned my head toward him, and he turned to me. He studied me for a
moment, his deep blue eyes boring into my soul. Instead of replying, he
raised himself onto his elbow, looked down at me for a second longer, and
then lowered his lips to mine.

How do you describe your first proper kiss? Oh yes, I had kissed other
people before, but they were fake, because I was, and am a boylover, and so
my first real kiss of course had to be with a boy. And this was my first,
and it was, without a shadow of a doubt, the single best moment in my
life. All the fooling around we'd done meant nothing in the face of that
kiss. If I had to give back all the memories of our time together, but was
allowed to choose one, it would be that kiss, lying among the wildflowers
in that meadow, with birdsong and insect-buzz all around and the warm sun
beating down upon us. Milo in my arms, then on top of me, and his lips
locked to mine.

I felt as though nirvana had been reached, and what happened next barely
mattered. It did matter, of course, but if Milo hadn't reached down between
us, groping for my hardness, I wouldn't have minded. It would not have
dulled the wonder of that kiss one iota.

But reach down he did, fumbling with the button on the fly of my jeans
until I helped him, pulling down the zip, reaching inside, has hand roughly
forcing its way inside the waistband of my boxers to find and take hold of
my manhood. When his fingers wrapped around it we both groaned, and it was
hard to tell where his lust ended and mine began.

He slid completely off me to the side, and looked down at what he was
doing. He gasped softly at the sight of my dick in his hand, the first time
he had held it. He moved the skin up and down the shaft experimentally a
couple of times, then leaned in closer to look at what he was doing. He was
so completely absorbed with looking at it that I couldn't help smiling. I
lay back, letting my eyes close and listening to nature all around us as
Milo ever so slowly wanked me off.

It was because I had my eyes closed that I didn't see him moving. I didn't
notice his head lowering, I didn't spot his tongue sticking out, I didn't
watch him gingerly lick across the head of my raging manhood.

I felt it, though. Oh God did I feel it, like nothing else. If the kiss had
been the romantic peak of my life, then this was its sexual equivalent. The
hot, wet, wriggly little tongue of my ten (nearly eleven!) year old lover
swiping across the top of my dick was more than I could ever have
imagined. I opened my eyes and looked down at the back of his head just in
time to feel his lips sliding over the first few inches of my manhood, and
locking onto the shaft. He had learned from the two times I had done it to
him, so he sucked strongly and brought his lips back to the head. On the
next pass he used his hand and his lips in unison to skin me back, and I at
last felt the exquisite heat and wetness of his mouth on the exposed head
of my manhood.

If Milo had any qualms at all about sucking me, they were now gone. He
abandoned himself to the task, and a short while later I both felt and
heard him humming a little tune to himself. He was utterly content at his
task.

I, on the other hand, was far from content. I knew that as much as I was
enjoying his ministrations, he would soon have to stop, because my orgasm
was rapidly boiling up. In fact, so sudden was it that I barely had time to
warn him to lift off his head before it started firing out all over the
place. Some caught him in the face because he wasn't quick enough, and the
rest went all over my crotch, and my t-shirt.

He looked up at me with a sense of wonder.

"I had no idea it would shoot that much!" he said, with a droplet of my cum
hanging off the end of his nose.

I cleaned us both up with my boxers and shoved them in my bag, then lay
back on the ground and invited him to lie on top of me.

"Thanks for that, it was amazing," I told him, in between kisses.

"Was it really OK?"

"Milo, it was fucking unbelievable."

He sniggered at that, then lay his head on my shoulder.

He was still fully clothed, while I lay there naked from the waist down, my
jeans discarded and my boxers soiled and shoved in my bag. I reached down
my hands to cup his bum, and he responded with a gentle moan of
encouragement. I kneaded his cheeks in both hands, but I knew I would want
more, so I reached around in front of him and he lifted his backside high
enough to let me get at the fly of his shorts. As soon as it was down I
pushed them and his pants down to mid-thigh, and Milo himself pushed them
the rest of the way off.

