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

 

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

 

Anyone wishing to contact me can do so at JTST449@gmail.com

 

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

 

All rights reserved. All parts of these documents are Copyright 2014 John T. S. Teller, and may not be reproduced in any form without the author's consent. Nifty.org has permission to reproduce it on their website.

 

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Myles.

 

By John Teller.

 

This story is dedicated to all meerkats in balmy burrows beneath swaying palms.

 

 

 

In the year 2005.

I complete the revision of the piece I'm writing and save the document. Two thousand words on The Hidden Gems of Naples - Italy. It's for a bi-weekly slot in the national newspaper I write for, and the fee will certainly keep the wolf from the door. Being sixty-two years old and not having any family to speak of, I could exist on that fee alone, but coupled with the other pieces I write for various magazines, plus the income from the dozen or so travel books I've written, financially, I'm as sound as a pound if one were to count in old money and not the made up currency of today.

 

"Have you finished Barry?"

 

I look across at Myles sitting at his desk by the window, and smile at the beautiful boy who has come into my life. "Yes. Have you done all your homework?"

 

He gives me one of those fabulous, sexy grins of his. "Yes. Ages ago. I've been waiting for you. Can we do it now?"

 

I chuckle. "You're eager. Have you not had chance to do it at school?"

 

Another sexy grin from twinkling, naughty eyes. "Nope." He swivels on his chair, unfastens the top of his jeans, inserts both thumbs inside the waistband, slips them and his underpants down to his knees, and pulls his tee-shirt up his slim body to display his wares.  "I've been saving it up for you."

 

His wares. When we first started doing it, fully erect it was three inches long: a thin, fascinatingly rigid, arced, sensuous dick that I couldn't get enough of. And he was no slouch at wanting it played with either. Once we'd got over the preliminaries, he couldn't wait to get it in my mouth and have it sucked off. Being a child with a high libido, he would want it (and other things) messed with for maybe an hour before he'd slip away with that famous grin on his cute face. And looking at the state of his wares now, I know I'd better give him a quick blow job before we get into the other stuff. He'll moan his arse off if I try to do what I enjoy doing most - fondling and kissing every square inch of him because he's so beautiful - unless I first take the edge off his lust. So I swivel my own chair, go across to him, and kneel between his jean-clad legs. Immediately I do, he grabs my head and pulls me onto him.

 

It's grown two inches now, and thickened out some. Being small of stature, his dick is analogous to the rest of him. No oversized dick on my fourteen year old fun-buddy. Not that I want an oversized dick. I adore him just as he is, and now he's into puberty, the size of his dick has no bearing on his produce. He's into the three-spurt stage now, and the viscosity of his spunk makes a nice cream to savour when he's fed me. I used to enjoy his dry orgasms, but I much prefer something to leave a nice taste in my mouth when it's over. But that's just one of the variety of tastes I'll have of him before he leaves this evening. After this is over, he'll want me to suck his toes and lick the soles of his feet before he'll pull his knees back and let me get at that delicious hole he keeps well groomed. After that he'll let me have more of his spunk, and then I get some armpit flavour before he towers over me and drips saliva into my mouth. Yes, Myles knows what turns me on, and because it also turns him on, it's a wonderful shared experience tasting the boy who so fortuitously came into my life five years ago.

 

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Five years ago... in the year 2000

I   Barry Sidall was fifty-seven years old... fading around the edges looks-wise; thinning hair, and a bit-of-a-middle-age-tummy even though nobody could call me fat. As a matter of fact, my body pretty much mirrored my life at the time... both were run of the mill.

 

My life? Because I'm into boys, I never married, and because boys usually prefer younger men than me; that side of my life had gone into limbo. In fact, the last boy I'd had sex with was ten years previous when I was forty-seven, and that was a `holiday romance' in the Dordogne in France. He was a gay fifteen-year-old Swedish boy Wiktor who was on vacation with his parents and recognised as soon as he set eyes on me exactly what I was. Wiktor and his parents were staying in the same gite/holiday-home as I was and had the main part of the house while I was renting the self-contained adjoining flat. I was actually doing some research for a book on the Dordogne, and as soon as they understood what I did for a living, and because it was their fourth time in that particular place and knew the surrounding area well, within a couple of days I'd become an addition to their family and was accompanying them everywhere in their car. It was perfect. Wiktor was an only child, and because his parents saw me as a possible `baby-sitter' while they relived their honeymoon, it took just four days before he and I shared his bed.

 

All the `courting' had been done beforehand, of course... legs pressed together in the rear seats of the car; thigh-squeezing while we shared amusing moments; no rejection of my fingers stroking the nape of his slender neck while we were quiet and pretending to be interested only in the countryside as we passed through it; his delicate fingers settling on my forearms a little longer than they should when he wanted to say something; those shared looks; and finally the moment it all happened when his parents went out for the evening for a jolly, and left Wiktor with me. When a boy walks into a room with a relative stranger, wearing only briefs after he's showered, then you just know what's going to happen! And when he sits right next to you on a large sofa while you're on your third glass of Beaujolais that he insisted you drink before he took a shower, and when he doesn't try to hide the super bulge in his brite-white undies showing a distinct wet spot where precum is oozing from him, then it's all over bar the shouting. Thirty minutes later he'd spilled a dose of his delicious spunk into the back of my throat, and I was emptying my own juices deep inside his gorgeous bottom. Despite his young age, Wiktor was no virgin. In fact, as he told me later, he'd got a `boyfriend' back in Stockholm - a thirty-four year old man who'd been looking after him since he was twelve. I was just `filling-in' for a highly sexed teenager. Not that I was complaining. Wiktor was a fantastic lover, and because I fell in love with his superb body and couldn't get enough of it, and he was way into men's dicks, it was a match made in heaven. But ten days later, with me sporting a very sore dick and he a very grateful bottom, it all came to a grinding halt when we had to return to our respective homes.

 

There were the usual I'll write to you, and we'll keep in touch, but in actual fact, it was what it was: a holiday romance. I've not seen or heard from him since I went back home.

 

Back home five years ago.

 

I live in a posh, semi-detached house in Cambridge, England, and five years after Wiktor and just before I left for a month long trip to Lisbon, Portugal, the owners of the property next door told me their house was finally sold. It had been up for sale for some time because they were going to live and work in Dubai, so now it was sold and the new owners wanted to move in as soon as possible, we said our goodbyes before I left. And I must admit that while I was away I wondered what type of folk would be waiting for me on my return. Our houses are too expensive to attract first-time buyers, and probably too big to be suitable for old folk, so it was a bit of a mystery who had bought it apart from I'd been told that the lady who did the dealing was a designer. Anyway, when I got back I was pleasantly surprised to see a nice Mercedes parked in the drive, and it took only a couple of days before we introduced ourselves as neighbours.  That was a nice surprise! Carrie Rowley is a holiday home designer. That's what she does... travel to near and far to do the interior-designs for lettings that her company owns. Her trips abroad are mostly to Spain or The Balearics or The Canary Islands, so, because she's into travelling and so am I, we struck up an almost immediate rapport.  But there was something far nicer than a good-looking woman living next door... she had the most fantastic nine-year-old little boy I've ever set eyes on: Myles.

