Date: Fri, 17 Jul 2020 01:41:15 +0100
From: AP Webb <pjalexander1753@gmail.com>
Subject: D'n'M Part 3 Chapter 1

Well, the boys are back, older, but not really much wiser and still trying
to navigate their way through the choppy waters of adolescence.  15 now and
finding that it's not always easy to come to terms with a whole raft of
life's most complex and challenging issues: the reality of being gay,
abuse, relationships and family.

Part 3 of their story, just like Parts 1 and 2, includes sex between
teenage boys, some of it non-consensual.  As before, it is the characters
themselves and how they react to events that are key to whatever success
the story achieves.

To loyal D'n'M readers, apologies for taking so long to get Part 3 written.
To new readers, Welcome!  To properly understand why and how Dan and Milo
have got to where they are at the start of Part 3, I strongly recommend you
read Parts 1 and 2.

All the characters and events in the story are fictitious.  Any resemblance
to real people, either living or dead, is entirely unintentional.

The story is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in any way without the
express permission of the author who can be contacted at
pjalexander1753@gmail.com

Happy reading.

PJ

D'n'M Part 3

Chapter 1:

The Reed and de Beers families had both been accepted parts of the same
social network since that day, eleven years before, when the two
newly-moved-into-the-area mums and their youngest offspring had met up in
the park and fed the ducks together.  Gerry de Beer, local businessman and
generous charity supporter, was well known in the area as the `go-to man'
if you needed advice, good company and even a discreet hand-out in a time
of crisis.  At least, that had always been his reputation until about
eighteen months before, at which time everyone who knew him couldn't help
but notice changes in Gerry's manner and attitudes.  Some even said his
personality had altered, and not in a good way, with him becoming
increasingly distant (some said withdrawn), irritable and hard to engage in
anything but the most mundane and rudimentary of conversations.

Initially this puzzling alteration had been attributed to a challenging
business environment and the squeeze being put on small and medium-sized
firms by the banks.  However, it quickly became clear that Gerry de Beer's
business skills were such that his companies were more than capable of
weathering adverse trading conditions.  This being so, it wasn't long
before other causes for his untypical and unpredictable behaviour started
to be suggested.  Ideas ranging from extra-marital affairs to prescription
drug addiction were discussed in local bars, kitchens and church halls.
Although the local gossip mill produced an endless variety of suggestions
and `certainties', not one of them came anywhere close to the truth.

At school, Grace Channing was always considered to be the girl most likely
to succeed and, by the boys, the one they most wanted to succeed with
(though no-one ever did, much to the frustration of dozens of
testosterone-fuelled jocks, and equal numbers of geeks, goths and nerds who
all tried their luck).  Intelligent, glamorous and out-going, she set high
standards for herself and expected to go both far and high in life.  It was
universally agreed that Gerry de Beer was a very lucky man when Grace
decided that he was the one chosen to accompany her on that journey of
improvement and success.  It wasn't long, however, before the new Mrs. de
Beer realised that her young husband was perfectly content with his
middle-of-the-road lifestyle, being a friend to everyone, happy with his
lot and without a scintilla of ambition to rise to the top of society.  Two
children only served to compound her frustration and it wasn't long before
resentment turned to antagonism.  For some years it had only been the need
to project an image of social and family harmony that had kept the de Beer
marriage on the road at all.  The truth was that Grace de Beer was bored
with her husband, bored with her marriage and bored with her life.  She
wanted out.  As time passed she became increasingly resentful of her
children for keeping her trapped and unhappy, with Milo bearing the brunt
of her frustration because, in her opinion, he was too male, too young and
too immature to be left without a mother's guiding hand (and tongue).

Milo de Beer knew little of the historic undercurrents and frustrations
which swirled and churned beneath the surface of his parents' marriage.  He
was completely unaware that things had reached such a point that his
parents found it difficult to even be in the same house together, far less
the same room and much, much less the same bed, such was the quality of the
façade of perfect family life they both laboured to maintain.
However, he wasn't so naïve that he didn't feel the tension that so
often crackled between his parents or sense the brittleness of the
atmosphere that permeated the family home on a daily basis. He was, after
all, frequently singled-out by his mum for criticism and correction.  Over
time he had developed the ability to let the general negativity wash over
him without being too much affected, but sometimes his mother's harsh
tongue or unkind outbursts forced him to retreat to his room, the swimming
pool or, increasingly often, to Dan's house.