I found myself in very short over with two hot, hard buns in my hands, and
the sensation of Milo's very hard, rather small penis poking into my
stomach. I kissed the top of his head softly as I began to gently squeeze
and massage his little backside. As I did so, he started a gentle humping
motion, sliding his sticky, sweaty little dick up and down my stomach.

I let my fingers drift ever inward, until the very tip of my index finger
grazed his hole, and he stiffened and cried out in surprise. I backed away
for a moment, but returned to test the waters again, and this time he was
quite receptive, whispering `yes' to me as I probed his back door.

I had no intention of taking his virginity - that could wait until he was
older and more ready for it - but I reached down and took a glob of my
emission which had been squeezed from my re-hardened manhood and applied
that to his hole, and with my semen slicking the way, inserted a finger
into him. His humping into my abdomen became a little more frantic. By now
the second knuckle of my finger was bumping up against the rim of his hole
each time I pressed it in, and each time it stretched him a little further
he would whimper. I was getting just far enough inside to tap the hard
little knot of his prostate, and that was what sent him over the edge,
grabbing me, shaking, crying out as his orgasm hit. He came down slowly,
still shuddering from time to time, his breathing ragged for some
minutes. Finally he calmed, and looked up at me.

"Is that your finger in my bum?"

"Yeah. You OK with that?"

"Yeah, it's just. It... I didn't think it would feel like that."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, I didn't think it would feel so good. The feeling of it sliding in
and out, and then whatever you were pressing inside me, that was
amazing. Does that mean I have to be the one who has it up my bum?"

I had to laugh at the way he put it, which earned me a reproachful glare.

"No, sweetheart. You don't have to do anything. If you don't want it up
your bum you don't have to."

He looked at me, stricken.

"And what if I do want it?" he whispered.

--

We stayed a while longer in the little dell, until the warmth of the day
really was gone, and dusk was drawing quickly in. I hunted around for the
butterfly book - it was a book, after all, even if I'd only used it as a
dramatic prop - and we dressed in whatever we had left which was clean, and
shoved the rest in my bag.

Then, holding hands, we walked back to the path, and by the light of a
bright, round moon, made our way to the B'n'B.

This time, I had a new way of saying goodnight to Milo - I leaned down and
kissed him on the lips, and it was returned with interest. I took
considerably longer than was safe over the kiss, out in the hallway where
anyone could have walked by, but it was worth it to feel the softness of
his little lips, and to hear the gentlest little moans he made as I held
him.

--

There was a palpable tension between us the next day. I had expected Milo
to be glad to see me in the morning, but he was sullen. There were bags
under his eyes, and the make-up girl complained that she had to work extra
hard to make him presentable. For my part, I thought a haggard-looking Milo
would be more appropriate to the role of a kid during the second world war,
especially one who was involved with foiling a Nazi plot, but apparently
that wasn't the image the director was going for.

He stalked over to me during the middle of the day and stood next to me,
not speaking. I steered him away from everyone and asked him what on earth
was going on.

"It's your fault," he said, shooting daggers at me with his eyes.

Immediately my mind went into overdrive. Was it what we'd done the night
before? Was he having regrets about how far he'd gone with me? I shouldn't
have taken the cider with us, I shouldn't have got him tipsy, just so I
could have my way with him. I thought he would enjoy it, once he'd got over
his initial distaste at the idea, but perhaps I had been wrong after all.

"I'm sorry, Milo. What did I do? Didn't you like what we did?"

He sighed heavily, as if I was some sort of idiot who simply didn't
understand anything at all.

"No, it's not that. You... you made me into a homo."

"What?!"

"You made me gay. You stuck your finger in my bum and now I'm gay because I
liked it, and I want you to do it again, and I was thinking all night about
what it would feel like if you did it with your willy, too. So now I'm gay,
and it's all your fault."

"Milo, sweetheart, I only did it because I thought you'd like it."

"I did like it, and now because I liked it I'm gay."