 

I suppose you can best describe Myles by saying that if you were to give him a part to play in the film Oliver Twist, he'd play the Artful Dodger rather than Oliver. And if he was in an animated film, he would be Bart Simpson. Part of the reason he was so wild was because his parents were separated and he had no man in his life to keep him on the straight and narrow. He visited his father... frequently, and stayed with his grandparents on the other side of Cambridge when his mother was working away, but when he was at home, he did whatever he wanted. But he was that type of boy at nine, and once he'd become familiar with me, it wasn't unusual for him to call on me and spend a couple of hours watching TV or eating my food. At first his mother apologised for his extrovert nature, but because he was always charming when he was with me, I dismissed her protestations and told her that it was not a problem. And as time went by, Myles became part of the furniture. His mother would often take advantage of my indifference to his gregarious antics and leave him with me instead of having him moaning his arse off when she went shopping. She considered he was safe with me. And he was.

 

Well, at nine years of age he was. I'm not into little boys who don't know their arse from their elbows, and at that tender age, Myles was pretty much like I was when I was nine. We never discussed it, but a few snippets of conversation led me to believe he was into wanking. I reckoned he'd be doing as I did when I was his age... have a wank and then go to sleep dreaming of scoring the winning goal in the FA Cup Final at Wembley. So, unless an exceptionally mature very young man crosses my path, because my age of attraction is 13-18 and Myles didn't seem to be one of those, I never bothered with him that way. That's not to say I didn't admire him for his boy-beauty. It's perfectly possible to love boys the way I do and not be attracted sexually to them. I like my boys to be small in stature: Myles... check. I like my boys to be outgoing: Myles... check. I like my boys to sport a cheeky grin, and rather than look like a child film-star, I prefer them to have character in their looks: Myles... check. I like brown-haired, brown-eyed boys: Myles... check. I like my boys to have sultry, sexy lips: Myles... check. But most of all I like my boys to have nice rounded thighs, a slim curvaceous waist, and a pert bottom: Myles... check, check, check! As a matter of fact, I never missed an opportunity to pinch that bottom, or give it a friendly slap. So, for the first couple of years as I got to know him, I saw him as a great kid who brought fun into my life. It was only when he was eleven and began to fill out in all the right places that those thoughts began to creep into my mind, and boy... did it not all come together fortuitously! I remember exactly when it all blew up... and what it led to!

 

It was midsummer; a wonderful hot day with temperatures in the mid twenties and Carrie was having a barbeque in the rear garden. Her ex-husband and his new bit of fluff were there, and so were her parents (Myles's grandparents) along with a bunch of friends, including a couple of kids a bit older than Myles. (Both boys.) Myles's father had bought him one of those inflatable pools, and previous to the guests arriving, he got me to help him blow it up and fill it before the guests arrived. It took us three hours, and we had fun whilst doing it with Myles jumping in and out of the damned thing and splashing water all over me. Not that I minded. Being alone with a gorgeous boy wearing just brief, electric-blue swimming trunks was something I would never turn my nose up at, and I don't mind admitting that I helped myself to more than a few playful slaps to that lovely little bottom which stood out from the rest of him like a ripe peach. As a matter of fact, that morning was when I began to see Myles in a completely different light, so much so that I had to adjust my dick a number of times to hide my `discomfort'. Could you blame me? In the previous few months Myles had grown three inches, lost much of his puppy-fat, and when the water was splashing on him, it ran like bright, translucent pearls down his nebulous, gracious form. But it was when all the guests had arrived and we were munching away at hot-dogs and burgers and spare ribs that it all went tits up.

 

One of the boy guests Harry was fourteen years old, and more than tasty with his young, stud-like body that sported the beginnings of a lovely six-pack, as well as having a bulge in his swimwear that told me he was well-blessed in the `sports department'. I couldn't take my eyes off him. I tried, but failed miserably. All three boys were wearing swimming trunks, and Harry had a gorgeous tan to emphasise his lithe beauty. (The other boy Daniel Jordan was just not my cup of tea, and quite a bit overweight, so I didn't bother with him. I like my boys slim and lithe.) So, throughout the day I feasted and feasted, if you know what I mean. Well... hot dogs and hot boys make a lovely combination. But my perving on Harry had its consequences... something I wasn't to discover until the party was over and it was time to go. I said my goodbyes... but no Myles! Carrie said he'd complained that he had a tummy upset and had gone to bed. I had missed him, but I thought he was just taking a time-out. Stupid old fool! I should have known. But it's always fine to be wise after the event.

 

The following day was a Sunday, and I fully expected to see Myles sometime during the day. But no Myles. So I telephoned Carrie and asked her if he was ill. She said he wasn't, but was in a sulk for some reason and hadn't left his bedroom for more than a few minutes. I thought it was strange. Myles was never a boy to sulk.

 

Anyway, because it was school hols, I expected he would pop around during the week because his mother was working at the office until the end of July. In fact, it was Thursday when I saw him, and then he was in a surly mood with me. I was out back and he was kicking a football about in his back garden, dressed in trainers without socks and wearing football shorts and a white tee-shirt. We have a one-metre tall fence between our properties, so I called across to him, "Hey! You got over your upset tummy yet?"

 

He glared at me, and growled, "Yes."

 

"Is your mum in?"

 

"No!"

 

"Want to come around for a while?"

 

"I'm playing footy!"

 

"I can see that. I've got some of your favourite cookies in."

 

"Not hungry!"

 

I decided it was time to sort things. "Hey... I don't know what I've done, but is there a reason you're giving me the cold shoulder? If I've done something wrong, I don't know what it is, but whatever, I apologise."

 

Then he spat the words out. "Why don't you invite Harry? He's more your type!"

 

Wham! Bang! Get that one up you Barry Sidall! It really isn't nice when the boy you've become extremely fond of has sussed out that you've been eying up another boy. But I was a bit puzzled. I'd always been circumspect when I was around Myles, and apart from the odd grope and slap on his lovely bottom, I'd never let on that I was into boys. And what's more, because I'd hidden my disposition, I hadn't expected anyone to notice that I was perving on the delicious Harry. But somebody had noticed, and it was the boy ignoring me across the dividing fence. But why should a boy of just eleven be angry that I was perving on an older boy? Myles had never shown the slightest interest in me that way. I was under the impression that he saw me as someone to have fun with and to be used whenever it suited him. Whatever, I needed to sort the situation... and pretty damned quick! Boys can be nasty little creatures at times, and I didn't want the situation getting out of hand. There were two reasons for that. Firstly, I had a reputation to protect, and secondly, I didn't want to lose the friendship I had with Myles. So I said the only thing I could think at the time. "I'm not interested in Harry. He's a nice kid, but compared with you, he's a nobody."

 

Myles glared at me. "It was obvious!"

 

"What was?"

 

"Mum says you're gay, and even Harry was making fun of you because you couldn't take your eyes off him! That's why he was posing for you all day. Even fatty Jordan was showing you his arse!"

