Date: Sun, 30 Mar 2008 00:59:09 +0000
From: xenophon66@hotmail.co.uk
Subject: They reach the sky, part 3

They Reach the Sky
by
Xenophon


Disclaimer: This story involves homosexual acts between two underage
boys. If this offends you, or is illegal for you to view, or you are too
young to read it, leave now and do not return.

This story is entirely fictitious, and any similarity to persons living or
dead, or to actual events is entirely coincidental. So there. All
professional sports results incidentally included are real, however.

Many humble thanks go to all those who sent such kind encouragement. Your
comments and support persuade me it is worth continuing. On rereading part
2, I noticed it was riddled with mistakes- I can only apologise. I'll try
to cut them out in future.

Oh, in answer to one question, London-born boys DO use the word
"dude". Have since the 80s.

Sorry this took so long to get finished. Thanks for your patience.

"You who know what love is, see if it is what I have in my heart. All that
I feel I will explain; since it is new to me, I don't understand it"- LdP

Chapter 7

Any hint of the autumnal thunderstorms which ruined Thursday seemed only a
distant memory as Saturday dawned glorious. Saturday mornings involving
football have a clearly defined pattern for me and Dad. Sports fans the
world over are very superstitious, and fans of football teams with
rollercoaster form particularly so. Any deviation from established routine
could cost us the game, in our minds. We had to have a lie-in- this was
mandatory. Neither of us could be dressed, washed and wearing football
apparel before the start of Football Focus, the TV show previewing the
weekend, which started just after 12 noon. Practically, this meant that I
would arise from slumber around 11 (I have never, ever been a morning
person, and neither was my Dad), shower, dress in jeans and go down for one
of Dad's famous fry ups- famous because they had a tendency to be hurried
and always a bit slapdash, because they HAD to be ready for the start of
the show- late food meant West Ham lose. After eating while watching the
show, we'd put on our replica shirts (his was an old one from the eighties,
mine a more recent one with 'Sheringham 8' on the back- I loved that old
codger) and be out the door by 1.10 prompt- this meant we were always
horribly early for games, but if we didn't... (you get the gist by now).

Driving to games is a nightmare, so we always took the London Underground,
or tube as it's known. Although this was technically an away game, Fulham
is only west London, so this was easy. We got to the tiny ground and
watched an entertaining game. Another rule of ours is that we CANNOT go to
the toilet during play- only at half-time and after the end- as opposition
teams had a habit of scoring when we did. Having been treated to an extra
large coke at half-time to try and wash the taste of Dad's undercooked
bacon out of my mouth, by full-time I was busting for a piss. It was worth
it though. We won the game thanks to two goals from George's hero Harewood,
the second really an own goal which hit the post and then the back of the
keeper on the rebound before rolling over the line. Comedy goals warm the
cockles of your heart when they go your way.

As we got the tube home, I was a bundle of energy. George, my beautiful
angel, was sleeping over! We would have the whole evening together, the
whole night, and hopefully a lot of tomorrow. I had the evening to bathe
myself in his conversation and jokes, and at bed time... well, what
happened would happen. I would dearly love to do all sorts of new and
orgasmic things with the green eyed wonder with blonde curls and delicate
glasses, and if he didn't want to do them, I at least got to be close to
him for a whole night. Dad spotted me fidgeting and not really paying
attention to the match programme I was pretending to read.

"I think you might be able to read the next page better if you turn past
the adverts," he said.

"Eh?" I blinked, looking at the page- I had been staring at a beer ad and
the logos of Fulham's sponsors. Probably for four or five stops. "Oh, yeah,
I know, Dad, I'm not stupid!"

"Easy, tiger!" he said, laughing. "Something on your mind, Rob?"

"No. Just thinking. Sorry. Were you tryin' to talk to me?"

"No, it's just you kept bumping me. About tonight- you and George can watch
Match of the Day, but in your room, in bed and ready for sleep as soon as
the credits roll. My rules and Angela's rules- they are
non-negotiable. Clear?" his voice was less stern than the words, and the
corners of his mouth were twitching as he tried to stop a smile breaking
out.

"Crystal, sir," I said. "Thanks for letting me have a friend round tonight,
Dad."

I hugged him. I had checked the carriage was all but empty and no one I
knew was on board- we were getting near home, and I was at the age where
hugging your parents was NOT cool.

We got back. I was starving, and said so.

"You had a fry up for breakfast, you had a burger at half time and a
hot-dog at full time and you're STILL hungry?" Dad said, exasperated. "Go
and get George, I'll get dinner on. Prepare for vegetable stir fry with
lots of rice- you've had enough meat and fat to last you six months already
today!"

I cheered. Dad looked truly shocked- I guessed he must have thought I was
cheering at the prospect of a rabbit-food dinner, rather than the
invitation to bring the centre of my heart over. He worked it out
eventually, sighed and shooed me out the door.

George lived, at most, 20 yards from my door. I still sprinted the whole
way, not wanting to waste a second. I rang the doorbell. The door flew open
almost before my finger left the buzzer. There he stood- perhaps 4'8'',
pale blonde curls adorning his head, small nose that always made me want to
nibble it, deep green eyes behind small, rimless specs and a small pink bow
of a mouth split by a grin that would have melted polar ice caps if it got
near enough. He wore a West Ham shirt that matched mine, and denim shorts
that were cut off just below the knee. He was also carrying a rucksack that
looked like it could have served him better were he running away to join
the French Foreign Legion than staying overnight across the road.

"Hi Rob! Ready for me? I'm all packed! Can I come?" said George, his tongue
almost tripping over he spoke so fast.

"Er... yeah mate, of course- you... realise it's just tonight- not all next
week?"

"Huh?" he looked confused, and it made him even cuter. "Oh, this! Yeah,
blame Mum- NOT my idea!"

His mum, Angela, came up behind him.

"Now George, behave! I expect you after lunch tomorrow. Oh, Rob, thank your
dad for me, and tell him if George gives him any trouble, he can frog-march
him straight back home!" she said.

"I will Mum," George complained, wiping the kiss she planted on his cheek
straight off.

"I'll tell him. Come on! Dad's cooking. We can get you settled before
dinner."

We raced over to my house again and I shouted a perfunctory "Hi, I'm back!
George is here! When's dinner?" before charging upstairs without waiting
for an answer. A cry of "Half an hour! Wash your hands before you come
down!" followed me up the stairs. George was hot on my heels.

I led him into my room, and he dropped his rucksack. No sooner was he
unencumbered, than I had wrapped my arms tightly around him, pulling him
tight.

"I love you," I whispered in his ear, kissing the side of his head.

"I've missed you, Rob," he said. "I wish I never had to be anywhere other
than with you. I never knew what love was like- it always seemed an ikky,
girly thing. But I love you."

We kissed, tenderly but with passion. I suddenly realised I hadn't drawn
the curtain yet, and we could be seen from his house. I jerked away and
turned to the window, but I saw the curtains were drawn in his front
windows, so we should be ok. I closed mine to be safe, before kissing him
quickly. I never knew either, that anything could feel like this- just
having him near made the whole world seem perfect. My stomach rumbled,
disagreeing.

"Where am I sleeping?" he asked.

I pointed at my bed- a double bed. Dad had surprisingly agreed to me having
a double when we moved in- I'm not sure my boyfriend sleeping in it was
quite what he intended it for, however. I was very glad at this moment he
had let me, though. George smiled.

"Both of us? In the same bed?" he asked. His grin broadened. He jumped flat
on the bed on his front. "I never slept in a double bed before. I've never
slept in a bed with anyone either. Well, not since I was very little, and
that was just with my parents when I had a nightmare. You don't snore do
you?"

"I don't think so- but I've never heard myself when I'm asleep. Do you?" I
asked, flopping down beside him.