It was time spent with the Reeds that showed him that not all families
operated as his did, that not everyone had to devise self-protection
strategies to get by, that some teenagers managed to have open and friendly
relationships with their parents, even that some families actually enjoyed
spending time together.  Yes, by the time he was fifteen years old, barely
a day went by that Milo didn't raise a silent `Thank you' for the total
acceptance, support and love offered by all the members of D's family.
Even D and Tom knowing about his sexuality had made not the slightest
difference to the welcome he received, something he couldn't even begin to
imagine being possible with his own family.

Fortunately, on that sunny afternoon, half way between his fifteenth and
sixteenth birthdays, Milo had no idea just how significantly the
contrasting attitudes and actions of the two families were destined to
impact on his life in the weeks and months to come.

On that day, Milo lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his eyes
wandering aimlessly around his bedroom with his mind following on behind.
In the far corner he spied his resident spider who was, as usual, busy
doing not very much at all.  Nothing interesting there, then.  On the floor
under the desk he could see a couple of screwed up paper tissues that
hadn't quite made it to the waste basket after a recent porn-fuelled
jerk-off session.  Over by the door was a pile of clothes waiting to be
taken downstairs to be laundered, Milo's mother having announced, on his
fifteenth birthday six months before, that he was old enough to do his own
laundry and cleaning.  This non-negotiated maternal decision was fine by
him, because the less his mother came into his room the better Milo liked
it.  That was especially true when, like now, he was enjoying a leisurely
jerk-off after an especially tiring swimming practice.

He had spent the last half hour deliberately teasing himself by languidly
stroking the bulge in his sweat pants and tweaking his nipples through his
T-shirt.  He was determinedly keeping his clothes on and his thoughts from
focussing on any of his usual cumtastic fantasy scenes, so there were no
mental images of his post-workout jerk-off sessions with D (not that there
had been any of those since the horror of the Mr. Roberts abuse scandal) or
the seismic occasion he'd been brought to a monumental, technicolour 4-shot
climax by Tye, the assistant at AR Sports.  Oh yes, those were two of his
favourite scenarios but today he was just letting his mind drift along
because, for want of anything more important to do, he was in the mood to
prolong the experience for as long as possible.

Inevitably, however, the stroking and the tweaking were beginning to have
the usual and unstoppable effect on his adolescent hormones, and his hands
had no choice but to pull his T over his head and throw it onto the pile by
the door.  They then just had to snake their way into his sweats and under
the waistband of his briefs, easing down into their spiritual home between
his legs.  Milo allowed his fingers to paint a picture in his mind of the
familiar arrangement of boy parts that was found once digits and dick were
happily re-united inside the underwear.  First to be sketched in was the
faint line of very soft, very short hairs that had recently begun to form a
just-about-discernible path downwards from his tummy button.  At the lower
end of this soon-to-be-shaved-off-because-his-swimming-coach-didn't-like-it
treasure-trail was the small, neat tangle of dark brown pubic hair.

With the shirt gone it was only a matter of time (a very short amount of
time) before the sweats had to follow suit, leaving him dressed in nothing
more than his plain white briefs with their black piping and white (ok,
slightly grey) athletic socks.  He continued to comb the fingers of one
hand through the novelty of his reduced pubic hair while the other hand
lazily followed the deepening ridges of his abdomen on the way up to his
hardening nipples which, on arrival, it enthusiastically circled.

Milo allowed his imagination to wonder what a drone would see if one were
hovering over his horizontal body at that precise moment.  He decided it
would see a near-naked 15 year old boy who was showing clear signs of the
handsome young man he was turning into.  Deep brown eyes stared out from a
face that had lost its soft plump curves of childhood, now being replaced
by more angular and chiselled teenage features.  Adolescent hormones had
lengthened his body to within a couple of inches of the 6 foot 1 inch he
would eventually achieve.  Many thousands of laps in the pool, many hours
in the gym and countless miles pounding the streets had broadened his
strong shoulders, toned his long legs and 4-packed his torso.  And if that
drone hovered for a few more minutes it would also witness the white briefs
being peeled down those lean, muscled legs to reveal the five-plus inches
of rapidly-hardening teenage boy dick - its more than two inch thick base
being wider than the neatly-circumcised head - and a hairless sack
containing a pair of walnut-sized balls.