 

Despite the seriousness of the situation, that comment made me chuckle, and because I'm a great believer that comedy is a great way of breaking down barriers, I didn't hide my smile when I replied, "Was he? I never saw him. If I'd known that, I would have invited him around to my place. His arse would have kept me in dinners for a month of Sundays." I saw a little grin arrive on my favourite boy's face, so I decided to push it even further. "I'd much rather have yours. I'm not much for large portions of arse with sprouts and peas and Yorkshire puddings. Anyway, now I've been well and truly put in my place, I'd better go in and make a cup of tea to go with the cookies." And finally, as a throw-away remark as I turned to go into the house, I called over my shoulder, "There's plenty if you want some." And I didn't look back as I went into the house.

 

It was about a quarter of an hour later when Myles walked in through the open back door and sat at the table without looking at me. I didn't make a fuss of him. Instead, I poured him a cup of tea, put two sugars and a drop of milk in it, stirred it up, and pushed it across the table to him. Then I pushed the plate of cookies towards him. Still without looking at me, he took one and began to nibble on it as he drank his tea. That's when I decided to get things straight. "Myles, just for the record, I wouldn't swap you for a thousand Harry Wotsisnames. I'm sorry if you think he's more important to me than you are."

 

Still he didn't look at me. "But you did like him!"

 

"He was okay. Don't you like me liking other boys?"

 

He shrugged his shoulders. "Doesn't bother me. If you fancy them, who am I to tell you not to?" I studied him for a while, and then he asked, "Are you gay?"

 

Crunch time! All or nothing! So I hedged my bets. "Would you hate me if I was?"

 

He looked at me with blazing eyes, and then growled at me, "No! But you might have bloody told me!"

 

I was thinking on my feet now, and because he'd said he wouldn't hate me if I told him I was gay, I decided it was time to be contrite and try and sort out the mess I was in. "I didn't tell you because I thought you wouldn't like a gay old man. I love having you around, and I didn't want to risk losing you by telling you I'm gay just in case you'd be disgusted with me because I am." I waited for that to sink in, and then added, "I looked at Harry because I couldn't care less if I never saw him again, but I've always tried not to be that way with you."

 

Myles's eyes did a sort of juggling act between the table and my eyes, and then, cautiously, he asked, "But do you think about me that way?"

 

I shrugged my shoulders. "Not until we were filling the swimming pool."

 

A small grin came across his face. "Why when we were filling the swimming pool?"

 

Another shrug of the shoulders. "I'd never noticed what a cute little arse you'd got until we did."

 

He giggled. "You're an old perv!"

 

I grinned. "That's me, but I only look and don't touch."

 

An even bigger grin. "Liar! You're always feeling at my arse. You were doing it when we were filling the swimming pool!"

 

I looked at him in feigned surprise. "Was I? I must be getting really old. I don't remember doing that."

 

By now his grins had changed into chuckles, and he said, "You liar! You knew exactly what you were doing!"

 

I chuckled, too. "Maybe I did, but I'm not going to tell you, am I?"

 

"Why not?"

 

"Because now you know I'm gay, you'll probably tell me not to touch you there again."

 

The smile had left his face, and he looked seriously at me. "I've thought you were gay for ages, and I haven't told you to stop doing it, so why should I now?"

 

I shrugged my shoulders. "Because of the way I looked at Harry?"

 

"So, you think his arse is okay, but mine isn't?"

 

"I didn't say that. As a matter of fact, your arse is so cute that I've given it a name."

 

The devilment was back in his eyes when he asked, "What to do you call it?"

 

"Peachy."

 

"Why `Peachy'?"

 

I grinned at him. "It's like a ripe peach, and scrumptious. I can't imagine any gay guy not doing a double take on it, especially when you're wearing short blue swimming trunks."

 

After he'd stopped giggling, for a while we remained silent, just sipping our tea and nibbling on cookies, but then Myles asked, "Can we go and watch some TV?"

 

I smiled at him. "Sure. Are we still friends?"

 

He grinned. "Of course we are."

 

I grinned back at him. "Thank God for that! I'll clear up here. You go and switch on the TV and make yourself comfortable and I'll come to you when I've finished."

 

"Okay."

 

I've got a three-piece suite... two armchairs and a three-seater sofa... all in a soft, beige Dralon material. I paid quite a lot for it because it was super-comfortable, and during those early non-contact days, Myles's favourite place was the armchair facing the window. And that's where I expected him to be after I'd finished washing up the dishes and cleaning away the things in the kitchen. But he wasn't in his favourite chair. He was on the sofa, which was my usual place to relax. And that's not all that was different. He'd drawn the curtains, which was pretty much unheard of unless the sun was shining directly into the room, spoiling the view of the TV. But because it was a dull day, I knew they hadn't been drawn for that reason. That's why I was nervous when I went into the room, and I just knew Myles was up to something. I was even more nervous when he grinned at me and patted the space beside him. I grinned back at him, and quipped, "You're not going to beat me up, are you?"

 

He giggled. "No. Come and sit with me so I can give you a hug to say I'm sorry."

 

So, when I sat beside him, he grabbed my arm and lifted it up so it was around his shoulders, and then he snuggled into me and wrapped his arm around my middle before he said, "Sorry Barry."

 

I kissed the top of his head. "No, it's me who should be sorry. I'm a stupid old perv who doesn't know how to treat a special boy properly."

 

He lifted his head, and grinned at me. "And I'm a stupid little kid who doesn't know how to treat his gay best friend properly."

 

I wrinkled my face at him. "Well... that's all over now. Give me the controller so I can change channels. I'm sick of watching the news."

 

"Get it yourself."

 

"Where is it?"

 

He giggled. "Down by where you think you shouldn't touch me now."

 

"Where's that?"

 

Another giggle, but louder this time. "By that place you kept grabbing when we were filling the swimming pool... right by `Peachy'."

 

I laughed. "I daren't go there now. Give it to me!"

 

He settled back into me. "Nope. Get it if you want it."

 

"I daren't!"

 

"Why not?"

 

"You know I can't go past `Peachy' without a quick grab."

 

He shrugged his shoulders. "Then have a quick grab if you want." I chuckled, pushed my hand down his back to his bottom, and gave it a quick grab. Myles giggled. "That was rubbish! You did it better than that when we were filling the swimming pool."

 

I laughed, and then got hold of an even bigger handful. "Like that?"

 

"Nope. Not enough. Try again."

 

This time I took a complete globe of his delicious, soft buttock in my hand, and squeezed. "Like that?"

 

Another chuckle. "That's better, but pretend I'm Harry and you're grabbing a handful of his arse."

 

"I daren't do that."

 

"Why not?"

 

"You don't know what was in my mind when I was looking at his arse."

 

"I can guess. I'm not a dummy! Just do it!" Myles snorted.

 

I took a deep breath and took hold of both buttocks, but instead of squeezing them, I ran my hand across them, taking time to caress the crease between them. After a short while, with a dry throat, I croaked, "Is that better?"