He grinned. "No. But then I've never had anyone sleeping next to me to tell
me. I guess we'll find out." He pushed his head closer to mine, pressing
his side and leg against mine. His warmth and closeness was arousing me,
and I started do run through the declensions of Latin nouns in my head to
make it go away- it would NOT do to go to the dinner table with a bulge in
my jeans. "Rob, were you wanting to, you know, do more stuff tonight?"

I turned my head to face him, our noses almost touching. His glasses were a
bit crooked on his nose. I straightened them gently. "George, I want to do
anything you want- I've thought about you all the time since we last, you
know... did stuff, as you put it. I'd love to do them again- and more, if
you want. But if you just wanna, like, cuddle and kiss and stuff- or not
even that- then that's totally cool. What do you want?"

He kissed me quickly, rolling me onto my back, and climbed on to lie on top
of me. The front of his shorts felt as rigid against my leg as I'm sure the
front of my jeans felt on his.

"I was hoping you'd say that- a whole night alone!" he was grinning, and
kissed me open mouthed for the first time tonight, his tongue flicking the
tip of mine before dancing along my teeth. How did he learn to kiss like
that? If kisses could kill, I'd be beyond the help of the entire NHS. He
broke for air, and looked at me seriously. "What do you mean, more?"

I realised his slightly more sheltered up-bringing than mine might have
left him a little bit less informed than me- that, and the age gap. And me
having a computer connected to the internet in my room, which he didn't.

"There's more than just stroking each other's cocks we can do. Ways we can
show each other how we feel even more, and they're supposed to feel even
better- I've not done them before, but I want to with you. But we'll take
it slow- if something feels good, and we both want to do it, we can- if
not, we wait. They're a bit more personal than touching- I'll show you
later, if you want," I said, hoping he would want to do some of those
things. He looked nervous.

"Ok, I guess... what kind of things?" he said. I kissed his ear, so small
and tender.

"Can I tell you when we're alone, later?" I said. "It's just, well, talking
and thinking about them is giving me a boner- and Dad could call any
second. I promise you I won't do anything you don't like- you're in
charge. Trust me."

"OK, I'll wait till later... and I trust you- you've never lied to me or
forced me into anything. You're the best friend I've ever had, not just
my...boyfriend." He'd never said that word before, and the sound tingled
all over me. Boyfriend. Mmmmmmm.... "It's ok if you don't wanna say the
same- I know you and James are really close."

I kissed his forehead.

"You ARE my best friend- there's virtually nothing I wouldn't tell James,
but there is NOTHING I wouldn't tell you- I trust you, too. And hey- James
is a Spurs fan! Come on?!?"

I tickled his taut stomach, and he giggled. His hand slipped artfully into
my flies, grasping my cock through my briefs.

"You really are stiff!" He said. I stopped tickling him and moaned.

"OOOoohhh, George, that feels really good, but..." I began.

There was a knock at the door. Thank Christ I had closed it, and Dad had
followed his own rule about knocking closed doors. George rolled off me and
sat up, blushing furiously. I sat up, hurriedly closing my flies and
managed to croak a stuttered "come in".

"Boys, dinner's ready. Didn't you hear me call?" Dad said, poking his head
around the door. He noticed our red faces and slightly crumpled
appearance. I could see the numbers adding up in his head. "Wash your hands
for dinner. George, why don't you go first?"

He spoke kindly, but I could feel his eyes boring holes in my skull as I
stared at the floor. George got up, and gingerly went to the bathroom. I
waited for an explosion. Dad pushed the door shut, and sat next to me.

"Rob, I guessed this sort of thing might happen. You're at an age where
you've got all sorts of sensations to explore. I understand that. Just
remember what you promised me- wait, and be completely sure. No regrets
when you're older, ok?" he said. I hadn't been too quiet with my moan
before, and even through the closed door, he must have heard and guessed
what was happening. "I don't want details if you don't want to give them,
but remember you can talk to me about anything. Oh, and promise me
something else."

I nodded, not trusting myself to look at him- I was still to embarrassed.

"I can hear about all your exploits if you want me to hear them- but there
are some things fathers aren't psychologically conditioned to hear. Such as
their son actually having sex. I don't want to be able to work out exactly
what's going on in the room next door to me from the sound effects. Can you
try and control the noise, if you can't control your hormones?" I
nodded. "Oh, and Rob, I don't know how much you know about these things,
but for God's sake don't try anal sex without talking to me first- if you
don't know what you're doing it can go horribly wrong. And you should wait
until George is a few years older, too- you're both way too young for
that. Hell, I shouldn't even be letting you do what you're doing now,
but... well, you have to work some things out for yourself."

I was gaping at him in horror. What did my eminently heterosexual father
know about anal sex, and, dear Lord, did I NOT want to talk to him about
that!

"What, you think you were immaculate conception?" he said in response to my
shocked expression.  "Your mother and I had a very healthy sex life, thank
you very much, and yes it included anal." I shuddered. I had barely
accepted my father having sex, but I always liked to imagine it was once,
brief, and purely for the purpose of having me. And that he didn't enjoy
it. The thought of my Dad having the kind of thoughts and doing the same
kind of deeds I was, albeit with a woman not a boy, was not something I
wanted. "Yes, we were young when we started getting physical, but we were
older than you- so wait. Promise me all those things?"

I nodded. I heard the bathroom door open and practically sprinted in to
avoid further conversation. I smiled quickly at George to reassure him. We
then sat around and had a pleasant (if boring) dinner. After, Dad went in
to the back room to do some work and listen to opera- like his angry punk
music, opera was not something I had yet acquired a taste for. George and I
went upstairs.

In my room, we lay down on my bed to watch the telly, our heads at the
opposite end to the pillows. I was feeling genuinely stuffed, and it was
too dark outside for cricket and I didn't feel too mobile with all the
food, so football didn't appeal either. We watched some of the inane
rubbish on TV on Saturday nights- I say watched, George watched, while I
snuggled against him, my right arm across his chest while my left stroked
his hair and cheek. He clasped my arm in his warm hands, and would
occasionally turn his head to plant a quick kiss on my face somewhere. I
honestly can't remember how long we lay there, or even what was on the
tube, so wrapped up was I in my little man beside me. Before I knew it, the
solemn music introducing the news was playing, and the door to the study
downstairs could be heard opening, to the tune of some caterwauling Greek
soprano Dad adored.

"BOYS! MATCH OF THE DAY'S ON IN 20 MINUTES! GET READY FOR BED!" came up the
stairs.

"Thanks Dad," I called back. I turned the telly off, and kissed George's
cheek, and got up. "What do you wear to bed?"

"Well, normally I wear some pyjama shorts. What about you?" he replied.

"Usually just underwear- or sometimes naked. If that would make you
uncomfortable though..." I began.

"Sound's great!" he interrupted, grinning. "But maybe you should keep the
underwear on until you've said goodnight to your Dad- just to be safe."

He rose from the bed, his lithe legs ending in perfect feet poking out of
his shorts, which had ridden up exposing a lot of his pale, soft thighs. I
was nearly drooling, and felt my wits dribble out of my ears and pool in my
groin. He pulled a pair of pyjama shorts from his rucksack, and began to
undress. He removed his t-shirt and threw it on his rucksack, exposing his
pink little nipples. His arms below his sleeve line were slightly bronzed
by playing outdoors, but his shoulders and chest were delicately pale. He
wasn't skinny like I was, but there was no sign of muscle development yet-
he was supple and smooth, without even a hint of baby fat. He dropped his
shorts, exposing all his legs, strong and slim, and I had visions of
running my tongue and lips all over them before he wrapped them round my
face. I was hard as a rock already. He looked up at me.

"Enjoying the show?" he grinned, nodding at my bulging groin. I nodded
dumbly. "You might wanna undress yourself."

