Date: Mon, 21 Mar 2005 02:05:00 +0200
From: Zack McNaught <bwriterb@hotmail.com>
Subject: Sam and Jamie Part 1

As always, you shouldn't be reasing this if the idea of boys having a sexual
relationship offends you, or is illegal where you live. If you got here by
mistake, leave right away. If you're a young kid reading this, I reckon you
should probably leave it until you're a bit older, but you're obviously not
going to listen to an old man like me if you really want to read it.
I'd love to get responses from the people who read my stories, be they
positive or negative, from any race or religion, from old or young... Mail
me at bwriterb@hotmail.com. Anyway, on with the story.

Thanks for reading, Zack.



Ten years old. Sun-bleached hair, a messed-up mop on his head, reaching down
almost far enough to fall in his eyes. Thin arms and legs, thin all over
really. But big, kissable lips, deep brown eyes, pug nose scattered with
freckles. Think Thomas Sangster in Love Actually. Yes, that's it. And he was
mine. My boyfriend. My partner. My lover.

I wasn't that much older myself, a little over 18 months, but he was still
young enough to be my little brother's friend. Or at least he started out
that way. I think I stole him in the end. But there was no jealousy there --
my brother had many friends, and it's not as if he didn't see Sam any more.
In fact, he probably saw him more than ever when Sam started hanging out
with me.

My brother and I are close, really close. We don't fight, don't argue, it
would be disrespectful to do so. Our older brother asked that we never
fought, that we never made an argument for the sake of it, just before he
died of leukaemia. His dying wish, and so we carried it out. We still do, to
this day. Ben lives on the other side of the world, but when I see him it's
like we've never been apart.

But hang on a second, I've cheated a little bit here. I've done what a lot
of authors do when they're too lazy to start a story in the normal way, or
don't think it's cool. I've started somewhere in the middle. That's not
cool, that's cheap. I'd better fill you in from the beginning.

My name's Jamie, not James, or Jim. Summer of 1987 I had just turned 12, and
I was enjoying the long school holiday which had just started. It seemed
like summer stretched out in front of me forever, though in truth it was
only 10 weeks. But it had barely begun, so there was time to enjoy it. We
lived on the top of the North Downs, in a little village surrounded on all
sides by open farmland, dotted here and there with clumps of woodland. It
seemed like there was hardly anyone my age in the village, although my
little brother managed to find an almost endless stream of friends born
within a few weeks of himself. And plenty of them were cute, too. I realised
it at the time, though I didn't really know what I was feeling. I just liked
being around boys more than girls, and being around certain boys more than
others. Sam was one of those boys. It always set my heart racing a little to
see him coming up the path toward our house, looking for my brother. I knew
what gay people were, but for some reason didn't associate myself with them.
Gay people were like Boy George, all flamboyant. I was just an ordinary boy.
I liked playing football, could hold my own in a fight (or at least so I
told myself), and I loved fast cars. I didn't like flowers, or pink things.
That, to my juvenile mind, meant that I couldn't possibly be gay.

So I had these feelings, but didn't really know what it was I was feeling,
so I didn't so anything much about it. I always hung around with my brother
and his friends whatever they were doing, and they didn't seem to mind me
doing so. In his own peculiar little way, my brother always sort of looked
up to me, even if I was only a year and a half older than him. Sam's
favourite activity when he came round was playing football, so he'd always
wear his nylon football shorts round, and often little else. He was topless
more often than not during the summer months, and more than once I found
myself staring at his chest, and his stomach, and that V which disappeared
beneath the waistband. I was fairly sure that he didn't wear any pants under
the shorts -- a couple of times he'd fallen over whilst playing and I thought
I could see all the way up to his balls. That, of course, set the blood
pounding in my ears, and downstairs, too, though I simply put it down to the
sheer naughtiness of the situation. He was also always wearing white sports
socks and battered trainers, and I would love it when he would kick the
shoes off to come indoors and walk around just wearing his shorts and socks.
Occasionally he and my brother would play on the NES we had in the living
room, both lying on their fronts on the floor in front of the TV, leaving me
to sit on the sofa. Ostensibly I was there to watch them playing, and maybe
join in a little myself, but if I was honest with myself, I just enjoyed
watching their cute bums wiggling from side to side as they got really
involved in the games. How I didn't realise I was gay I don't know,
especially as more than once I had to leave the room to head up to my
bedroom and have a quick wank behind closed doors.