 

Myles's head was buried in my chest by now, and I heard a soft murmur, "Mmmmm. That's much better." Because the news was on, I couldn't hear my heart beating like a bass drum, but I'm sure Myles could, and I was pretty sure than if he glanced down he would also be able to see the bulge that was unmistakably pronounced in my trousers. But without completely changing our position, no way could I hide it. Then Myles lifted his head slightly and tucked it into my neck, and I heard him whisper, "Inside my shorts."

 

"What?"

 

His voice was a little louder. "Do it inside my shorts. Put your hand inside like you would to Harry if he was here with you instead of me!" And to make sure I did what I was told, he left off holding my chest, reached behind him, and pulled my hand up to the top of the waistband of his shorts. When it was there, he lifted his shorts and underpants away from his body, and because I was afraid not to do as I was told because of what had gone on before, I slipped a hand inside. Only when my hand was holding his naked bottom did he bring his hand back around me to hold me tight, and having worked out that Myles was perfectly serious and understood the consequences of what was happening, and because I realised that Myles was no longer a nine-year old innocent little boy, I fondled the softness of each orb whilst running a finger gently up and down the crease of his bottom, making sure not to go too deep just in case he was repelled by that intrusion. But I was almost there, and I possibly brushed it on a couple of excursions into the depths of his softness.

 

For a full, silent ten minutes I did that, and then I felt the need to ask him for permission to continue, so I whispered, "Do you want me to stop now?"

 

I felt his head shake in the negative. "No. Don't stop. I'm okay. As long as you're okay with it, it's what I want. Do you want me to help you?"

 

"If you want to."

 

He didn't answer me with words. Instead, he put his hand behind himself, slipped it inside his underpants onto the top of my hand, and began to direct the caresses. I was more than happy with that. Now we were doing what he wanted and not just what I wanted, and when I ran a finger down his crease, he pressed it deeper so that it touched his sphincter as it passed. But on the next foray upwards, when we got to his hole, he made me stop and pressed my finger firmly against himself, so I took the hint and rolled the end of my finger in gentle circles to stimulate the nerves that I know some boys find difficult to resist. Wiktor loved to have me tickle his sphincter, and Myles was no different. For a while, I played with it, and then Myles pulled my finger out.  I thought it was all drawing to an end, but he had different ideas. He gripped my hand more firmly, pulled it up onto the top of his hipbone, and allowed me to fondle the top of his buttock with my fingers, and part of his tummy with my thumb. Then, very slowly but very deliberately, he pushed my hand onto his front and down to his pulsating, nail-hard, red hot dick, and within thirty seconds of rolling his foreskin over his knob, I felt him tense as a powerful climax enveloped him. Climaxes usually last for about fifteen seconds max, but Myles's spasms of lust went on for at least twenty-five seconds as he squirmed and trembled through a fantastic dry peak of the ultimate passion.

 

When it was over, because I knew how tender and sensitive he would be, I cupped his dick and balls in my hand and allowed him to get over the assault on his sensual nervous system. The after-effects of a climax affect boys and men in different ways. After I've climaxed, I spend quite a while feeling depressed that the wonderful feelings have gone, and I was pretty sure that even more complications would be affecting Myles because this was our first time. He had given himself to me, and now he would have to face the consequences of having done so. That's why I kissed the top of his head, and whispered, "Thank you. You really are a special boy. That was wonderful." There, it was done. Myles had had the sensations, and I was telling him that his pleasure was also mine. That would remove any doubts he might have that he'd been `dirty'.

 

I knew my compliments had been successful when he lifted his head, looked into my eyes, and asked, "Did you like doing that to me?"

 

I smiled, kissed his forehead, and whispered, "Yes, I really did. Was it nice for you?"

 

He smiled, and nodded. "Yes. Do you want me to do you now?"

 

I was expecting that question. It's what boys do. Well, those who have some regard for other people's feelings. But I also knew that `doing me' was not what Myles really wanted then, so I smiled at him and shook my head. "No. You've just given me the nicest thing you could, and I don't want anything to spoil it. You're beautiful, Myles. Every single part of you."

 

He grinned. "Nicer than Harry?"

 

I blew him a raspberry. "Harry! He's not in your league. But I am a bit worried."

 

He looked puzzled. "Why?"

 

I shrugged my shoulders. "You know I'm gay, but I'm worried that you'll now think of me as a dirty old man."

 

He grinned. "You are, but what does that make me?"

 

Again I kissed his forehead. "I'm not sure. But you are reaching the age when you're becoming curious about sex. So perhaps you're a young man who just wants to experiment with somebody you trust?"

 

He was quiet for a moment, and then said, "That's part of it. But it's not all of it. I was really jealous when you were looking at Harry. I wanted it to be me you were looking at and not him. Is it because I'm only eleven that you haven't really done anything before?"

 

I nodded. "Yes."

 

Myles grinned. "What would you say if I told you I was showing off on purpose when we were filling the swimming pool?"

 

"Showing off?"

 

"Yes. I usually wear Bermuda shorts, as you know, so why do you think I was wearing brief trunks?"

 

"For me?"

 

"Uhuh! Do you think I haven't worked out that you like my bum?"

 

"So, let me get this straight. You went to that trouble, and then I spent the afternoon looking at Harry, and you thought I should be looking at you?"

 

"Something like that."

 

"And how long have you enjoyed me patting your bum?"

 

Myles grinned, and then shrugged his shoulders. "Dunno really. Probably when mum said she thought you were gay. It sort of clicked in my mind that you weren't touching my bum for fun. You were doing it because you wanted to feel at it. Is that why you were doing it?"

 

I chuckled. "Fraid so."

 

"And because you like boys' bottoms?"

 

"Fraid so."

 

"And what about the other part of me? Do you like that?"

 

"Fraid so."

 

"But you were frightened to do it with me because I'm only eleven."

 

"Partly."

 

"Partly?"

 

"Uhuh. The other part was because I thought you wouldn't want me to do what we've just done."

 

"And now you know I do want you to?"

 

I looked into Myles's eyes. "Are you sure you want me to?"

 

He nodded. "Yes. That's why I was jealous. I knew what you were thinking when you were perving on Harry, and I wanted you to be perving on me."

 

I chuckled. "And now?"

 

He really giggled when he said, "I hope it's not the last time you'll do it for me."

 

... do it for me. That's what I wanted to hear. By those few simple words he'd admitted that he wanted it, and when it comes to boys, that's the really important bit. No longer would it be a case of me desiring him: it was now a joint venture of mutual, sexual exploration. How he would cope with what comes after remained to be seen, but at least we'd got over that important first hurdle. I suspected what would come after would be satisfying a young boy's sexual needs, and I was hoping that while I was doing it, my own desires would also be fulfilled. I intended that I wouldn't do anything to Myles that he found disagreeable, but there are things you can introduce a boy to that he gets to like once he's tried them. Little did I know then that Myles was no prissy; that I had a little terror on my hands, and that I had just helped release him from the bounds of moralistic bullshit that is drummed into kids these days. Myles would become his own judge of what was right or wrong for him, and I would follow his demands like a sheep to slaughter. But death by sex with a boy as wonderful as Myles is worth all the hassle that goes with our sort of relationship.