"Liking having a finger up your bum doesn't make you gay, Milo."

"What about wanting it to be your willy instead? I mean, really wanting
it. And wanting to suck you off again. It's all I've been thinking about
all night. I gave myself fizzes about nine times thinking about it and I
still couldn't stop."

I stood back and looked at him.

"OK, so maybe that makes you a little bit gay. But that doesn't matter,
does it?"

"Of course it matters! Everyone makes fun of you if you're gay at school."

"I know, that bit can be pretty crap. Maybe just don't tell them. You're
going to go off to theatre school in a couple of years anyway, aren't you?"

"Yeah. What's that got to do with anything?"

"Well," I said with a smile, "one thing I can guarantee is that there will
be plenty more boys like you at that school."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Milo, that acting tends to be one of those professions with a
higher number of gay people. It's a lot more accepting than society in
general."

"So, what, I just don't tell anyone until I get to RADA, then I can tell
people?"

"It's probably safest that way, yeah."

Milo sighed, and the tension drained out of him.

"I was so angry with you," he said, leaning into my side and hugging me
around the waist. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry, Milo. You're dealing with a whole lot of new
things."

Checking we weren't overlooked, I leaned down and kissed his cheek. "But
you know what? I'm here for you. We can do as much or as little as you
want. If you just need me to be your friend, we can do that, and we can
stop doing all the other stuff, until you get your head around it."

He looked up at me. A single tear was making its way down his cheek.

"Thanks," he whispered. "But what if I don't want to stop?"

"In that case," I said, my heart hammering in my chest, "you better come to
my room tonight."

He giggled at that. Just then, we heard the director calling his name, and
he dashed off back to set. I stood and watched him go.

"You're good with him," said a voice behind me. "You're good together."

I span round, feeling the heat rising in my face. It was the famous actor,
the big name, the one who had groped Milo early on in the shoot. He was
smiling gently.

"Oh, don't worry," he said, holding up his hands. "Your secret's safe with
me. And I didn't overhear what you were saying, so you needn't worry about
that either. But I can see it."

"It's nothing like that," I said, still imagining that I could talk my way
out of it. "He's just a bit homesick, I was trying to make him feel
better."

"Oh, of course it isn't like that. Tell me, how much better have you been
making him feel? No, don't answer that, I don't want to know. I imagine
your little ganymede has told you what happened between he and I?"

"He mentioned that you'd hit on him, yes."

"Ha! Not even that. I didn't even get close enough to try anything. My God,
though, he's a little firecracker. Gay as all hell, too."

"That's his business. I'm not sure discussing it with you is fair on him."

"I'm not asking for your confirmation, Mr McNaught. I can tell that for
myself. I have a long, distinguished career in spotting young boys who are
gay before they even hit puberty. It's a skill I have quite deliberately
honed. Oh, the names I could tell you!"

"Exactly how many boys have you slept with?" I asked, incredulous.

"In all? Oh, goodness knows. A hundred, maybe. I tend to make a point of
taking scripts with boys in them. I'll tell you, that TV version of Oliver
I did was one stop short of an orgy."

"So you're not going to say anything about Milo and I?"

"No, no, of course not. One thing, though, would you mind satisfying my
curiosity? Just what is his little willy like?"

"Er, uncut, long skin, about three inches hard, straight as a ruler, pokes
up at about 45 degrees. Very pale white, with blue veins on the side,
though the tip of his foreskin is always tinged pink. The head bulges wider
than the shaft. Overall, not that fat, but not pencil thin either. Foreskin
still bunches over the head even when he's completely hard, but it pulls
back easily enough. He makes a little clear fluid before his orgasm, but he
doesn't shoot."

The gentleman had his eyes closed, a beatific smile on his face, deepening
the wrinkles by his eyes.

"Thank you, Mr McNaught. I am, you might say, rather a connoisseur of young
boys' cocks. I shall store your wonderful description away. And you may
rest assured that I will do nothing to upset Milo. He's such a beautiful
little thing. It's a shame you got there before I could."