Oh yes, I knew all about playing with myself by then. I had always been an
avid reader, and I made good use of the library in the nearest big town. The
librarians let me wander where I wanted looking for new reading matter, and
that was how I came across the sexual education books, tucked into a corner
almost as if the librarians accepted that they were necessary, but didn't
really want to encourage people to read them. I spent a happy few hours that
afternoon, at the age of eleven, reading as much as I could, and getting
hard looking at the pictures and reading the descriptions. My final
discovery of the day, and the one which would turn out to be the most
significant of all, was a book which spoke frankly about masturbation, going
as far as to suggest how a boy might go about such an activity. I'd been
hard all afternoon, my little dick tenting the front of my shorts so badly I
couldn't stand up straight. As soon as I found out this new technique, I
shoved the book up my jumper and disappeared into the library's toilets.
Perched on the loo, with the book open on my knees, I touched myself with
real purpose for the first time in my life, reading instructions from the
book. I was taken aback by my first orgasm, so much so that I dropped the
book, but I was hooked. I wanted more, and took to wanking every time I had
a spare moment. I knew from the books that it wasn't something you really
talked to other people about, let alone did in front of anyone, so I
understood to keep my activities private.

Back then, I was completely hairless, and would remain so until I was at
least 13, but there was always a little moisture seeping out of my dick when
I wanked, frothing up at the mouth of my foreskin as it was jiggled up and
down. At first I thought it was a little bit of piss which was being frothed
up, but a little more reading revealed to me that it was actually seminal
fluid, though I wasn't yet ejaculating at orgasm, and wouldn't be until
shortly before I got my first hairs.

The first time anything happened with Sam was about a week into the summer
holidays. It was baking hot, but the heat had brought thunder with it, so we
were all inside. Sam and my brother, Ben, were playing on the NES,
concentrating hard on avoiding being shot by aliens or something -- I wasn't
really paying attention to the screen. Both their arses had been bouncing
from side to side, wound up as they were in the action on the screen.
Jumping up at the end of a level, Ben announced he needed a wee, and ran out
of the room, leaving me and Sam alone. Uncharacteristically, maybe because
he knew it was likely to rain, Sam was wearing a t-shirt, but he was still
in his football shorts and white socks, as always. Almost as soon as Ben had
left the room, Sam rolled onto his back and looked up at me, then down to
his crotch. My gaze followed his, and I noticed for the first time the bulge
in the front of his shorts. It wasn't a giant, but I could tell Sam was
excited by the motion of his dick on the floor. Giggling, he grabbed the
protrusion, shook it at me a couple of times, and then turned back onto his
stomach and squirmed a little more, rubbing his little erection between
himself and the floor. Ben came back a minute later, so the squirming
stopped, but it wasn't the end of the show by any means. As soon as they
were back into the game, Sam's legs magically spread wide, and his shorts
rode up until I was staring at the junction of his scrotum and his leg. A
quick adjustment with one hand and I could see his dick squashed out to the
side, blatantly displayed for me to look at. I wasn't about to refuse an
offer like that, and so I studied the organ in detail. It was about as big
as mine, which made it a little over 3 inches, and uncut like mine, though
with less of an overhanging foreskin. As Sam moved with the game, I could
see if being rolled between his hip and the floor, an erotic show I couldn't
ignore. As carefully as I could, I worked my hand into my pants and started
wanking, trying to keep the movements to a minimum. Even this wasn't good
enough, though, as Sam caught me a few minutes later, glancing around and
grinning when he saw where my hand was. That cheekiness was all I needed,
and I came almost immediately, stifling a gasp as I had the hardest orgasm
I'd ever experienced. It was so strong it was almost painful.