I nodded, and began pulling my own clothes off slowly, never taking my eyes
off him. I began with my lower half, not wanting to miss the moment he
dropped his tight briefs. He smiled at me, shyly. He'd never been shy
before- quite the opposite in fact. He turned away from me. He looked back
over his shoulder at me, and slowly, sticking his bottom out slightly,
lowered the back of his briefs, exposing his milky globes that I
immediately had to fight the urge to bury my face in. He wiggled his
perfect arse at me briefly before dropping the briefs to the floor. I
hurriedly pulled my shirt over my head so as not to miss him turning
around. A whole platoon could have camped under the tent in my briefs. He
slowly turned around to face me. He was magnificent. His uncut penis was
semi-erect, and the foreskin was just beginning to part, almost like it was
winking at me. I swallowed, and forced my eyes up to his face.

"Still like what you see?" he said, grinning cheekily at me. I sensed that,
while he really felt something for me, there was no small amount of the
game in this for him. A naughty, very fun game, but not quite as serious as
it was for me. Dad was right- I would have to take this slowly, and
anything penetrative was a long way off. Other things... well, we would
find out soon enough.

"Yngaha!" I managed to garble out, nodding.

"Good!" and with another cheeky grin, he quickly covered himself up by
putting on his shorts. "Hurry up! Lets go into the bathroom or we'll miss
it!"

Miss what? I thought. Oh! The football highlights! Realisation struck me,
and I followed him to the bathroom, clad only in briefs, hoping Dad was
downstairs so he wouldn't see my tent. In the bathroom, we brushed our
teeth and washed- perfunctory washing that is, neither of us yet being at
the stage where washing was anything but an irritation. We both had to
pee. I pulled my cock out of my briefs, and he pulled his out of the fly of
his shorts. We made the streams sword fight as they cascaded into the
bowl. He was about to put his away, but I suggested we wash our cocks- for
later. He looked at me quizzically, but agreed. We soaped up flannels and
scrubbed our whole packages, including under foreskins, and rinsed properly
using the shower head. We dried our groins, hoping we hadn't made any
suspicious splash marks on our night clothes, and, hearing the first notes
of the theme tune of Match of the Day from downstairs, charged back into
our room. He jumped under the covers of my bed, as I turned off the main
light, shut the door and turned on the bedside light. I turned the telly so
we could watch in bed.

For those of you who don't know, Match of the Day is the show on Saturday
night which shows the highlights of all the day's games in the top flight
of English football, and is a must for footie fans nationwide. For two
football-mad boys, it was essential viewing, but it was usually on too late
for George, so it was a real treat for him.

I got under the covers behind him, both of us lying on our sides facing the
telly. He grabbed my hand and pulled it around him. I was only too happy to
oblige. There are few things that could divert me from the heat and
softness of George's nearly naked body pressed against mine, but somehow I
was able to focus on the show. My cock didn't share my interest, and stayed
hard and pressed against his butt crack, separated only by two thin layers
of cotton, throughout the show. I ignored it, mostly, knowing it would get
satisfaction soon enough. When the highlights of our game came on, we
watched in rapt attention. When the comical own goal was shown, we could
hear Dad roaring with laughter downstairs, I cackled wickedly and George
giggled almost uncontrollably, rolling onto his back and peddling his legs
under the covers. God he was gorgeous. Soon the programme was over. I
turned off the TV. Dad knocked on the door, saying goodnight and to go to
sleep, and he'd wake us in the morning. He didn't come in.

"Do you want to go to sleep?" I asked George, propped up on one elbow above
his body.

"No!" he said, and put his arms around my neck, pulling me into a
passionate kiss.

Chapter 8

"I sigh and I groan without wishing to, I flutter and I tremble without
knowing why." LdP

George's tongue wormed its way into my mouth. This was no game- he wanted
this. I returned the kiss with all my soul, pushing my tongue all the way
into his warm mouth, our tongues dancing like the end of the world was
nigh. I leaned over him more, pushing my hip against his, and snaked one
arm behind his head and the other beneath his lower back. That wasn't
enough contact for him, and he moved one hand from my neck and clasped my
buttocks, pulling me on top of him. I was worried I would hurt him, but he
didn't complain in the slightest. He responded by pushing my arse down,
grinding my groin against his. I could feel his tumescent prick against
mine through our underwear, his warm chest rubbing against mine. He pushed
his hand under the waste band of my briefs. I used one hand to push them
down, and kicked them off. I slid the hand under his back down to his
bottom, stroking through the cloth before pushing my hand underneath the
garment and caressing the right cheek. He pushed his groin up, allowing me
to pull them down so he could kick them off. In the warm room, I pushed the
covers down to the foot of the bed, and sat back, lightly resting on his
thighs, and gazed at him in the dim light from the bedside lamp.

He was glorious. His prick was rampantly erect, the foreskin parted at the
tip just exposing a little of his piss slit. He stared at me, and stroked
my chest. He flicked my right nipple, and I quivered, my nipple hardening
immediately. I leaned forward and kissed him again, running one hand across
his back and down to his warm buttocks, the other stroking his chest,
teasing down towards the promised land, before stopping just short and
dipping into his belly button. I finally ran my hand down his bare pubis
and fondled his small testicles, clasped against his body in his soft,
hairless scrotum. I then ran my fingertips up the ridge of his shaft,
before clasping his shaft, then his glans, pushing the foreskin back and
rubbing his piss slit. He arched his back, restraining his moan to a bare
whimper. I removed my hand, and kissed him again.

"Do you trust me?" I asked.

He nodded. I took his glasses off, and looked at his face, realising it was
the first time I'd seen him without them. He looked nervous, and utterly
perfect. I kissed his lips gently, before kissing across his cheek to his
ear. I gently nibbled it, before kissing across his face again, kissing
both eyelids he had shut in pleasure. I worked my way to his other ear, and
then kissed down his neck. I worked my way across his shoulder with my
mouth, savouring the perfect, smooth, hairless skin, so aroused it almost
hurt. I kissed down his arm, and sucked each perfect finger into my mouth,
licking as I sucked. I kissed back up the other side of his arm, before
running my tongue around his pale, hairless armpit that smelt and tasted
slightly of sweat, and the smell and taste drove me wild. I repeated this
on the other arm, savouring the taste and smell of his skin, particularly
the extra soft skin of his underarm. I then worked my way across his chest,
all the time stroking and massaging his back and flanks with my hands. He
was almost purring, his head back and his hand clasped around my head,
running through my hair and caressing my scalp, arousing me even more. I
licked at one of his nipples, before kissing it and sucking it into my
mouth, lightly flicking my tongue across the rock-hard tip. I did the same
to his other nipple. I looked up at him quickly.

"Are you ok with all this?" I whispered.

"Don't stop!" came back, insistent.

I grinned, lowering my face back to his body. I kissed down to his flat
stomach, worming my tongue around the edge of his innie navel before diving
in and licking and sucking it. He was trembling under me. I kissed down
further, across his hips and his soft, milky white pubis, but resisted the
temptation to swallow his cock and balls whole, and started down the
outside of that right leg that made me think of nothing else. I caressed as
I went, and licked at the tiny, invisible hairs on his thigh and shin. When
I came to the foot, I could smell sweat and sock, but for some reason found
this highly arousing, and licked along the sole before sucking each perfect
toe into my mouth, licking each one thoroughly. I then kissed, licked and
nibbled up the inside of his leg, stopping just above the knee. I gave the
left leg the same treatment as the right, and I could see just above me the
bounce of George's impossibly hard prick in time with his racing heart. He
was clasping the bedsheets, and biting his lip to stop from crying
out. When I came to the thighs this time, I ran my tongue slowly,
tantalisingly up the inside of his thighs, and finally was ready for the
ultimate prize.