And that was that. He walked away, and years later when I was watching him
collect a lifetime achievement BAFTA, I recalled our conversation with a
smile. To my mind his achievements behind the scenes were far more
remarkable.

--

I lay cuddling Milo to my side, his leg thrown over my waist, his arm
across my chest. He was still breathing a little hard after our first
little tumble of the evening. We were both entirely naked, lying in my bed,
and I could feel his still-stiffened member poking into my hip.

"You suck my willy so nicely," he said with a giggle. "You're so good at
that."

"Thanks!" I laughed. "I suppose it's because I like doing it so much."

He reached down and grabbed my thickened shaft.

"You know," he said, beginning to manoeuvre himself beneath the covers,
into the hot, sweaty, dank space between my legs, "I kind of like sucking
you, too."

He settled between my legs, and I felt his lips close over the end,
suckling gently. His hand skinned me back, and his tongue was all over the
head, cleaning it of its copious slick of my precum. He seemed to have a
real taste for it; I could understand - his own fluid was a heavenly little
gift.

He pushed himself down onto my shaft until his lips were half way down and
the head was nuzzling the back of his mouth, then retreated, sucking
gently, bringing a surge of blood to engorge my shaft. I felt a little
spasm of pleasure, and a tiny shot of fluid firing from the tip into his
mouth. He made a surprised sound, and lifted back a little, but swallowed
and carried on with his task.

I threw back the covers to watch him at work. His astonishing blue eyes
looked up at me, full of mischief and merriment, as he bobbed his head up
and down gently. I felt another jolt, and another little surge of fluid
entered Milo's mouth. He stopped bobbing and tasted it, lifting his lips
off me and smiling, sucking in a dribble of saliva which escaped the corner
of his mouth.

"Does it mean you're close when you do that?" he asked.

"It means I'm very, very close. If you'd carried on for a few moments
longer I would've cum."

"And you would have shot your spunk in my mouth?"

"Well, I would've tried to warn you."

"And if I didn't hear you?"

"Yeah, you'd've got a mouthful."

"Is it bad for you?"

"Nope, it's fine. Some people spit it out, others swallow it."

"Swallow it?! Why?"

"Because they like it. Or they want to show how much they love the person
they sucked off."

"And you can do that by swallowing their sperm?"

"Yeah, I know," I said with a rueful smile. "It never used to make sense to
me either. But I'll be honest, Milo, if you started shooting right now I'd
drink as much of it as I could."

"Really?"

"Yep."

"How long do you think it'll be before I can do it, then?"

"Don't know, mate. A lot of boys don't shoot until they're twelve or
thirteen, but you already make the clear, slippery stuff, so maybe it'll
start sooner for you."

"Oh yeah, like the salty stuff you make when I suck your dick."

"Exactly."

"Is that what your spunk tastes like?"

"Not exactly, it's a bit more bitter. I don't really know, though, I don't
drink a lot of it."

He grinned, and lowered his head down onto me once more. He went back to
sucking and bobbing, and I realised was humping the bed while he lay on his
tummy between my legs. Clearly sucking my dick made him rather horny.

Our little chat hadn't dampened my ardour, and within a minute I was once
more on the edge of blowing my load.

"It's going to happen, Milo," I said in desperate tones.

He didn't stop, he just sucked harder.

"Milo, seriously, stop!" I cried out, but it was too late. Even as the last
words left my mouth I felt the excruciating rush of semen boiling up
through my manhood and spurting powerfully into his mouth. Milo kept
sucking, and I could feel him swallowing, too. One, two, three thick spurts
he swallowed, before he pulled off, coughing, and let the remainder
splatter onto my stomach.

When he'd caught his breath he wiped his face on the duvet, and then looked
up at me with a very self-satisfied grin.

"Come here!" I said with a grin, and wrapped my arms around him, kissing
him passionately.