I felt a little guilty having a wank, because I was sure that Sam was just
playing, not really flirting. The thing was, he kept on playing: a few days
later he, my brother and I were out playing in some nearby woods, climbing
trees and building forts, that sort of thing. I announced that I needed to
go to the loo, and started walking off a little way to where there was a
clump of bushes which was our traditional pissing spot. What I didn't expect
was for Sam to follow behind me, claiming that he, too, needed to go. When
we got there, I got it out and started pissing into the bushes, but Sam just
stood there holding his dick, idly playing with it and watching me piss.
Fairly soon his dick was hard, and he was wanking it, rubbing the foreskin
up and down, eyes riveted on my dick as it began to respond, slowly filling
up with blood and cutting off the stream of piss. Soon I was as hard as he
was, and shaking like a leaf with excitement. I had barely touched my dick
when we heard Ben calling for us, wondering where we were, and Sam quickly
tucked himself back in and headed back. Just as he went, he looked up into
my eyes for the first time and flashed me a little shy smile. This was
nothing like the lascivious grin he had given me at discovering me wanking
on the sofa. This was a `hope you like me' kind of smile, and I had a brief
moment of wanting to take him into my arms and hold him, and touch him, and
show myself off to him. Maybe even kiss those soft lips.

That experience got me thinking. And wanking quite a lot, truth be told. I
used the image of Sam's hard-on in all my fantasies, imagining him coming,
or me doing it for him, or even lying naked together and rubbing our bodies
on each other. The idea of gayness began to permeate my thoughts -- after
all, it wasn't just about being limp-wristed and wearing odd clothes, it was
more than that. I knew all about sex from the books I'd read in the library,
but they'd mentioned nothing about gay people, and what they do. I'd heard
the words `bumming' and `blow job' in the school playground, but had no
concept as to what they might mean. A return trip to the library was in
order, and a couple of days later I found myself in that infamous corner of
the library, furtively looking through all the books for a clue about what
it all meant. I did find out eventually that gay men liked to perform sex
acts with other men, but the text was vague, talking about fellatio and anal
sex, neither of which were terms that I understood. I didn't know anything
more about gay sex, but I was fairly sure of one thing, and I didn't like it
at all -- I was gay.

On the bus home, I thought what that meant. I knew that no-one around me
could find out, because gays were figures of hate, especially in the school
playground. A couple of years previously, two boys in my year had been
caught with their pants down behind the swimming pool building, and had been
bullied so badly about it that they both left the school, and eventually
both families left the area. I didn't want that to happen to my family, so I
had to keep things quiet. But what about Sam? He already knew that I got
hard watching him wanking, so maybe he realised. I had to talk to him about
it, had to try to convince him that I wasn't gay before he told anyone that
I was. I didn't even consider the possibility on that bus ride home that Sam
himself might be gay. It didn't even enter my head.

I got off at the other end just as a stomach-churning realisation hit me --
my brother was going on holiday with a schoolfriend and his family for a
week the very next day, and so Sam wouldn't be around to talk to for a whole
week. That would mean a week of him being able to spread rumours about me,
of being able to ruin my life. It didn't occur to me to try to find him -- he
always came around to our house. I knew Sam wasn't nasty at all, in fact one
of the reasons I liked him was that he was always so nice to me, but I also
reasoned that it was only right that he would tell people about me perving
over him. I was a nervous wreck that night, so much so that I couldn't eat,
and my mum sent me to bed early, thinking I must be coming down with
something. I was so worried, in fact, that I didn't even have a wank, the
first time I hadn't at night since I discovered how to do it.