I prodded at his groin crease with my tongue, before finally flicking the
bottom of his balls with my tongue, watching his cock bounce with the
sensation. I then took those small orbs in my mouth, moving them around in
their sack with my tongue. I liked the sensation, but was nervous as hell
about what would happen next. I let his scrotum fall from my lips, and
gently blew on his perfect three inch cock, watching it bounce. I gently
ran the tip of my tongue up the line along his cock, and flicked my tongue
around his foreskin. I then took the plunge- I swallowed his whole package,
balls and all, and ran my tongue up and down his shaft, under the foreskin,
into his piss slit, amazed at how good it felt- no bad taste, like I had
feared, and the feeling of my love's most precious organ inside me was like
falling in love all over again. George arched his back and bit his lip
harder, thrusting his hyper-aroused dick into my mouth. I ran my mouth up
and down his cock, keeping my teeth behind my lips, running my tongue all
over his cock and under his foreskin. The hands were back on my head. He
spread his legs to give me more access, but I put my hands under his thighs
and lifted gently. He wrapped those milky legs around my face, fulfilling
my fantasy, and began pumping his cock in and out of my mouth with
instinctive little thrusts. It felt like I was surrounded by him, my head
trapped by his legs and his prominent dick deep in my willing mouth. It was
like we were merging into one person. I gagged a little as his thrusts took
his glans to the back of my throat, but I quickly learned to deal with
that, and was enjoying giving my first blowjob to the first boy whose cock
I had ever wanted to suck. He thrust one more time into my mouth, and
arched full off the bed, squeezing my head so hard I thought I might black
out, gritting his teeth and whimpering to stop from crying out in the
pleasure he was getting from the massive dry cum his pulsing cock was
producing in my mouth. He collapsed on to the bed, utterly spent, his
softening cock slipping from my lips. I slid up the bed, stroking his face
and chest gently, waiting for him to recover, kissing his lips tenderly,
resisting the urge to jack off all over him- I doubt it would take more
than three strokes, so aroused was I. He finally opened his eyes, a look of
wonder on his face, his eyes boring into my soul. He clasped my head and
pulled me too him, kissing him fiercely. He grabbed my cock and pumped
twice, and I came all over him- spraying watery semen from nipple to pubis,
before the last feeble spurt coated his scrotum. I arched away from him,
spasming silently from the astonishing pleasure I had got from worshipping
his body, and the brief touch of his warm hand on my cock.

"Did you like that, my love?" I said, when I recovered. He smiled at me,
his arms around my neck.

"More than anything- that was awesome. I love you, Rob, I really do- and I
trust you, always."

I smiled, and kissed him tenderly. I then proceeded to clean my cum off him
with my tongue, slurping my own seed of his clear skin. I sucked his whole,
limp package into my mouth to clear the last trace of my orgasm from
him. With his perfect body cleansed, I snuggled down against him, gently
caressing his smooth stomach, running my fingertips around his navel. His
hand was stroking my hip. I broke our kiss and looked at him, trying to
capture the radiant image of his post-orgasmic face for ever in my mind. He
smiled.

"I was so nervous when you started kissing around my willy. I was really
scared- but I didn't want you to stop, I wanted you to carry on and keep
making me feel like that. It was so good, I never imagined anything could
feel like that. And when you put your mouth on my dick, I nearly cried out
it was so nice. What was it like? Did it taste bad?" he asked.

"No! It felt really good! It wasn't nasty at all, it didn't taste of
anything really- just like sucking your thumb, only so much better. It felt
like you were a part of me."

His closeness, his hand on my bare skin and the memory of what we had just
done was arousing me again. I guess when you're twelve you are raring to go
almost as soon as you finished. He glanced down at my groin, and saw my
stiffening cock rising in appreciation of his caress.

"Can I do it to you?" he said, a bit nervously.

"George, I love you so much, if you don't want to, if you're not ready to
do that, don't- I mean it. I'm just happy to make you feel good," I said,
thinking he wasn't really sure if he wanted to do it.

"NO! I REALLY want to! It's just- I'm not sure quite what to do, and I
don't want to do it wrong."

"I was the same- that was the first time I've done anything like that. Just
do what feels right to you, and I'll love it! You can't do it wrong."

I kissed him.

"Here goes. If it goes wrong, remember I love you."

"It won't- I love you too."

He pushed me flat on my back gently, and rolled on top of me, grinding his
hard cocklet against mine. I wasn't sure if I could hold out until he blew
me if he kept that up. He kissed me fiercely, his tongue as far in my mouth
as he could push it. I licked up and down his tongue, and began to stroke
and squeeze the soft globes of his incredible arse. It was so soft and
warm, I only wished I had been able to get my mouth on it when I gave him
his tongue bath. He broke our kiss and began to kiss my face. He kissed my
eyelids and nose, cheeks and chin, and licked and nibbled at my ear. His
warm breath in my ear was like a drug, sending me into even higher levels
of arousal. He kissed down my neck, the tickle of the breath from his
little nostrils causing the tiny hairs on my skin to stand on end. He
kissed across my shoulders, and lifted my arms up. He kissed and licked at
them, his tongue feeling incredible on my skin. He tugged gently on the
dark, downy fuzz that was just beginning to sprout there. He kissed across
my scrawny chest, licking in the grooves between my ribs, and began to suck
on my brown nipples. I arched my back, clenching my teeth to avoid crying
out. I had no idea that having your nipples treated that way could feel so
good. He kissed down my flat stomach, flicking my outie belly button on the
way. He licked down my pubis, stopping where my small patch of pubic hair
began, and stroked the black fur with one hand. His mouth continued to my
thighs, which I spread giving access to his warm, wet tongue. He ran his
tongue up and down my soft inner thighs, before rising and tonguing my
scrotum. A small moan escaped my mouth, and my hands clasped his head and
stroked his hair. I pulled his chin up, so I could look into his eyes.

"You don't have to if you're not...oooooohhhhhh," I was rudely interrupted
as he dived onto my cock open mouthed. At first he didn't use his tongue,
just slid his mouth up and down on my shaft. I gasped as his teeth scraped
the sensitive skin. "Careful with your teeth- keep them behind your lips."

He began again, this time even tighter, his teeth hidden behind those soft
pink lips that I worshipped. His mouth gripped my foreskin and pulled it
down, exposing my glans. He couldn't get all of my length in his mouth,
even though I was only about four and a half inches long, but as he began
to run his tongue over my exposed helmet and stick his tongue into my piss
slit, I didn't care. He kept sliding his mouth up and down the shaft as
much as he could, all the while running his tongue up and down the shaft,
all over the head, around my retracted prepuce and into my jap's eye. I
kept running my hands through his soft blonde curls, being careful not to
push his head down. I found myself involuntarily thrusting into his mouth
slightly as he continued his blow job. In years to come, I was to realise
that this was not the most skilful oral work, but at the time it felt like
the best thing imaginable. I wasn't going to last long. He kept running his
tongue around my head, letting me do the up and down work with little
rabbit thrusts into his soft, wet mouth.

"George, I'm gonna... I'm gonna cum in a minute- take your mouth away."

He didn't, he just kept running his tongue over my cock, sucking hard and
keeping his lips tight around my shaft. I tried to lift his head, and his
hands batted mine away- he wanted my seed. I arched my back, my toes
curling and bit my lip hard to avoid crying out and came as powerfully as I
ever remember doing so. I felt at least four spurts and one dribble leave
my cock, and George choked a little, but kept his mouth in place. I finally
had to push him off as my softening prick got too sensitive. When I caught
my breath, I pulled him up to my face and kissed him hard, tasting my own
semen on his teeth and tongue. I pulled back and looked at his face, I saw
a small drop of cum on his chin, which I licked off. Still lying on my
back, I grasped his buttocks and pulled his cock to my face, swallowing his
cock and balls in one swift suck. He instantly began thrusting into my
face, and I barely had time to push his foreskin back with my lips and lick
around his helmet when he threw back his head and leaned back, his cock
pulsing hard in my mouth as I tried to suck the sperm which would not yet
come. Utterly spent, he collapsed on top of me.

"Thank you, my love- that was so much more than I had hoped," I told him as
I stroked his cheek.

He put his hand to my cheek and kissed me softly.

"You were right- it does feel like we are melding together. I want to do
that to you all the time. I'm a bit tired though- do you want to sleep?" he
said. I kissed him softly and nodded. "Is it ok if I sleep facing away from
you? It's just that I don't think I could sleep if I can still see you."