"That was amazing, Milo," I whispered to him when at last our kiss ended,
and he had once more slipped off to hug me from the side. Thin threads of
my sticky cum stretched out between us.

"It didn't taste very nice, but I wanted to do it. I wanted you to know how
much I like you."

"Thank you, Milo. It means a lot to me."

"So, do you want to try the other thing?" he asked, in a whisper.

"What thing?"

"You know. Your dick. My bum."

I was absolutely floored. Even after all that Milo had said about wanting
to do it, I didn't think he would actually offer his virginity to me. And I
didn't want to push that agenda; I wanted to give him time the change his
mind.

"Actually, I don't think I could, not tonight, not after you sucked me off
so well. It'll take me a while to recover from that!"

He giggled and snuggled into me. I thought I heard him whisper `thanks',
but it was so quiet I couldn't be sure. Not long after that, I heard him
gently snoring.

--

I woke awash with sweat, with a baking hot little presence to my
left. Waking up in the morning with Milo in my bed was wonderful. I
stretched out, then reached over to where he lay on his back, his morning
wood tenting the sheet obscenely. It was a warm morning already, and it was
barely 7am.

I wrapped my fist around his dick through the sheet, wanking it quickly,
listening for the change in tone of his breathing as it started to feel
very good indeed. At the fist moan I dived under the covers, admiring his
nakedness, drinking in the smell of him, something unique to pre-pubescent
boys.

His dick, which I was rapidly getting into the habit of sucking, was
pointing towards his head, lying almost flat against his lower tummy. It
throbbed with hardness, the little blue vein which decorated its side
standing in stark contrast to the alabaster whiteness of the rest of it. I
wanted to carve its image in marble so that I would always be able to gaze
on such perfection. I pulled back his skin and slipped my mouth in a tight
`o' over the exposed head. He groaned gently in his sleep, and shifted,
rolling over on his side, and then onto his front.

Had he really decided that he didn't want to have his dick sucked? I
pondered what could possibly have caused him to reject such pleasure, but
then his hips started moving and all became clear - his hand was underneath
him, sheathing his dick, and he was humping into the mattress. He wasn't
quite awake, and this was obviously one of the ways he chose to get himself
off.

I lay there for a moment, still with the covers over my head, watching his
little bum flexing adorably as he exercised the muscles which he would one
day use to fuck with, assuming he was ever a top. I ran my hand up the
inside of his thigh, until my fingertips brushed up against the wrinkled
little sack of his scrotum. I pressed against it, feeling his little nuts
moving around inside.

I lingered there a moment, considering my next move. There was something I
had wanted to do for a while now. Something I wasn't sure a fully awake
Milo would allow me to do, because he might be too nervous, but something
which I felt sure he would not only enjoy, but crave to be repeated. I made
up my mind that it was now or never, and leaned over his backside. With the
hand with which I had fondled his little nutsack, I prized apart the
perfectly symmetrical buns of his tight little backside, and leaned in to
run my tongue over his pale pink pucker.

Milo's reaction was just as impulsive as the act itself. His arse pushed up
at me, forcing his hole onto my tongue, and he gave out a long, low groan,
full of needful desire. I pointed my tongue and pressed it into him,
feeling his relaxed pucker spread effortlessly around the tip. The
sensation of the ring of muscle spreading around my tongue was like nothing
else I'd ever felt, and the tangy flavour of him was completely
unexpected. There was a faint bitterness to it, but that was quickly
overridden by something else, a musky, unique scent which drove me crazy. I
hadn't thought for a moment it would be so wonderful to be in this
position, with my tongue up his arse. I thought all the pleasure belonged
to the receiver, and having once been in Milo's position myself, I wanted
him to know what it felt like.

Now, though, I didn't want it to end. I shifted around between his legs,
reinserting my tongue. Milo responded by bucking his hips again, and this
time whimpering out loud, and then saying `oh fuck, Zack' over and over,
like a little mantra to keep himself sane while his body tried to launch
off into outer space. Evidently my stimulation had been enough to wake him.

