Date: Fri, 01 Apr 2005 09:13:00 -0500 From: Jon Kent Subject: SWEET WILLIAM MINE Gay Adult Youth DISCLAIMERS This story is about a boy and a man who really like each other. They have a good time and they make each other laugh. One way they show their affection for each other is by having sex - together. If you are not old enough to read about this sort of thing where you live, or if you don't like reading about this sort of thing, do NOT read any further. Remember, you CHOSE to visit this site, but if it's not for you, for whatever reason, go away now and find something you ARE allowed to do and that you will enjoy doing. This story is made up. It's fiction. That means it never happened. The people in this story do not exist and never did exist. They are figments of the writer's imgination. And this one's for JD. SWEET WILLIAM MINE "Sir, sir, are you asleep? Sir, sir?" The boy's whisper became more insistent. I lay there in the dark. I knew the boy was only 3 feet away from me. Three feet away, in the twin bed usually occupied by his younger brother, but occupied on this balmy Easter night by me, his teacher and family friend. Only three feet, but that small space was an abyss, a Black Hole into which I could so readily fall, so willingly fall, and all it needed was a single word. "Sir, sir, I know you're not sleeping." There was the tinkle of laughter in William's voice. No surprise. There was always the tinkle of laughter in William's voice. It was there at 12 when I first met him, eyes finding each other across a crowded school dining hall, and it was still there on the last night of his 14th year. "I really enjoyed today, sir. It's great you're back. Wish you could stay..." Forever? "...longer." Longer wasn't forever, but it would do. "I can't get to sleep, sir. Too excited, I guess. Don't mind me talking. You don't have to listen. But I know you're not sleeping, sir." William was in full flow now. Babbling away like a busy brook. "It's not the same, sir. I... I mean, we miss you. I haven't played practically any tennis since you moved. Actually, I haven't played any until today. You saw that today, didn't you? I was crap, utter crap. But I miss it, the tennis, I mean, I miss it, I really do. "I know I could go down to the club on Saturday morning. But it's not the same. You're not there and I know I'll just fuck it up if I try to play... Ooops," the boy giggled. "Sorry about the four-letter one, sir. It just slipped in, but, fuck it, I mean it. "Do you remember me standing on your head?" Yes, I remembered. William would deliberately mis-hit a tennis ball so that it flew into the upstairs viewing balcony. The area was locked. The only way to retrieve the ball was to stand on someone's shoulders, then their head, and then scramble over the wooden railing and onto the balcony. William chose my shoulders, my head. Did William know his baggy shorts and his even more baggy boxers gave an unrestricted and inevitable view of his privates, his genitals, the ping-pong-balled scrotum and the sleepy little snake that hung over them? He did. I know because I made a joke more than once about the view as he wobbled precariously on my shoulders and on my head. The knowledge encouraged him rather than detered him, and even at 14, when William was becoming a big big boy, every session would have its moment when a mis-hit ball flew up into the viewing balcony. It became a ritual. And the ritual grew until it included William sliding down to 'safety', the length of his body pressed against mine. Like many young teenage boys, William shied away from talking about sex but seized opportunities to express the growing urges in tactile ways. Once when I was taking digital photographs of William on a hot sunny day racing round the tennis court on his bicycle - strictly forbidden - he threw himself to court as if shot and lay there motionless on his back. His shirt rose way up to his chest, his shorts hung low on his hips. William reached to pull his shirt down, then in a moment pulled it back up again. He knew what I wanted, and, as long as it was never expressly mentioned, it was mine for the taking. "'Course it's been winter, and I've got the band." For two years I'd coached William in tennis. We'd spotted each other across that crowded dining room, enchanted even though it wasn't evening, and both of us had burst out laughing. For me it was those huge hazel eyes. The straight unfashionably long hair. The straight nose. The cheekbones. The flawless skin. The strong but not heavy build that made most of the other 12 year olds look like refugees from a junior school. And the supreme self-confidence of the genuinely beautiful. Were we meant to be? Who knows? But if I hadn't chosen to take a stroll by the sea that weekend, I wouldn't have come across William playing basketball along the path. I may never have realised we lived so near each other. I'd never have found out his mother was desperate William learn to play tennis, nor that the public tennis courts lay equidistant from our homes. Two years. Two years of sunny, mostly, Saturday and Sunday mornings on the tennis courts. Two years of being a family-friend. Two years of fun and laughter and barbecues on the beach. Two years of sharing William through those magical years. And now there was William, on the night before his 15th birthday, now 6 foot tall, his hair at shoulder length, his body that of a powerful young man, but still my boy, still that forever-tinkling laughter, describing the chords in the band's latest composition, and still happy to be with me though I'd been gone for 6 months. "Shit, I can't sleep. And I think I pulled a muscle. And you're no help. You're not even listening, are you? Well, are you?" My words were muffled in a sigh. "There, I knew it!" William was triumphant. "I knew you weren't sleeping at all, sir." "William,..." "Yes, sir." The eagerness in the boy's voice was