"Whatever makes you happy, my prince," I told him.

He rolled onto his right side, facing away from me. I lay down behind him,
draping an arm across him. He hugged my arm, pulling me tight against
him. I spooned up against him, pulling the covers over us. My cock was
wedged in between his soft buttocks as we settled down to sleep. His warmth
was like a lullaby, and I drifted into a contented sleep, happier than I
could ever remember.

Chapter 9

"With your cherry lips and golden curls, you could make grown men gasp when
you go walking past, I could not believe that such a body was for real. It
seemed like rainbows would appear whenever you came near the clouds would
disappear." -SM

I was awoken by a shaft of sunlight shining through a gap in my curtains
into my eyes. In the night I had somehow rolled onto my back, and I was
rudely dragged from sleep by the light in my eyes. I I turned away from the
light to find George propped up on one elbow, watching me.

"Good morning," he said, looking spectacular. I noticed that about George
over time- he always looked amazing first thing in the morning. His curls
didn't get tousled by sleep, and he never had that ruffled appearance some
people- like myself- have when they wake up. His gorgeous green eyes were
staring straight into mine, and it was like he was looking into my
soul. "You do snore, as it turns out- but not loudly. More a snuffle than a
snore, really."

He leaned over and kissed me gently. I pulled him into my arms, rolling his
still naked body onto mine. Neither of us were hard, not even with morning
wood. The passion of the night before had passed, and a warm, tender
appreciation of each other's closeness was all we wanted. We planted little
kisses on each other's lips.

"I didn't wake you did I?" I asked.

"No, I've been awake for a while. I was watching you sleep. You looked so
cute when you were asleep. I wish we could stay like this forever."

"Me too. What time is it?" I asked, still sleep addled.

"Half nine."

"Christ, you wake up before half nine on a Sunday without any help? That's
gonna take some getting used to."

He grinned. "So, you want to sleep with me again?" he asked, grinning
whimsically. His arms were around my neck. Mine were stroking his back and
bottom. "You like my bum, don't you?"

"I love it!" I said. "It's so soft and squeezable." I gave it a squeeze to
prove it. "And I want to sleep with you every night. I wish we could."

He smiled. "So do I. Rob, remember you said a while ago you'd do anything I
wanted?"

Where was this going? "Yeah, course I will."

He paused. "Well, I'd do anything for you too. Whenever you want to try
something new, I want you to try it. I loved what we did last night, but
would never have thought of it. If there's more stuff we can do, I won't
think of it, and I need you to take the lead."

Oh brother, that was NOT a good thing to hear. On one hand, the thought of
being given free reign to explore our physical pleasures was a tempting
offer, but I knew that was a quick way to ruin things.

"No. Listen George, I don't know everything. I knew about blow jobs and
wanking, and I know one more thing we could try. The only other thing I
know about is anal sex- one of us puts his cock in the other's bum. It's
supposed to be really good, but is a bit more difficult- and I'm not ready
for that yet. Not because I'm not sure about you- just that I'm not ready
to do it. Now you know as much as me, and you can decide things for
yourself. I don't want to do something you don't want- that could ruin our
friendship, and if we don't have that, it's just sex- and I wouldn't have
"just sex" for the first time. I want to make love- to you. But not
yet. And not for a long time, I think. And when I do, I want us both to
want it."

"Wouldn't that hurt?" he said. "Putting them in each others bums- well, you
might be able to take me, but yours is much thicker."

"It's meant to hurt a bit the first time, but then feels really good-
that's what I've read on the internet. But if you don't want to try it
ever, we don't have to. I'm happy if we never do anything else but cuddle."

"Yeah, but the other stuff is so much fun! I'm not sure about anal sex, but
can we still do the rest?"

"Any time you ask!"

He kissed me again. Strangely, I still hadn't got a boner. He had.

"Want me to see to that?" I asked.

He thought for a second, pressing his groin against my belly and wiggling a
bit. Ok, now I was getting hard.

"Well, we need to get up soon, right?" I blinked- get up before 10 on
Sunday? Maybe I did used to do that, but not since before starting
puberty. Then I realised that George probably hadn't quite yet.

"Well, eventually- but Dad won't be up for an hour or so at least, and
lunch will be late- say threeish. We can stay here for a while if you
want."

He grinned. "That sounds nice! But I can't lie here all morning, even if
you can, and your Dad may be up at any time and interrupt us. That would be
no fun. How about we get up and shower."

"You mean... together?" He nodded. I grinned. "I think that's a very good
idea. Better put something on just in case Dad's up."

We searched under the covers for his shorts and my briefs. We put them on,
tenting proudly, and hurried across the landing from my room and into the
bathroom. I noticed Dad's bedroom door was still closed, and the rumble of
a passing aircraft could be heard. Oh, wait, that was Dad snoring. He was
still asleep. Once in the bathroom, we both had to piss. We both shucked
our scant clothing, and stood naked next to each other. We were both still
slightly hard and having trouble starting. When we began, I reached over
and aimed his cock for him. He grinned at me and giggled quietly, holding
my cock and aiming for me. We made our streams sword fight, grinning and
giggling at the funnest way to pee. All finished, I turned the water on in
the shower, trying to get the temperature just right. I asked him to check
it was ok for him, and when he nodded, we both jumped under the warm
spray. I had made completely sure the door was locked first.

As the water cascaded over him, George's curls became plastered to his
head, and darkened slightly from their usual pale gold. The water cascading
over his body gave him a sheen that aroused me instantly. The shower would
probably be a bit of a squeeze for two adults, but for two boys it was
nicely snug. We kissed deeply, my tongue fencing with his. Realising Dad
could wake up at any time, I reached for the shampoo, and poured some into
his hands, before getting some on mine. We washed our own hair, George
keeping his eyes closed and then feeling blindly for the jet from the
shower head. He looked so cute waving his arms around with his eyes closed,
I giggled, and gently guided him under the flow. Our hair washed, I reached
for the shower gel.

"Wait," he said. "Can I wash you?"

That thought made my cock jump, and I nodded and smiled, stroking his
cheek. He put the shower gel down, apparently deciding there were some bits
he wanted to wash in a more personal way. He kissed me again, then moved
straight to my nipples. I moaned in pleasure, stroking his wet hair, hoping
the sound of the shower and my Dad's slumber would hide the sound. George
kneeled on the floor of the shower, and licked around my groin, sucking
first one testicle then the other into his mouth, rolling them around with
his tongue to give them a thorough clean. He then took both into his mouth
and sucked and tongued at them, driving me wild. Satisfied they were clean,
he licked up and down my shaft with the tip of his pink tongue, before
sliding his tongue under my foreskin and licking all around the glans. He
then took the whole member in his mouth, managing to go all the way down
till his nose was nestled in my pubes. He hadn't managed that last night,
and my GOD it felt good! He pulled back until only my glans was in his
mouth before sliding all the way down to the base, gripping hard with his
lips to retract my foreskin and sucking like he wanted my sperm right
now. He bobbed his head up and down in long, smooth strokes, getting all
way to the base each time, licking the shaft and head as he went, paying
particular attention to the ridge of the helmet and my piss slit. This was
SO much better than before, and I felt my passion rise. I had to hold off
from just grabbing my head and fucking his mouth for all I was worth, but
the thought of hurting my love held me back. In no time at all, I was at
the edge.

"George, I'm gonna...ohhoohh...UH!" I said, and he sucked my whole cock
into his mouth as I coated his tonsils with my cream, making him gag
slightly again, but he held on tight and kept sucking and licking as hard
as he could. My softening cock fell from his lips, and he grinned up at me,
a vision of beauty at my feet.

"I think that's clean enough for now." he said his radiant smile splitting
his face like dawn in paradise.

He reached for the shower gel, and began to wash me. He ran his fingers all
over my body, soaping me thoroughly. His hands felt so good on my wet skin,
the perfect post-orgasm massage. He soaped up my cock and balls properly,
making me jump when he washed my hypersensitive head under my foreskin. He
washed all down my legs, tugging slightly at the small black hairs on my
calves. He washed in between my toes, before jumping up and kissing me
hard, pulling my head down to meet him.