I woke up in the morning just about as worried as I had been the night
before. None of the questions running around my head had been resolved. My
parents were both out, my dad at work and my mum volunteering at the local
hospice for the elderly, something she had been doing for a couple of years.
She always left my brother and I alone during the summer months, never
worried that we were going to get into trouble. I know I wouldn't do the
same for my own kids, were I ever to have any. Anyway, I wandered around the
empty house, suddenly feeling very alone. My little brother would have left
in the early morning, long before I was awake. It was odd to not have him
around, though it wasn't first time he had gone on holiday without me. We
never had summer holidays, my parents preferring to spend the money at
Christmas time, visiting my mother's relatives in Australia, and so Ben was
often invited on holidays with friends. I never had any invitations of the
kind, but there was something so wonderful about our village in the summer
that I really wouldn't have wanted to leave anyway. Padding barefoot into
the kitchen, clad only in my shorts with a morning hard-on tenting the
front, I was surprised to hear the television on in the living room. I
quickly hid my aroused state as best I could, and slowly edged around the
corner into the living room until I could see what was going on. There on
the sofa, engrossed in the cartoons was Sam, lying on his left, with his
right hand in his shorts, idly playing with himself. Immediately my heart
skipped a beat. The boy I needed to find, the boy I needed to tell not to
let anyone know my secret, was lying on my sofa, and he was wanking! The
problem was, I couldn't just go in there, because he would see my hard-on,
and would surely know that it was because of him. I was deliberating what to
do when he calmly said,

"Are you coming in here, or are you going to stand there watching me all
day?"

I nearly pissed myself with shock. He knew I was there! Slowly, unsure of
myself in my own house, I walked into the living room. Sam had sat up by
now, no longer playing with himself, but not hiding the bulge in the front
of his shorts either. I said the first stupid thing that came into my head.

"Ben's away on holiday."

Sam just looked at me like I was the thickest person he'd ever met.

"I know," he said after a moment. "I thought you might like to play with
me."

All the connotations of that comment hit me at the same time, and I just
couldn't help myself. After all, I was just a boy, and so I started laughing
so hard that I doubled over. Sam tried to keep a straight face, but he
couldn't help himself, and was soon laughing at his own innuendo as hard as
I was. That sort of broke the ice, and before long we were sat side by side
on the sofa, watching the cartoons and making bad jokes. It turned out that
my brother had said that Sam could come over while he was away and make sure
I was alright, and had given him his house key to get in. I knew my mum
wouldn't have any problems with the arrangement, she was so used to Sam
hanging around. He was almost a member of the family.

After a while, I remembered that I hadn't had a shower yet, and got up to go
and have one. I used to hate showering every morning until I discovered the
joys of wanking, and found that the shower was the perfect place to play
with my dick. When I got up and told Sam I was going for a shower, he
immediately got a devilish look on his face, before asking if he could join
me. I was a little taken aback by such a bold proposition, but the erection
which immediately tented my shorts answered for me, and Sam followed me into
the bathroom. I only had my shorts on, and so it didn't take too much
undressing before I was naked, Sam following shortly behind. We took a
moment to look at each other before getting into the shower, the first time
we'd seen each other properly naked. I loved Sam's body. I'd grown used to
seeing the various parts of it at one time or another, but the whole was
certainly more than the sum of the parts. He had beautiful translucent white
skin, except for his arms and torso which were usually bare. His rock hard
dick jutted upwards from his groin, the foreskin pulled back just enough
that I could glimpse the purple of his dickhead. My heart skipped a beat
when I saw the blue veins running just beneath the surface, and the red line
which ran down its underside, joining his dick to his balls. They were tight
up in their sack, a soft, crinkled bag between his legs. I ached to touch
him, to feel what it was like, for him to touch me. But we were both a
little nervous, I think, and instead just got into the shower and started
washing ourselves. It wasn't until I saw some soap dripping down Sam's back
and into the top f his arse crack that I realised just how beautiful that
part of him was. I always associated bums with dirtiness, but Sam's looked
so clean and pure and inviting right then. Without asking, I got a load of
soap in my hands and started washing Sam's back, working my hands across his
shoulders, then down to his waist and eventually roaming across his bum
cheeks. When my hands got there, Sam's head went back and he let out a moan.
I could see in the large bathroom mirror that his dick was hard and that he
was playing with it with one free hand, so I supposed that he probably
didn't mind if I carried on. I noticed that Sam would gasp slightly if I let
my fingers slip into the crack between his cheeks, and so I started working
my way in there, washing towards his hole. Sam's breathing became ragged,
and I could feel him shaking with excitement. When I touched his hole, he
let out a yelp and came immediately. The orgasm was so intense then he
actually starting slipping over, and I had to catch him and lower him to sit
on the floor, the shower still spraying us with water. After a couple of
moments, he came back to his senses, a warm smile touching his lips. He
thanked me for touching him, and then reached between my legs and started
fingering my hole as I knelt over him. I was amazed at how good it felt to
have someone touch me there, and my dick, which had gone down, was instantly
hard again. It took a few moments for me to register that Sam was talking,
and when I did I realised that he wanted to get out of the shower and do
this in my room. I wasn't about to say no, so, rather reluctantly, I broke
our contact, standing to turn off the shower.