Milo's mind switched from aimless-wander mode to a more focussed
concentration on bringing his favourite body parts to a satisfying sensory
climax.  Spreading his legs, he guided the three middle fingers of his left
hand away from his nipples and down to his butt crack, carefully circling
and probing the tightly-closed opening, readying it for the invasion that
it was soon to experience.  Fingering his butt wasn't part of his every
jerk-off -- if it were, the hole would be constantly red raw.  No, it was
saved for those times when Milo could relax and take his time, like now
with the rest of his family out of the house.

Two squirts of lube (one for his dick-head, one for his butt) and Milo was
ready for the big finish.  His right hand slid vigorously up and down his
shaft while two fingers of his left prepared to invade.  His ball sack
tightened, his breath shortened, his hips thrust upwards and, with the
first volley of cum hurtling towards daylight, his fingers pierced the
waiting hole.

"Agh!"

Not bad.  Not the best, but not bad.  The second blast of cum -- always the
strongest - had landed just below his Adam's apple, with blasts three and
four making it as far as his chest, and the rest pooling in and around his
tummy button.  It had been a few weeks back when, just like now, he'd had
the house to himself, that he'd spent over an hour re-living his experience
with Tye at the sports store all those months before, teasing himself to
the most terrific climax when his cum had rained down on his mouth and
chin.  And when that happens, what's a boy to do other than accept his
body's gift and lick his lips and savour the taste of fresh, warm boy-cum?
Recalling it again now, that time at AR Sports had been super special
because it had made him realised that he, Milo de Beer, could be the cause
of another guy's untameable horniness.  But despite the fact that the time
with Tye had been the single most intense and far-shooting sexual encounter
he had ever had, Milo still yearned for the relatively innocent pleasures
of jerking-off with D, even though they had never strayed away from the
`watch but don't touch' rule that D strictly enforced.

Having cleared up the mess on his tummy and, once again, failed to land the
soggy tissues in the waste basket (there were good reasons why he was a
swimmer rather than a basketballer), Milo's mind went back into `aimless
wander' mode.  Usually once he had jerked-off, his interest in all things
sexual vanished into the ether for at least half an hour (yes, even for
`that' half of his mind), but today his hyper-relaxed state of both mind
and body lured him into recalling the other significant milestones of his
sexual experience to date.  He had to admit that he wasn't 100% comfortable
with them all.

Memories of the jerkings-off with D were, indeed, golden -- fantasyland cum
to life.  Could anything top that?  Well, the encounter with Tye came
close, an out-of-the-blue, no-questions-asked, no-strings-attached,
cumtastic thrill that had, ever since, fed his solitary jerk-off
imagination.  So those experiences were definitely on the plus side and had
frequently fast-tracked his dick to serious hardness in just a handful of
seconds.  But then there was the time with Tom.  The memory of that first,
thrilling, balls-draining blow-job still had the power to excite him, that
is until he remembered that while he was enjoying the greatest sexual
thrill of his young life, his best friend lay abandoned in the next room,
tortured by the reality of being abused by his soccer coach.  Who knew that
euphoria could turn so quickly to guilt?

And then there was Zephan.  Eugh!  How could he have let himself be used
like that?  What D had said at the time was true, Milo was just a
convenient and compliant hole to be filled by his cousin's dick.

Mutual sharing?  Not a bit of it.

Respectful and considerate?  No chance.

Enjoyable?  Shamefully, yes.

Ever to be repeated?  Absolutely and definitely not!

At that moment of maximum resolute determination, the gods or the fates or
the gremlins decided to have some fun at Milo's expense.  It started with
the pinging of his smart phone:

Hiya cuz.  Great news.  I'm cumming to visit.  Have your fag mouth ready.
Z

**********

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