 

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Back to the present

Myles has got hold of the back of my head and is ramming his dick deep into my mouth. In fact, he's face-fucking me big style because he's not relieved his boy tensions in the school toilets today. He does this sometimes, but only when he's in top form. It's his way of enjoying sex properly, and I know he'll need at least three climaxes this evening before he's satisfied. (His record is five times, but that was when he was twelve and a really horny little sod.) I slide his jeans and underpants further down, force his knees wide apart, and then pull off his dick and suck and kiss his balls. I want to go lower, down the pronounced line of his perineum, but he's having none of it, and growls at me, "No! Not yet! Suck me off!" And to make sure I do what I'm told, he pushes his rigid dick down and guides it between my lips. Then he begins to face-fuck me again, and this time there's no escape. I'm used to him now, and my tonsils automatically adjust to the battering his unsheathed knob is giving them. Then the final, squirming heave as he elevates himself from the sofa while he deposits twenty-four hours worth of boy semen into my throat, and, expertly, I absorb it without rejecting him at all. Two gulps and I've swallowed this first dose of his boyishness, and now I have to do the gentle cleaning up bit, so I pull off him and carefully suck the residue out of him.

 

He's relaxed back onto his chair and is grinning at me as I clean him up with lips and tongue, and only when I'm sure there are no more juices to ooze from his slit do I look up at him, and ask, "Was that good?"

 

He grins at me. "Not bad for a beginner. Give me ten minutes and I'll teach you something else."

 

I pull a silly face at him. "Will you indeed!"

 

He nods. "Yup! But not down here. Now pull my pants up."

 

I give him an evil grin, and get up. "Pull your own pants up! My job is pulling them down, not pulling them up. Anyway, what's this something else you're going to teach me? I pretty much know every perversion you enjoy."

 

He laughs as he's pulling his underpants and jeans up, and when he's fastening the press stud, he grins at me and says, "You'll find out when we go to bed."

 

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Go to bed. That happened the third time we had it off, when he was still eleven-years-old and had just got back from spending two weeks at his grandparents.

 

But before that our second time - we did it on the Saturday, two days after I'd wanked him off on the sofa. He came sheepishly into the house and told me he was going to his grandparents' house on Sunday because his mother was off again. It was easier this time. I sat on the sofa and he pulled the curtains closed and sat beside me. We snuggled together; I slipped my hands down inside his jeans; he undid the front to make it easier, and after I'd done the preliminary fondling of his lovely bottom, he eased himself away from me and allowed me to get to his front by pushing his jeans to his knees. Then he wrapped his arms around my neck, buried his head into me, and I gave him a wank whilst watching what I was doing. Because I'd wanked him off inside his underpants previously, it was the first time I'd seen his dick, and I fell in love with it straight away. I love boy dicks like Myles's: naturally arced when rigid and every fibre of it stretching the skin because it was so excited, and the end so distended that it was forcing his foreskin off without me touching it. It was doing that because there were no signs of adhesion which affects some boys, and when I exerted gentle pressure, it rolled back easily to reveal a beautifully clean, glistening pink corona that I knew would send shock waves through him if I ever got my soft lips and tongue around it. I was also in no doubt it had been played with regularly. It wasn't big enough for a hand job, so, just like the first time, I used two fingers and thumb to bring him to his climax, and it was another superb one. When it was over and he lifted his head away from me, I smiled at him, and asked, "Was that a nice one?" He grinned, and nodded. So, after he'd pulled his underpants and jeans up, and when I was sure he was comfortable, I got up, held out a hand, and yanked him up from the sofa. "Come on. Let's get a drink in the kitchen." This time he never mentioned doing me, and I was happy with that.

 

And so off he went for a couple of weeks.

 

After those two weeks, as soon as he arrived home around teatime on a Friday with his mother - who had caught an early flight home from Spain - he was round my house before she could unpack. But things were different now. Before, when he'd been away, he just walked into the house and gabbled on about various things, and I told him what I'd been doing. But this time was different, and as soon as he came through the door I was hugged by a liberated boy. And when I asked him if things had been okay at his grandparents' house, he grumbled and said he nearly caught the bus twice to come and see me. I gave him a knowing grin, and then told him he had better be careful or he would get me in trouble. I thought he might not like that comment, but he surprised me when he replied, "I never mentioned you while I was away. I don't want anybody to know about us."

 

I patted his bottom. "Good lad. And your mum?" He looked a bit sheepish, so I added, "Do you think she suspects anything?"

 

He shrugged his shoulders. "It was something she said on the way home."

 

"And what did she say?"

 

He looked up at me. "She wondered if you would think she was being rude if she was to ask you to let me stay overnight tomorrow so she could go out with some friends."

 

"And what did you say to that?"

 

"I tried not to give anything away. I asked her why she hadn't asked me first if I wanted to stay with you."

 

"And... ?"

 

"She said she was sorry, and then said she wouldn't ask you. So then I told her that I didn't mind so long as you'd let me have my console and some games." He giggled. "I told her I didn't want to spend all night with an old man watching the news."

 

I laughed at his remark. "You cheeky bugger!" Then I added, "Harry wouldn't want to bring games with him."

 

Myles snorted, "He wouldn't come! He thinks you're an old perv!"

 

"I am an old perv, or that's what you call me."

 

He grinned at me. "I know that, but I'm not choosey like that damned Harry. So?"

 

I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know where you're going to sleep. The only room upstairs apart from mine that has a bed in it hasn't been slept in for years. It's probably damp in there."

 

"Can't I sleep with you?"

 

I gave him a pretend, shocked look. "Goodness gracious me! You can't sleep with an old perv!"

 

He giggled. "I'll be okay. I've got some onesies."

 

I was puzzled, and asked him, "What are onesies?"

 

He laughed. They're new things... all-in-one pyjama things you wear in bed. Dad brought them back from America the last time he went. You'll love the one I'll bring with me. It's a chimp type one, and the hood has got ears."

 

I laughed. "I'm not sleeping with a bloody monkey!"

 

Myles laughed, and gave me a really naughty look. Then, while he was drawing a finger from his neck to his crutch, he said, "You'll love it. It's got a zip that goes from here to here."

 

I gave him a naughty look too. "Well, that's different. I like playing with zips."

 

"Do you mean you like playing with what's behind them?"

 

I grabbed him by the neck and pretend pummelled his face. "You'll get me hung, you will. Okay, but only providing your wear your chimp suit, and providing you don't tell your mum or anyone else you've slept with me."

 

Myles giggled. "As if I would!"

 

And that's how we spent our first night in bed together. After Carrie has asked me properly, and after I had accepted graciously, Myles and his chimp suit were soon ensconced on my sofa before bedtime! And he didn't spend a single minute playing his damned games. He came at seven-thirty, and by eight we were snuggled in my bed. Well, I was snuggled up with a chimp-clad oversexed little boy, and that's when I first discovered how sexy onesies are, especially when Myles was wearing no underpants beneath his.