We dried quickly, and ran through the house naked to my room, shutting and
locking the door behind us. There wasn't anyone around to find out what we
were doing, but it pays to be careful. Sam made me lie down on my bed on my
back and spread my legs. He knelt between them and started to play with my
dick. As he slowly rubbed the skin up and down with his right hand, his left
went lower and started rubbing my hole again. The pleasure was so great that
I arched my back, trapping his finger in place as I clenched my arse cheeks
together. Sam wasn't bothered, though, and took the opportunity to push the
tip of his finger against my hole. I'd never felt anything like it, but
instinctively knew I wanted more. Sam, realising that I was now pressing
down onto his finger, instructed me to lift my knees up and hold onto them.
When I had done so, he sucked his finger for a moment to get it wet, then
put it back at the entrance to my arse. As he wanked me slowly, the finger
ran around my ring, loosening it as I relaxed, and eventually slipping in. I
didn't realise until he wiggled it about that Sam's whole index finger was
up my bum, and I was surprised to find that it made my dick even harder. Sam
kept on wanking me as he moved his finger around inside me, and when he hit
one certain spot, I came really hard, arching my back and curling my toes at
the feeling. When Sam finally slid his finger out of my arse, I felt very
empty.

We didn't do anything else that day -- once our appetites were satisfied,
they didn't return.

The next morning, Sam was back, more blatant this time. As I came into the
living room in the morning, he lay naked on his back on the sofa, rock hard
dick in one hand, the index finger of his other toying with his hole. I
watched him for a while, my own hand inside my shorts, playing with the
foreskin which overhung the end of my dick even though it was pretty hard
itself. I used to love teasing myself this way, getting a little tingle as
my rough fingers found the sensitive skin just inside my foreskin. I watched
Sam for several minutes as he lay on the sofa, eyes shut and oblivious to my
presence. After a few minutes he stretched languorously , pulling both hands
away from himself as a broad smile passed across his face. In the weeks to
come, I would come to recognise this as a sign that Sam had experienced one
of his mini-orgasms, just enough to keep him satisfied until I could do it
properly for him. After a few moments of stillness, his eyes opened to see
me there, my shorts now down around my ankles, my dick vibrating as I wanked
hard at the sight of him. Rather than showing any surprise, Sam just giggled
devilishly and went back to wanking his still-rock-hard dick, watching me as
I did the same. He let go of his dick to draw his legs up, knees bent and
pressing against his chest. I never thought I would find the sight of
another boy's arse erotic, but it sent a shiver through me to see his little
pink pucker, just below his crinkly scrotum. I went and sat in the space on
the sofa his legs had just vacated, and reached out a finger to it. As my
digit brushed against the skin, Sam gasped audibly, and his arse lifted off
the sofa, pushing the pucker onto my finger. I was too dry to penetrate with
my finger, but I carried on rubbing around the ridged skin, eliciting moans
of pleasure from Sam and more insistent pushing on my finger when it passed
directly over the tight little hole. My other hand was free, and with Sam's
hands both occupied holding his knees up and apart, I decided to use my free
hand to wank him, slowly at first, and then increasing my pace to match the
jabbing of my finger at his arse. It was clear that Sam wanted my finger
inside his arse, but both he and I were too dry. Remembering what my dad had
tried to teach me about the unimaginably complex engine in his car, I
recalled that oiled things can slide past each other easier, and hit on an
idea. We were right by the kitchen, and I knew where I could get some oil.
Pulling my hands away, to a confused look from Sam, I told him to go and
wait in my bedroom, and I would be along in a minute. In the kitchen, I
immediately went over to the cooker, next to which was a bottle of sunflower
oil. Perfect.