The final surprise was when Milo came. It hit him like a freight train - he
was shaking, calling out, thumping the bed with the hand which wasn't
wrapped around his dick. But best of all was saved for me, because I had no
idea that his sphincter would start rhythmically clamping down on my
tongue. The sensation of it suckling on my invading muscle was like the
most intense French kiss ever, but turned up to 11 because my face was in
the backside of my ten year old lover who was enjoying simply the most
astonishingly wonderful orgasm it had ever been my pleasure to give another
human being.

He collapsed onto the bed, sweating profusely, his hair damply clinging to
his forehead, eyes clamped shut as aftershocks still wracked his body. I
looked down at his back, where a few beads of sweat had sprung up at the
base of his spine, and without a moment's hesitation leaned down to lick
them up. Milo, who had fallen still for a moment, shivered violently at the
contact, and goosebumps sprang up all over his body. He reached out a hand
for me, and I moved close enough that he could grab me and hold me tight,
as the tension of his orgasm slowly left his body.

--

Milo was a different person again that day. Where the day before he had
been grouchy and self-absorbed, tired from a sleepless night, this
particular day he was the light and soul of everything which happened on
the set. He was enthusiastic, cheerful and full of energy, bouncing from
one scene to the next, giving brilliant performances each time.

Over lunch he and I sat on the bench and chatted about the afternoon
shooting schedule, and how excited he was to be doing some of the scenes,
and how much he was looking forward to the next few days, when we were
expecting to change locations to film on the beach down the coast a little
way.

The actor who had admitted an interest in Milo joined us, chatting about
this and that. He had such a natural manner with the boy that it was easy
to see how he'd managed to get into so many young boys' pants. I had
repeated his conversation to Milo the night before, and Milo being who he
was, he'd wanted to do something nice for the old fellow. This seemed like
an ideal opportunity, so I whispered my plan into his ear when our friend
was distracted, and a few minutes later he announced that he really needed
a wee, and headed off in the direction of the gents.

The actor lingered a moment, clearly torn. He obviously used the same trick
as I did, getting a glimpse where he could. He fidgeted in his seat,
clearly torn between staying and going to try to catch Milo at it. After
twenty seconds or so of this, I caught his eye, and rather theatrically
raised an eyebrow. Comprehension dawned in his eyes, and he raised himself
from the bench, using all his talent to make it appear that he was in no
hurry, whilst actually getting out of there sharpish.

I whispered, "No touching!" to him as he went past, and he gave me a
wide-eyed smile, and went to see what he could see.

Milo came back to me twenty minutes later, looking flushed.

"You were gone a while," I said, trying not to sound accusing, but not
wholly succeeding. "I thought you were just going to give him a quick
look."

"Um, yeah. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let him, but he..."

I took a deep breath, and decided to give the boy some leeway - he was a
horny preteen after all.

"As long as you had fun, and you didn't do anything you didn't enjoy."

"Oh no! It was... well, it was nice. He was very happy. He told me to say
thank you to you."

"He shouldn't have, Milo. You're not my property. He doesn't have to thank
me for something you agreed to do for him."

He nodded, but fell silent until he was called for the next scene.

--

That afternoon the crew all retired to the pub again, and Milo came along
with me. This time I was far more open about what I was doing, and in plain
sight of everyone bought Milo a half. The landlord didn't care one bit, and
the crew generally patted Milo on the back for having his first real
drink. It was the kind of appropriate response to the situation which has
been weeded out by interfering busybodies these days.

Milo sat there like a prince, slowly sipping the cool nectar, getting more
and more raucous with his behaviour as the alcohol took hold.

At about eight in the evening, with Milo now very much the centre of
attention, I announced that it was time for him to go back to the B'n'B. He
looked crestfallen, but when I raised my eyebrows to him and he realised
the implications of going back - i.e. there was a very good chance he would
get his dick sucked - he relented and agreed, although not without a
further grumble or two, just for the look of things.