"How was that?" he asked.

"That...that...amazing! Just wonderful!" I said, kissing him deeply
again. "My turn!" I said, breaking the kiss.

I slowly kissed down his chest, pausing to nibble and lick his nipples
gently, and flick my tongue in his navel. I dropped to my knees, and bent
right down to lift one foot up and bathe his perfect toes one by one,
sucking and licking each gorgeous digit. I then licked up his legs, kissing
the insides of his soft, firm thighs, before sucking his whole scrotum into
my mouth. I rolled his marble sized testicles around my mouth, savouring
the hint of his sweat that had survived the warm spray of the shower. I
then licked his shaft, watching it bounce, and did it again, and again,
making him moan softly. He clasped my head, insistent that I should get to
the main event. I resisted. I went back down to his scrotum, bathing it
with my tongue, bouncing each jewel up and down in his sack, hanging
slightly looser than I was used to thanks to the warm water. I then licked
up the line dividing his balls and followed it up his prick, running my
tongue around the tip of his foreskin, open just enough to expose his
cherry head underneath. I tongued his piss slit, before running my tongue
back down his shaft, making him think I was going to torture him more,
before sucking his whole shaft greedily into my mouth, licking up and down
his shaft as I nodded back and forth, sucking like my life depended on
it. I massaged and cradled his balls with one hand, clasping and kneeding
his buttocks with the other. He stood on tiptoes and I felt his cock spasm,
once, twice, thrice- seven times in total- against my loving tongue. I let
his softening dick fall from my lips, but instead of rising to kiss him
again, there was one more thing I wanted to wash. I turned him around, and
began to kiss and lick his buttocks. The soft, milky globes of his bubble
butt were the sweetest thing I had ever seen, and they filled my whole
sight. I kissed, licked and nibbled at them for a while, wanting to plunge
my face into his crack and tongue the crevice and find his hole. But I
wasn't brave enough, and thought it might freak him, so I contented myself
with pushing my whole face into his left cheek. My desire finished, and
starting to get a bit cold, I stood up, and he wrapped his arms tight
around my neck and kissed me so hard it was like he was trying to climb
inside me. I gently stroked his back, and after a minute or so, he broke
for air.

"That was so good, Rob! Even better than the first two times! I love you!"
he said. His eyes looked a bit red, like he was crying. I couldn't tell
with the water from the shower.

"Are you ok? Did I hurt you or something?" I said, frightened.

"No! It's just that..." he sniffed. "It's just, I don't know when we'll get
to do this again. I never want to be away from you. I'll miss you when
we're at school, or I'm sleeping in my own bed and..." he stopped, trying
to avoid sobbing.

"Hey," I said gently, lifting his face towards me with a finger under his
chin. "It's ok- we'll still see each other all the time- and we've always
got weekends. Maybe our parents will let us sleep over a couple of nights a
week or something. I'll miss you too- don't cry George, you'll make me cry
too." I felt my bottom lip start to quiver. I kissed him, hiding my sadness
at our impending parting with as tender, loving embrace as I could
managed. When we broke, he sniffed and wiped his nose.

"I'm ok. I still need a wash- then shall we get out? Your Dad'll get sus if
we're in here any longer."

I nodded, and grabbed the shower gel. I washed him tenderly, not erotically
like it had been my intention at the start, almost like I was washing
something fragile- a porcelain doll, almost. I was scared I'd hurt him,
silly as that sounds. I did, however, soap up his arsecrack- something he
hadn't done to me, and he jumped slightly when my fingertip ran over his
pucker. He giggled.

"You touched my bumhole!" he said, smiling. "Isn't it dirty?"

"Not now I cleaned it- did you mind?"

"No, it felt kinda good actually."

Then we were cold, so we rinsed off, dried and headed back to my room
wrapped in towels. The rumble of angry gods still coming from Dad's room
told us he was still asleep.

Dad finally dragged himself out of bed around eleven, by which time we had
already had breakfast and returned to my room. We played FIFA on my PC for
a few hours- unlike Pro Evo, I had the upper hand here, and I trounced him
repeatedly. He seemed to have recovered from his earlier tears, and was the
usual happy bundle of energy again. George is like that- he may get upset,
but half an hour later, he seems to sort himself out on his own and
everything's happy again. I'm more of a brooder- gnawing on my worries for
ages. He always seems to be able to pull me out of my black moods, though-
he makes me feel better just by being near me.

Lunch on Sundays when we weren't at football were always late, but made up
for both it and the messy fry-ups of Saturday mornings with a truly
excellent roast beef complete with Yorkshire pud, gravy and all the
trimmings. Dad was a true East End boy, but his mother had been raised on a
farm in Somerset, and could cook for England, in my opinion. Visits to my
paternal grandparents always had excellent grub. Grandma had passed few of
her secrets on to her son, but Sunday roast was one she had, and it was
Dad's tour de force. When we were finished, it was around half past three,
and George had to go home. We went up to my room to say our private goodbye
under the premise of making sure he was all packed. We had a tender kiss
goodbye, and a promise to meet up tomorrow. We were both blinking back
tears a bit, but we appeared all smiles as he left, his backpack looking
slightly lighter to my eyes. It was probably my imagination. When the door
closed, it seemed to have a ring of finality that almost had me blubbing
again. Dad turned to me.

"Did you have a good night, Rob?" he asked, putting his arm around my
shoulders and squeezing me.

"Yeah, thanks Dad it was wicked." I hugged him. He held me tight.

"Anything you want to tell me?" he asked.

"Well...no.... just that I kept my promise- and that I'll hold off on the
other thing for a long while yet. You were right- I'm not ready for it."

"Good man. Now, I have a surprise for you- ah, here it is. Perfect timing."

The doorbell rang behind me. I whirled around. Who could possibly be coming
at this time on a Sunday, and how did Dad know about it? He opened the
door. Outside stood a boy in his late teens, tall and athletic and darkly
handsome, about 5'11'' with spiky black hair, black jeans and a Metallica
t-shirt.

"MICHAEL!" I shouted, running up to him and hugging the figure.

Michael was my cousin- the son of my late mother's brother. His parents
lived in Leicester, miles away, and I only saw him two or three times a
year. He was my idol though- he had been so much fun all through my
childhood, the big older boy who was good at sport, had a quick wit and
plenty of patience for a boy six years his junior. He always seemed
genuinely pleased to see me.

"Hey, mate! How have you been? Surprised to see me?" he said. Michael spoke
very well, unlike me, as I had a hefty dose of London when I spoke.

I punched his leg. "What are you doing here?"

"I start university in London next weekend," he said. "I'm at King's which
is on the Strand. I'll be living in London for a few years, and I couldn't
live here without seeing my favourite cousin, could I?"

"I'm your only cousin!" I retorted.

"All the more reason!" he laughed. "Rob, Uncle Dave, there's someone I want
you to meet." He stood back from the door and beckoned. A girl about
Michael's age with long blonde hair, wearing jeans and a tight black
t-shirt came up to the door. "This is Jess. We've been going out for about
six months, and we're going to be at King's together. Can she come in?"

"Of course!" smiled Dad, happily. "Lovely to meet you Jess! Come in, both
of you! Don't stand out in the garden!"

The next hour or so was spent politely discussing where they were living,
their courses (Jess was studying Chemistry, and Michael was taking Maths)
and Dad probing Jess to discover the basic facts about her family. I said
very little, trying to work out whether this stranger was good enough for
my hero. I may not be the best judge, but she seemed very pretty- no fat,
but curves in all the places straight boys are supposed to like, blonde
hair (it didn't look dyed) and soft blue eyes. She seemed very nice, and
when she spoke to me she didn't talk to me like a child. I guessed she was
ok. Maybe good enough for Michael. Maybe. Oh well, I had George, Michael
had Jess- I suppose that was fair.