 

That night reminds me of the song... Oh what a night it was... it really was a night! Myles had two weeks to think about what we'd been doing, and so had I. So when we went to bed, as soon as the main light was out and just the beside one was on, we were in each other's arms, giggling like a couple of demented lunatics. For propriety's sake I was wearing pyjamas and still had my underpants on, but even so, as we lay side by side hugging each other, there was no doubt that as I ran my hands down his back and along the wonderfully soft material of Myles's chimp suit, he couldn't possibly miss the fact that my dick was sticking into him at about the level of the middle of his upper thighs. After a short while of me exploring the sexy contours of his gorgeous rear, he rolled onto his back and pointed to the zip of his onesie. So, after I'd thrown back the duvet, very slowly I began to slide the zip down. When I first began, he was giggling, but he became serious as more of his naked skin became available to me and I spent some time fondling him, including teasing his small nipples to erection. And he never once took his eyes off my hand as it got lower and lower towards the obvious bulge of his dick straining against the soft material. Only when the zip was completely down did I slip my hand inside and caress his thighs and balls and the stiff dick that was pulsating with anticipation. He was expecting me to wank him off, but I had other plans. I wanted more than that. I wanted to introduce him to man/boy sex, where a boy's feelings and sexual satisfaction are paramount. That's why, after I'd fondled him for a short while, I raised myself on one elbow, looked down at him, and asked, "Do you mind if I take this chimp suit off you?"

 

He was a little bit embarrassed, but he sort of shrugged his shoulders, and replied, "If you want to."

 

I smiled at him. "I do. I want to make this first time in bed special for you, and I can't do that with you wearing a bloody monkey suit!"

 

He giggled at my remark, but the giggles as I stripped the onesie from him were mostly nervous ones because he knew he would be completely naked for the first time.  

 

Myles Rowley naked at eleven years of age was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen in my life. He was perfection. The only hair on his body was that on his head and a soft, golden down on his arms and legs, and I couldn't resist running my hands and fingers over every single part of him. Then, without asking, I kissed his forehead and his nose and only slightly brushed his lips with mine before using my lips to trace the contours of his slim neck and shoulders and upper arms. He was completely quiet while I was doing it, and I could see his chest heaving as the excitement built. Then, still using just my lips, I began the wonderful, adventurous journey down his slender torso. His arms were by his side, and not once did he try to stop what I was doing, and I knew it was because he'd surrendered to the inevitable. He was about to be sucked off for the very first time in his life, and the tensions must have been amazing. But I wanted to do it right, and that's why, after I'd slipped my mouth over the pulsating dick and done a few sucks along its length, I went down the bed and positioned myself between his spread legs. Then I slipped both hands under his buttocks, took one in each hand - making sure my fingers were deep in the crease and touching his sphincter - before taking his dick in my mouth again. I looked up at him, saw that he had closed his eyes and was clutching the pillow with both hands, and I began to pull him in and out of my mouth. He was so lightweight that he was easy to lift, and in no time I had him bouncing on the bed as I sucked him off after I'd worked a finger end into his anus. The climax was fantastic. His entire body was trembling as the feelings overtook him, and I distinctly felt the spasms of his sphincter clamping my finger as his balls contracted inside him. And once again his climax was an exceedingly long one.

 

Fifteen minutes later I was introduced to one of his perversions: I had to pretend I was a dog and lick his feet. Apparently, this was something he'd been introduced to at his grandparents' house. They had a Basset Hound, and it loved licking his feet. Myles discovered that having his feet licked turned him on, so when his grandparents were out, he'd strip off, get the dog to lick his feet, and he'd wank off while the dog was feasting on his tootsies. Now then... I'm not a dog, and although I'm getting old, I don't look like a damned Basset Hound! But I have got a tongue, and like all good doggies, I do as I'm told, especially if the `teller' is a sexy young boy. Basset Hounds and I do have something in common... we both love a `Bonio' as a reward for the tootsie-licking, but in my case, my `Bonio' is a throbbing boy-dick made of gristle and not the biscuit type that dogs love. So, after ten minutes of licking and sucking those delicate toes especially in between them and the soles of his feet, my reward was that I was allowed to lick my way up his wonderful legs and soft inner thighs to lick and suck his nice sized balls and then my `Bonio' until it exploded with passion before going limp.

 

Then it was giggling time, especially when he got my dick out and was comparing it to his little tiddler. Then came the question... how did I want him to do me?  After a lengthy, amusing debate, after strict instructions that I wasn't to put it inside him, I was allowed to use his bum cheeks to stimulate myself to a climax. And although he was only eleven, my Myles wasn't stupid at that age. He knew exactly which part of him my dick was aching for, so while he was lying on his side facing away from me, after a few moments of my efforts inside a pair of Vaselined-up bum cheeks, he reached behind him, pushed my hand away, grabbed my dick, and made sure that when my ejaculate spurted from me, it scored a bull's eye... right in the sphincter!  As a matter of fact, he'd pushed himself against me while he was working me off, and I swear my knob was part way in him when I came. And I discovered something else that pleased me while this was happening. While he was working me off, his little dick was rock hard while I held it, which told me that Myles was not averse to man/boy sex.

 

The final act that night was about ten-thirty. We were downstairs, having gone down to have some supper. I was wearing my pyjamas and a dressing gown, and Myles was clad in his monkey suit. We were on the sofa and Myles was sitting in my lap. We were chatting about things in general when he suddenly looked at me with a puzzled look on his face, and asked, "How many times can you do it in one night?"

 

I grinned at him. "I'm getting old. Two... maximum these days. What about you?"

 

He shrugged his shoulders. "Same for me... usually."

 

I looked into his eyes. "Usually?"

 

He grinned. "Have a feel. It's hard again."

 

It was. So I snuggled him into me, unzipped him, and while he wrapped himself into me, I gave him a final three-finger exercise. Only then did the old Basset Hound and the Chimp go to bed to sleep... the first time of many to come.

 

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Back to the present

After I've showered and scrubbed up in all the important places, I go to the bedroom. Myles is already there. While I was re-reading The Hidden Gems of Naples Italy, to scan for any errors, he took himself off to use the bathroom, and before I get to the bedroom, I know what he's doing... he's on his console playing one of his noisy, crazy games. (In the three years we've being doing it, there have been some changes in our bedroom. Not only have I had to buy a new bookshelf to store the large stack of his games, I've also had to install a thirty-eight inch plasma TV for him to use when he's playing them... and we also use it for other things.) So, not only do I get a massive hard-on when I see him, I also grin when I see how he's lying. Although he's concentrating on the game he's playing, he's also completely naked as he lies on his tummy, legs splayed wide and the muscles of his gorgeous buttocks rippling with tension as he becomes excited with the game he's concentrating on. But Myles doesn't do anything without good reason, and he's prepared himself for me. The game, like most other things, is just a preamble to the game he likes most to play sex games, and the position he's taken up has been done deliberately. That's why his feet are nearest to me.