comical. I knew he was on his side now, leaning on an elbow, chin cupped in one hand, staring happily across the gap, anticipating a conversation that might prove endless. "William, stop calling me, sir. And, William, shut up." "I have to call you 'sir'. You said I couldn't call you JK." "I said you couldn't call me JK when I was a teacher at school. I haven't been a teacher at your school for six months. Or haven't you noticed?" Ah, the sarcasm of teachers' ... inexhaustible. "Okay then... JK." The silence that followed was for me to fill. I couldn't fill it. I could hardly breathe. William's face was 3 feet away from mine, and I had an erection that was beginning to ache. "William, roll over and go to sleep." "Can't. Told you I'm too excited. AND I think I've pulled a muscle." The second remark was pronounced like the clincher. "I suppose I could... you know..." "I know what?" Silence. "Have a wank. That always helps." No giggle, this was deadly serious. This was a new William. "Have a wank then," I said, as unfazed as I could manage. "But keep it quiet. You've probably already woken up your mum and dad." "Don't be stupid. They're at the other end of the house. And David" - William's younger brother - "he wanks as well. He still tries to keep it dead quiet like he wasn't doing it, but I just get on with it." "Well, get on with it," I whispered, my hand reaching inside my pyjama shorts, while I wondered if I could be as quiet as David. "It won't be enough," continued William, "and besides I told you I think I've got a pulled muscle." "How can you 'think' you've got a pulled muscle? You'd know if you had a pulled muscle." I was wide awake and happily exasperated. "Well, I know I've got a pulled something, and you should help me with it." "Why the fuck should I help you with it?" William cheerily tut tutted my 'fuck'? "'Cos you're my tennis coach, and that's what coaches are supposed to do. They're supposed to tend to the players' needs." For a moment I thought William was taking the piss. Then I realised he was deadly serious. I heaved another sigh. "And just what do you expect me to do?" "At least check it out." "William..." I made one last effort to avoid the Black Hole. "...William it's one in the morning." "Yes, and everybody's asleep --- except US!" I had nothing left to argue with. "What do I do?" "Slide over here. On my bed. Look, I'll make room." I heard William budge over. I heard the curtains slide back. I saw the moonlight slash across his bed. I edged out of mine and slid over to his. I sat there looking down at him. Christ, he was beautiful. He lay there, head on pillow, his long thick hair splayed beneath him. His pyjama top was open. The duvet pushed down to his waist, the edge of his blue boxers revealed. His torso was long, his chest sculpted, his belly completely flat, his hips like butterflies, his belly button indented. I adjusted myself to hide my excitement, glad of the moon-struck gloom. "Where is it then?" I asked stupidly. "It's between my legs, of course," William giggled, then added, "no, it my stomach, I mean." He reached for my hand and pressed it against his stomach - smooth, firm, warm. He moved the palm of my hand in circles against his stomach. Once I had the rhythm, his hand went under his head to cup his other hand. I sat there facing up the bed, looking into William's face and eyes as my hand circled and caressed his stomach. I was pleased that he kept his eyes open, seeking to absorb my face as much as mine did his. "Mmmmmm, that's nice," the boy sighed. "That's really nice." I couldn't think of anything to say. There didn't need to be anything to say. I let my hand circled up to his chest. There didn't seem to be any medical justification for this. I knew I shouldn't do it. I knew I would do it. My finger tips ran across William's right nipple, a hard little currant in the middle of a pale brown aureole. I slid across to his left nipple, worked it a little, and then slid down to his stomach again. "It's a bit lower," he whispered, leaving 'it' unspecified. "Duvet's in the way," he added. William reached his right hand to the duvet, raised it, and flicked it to his knees. I'd like to say I gasped. That would be an erotic note, but I didn't. I'm not sure I had the breath to gasp. William had an erection. That doesn't do justice to it at all. William had a big hard cock, not only outlined against his thin boxer shorts, but raising his boxer shorts so that fabric was stretched into a tent. The middle of the boxers were pulled down into a V. What I saw opened my eyes wider. William had hair - down there. Not suprising when you're six foot tall and almost 15, but surprising when the boy still has the face of an angel, and you last saw 'down there', in the shower after a tennis match, when he was 13 years old. There was no hair, skin smooth as alabaster, and then there was hair, an auburn patch that slid away into the holy of holies. "Please." There it was. That one single word that cleansed the doors of perception, and opened the way to heaven or to hell or to a combination of both of them. William raised his bottom from the bed, and left the decision to me, I slid my fingers below the elasticated waist, raised the boxers and slid them to his knees. His prick, released to the night air, literally bounced into view. Around my head I could hear the angels sing in chorus: "Free at last. God almighty, free at last." Behind me I heard William giggle and flutter his lips. My fingers and thumb closed round the boy's erection, his hard-on, his stiffy. The shaft was hot. No nonsense about burning my fingers or any of that nonsense, but it was hot, and it was pulsating. Ah, sweet 14. Then I realised... sweet 15. William had slipped into his 15th birthday without either of us noticing it. How could we have missed that? William was BIG. At 14, he was a tad over 6 feet tall, big hands, big-boned feet. I