At the end of the first hour, Michael spoke to me.

"Hey mate, want to show me what new games you've got for your PC? You can
tell me all about that useless football team of yours." Michael was a
Leicester City fan, but was more of a rugby fan than a football fan- we
could still talk football if need be though. He was good at both sports and
cricket too, and had played for his school's first team in all three.

We went up to my room, leaving poor Jess to Dad's tender mercies. Once in
my room, the pretence of games and football was up, and Michael began
tickling me mercilessly, trying to make me surrender, a game we had played
as long as I could remember. I laughed and struggled, but eventually I had
to surrender.

"How are you, mate? I haven't seen you since, what, your birthday six
months ago?" he said.

"I'm ok. My school's better than my old one. I sing in the choir and play
in the orchestra, I made the second XI cricket side- I'm captain. I captain
the house team too. Oh, Dad says you did really well in you A-levels- well
done, Mike."

"Thank you, I did ok. It's great you're doing all that at school. Captain
of the house and second XI, eh? You still bowling off spin?"

"Yeah, I'm trying to teach myself leg breaks, but they're really
hard. We've got nets every week throughout the off-season, and I'll try and
get better- the coach reckons they're much more dangerous than off-breaks."

"He's right. I played against a leggie in the county final at the end of
term- I fished around after him for three balls before missing his googly
completely, and was castled. If you can learn leggies- and learn to bat
even slightly- you'll be in the first XI come April."

"Oi! I'm not that bad a batter! Well, maybe I am..." I said. He
laughed. "How did you meet Jess?"

"She's the twin sister of a team mate in the rugby team- he's a prop. Big,
bulky ugly bloke. 18 years old, looks 30 and 17 stone. How he got such a
gorgeous twin sister, Christ knows, but..." he paused. "You might think
this sounds sissy, Rob, but I love her. Can you understand that?" I
nodded. "Thank you, Rob. Uncle Dave said there might be something you
wanted to talk to me about?"

Dad never could keep his trap shut about my business. He understood
doctor-patient confidentiality, why did he have such a problem with
father-son confidentiality? Still, this was Michael, who I knew had a gay
best friend, and Dad knew I idolised my cousin, so maybe he felt I could
talk to him about things I wouldn't with Dad.

"Well... you know your mate- the one you told me about at my birthday?" I
began.

"You mean Boris? The one who came out?"

"Yeah- you're still friends, right?"

"Of course- he's my best mate. Him liking guys didn't change it." he said,
probably guessing where this was going.

"Well...I'm like him- I like boys." I paused. "I'm gay."

Michael hugged me tight. "Are you coming out to me too, baby cousin?" he
said, rubbing my scalp with his knuckles. "Are you ok with being gay?"

"I think so- I've not told many people yet. Dad and two others- and now you
of course. But... I'm not sure how other people would treat me if they
knew. I don't wish I was different- I like boys, and I enjoy liking boys. I
don't feel bad about it- I just wish people didn't make gay jokes at
school."

"Yeah, you might find it gets easier as you get older- most kids your age
wouldn't understand what you just said. I'm proud of you, baby
cousin. You're growing up." He smiled at me. My idol was ok with me being
gay!

"Thanks Mike. And I know what you meant earlier about loving Jess."

"Don't tell me you've got yourself a boyfriend already?" I lowered my head,
smiling sheepishly and nodded. "You move fast, boy! Is he fit?" I grinned
and nodded hard. "Good- he better be good enough for my baby cousin, and if
he ever hurts you at all I'll kick his arse so hard he'll bounce into
orbit! What's his name?"

"George."

"Well," he said, "I enrol on Sunday, so if it's ok with you and Uncle Dave
I'll come and see you Saturday. Jess is visiting her folks that day, so
it'll be just the three of us. Or four, if you'd like- I'd love to meet
George."

"Yeah, that would be really good!" I said, excited, wanting to show off my
gorgeous boyfriend to the cousin whose opinion meant so much to me.

"Have you kissed yet?" I blushed and nodded.

"Have you kissed Jess?" I asked.

"We've been going out for six months, baby cousin, of course we have!" he
said, laughing. "Have you touched each other yet? Below the belt, I mean."
I blushed harder and nodded again. Somehow I was ok with him asking these
questions- if Dad asked I would have hated it.

"Have you touched Jess- down there, I mean?" I asked.

"Yes. What else have you done with this boy you seem to like so much then?"
Michael was always very forward.

"Well, we jacked each other off a few times, and we've given each other a
few blowjobs- we tried it for the first time last night. He wanted me to
cum in his mouth." My blunt talk seemed to shock him slightly, and he
wrinkled his nose at the cum-swallowing thing.

"Dude, are you sure you're not moving too fast? I mean, me and Jess have
been going out with each other for months, we're older than you and we've
only slept together a few times and done oral a few more times. You're not
rushing into things you don't want, are you?" He sounded concerned.

"NO!" I said, probably a bit too forcefully. "And for fuck's sake don't
tell Dad what I've done. No, we both trust each other, and it's not just
'getting off' or anything like that- we really like each other- I love him,
I know I do, and we can show each other that this way."

"Ok, if you're sure. But mate, if you ever want to talk about anything,
anything you can't talk to the Old Man about, you've got my mobile number-
I keep it switched on 24-7. Call me, day or night. I never had someone to
help me with how I felt with my first few girlfriends, and I made some bad
mistakes I've regretted ever since. Don't do the same with George, because
love is special, and shouldn't be screwed about with- in both senses of the
word." He hugged me again. "Listen, we better go- loads of unpacking to
do. I'll phone in the week and see you Saturday, yeah?"

Michael and Jess said brief goodbyes with me and Dad and left to go to
their digs up in town.

"Nice surprise, Rob?" Dad asked.

"Yeah Dad, thanks- and thanks for telling Michael I might want to talk to
him. It was good to have someone closer to my age to talk to- not that you
aren't cool, it's just..."

"It's OK Rob, I get it- there are some things you don't want to talk to
your dad about. Just don't struggle in silence." He hugged me tight,
kneeling down to make us the same height. "Now, pack for school tomorrow-
and early night tonight. Don't want to miss your first day of year 8 do
we?"

The rest of the evening was spent packing and preparing for the return to
school. We had been told that, while no lessons would happen in the morning
to sort out timetables, new teachers and the usual malarkey, afternoon
would be normal. For year 8, that was Maths. Joy. At least rugby was
avoided for the first day at least.

I went to bed in ambiguity. On one hand, it would be good to see my school
friends again. On the other, it was time away from George. On one hand, I
would get cricket practice, orchestra and choir rehearsals to go to
again. On the other, I got maths, French and rugby. And no George. And
homework. Sod the ambiguity, for all it's good points, I did NOT want to go
back to school.

Chapter 10

"I'm forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air. They fly so high,
nearly reach the sky, then like my dreams they fade and die. Fortune's
always hiding. I've looked everywhere. I'm forever blowing bubbles, pretty
bubbles in the air."

Dad had to be at work and I at school by eight in the mornings, so I left
at the same time as him, having made sure I had everything I would need for
the day ahead. This meant rucksack with school stuff and a separate bag
with my cricket gear for training after school- pads, whites, box, gloves
and bat. When you're as scrawny as me, that's a fair weight to carry, but
as we hadn't got our textbooks for the year, and school being less than
fifteen minutes walk away, it wasn't too bad. Drizzle had set in to match
the occasion, so I got a bit damp in the brief hike in. I whistled the West
Ham song, 'I'm forever blowing bubbles', to keep my spirits up. It wasn't
working that well, but, as the Tesco adverts tell us, every little
helps. My smart new uniform was a little loose on me, Dad having
anticipated a growth spurt in the months to come and not wanting to fork
out for new togs sooner than was necessary, but it still had that new,
stiff feeling that made me slightly self conscious. I pitched up in the
school playground, finding a few boys I was either friendly with or at
least vaguely knew in my year to talk to, anticipating the misery of three
months of solid schoolwork. Everyone had grown over the Summer, but I
appeared to have been left behind slightly. Boys the same height as me
previously were now taller, and looking generally older. Some voices had
broken (not mine yet), some boys had little downy moustaches sprouting and
acne had appeared on previously clear skin for some poor buggers. For the
girls, most of whom politely ignored us, growth had happened too- not only
upwards, but outwards. Some of my classmates were casting appreciative
glances at the more prominent chests of some of the girls. I pretended to
join in on the not-so-subtle leering, not wanting to arouse suspicions as
to my real inclinations. The bell rang and we trudged up to our new form
rooms.