 

I sit on the end of the bed and stroke his legs, taking my time to fondle and admire his boy beauty. He allows me to caress his two rippling orbs, and then lifts his lower left leg. Unlike KFC where it's finger lickin' good, this is our bedroom where it's toe licking good.  I concentrate on his big toe first, pretending it's his knob-end and I'm sucking him off, and then I give the other four toes a damned good wash and tickle. He lets me know what it's doing to him when he stops playing his game for a second and reaches under his body to shove his rock-hard dick down between his balls. Then he lifts his other lower leg up and goes back to playing his game. Now I've got two feet to cope with, and because I'm better trained than his grandparents' (now deceased) Basset Hound, I know all the right places to go to really get him worked up. Five minutes later, after his feet have been well and truly pummelled by my tongue, I stand up and wrap my raging dick between the soles of his feet and use them to massage my erection. It's something Myles likes me to do, and I've often ejaculated into the crease of his bottom using this method of masturbation. But Myles doesn't want that this time, and after a few strokes, he switches off his game and rolls onto his side to look at me, and then he asks, "What shall we watch tonight?"

 

I sit on the bed beside him, and while I'm fondling his hardness, I shrug my shoulders, and reply, "Whatever you want to watch. What about the sex montage?"

 

I'm referring to a CD we've made of various sexy scenes from films we've watched, including the scene from For a Lost Soldier where Walt is fucking Jeroen on the bed. Myles shakes his head. "No. Let's watch Ragazzi part 2 that Lars sent to us."

 

"Not part 1? You like being the gay little kid in it."

 

Myles grins. "Not tonight. I want to be Milo."

 

Milo. That's the name we've given to a super cute boy in some scenes of boys swimming by the Castel dell'Ovo in Naples. Myles knows I like `Milo' because he's the only one who's wearing underpants and not swimming trunks while the lads are prancing about diving from the rocks into the water, and also because, soaking wet, the white briefs show off his gorgeous arse. Not to mention that he has a body as symmetrical and sexy as Myles's body with its gracious curves and superb form. It's all part of the games we play. Myles knows that when I'm watching `Milo', it turns me on, so he takes the part of him. In fact, and it's Myles who makes all the rules, he likes to be many boys, but they have to be boys who suit his mood at the time, and tonight, probably because he knows I like to be a bit rough with `Milo', Myles wants me to take him. That suits me. I'm aching to fuck my boy. So I grab a handful of malleable buttock and squeeze it a bit harder than I should, and then ask, "Which way?"

 

Myles giggles, bounces up from lying on the bed and onto his knees, gets the CD that's already been taken out of its sleeve, inserts it in the player, presses Play, goes into the doggy position in readiness, and I move up behind him to begin the game, knowing that everything will go swimmingly. It's taken two years to get to this stage, ever since I first got to fuck Myles.

 

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Myles was twelve and a half when I first got to fuck him properly. The wanking off into his sphincter had progressed into me going a little bit deeper each time we did it, and finally, he allowed me to pop his cherry. Well, I didn't pop his cherry... he did.

 

I'd been away for two months. To Greece. I had to go. I'd been paid quite a large up-front payment for the travel book I was writing, and because I was having such a good time with Myles, I'd put off going. But there came a time when I just had to go. So away I went, and to be honest, I was uneasy about being away for so long. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I also know that boys are transient creatures, and being absent can also make boys hearts wander. That's why I was worried that Myles might lose interest in me if I was away too long.

 

But I'd worried for nothing. Myles was at his father's place because his mother was away and his grandfather was not too well, but he knew I was back. We'd spoken on our mobiles, and he told me that his mother was due back the following weekend and that he'd already made arrangements to have a stayover with me. That's another thing that had happened... his mother was seeing another chap, and she took every opportunity to get me to look after Myles so she could have some `quality time' with her new beau. Strange that! She would be having sex with her new bloke, and I'd be having sex with her son right next door. Whether or not she knew what we were doing, it was never mentioned. She knew I was gay - apparently -  so she'd have to be a dummy if she thought everything between me and her son was platonic. However, not once had she challenged our relationship. Maybe it was a case of what the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't grieve over. It was something that I no longer gave a second thought to, especially because Myles had always been discreet to everybody about what we really were.

 

Anyway, back to popping his cherry. When Myles eventually came home after my Greece trip, he was round my place like a shot, and we finished up in my bed. We did the usual stuff of me sucking him off first, and then, while I was wanking myself off between his greased up bum cheeks, he suddenly pushed my hand away and grabbed my dick really firmly. I knew something was different when, whilst holding my foreskin stretched right back and making sure my knob end was pressed tightly against his sphincter, he began to push back really hard. Because I could see what was happening, my heart was pounding when I realised what he was doing, and I can tell you that I gave no quarter myself! Was I worried about what was to happen? Yes I was, but the lustful feelings building up within me overcame my worries, and as I felt him pushing even harder and as I watched my swollen knob slip right into him for the first time as his sphincter retracted to trap me inside him, I was so worked up that I shot my load immediately, and it took tremendous willpower not to thrust deep into him as my juices splattered his insides. Then, after my climax was over, to compound the sexiness of the situation, Myles told me not to pull out, and wanked himself off while I was still inside him. Cherry popped, and it was what Myles wanted, which was the important bit.

 

After that special moment in our relationship, we talked. As a matter of fact, that's when we discovered a lot of things we'd never talked about before. I told Myles how much I really cared for him and how I'd been worried that he might have gone off me because I was away for so long, and he said he'd been thinking the same thing about me finding another boy. That's why, he said, he'd make me fuck him. He wanted me to fuck him so I would know that he was my boy. And then we talked about our feelings. I told him that I loved him, and he explained how he felt about me. He said he did love me, but not the way I loved him. His affections for me were because I always treated him like an adult and not a kid, and he enjoyed the sex we had because he loved sex. And when I asked him if he fancied anyone else, he was open and honest and told me that he did, but he'd never done anything with anybody. So we discussed who he fancied. We had fun doing it. There were no other men in his life, and the boys he fancied were all around his own age. Then we talked about if he was gay or not, and he was unequivocal that he was. And then he said something that really got to me and which really showed me what a mature boy he was. There were boys at his school who did it with other boys, but most of them had got a bad name because they slept around. So Myles explained why he did it with me. He said he was getting the best of all worlds. Nobody knew he was gay and having sex, so he got no shit from anybody. Then he laughed when he said that while nobody else had a clue what was going on, he was probably getting more sex than anybody in his school. Then we had a really good laugh. He told me that the boy who had led us to become sex buddies because he had mocked me and made Myles jealous Harry was gay after all!

 

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Back to the present

But that was two years ago, and we've moved on since then. And that's why, when I pull open Myles's bum cheeks and see that he's already gelled up, and as I'm talking dirty about `Milo' and how I'd like to fuck his gorgeous bottom as he poses for us on the film, when I push my swollen knob against Myles's sphincter, there's no negative reaction from him as my knob slips easily through the stretched opening and I penetrate him to the full depth of my dick until my pubes are resting firmly against his buttocks, and while we're both talking dirty and I'm filling his insides with my hot semen, my wonderful sexy boy wanks himself off and ejaculates onto the bedsheets.