In my room, Sam was on my bed, legs spread wide. His hands were back on his
dick and balls, stretching and playing with them, no real rhythm, just
keeping himself nice and hard. I grabbed a towel from my bedroom floor and
walked over to the bed, Sam smiling up at me all the way.

`I've got an idea,' I said, in answer to his questioning look. It was the
first thing either of us had said that morning. `Pull your legs up.'

Sam did so immediately, once again exposing that great arsehole of his to
me. I slipped the towel beneath him and then poured a liberal amount of oil
into my hand, letting it run through my fingers and fall onto the towel. The
rest I slathered over Sam's crack, receiving an astonished gasp for my
efforts. My greased up fingers slid easily over his now-shining arsehole,
and before long my middle finger was pressing gently but insistently at his
hole. Suddenly Sam relaxed his muscles, and my finger slid in, carrying onto
until it was buried to the knuckle and I could go no further. Sam's dick was
rock hard, but I decided not to touch it, instead concentrating on pumping
my finger in and out, hitting the hard place inside Sam that he had found in
me, and which had given me so much pleasure. Before long I was kneeling up
on the bed, one hand pumping my own dick while the middle finger of the
other hand pleasured Sam. He was nicely loosened up, and squelching slightly
as I pumped him, which only served to turn me on even more. Sensing somehow
that he wanted more, that he wanted stretching a bit, I added another
finger, which he adjusted to quickly, moaning loudly for the few seconds
after it was inserted. Then he went quiet, and pushed down very hard,
smashing my fingertips into the lump inside himself, and I knew what was
happening. As Sam's orgasm overtook him, I could feel his arsehole squeezing
my fingers, sucking on them almost, and I could see his little spike of
flesh jump with each spasm. Finally he came down off the high, and I slowly
pulled my fingers from his arse, eliciting a long, drawn-out sigh from Sam.
I looked at my fingers, expecting to see something unpleasant on them, but
all there was was the oil I'd put on them.

When Sam had recovered, he realised that I still hadn't come, and insisted
on giving me the same pleasure. Seeing what it had done to him, and already
having experienced his little finger in me, I was quick to agree, and
swapped places with Sam. He was just as generous with the oil as I had been,
and even spread some around my dick and balls, giving them an attractive
golden sheen. His fingers on my hole were like a jolt of electricity, and I
almost came before he had a chance to do anything. I was glad I managed to
hold off, though, as his finger slid into me a few minutes later and hit
that lump. The pleasure was so intense that I let go of my knees, and seeing
as it became obvious that I wouldn't be able to hold them on my own, Sam
instructed me to get onto my knees with my head down on the pillows. This
position was just as erotic, and Sam's finger slid in even more easily.
Another joined it before long, but before I could come, both were gone.
Looking round to find out what was wrong, I saw Sam with a grin on his face
and a handful of oil being spread on his dick. At first I thought he was
just going to wank with the oil, but I soon found out that Sam had other
ideas, when he shuffled forward on his knees and lined his throbbing dick up
with my hole. I felt a slight pressure, and then it was inside me. It was
slightly fatter than his two fingers, slightly more round, and the pleasure
was unbelievable. I was loosened up enough that he could really start
pumping, and he did, fucking me with short hard jabs, his hip slapping
against my oiled up arse. Sam was clearly enjoying it, as I could hear him
panting, but it wasn't as good for me as I wanted. I wasn't going to come.
So I suggested that I lie back down on my back and he take me from the
front. We rearranged quickly, and I found myself with my head propped up on
my pillows watching Sam line his puckered foreskin up with my hole and push
forwards. It slid in easily and I could feel it come to a rest against the
bump. As he started pumping, leaning over me on all fours, I could feel the
tip of his dick bumping into that spot again and again, and the pleasure
started really building. His face was only centimetres from mine, and when
he leant forward to push home extra hard, I planted a kiss on his lips.
Every time he leant forward I repeated the kiss, until he stopped fucking me
and just leant forward, our mouths squashing together in an amateurish but
passionate kiss. Slowly, as we continued to kiss, Sam's hips started moving
again, and I could feel the gentle slide in and out of his dick through my
hole. This, combined with the kissing, sent me over the edge, and I came
hard, breaking the kiss and gasping for air. I could feel Sam pumping still,
then stopping and gasping himself as he had a second orgasm, feeling the
sucking of my arse on his dick.