Marie happily waved us goodbye as she rather drunkenly snuggled into
Martin, and once more I was alone with my ten year old boyfriend.

Milo was a properly giggly little drunk on the way back, wandering all over
the footpath, stopping to wee half way back, making no effort at all to
shield his little worm from my eyes. When we reached my room, he fell back
onto the bed with his arms wide, and said, in the campest voice he could
muster,

"Strip me, baby."

I laughed at his little act, but did as he asked, kissing all over his
arms, legs, torso, face as I did so, then leaning down to hoover up his
little willy, which had somehow remained soft, presumably due to the
numbing effects of the cider.

It didn't stay that way for long. It was soon an iron-hard spike in my
mouth, and I bobbed up and down on him for a few minutes, enjoying the
taste of him, and the fact that the alcohol seemed to have dulled his hair
trigger. By the time I let his stiff spike pop out of my mouth he had been
moaning and writhing beneath me for about ten minutes, which was usually
long enough to make him cum two or three times.

He looked down at me through his open legs, and smiled, tugging at his
erection. Then, shamelessly, he put his hands behind his knees and lifted
his legs, exposing his tight, pink pucker to me.

"Do it there, now," he said, his voice husky with passion.

I leaned in and did exactly as I was told, swiping my tongue over his
little rosebud, running it all the way up to his dick and repeating. A
couple of minutes of that and his hole started to open up, flowering before
me. I stuck my tongue into the opening, only for his arse to clamp down
around it. But I had gained entry, and by twisting my tongue this way and
that, was able to prise him further open.

By the time my tongue was growing sore, his hole gaped, glistening wetly
with my saliva, and Milo was lying in a sweaty, panting mass of limbs on
the bed. He looked at me through lidded eyes.

"Do it. Do it now," he whispered. i didn't need to ask what. I shed my
clothes, throwing them on top of his, and pushed him up the bed, kneeling
between his wide-apart legs. I leaned forward to kiss him passionately,
then further forward still, breaking the kiss and looking down between our
bodies to where my manhood pressed into the soft folds of his scrotum. We
didn't need any extra help - the torrent of my precum which had been
flowing freely for some time coated the underside of my dick, and had
pooled within the foreskin. I reached down a hand and gently ran the tip of
my dick down his perineum, and onto the deepest part of the valley below.

His hole had closed up in fear, but as I gently applied pressure, and kept
it there, he relaxed. Inside a minute his hole had spread around the tip of
my dick, and I began to push inside.

God it was tight in there. And hot, and silky soft, and all the things you
would hope a young boy's arse would be. Everything you've fantasised about
is true. It is a finer place to lodge your manhood than anywhere else in
the world.

I looked down at Milo, who was looking up at me as I penetrated him, a look
of slightly drunken reverence on his face. Then, all of a sudden, as my
head pushed him to his fullest, he started laughing.

I stopped and looked down at him, and his giggles subsided, but as I pushed
forward once more, he burst out laughing again.

"I'm sorry!" he managed to get out between gulps of air, "but it really
tickles!"

"Tickles? Doesn't hurt?"

"Nope," he said, shaking his head emphatically.

"What about if I do this?" I said, surging forward into him.

A change came over him. The laughter died on his lips, and instead they
formed a perfect `o'.

"Oh, shit..." he breathed. "Oh shit, that's really big. That feels so
strange."

"Want me to take it out?" I asked, concerned that in my lust I might have
gone too far.

"No, no, no! Leave it in. Leave it in. It's just... it doesn't tickle any
more. You hit that thing inside which made it good, but you hit it much
harder."

I looked down to where our bodies joined. Half of me was buried inside his
tight little bum. I didn't think it likely that any more would fit in.

"Want me to hit it again?"

He nodded. "Just once, though. Just do it once."

I slid out until I could see his distended ring of muscle bulge as the
flare of my crown tugged at it, then pushed back in, settling maybe a
little further inside than before. His dick, which had gone a little limp,
surged back to full hardness in the space of a heartbeat.