 

I'm lying on my back and Myles is on his side beside me, his leg folded over me and an arm wrapped across my chest. He kisses my old cheek. I turn my head and kiss his forehead. These are the only kind of kisses we have. Lip pecks occasionally, but never passionate kisses with our mouths. It doesn't bother me. Myles is really a very ordinary gay boy. One day he'll find someone he really loves, as in mutual love with someone his own age or thereabouts, and two young mouths will explore the sensations of love and sex. That's how it should be, and I'm saving my boy up for that moment. I won't be jealous. I've been more than damned lucky to have what I've had, and one positive thing I will have done is to teach Myles all there is to know about gay sex. But because Myles chose me to teach him, it makes me feel like a million dollars. Whilst learning, he has put his complete trust in me, and not once have I let him down. In fact, if I'm really honest, although I'll miss the sex part of what we are, I'm going to enjoy watching my boy growing up.

 

That's how it should be when a man loves a boy. Never any strings to bind a boy to a situation. That way there will be no regrets if and when the boy decides to move on... from either side.

 

Myles's eyes begin to close, and so do mine. Peace between two souls that are decades apart in age, but you can't get a cigarette paper between us as far as compatibility is concerned. This is true man/boy love, and is about as beautiful a love as you will ever find upon this earth.

 

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Epilogue.

 

31st December 2014.

I'm like a bloody old woman and nervous as hell as I prepare dinner. Although I hate the stuff with a passion, Myles has told me that Idea loves squid. Apparently, it should take me only a few minutes once they arrive. But it's cost me a bloody fortune and visits to three supermarkets to get everything I need. They'd better visit me again soon or I'll end up throwing most of the ingredients in the bin! I'll kill that bloody Lars if he's been pissing me about! He's a bloody rogue at the best of times, so I still don't trust him that he's not having me on. I don't think he is. The emails between here and Bangkok in my quest to do this properly must have taken up half the bandwidth of a satellite.

 

1/2 kilo fresh squid, cleaned and cut into serving pieces
1 carrot, sliced thinly
100 grams green beans, trimmed and sliced diagonally
100 grams tomato paste
a dash of chilli flakes
2 teaspoons hot sauce
2 tablespoons oyster sauce
6 cloves garlic, minced
1 onion, chopped
1 thumb-sized ginger, chopped thinly
2 pieces green chilli, sliced diagonally
1/2 teaspoon sesame seeds
2 teaspoons sesame oil
salt and pepper to taste

 

I read, for the twentieth time, the cooking instructions I've printed out.

 

Procedures:
1. In a pan, heat sesame oil then saute garlic, onion and ginger.
2. Add carrots and green beans then stir fry for 2 minutes.
3. Add squid, oyster sauce, tomato sauce, chilli flakes, and hot sauce, and then continue to stir fry for a few minutes.
4. Season with salt and pepper according to taste. Add green chilli and sesame seeds.
5. Transfer to serving plate and serve with steamed rice.

 

Jeez... I'm nervous! This is the first time I've met Myles's Filipino boyfriend, Idea.

 

We've spoken on the phone. Well, Myles and I have. He's twenty-three now and is a junior doctor practicing at a hospital in Bedford. That's where he met Idea, who is still at university. Apparently, Idea was sent to the hospital as part of his university course to become an anaesthetist. It was love at first sight, said Myles. I've been flabbergasted ever since Myles told me about him. Not that I have anything against Filipino boys. As a matter of fact, I find some of them very attractive, and if I'm honest, even though boys over eighteen don't usually turn me on, because Filipino boys tend to look younger than they are, when I saw a photo of Idea, who is twenty, it gave me a hard-on! He is a cute little sod! But the reason I'm flabbergasted is because of what's happening.

 

Myles always took the part of the submissive one in our relationship. He was always the bottom. But the young bugger has turned things on its head! Or, in this case, on its arse! It took me a bit to get it out of him, but eventually, accompanied by loads of giggles and lots of his evil grins, you could have knocked me over with a feather when he said he'd always fancied being the bossy one. When I asked him why he hadn't told me, he just giggled and said he didn't want to change the relationship we'd had. It took me a while to get my head around that, but I've accepted it now. Well, it's not as if we're still doing it. That stopped when he went off to university when he was eighteen. There was no fuss. That's how things are with most men and boys. Myles had outgrown my age of attraction, and I had served my purpose: being an outlet for a boy's sexual exploration until maturity. We didn't stop being friends, and we both still love each other in the same way we've always done. Life moves on, and me and Myles accepted it as perfectly natural. That's why I'm about to cook dinner for him and the young man he's fallen in love with. This is a New Year's Eve visit from my favourite boy. Not since he was twelve years old have we not been together at some time during the Christmas or New Year period.

 

Now let me see! Heat the pan with sesame oil... oh, shit! They're here!

 

My eyes are misty when I see my boy again. Although he's outgrown my age of attraction, Myles is still beautiful to me. There's absolutely nothing about him that I don't adore, and when he hugs me tightly, although I protest that he has to be careful with an old man of seventy-one, I lap up the affection in his embrace. Then he grins as he breaks the embrace and kisses my forehead. He waves an introductory hand. "Barry... this is Idea."

 

I look into the lovely brown eyes of the young man my Myles loves, and my heart surges with affection for him. He really is a gorgeous young man, and, unless he's a dummy, he can't miss the look of appreciation in my eyes when I hold out a hand and shake his.

 

The lovely smile on his face tells me that he hasn't, and he's really cute when he says in excellent English, "It's lovely to meet you Barry. Myles has told me all about his best friend."

 

I grin at him. "Not everything, I hope!"

 

He laughs beautifully. "He talks too much, especially when he's drunk too much beer, so there won't be much I don't know."

 

His comment makes me laugh. "He always has had a big mouth. Anyway, sit down both of you after you've taken your coats off, and I'll begin on this damned dinner he's told me I've got to make for you."

 

"What is it?" asks Idea with a more than puzzled look on his face.

 

I point to the printed page of ingredients and instructions. "Squid. My friend Lars in Bangkok sent this to me when Myles said what you enjoyed most. If it turns out like rubber, then blame Lars and not me!"

 

Idea laughs as he takes off his overcoat, and after he's given it to Myles to hang up, he comes to me as I'm leaning over the table studying the instructions again, and puts a hand on my shoulder as he studies it with me. Then he squeezes my shoulder and laughs before saying with a stifled chuckle, "Leave it to me. Have you got all the ingredients?"

 

I point to the kitchen work surface at them all lined up. "There. I've put them in order."

 

Idea goes to the ingredients and inspects them. Then he turns to me and says, "You sit down and talk to Myles. Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes... max!"

 

I look at Myles; he holds out both hands to show that it's nothing to do with him, and then grins when he says, "Sit down old man. She's a great cook."

 

I sit down at the table; Myles sits opposite me, and when I've stopped laughing, he chuckles when he looks right onto my eyes, and says, "It's good to see you again, old man."

 

I smile at him, and reach out a hand. He takes it, and gently squeezes my fingers. Then he nods. I nod back at him. Words are not necessary.

 

For auld lang syne.  

 

The end.

 

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