don't know if there's any relationship between overall size and dick size, but William had the right size of dick for his body. His dick was/is at least 8 inches long, probably not much longer than that, but he was still a growing boy. His cock was not slim; it was not a little boy's cock; it was a man's cock with all the sweet innocence you might expect from a boy's cock. William wasn't circumsized, few English boys are, and the foreskin slid back easily to reveal a clearly-defined little pink mouth. He was already wet and slippery. Two blue veins twined up from his balls disappearing onto the shaft an inch or so from the slightly bulbous head. The urethra was also clearly defined. William's legs were open, and his balls had already risen in his scrotum. I wondered how long he had lain there playing with himself, gathering the courage to take me where he wanted us to be. I held the shaft, gently squeezing, easing, then squeezing again. My free left hand pressed against William's stomach that was taut as a washboard. I could hear his breathing quicken and deepen. "You can kiss it if you want to." I loved that. Not 'play with it', 'wank it', 'suck it', but 'kiss it'. That was so appropriate, so romantic, so... "Then you can suck it." ... fourteen years old! Yes, sir, no, sir, Three bags full, sir, In for a penny, In for a pound. I lowered my face, breathed in deeply, and slid my lips over the head, almost immediately tasting the boy's excitement. I thought I heard William sigh behind me, but it could have been me. Those who have sucked the erect penis of a 14-year-old boy will know that words can never do the experience justice. Those who haven't sucked a boy's penis, but who have wanted to, will never reach that calm ecstasy through words. There is just something so right about it, especially when the boy initiates it because then you are assured you are giving as much pleasure as you are taking, and that's what makes it right. It's odd to think that only one year later, the moment William was 16, that what we were doing would be entirely legal. Society has to draw its lines somewhere. The Age of Consent has to be arbitrary, but in some sense it is sad that it slashes right across that time when a boy is at the peak of his powers, the height of his needs. I don't mention girls because of the added complications on undesired pregnancies, but I know that, as a boy, I was often infuriated and frustrated that I couldn't go out and do what I wanted with MY body with someone who liked me and wanted to share HIS with me! None of which was in my mind as I sucked William to orgasm. I kept it simple. I wanted to search between his legs, find his anus, push my slick middle finger inside him, find his prostate gland, and give him an orgasm he'd never forget. But I didn't. That was too associated with MY desires and not with his though I have to admit I wasn't entirely sure what William's 'desires' were until later when we discussed and analysed what had happened. For the moment I concentrated on giving my sweet William the first, as far as I knew, and best, hopefully, blow job he'd had in his young life. I didn't kid myself that William loved me or was 'in love' with me. He wasn't! He was 'in love' with his guitar, his band, their brand of heavy metal, with his appearance, and with being a teenager. And that was exactly as it should be. I was an experiment, a ship in the night, definitely worth boarding for a little while, but probably not worth staying on till it hit the Iceberg. William's body trembled and shook. His buttocks rose from the bed. He pushed himself deeper into my throat. His knees would have knocked together if they'd been near each other. His tummy tightened and fluttered uncontrollably. His hands gripped my hair, pushing my head into his groin until his pubic hair stuck up my nose. Three - four - five - six times he forced me down while he bounced up to meet me. I tasted nothing. His semen by-passed my taste buds completely. He fired his sperm straight down my gullet. Ah, the young are so immediate. I lay there gasping and spluttering like a landed trout. Then I realised with some degree of unncessary shame that I'd cum, too, and cum forcefully at that. I risked a glance up at William. He lay there with his elbow across his eyes. I couldn't read what he was feeling. I looked down his body. His cock had softened but was still a solid if floppy snake. I slid from the bed. Found my overnight bag and a fresh pair of underpants. Slipped into the bathroom - en suite, thank God - changed. Padded back to bed and stuffed the messy pair into the bottom of my bag. Again I risked a look at William. He was sitting up in bed, grinning from ear to ear, the duvet still thrown back, but his penis tucked back inside his boxers. "Get into my bed for a little while - pllleeeaaassse," he smiled. "That's what Richie does, when he stays over, I mean. But when I fall asleep, you gotta get back to your own bed. Don't YOU fall asleep, too!" I did, and I didn't. For the record, Richie is William's best friend. Has been since they ended up at school together at 11 years old. Richie plays guitar in the band, too. Richie is as physically attractive as William, and, forgive me, William, is probably a 'nicer' person, too. For the record, I don't believe that either boy is gay, nor even bi, but they are honest enough to recognise their desires and to share what they have with each other until 'the right thing' comes along. Where do I fit in? I probably don't, not any more. Time, tide and circumstances have moved both William and me along. So why did he...? Easy. The boy was horny. He knew I wanted him, and it suited him to give me what I wanted. Who got hurt? Nobody. Who lost? Nobody? Who has wonderful memories of that Easter? Well, I certainly do. And I hope that William has, too, and that we can both look back in laughter. THE END? (You never can tell.)