"Oh wow, oh wow!" she said breathlessly. "Do it again!"

I did so, then again, and again. The angle must have been perfect, because
on each thrust his body responded - his willy jumped, his abs tightened,
his breath was reduced to a ragged gasp. I started pumping him, desperately
trying to make him cum from merely the sensation of being fucked before I
lost it in him and couldn't get him there. But my efforts were to no avail
- my orgasm built far too quickly, brought on by the hot, tight, wet
grasping walls of his rectum.

I lunged into him one more time and came hard, splashing volley after
volley up inside him. He groaned at the sensation, eyes squeezed shut, as
if he didn't want to believe what was happening. I made a few more feeble
thrusts into him and then stopped, leaning over him with my manhood still
buried in his backside.

I was dripping with sweat, and chronically out of breath. My heart was
still pounding so hard in my chest that I was worried I was going to have a
heart attack. Milo was looking up at me, but I didn't know what to say to
the boy. He'd just given his virginity to me, and had, if you believed the
evidence of his still-granite penis, thoroughly enjoyed himself. I had
reached the absolute pinnacle of boy loving, and was as content as a person
could ever be.

--

That was, it turned out, as intimate as Milo and I were ever allowed to be,
for as we entered the last week of filming, Milo's long-forgotten Mother
came back into his life, after three weeks. I use the capital M most
deliberately.

Her name was Margaret, but I only found that out by asking Milo. She
preferred to be called Mrs Forster. She was one of the pushiest, most
self-absorbed people I have ever met, and that makes it all the more
remarkable that she could have given birth to so perfect a little human as
Milo.

And she took him from me, which as far as I was concerned was the last
straw. My enmity for her knew no limits. She whisked Milo away from the B
'n' B, stating that his room was unfit for him (which it was, though that
was of little consequence given that he'd spent the last three nights in my
bed). I saw him on set during the day, of course, but even then she hovered
around, and seemed to be highly suspicious of my relationship with her boy.

In which regard she was right, of course. I had spent three weeks working
my way into his little pants, and it had culminated in me taking his
cherry. It had been the most wonderful experience of my life - and his, he
admitted later - and yet we'd been able to share it only once.

There were a few times in that last week when we could sneak away long
enough for me to suck him, or vice versa, but even those moments were
frantic, and fraught with danger, when only a week previously they had been
taken at leisure in my room.

On the very last day, when we had finally heard the director tell us we'd
wrapped, the end-of-shoot party kicked into life. It turned out to be the
last time I would speak to Milo in person for nearly seven years. The way
he talked to me that evening, and the maturity he showed, makes it seem in
hindsight that he knew exactly what level of separation was coming.

"I've had such a good time over the last few weeks," he told me when we'd
finally managed to escape his mother's clutches. "Thanks for everything
we... you know, we did. All those things. All the stuff you taught me. I
won't forget you."

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I leaned in to kiss him, softly,
passionately. Finally.

After a few seconds staring into his eyes, I found the ability to speak.

"It's your birthday tomorrow, isn't it? You're turning eleven. And
secondary school in the autumn?"

He nodded, his eyes laden with unshed tears.

"I got you a little something. Open it now, go on," I said, handing over a
little tissue-paper wrapped parcel.

He tore off the paper, revealing the long, thin oblong box beneath. He
prized it open, and there sat a silver fountain pen, gleaming brightly in
the late summer sun.

"You said to me once that you love to write, and that when you get to
secondary school you'll be allowed to use a fountain pen for your work. You
seemed so excited by the idea. I hope it reminds you of me when I'm not
around. And to make sure it does, have a look under the cap."

He did so, and gasped - around the barrel, covered by the cap when it was
in place, I had asked to be inscribed the words "My love, forever, ZM" in
minuscule lettering. The tears which had lingered unshed in his eyes
finally flowed, wetting his cheeks with two long lines.

"Thank you," he whispered. "For everything."