When we had both come down from our highs, Sam pulled out of me with a sound
like satin sliding over skin, then lay down by my side, possessively draping
a leg over my waist as he did so, his finally-softening dick squashed
between us. We slept then, for several hours. Fucking became a regular
activity over the next few days, several times a day. One time we did it
right in the living room, watching a film together in the early afternoon. I
got hard just sitting next to Sam, and before I knew it he was at on my lap,
still facing the TV, but with my dick up his arse. We stayed in that
position for more than an hour in the end, occasionally moving to keep us
both hard, and only coming as the film drew to a close.

We both knew what was happening at the end of the week, and I wasn't happy
about it -- my brother was coming home from holiday. Sure, I'd missed him,
and it would be cool to have him around, but I'd grown to like spending the
day fucking and being fucked by Sam. I loved his little white dick, with the
puckered foreskin. I loved the fact that he was always as up for it as I
was, sometimes more so, and I loved the fact that he would happily stay
lubed up all day just so I could slip it in when I wanted. We even went out
bowling with my parents during the week, and did it quickly in the toilets
while we were there, not to orgasm, but it was fun anyway. The cramped stall
had semen stains on all the walls, not that I understood at the time, and
there was a spyhole through to the other stall, which judging from the
noises we heard from there, was being used to watch us. On the way back in
the car, in the darkness of the back seat, Sam unbuckled his jeans enough to
open out the back and let me subtly slide my hand down there. Before long I
had two fingers in him, and left them there all the way home. If my parents
noticed anything, they didn't say, and nor did they comment on the quite
obvious bulges in our pants when we exited the car at my house.  We had a
voracious appetite, and fucked each other in my bed again that night, slowly
this time, in the classic spoons position, which we naively thought we had
invented. All of that would end, though, the next day, when Ben arrived
home.

As I'd thought, it was hell having Ben home. Sam and I had to act like
nothing was going on, and though he was around the house all the time, it
had to appear that he was there to see Ben, not to get his rocks off with
me. We had a couple of chances, and took each one of them, most notably when
Ben offered to go to the local shop to get some icecreams, and insisted that
we stay behind and carry on the game we were playing on the Super Nintendo.
Of course, as soon as Ben was out of the door, Sam was on his knees and I
was running into the kitchen to find the oil. I didn't have time to loosen
him up, we only had a few minutes, so I plunged straight in, drawing a
pained gasp from Sam. I asked if he was ok, and despite sounding rather
uncomfortable, he asked me to do him hard. I willingly obliged, and rammed
myself into him over and over again, bringing us both to massive orgasms
quickly, Sam collapsing under me for a minute before recovering enough to
pull his shorts up. As it turned out, we had more time than we thought,
having enough time to get back into the game and get even further than when
Ben left. I asked Sam later that day in a quiet moment whether he was ok,
and he smiled, giving me a quick kiss and assuring me that although he was
sore, he really needed it and enjoyed it.


That's it for part one, folks. Sorry it stops rather abruptly, but I wanted
to get out what I've written so far while I can. Let me know what you think
- bwriterb@hotmail.com. Cheers, Zack.