For some daft reason, the school thought it wise to put the smallest
children at the highest level of the school, so the Lower School (years 7
and 8, kids of 11 to 13 in age). Our form room was no exception, perched in
the very top of the school- the fourth floor. As usual, we were told to sit
in alphabetical order by our new form tutor, a man who barely looked old
enough to be called that. What daft bugger puts a brand new teacher in
charge of kids in the first turbulent surges of adolescence? Anyway, the
seating arrangements put me next to a boy called Max, who I had sat next to
for the most of last year anyway, and was fairly friendly with. We'd been
to each other's houses once or twice, and I thought of him as a friend,
even though we were quite different. He was a rugby fanatic, and thought
choir and orchestra were 'a bit gay' at first- he softened his opinions as
he got to know me and found I wasn't a total sissy. He was a good six
inches taller than me and stocky- although in a very boyish way. His voice
was very high still, and he showed no outward signs of adolescence. He was
just naturally big. As the tutor tried to get through the boring
administrative stuff which was to waste our lives until lunchtime, we
chatted about our summers. He knew I had moved, but hadn't been to my new
place, so we talked about that for a while. I mentioned George, but only in
the guise of him being a friend. Max wasn't a football fan, so didn't get
the affinity fans have for each other. He was of Irish decent, and London
Irish rugby union club was his sporting obsession. He had apparently spent
the whole summer travelling around India, and I laughed at the t-shirt he
was wearing under his school uniform when he showed it to me. It read
'Happiness is a dry fart'. To my puerile 12 year-old mind that was pure
genius.

The morning dragged on tediously, covering rule changes, reinforcing
existing ones, the tutor learning our names and vacillating somewhere
between authoritative and matey. Oh, he was in for a rough year if he
didn't wise up fast. We covered timetables- PE was Fridays, Games afternoon
(rugby until April, cricket thereafter) was Tuesdays, right before choir
practice, meaning I would go to rehearsal battered, bruised and
knackered. Joy. We discussed new subjects we had to take- science in year 7
was one subject, this year we had biology, chemistry and physics
separately, among others- and other boring things like that. Finally the
bell rang to let us out of our tedium for lunch. I ate with some of my
friends, all the while wishing I could miss this terrible waste of time to
spend time with my favourite person in the world. With cricket nets after
school, I wouldn't be able to see him barely at all today. The song was
right- fly so high, nearly reach the sky, then like my dreams, fade and
die, fortune always hiding.

After lunch we had double maths. Oh, the sheer joy. I was actually very
good at maths, but loathed it with a holy passion. I came joint top in the
year at maths in the summer exams, and my teacher was disappointed with me-
he said I would have been clear top if I worked harder at it. I had the
poisonous bastard this year as well. He was actually a good teacher, but my
loathing of the subject spread to him quickly. Blessedly, he spared us
homework first day back. I'd finished most of the work with half an hour to
spare- I found it easy- and spent the subsequent time pretending to read
the text book while daydreaming about George in the shower, before glancing
at the clock and realising I only had ten minutes to force my hardon down
or I'd be standing up with a tent. The girl next to me, Sally, who I liked,
was struggling a bit with some of the harder fractions, so I helped her out
discretely- not cheating, just showing her how to do it. The combination of
maths and a girl rapidly softened my cock.

At four sharp, the bell rang for end of school. The lesson had been in my
form room, so I was able to grab my gear and head straight for the changing
rooms to get into my whites for net training. The last class for games that
day was the year 7s, boys of mainly 11, and some of them were still
changing out of their rugby gear, muddy and sweaty. The smell was glorious,
and the sight of naked and nearly naked boys walking around, going in and
out of the shower, was giving me the stirrings of an erection. Out of the
corner of my eye I saw a cock that looked so like George's I had to glance
up to confirm it wasn't him, hoping I wouldn't be caught looking. It wasn't
him of course- just wishful thinking and an eye for cocks of all shapes and
sizes- they were all nice. But none were George. I changed quickly, not
wanting to miss any practice- I hadn't played cricket for days- and age in
my mind. I was able to stop the impending tent by remembering the maths
lesson.

Once changed, and carrying my protective gear and bat I went into the
sports hall. Cricket nets, for those of you who don't know, are pretty much
exactly what they sound like- a row of netted cages the length of the
bowling strip of a cricket pitch with a mat to simulate the behaviour of a
real pitch which allows a number of people to practice batting and bowling
at the same time. We had eight nets. There were sixteen boys that I could
see, all from years 7 to 9- six in year 7, four in my year (including me)
and six year 9s. The new boys stood around nervously, only talking to each
other, trying not to offend the bigger boys, who I remembered scared the
crap out of me when I started- not that they ever hurt or threatened me,
just that they were so tall and confident compared to me. These boys had
just had rugby, so must be fairly shattered, but they didn't look it. The
other three boys in my year I either didn't know very well, or in one case
actively disliked, so I started talking with a year 9 boy I vaguely knew
called Amin. He was nearly a foot taller than me, 5'10'' or so at 13 years
old, but he was friendly and good-natured. He was something of a respect
figure for the cricketers of the school- he was expected to make the full
senior side this year, despite boys normally having to be 15 to do so. He
was a fast-bowling all-rounder, and was in my house and captained the side
of the year above me. They won the competition last year, whereas we had
finished runners up- winning well in the first match, scraping a win in the
second thanks to some heroic batting from our diminutive wicket-keeper and
got soundly thrashed by the eventual winners in the last game. With Amin's
batting and bowling, his side trounced all comers. Whereas I had been an
initially controversial choice as captain, with some of the more sporty
types wondering what the geeky scrawny kid could offer, he was a natural. I
liked him- I was very glad he was on our side, though! He was having trials
with Kent under-15s, he told me, and they were quite hopeful for him.

Coach Breaker did a roll call to check we were all there. When he got to
the end of the nervous year 7s, he made a surprise announcement.

"Oh, we have two boys from outside the school joining us this term," he
said beckoning towards the door behind us. "They're promising players, and
they're looking to join the school next year in year 7. So give them a
proper St. Dominic's welcome- which means no throat balls, Amin!" The boys
who had seen Amin bowl laughed- a throat ball from him was a very
unpleasant experience, and would be horribly unfair on the younger
boys. "Please welcome Tariq." Some of the boys turned around to wave at the
newcomer. I couldn't be bothered. I just wanted to play and get back to my
prince. "And George." Oh great, some little turd who'll do nothing but
remind me of the one true George every week.

Suddenly two hands clapped over my eyes. The sweetest voice I had ever
heard said "Guess who?" behind me. No. It couldn't be! I pulled the hands
away and wheeled around. There he stood- the light of my life, blonde
haired, bespectacled and beautiful in his cricket whites. God, he really
DID look good in cricket whites. My love, my George, was here. I had to
mentally haul myself out of the embrace I nearly planted on him.

"What are you doing here? You never said anything about this!" I said.

"Surprise! Your Dad thought it would be fun to surprise you." The conniving
bastard. His birthday present this year would be small and in poor taste, I
vowed.

"It is! A good one! I wished you'd told me though!" I said, beaming like
the cat with the cream. "Oh, sorry- Amin, this is George- he's my friend,
he lives opposite me. George, this is Amin, best player here."

"Hi!" said George, extending his hand.

"Hi!" said Amin, taking and shaking it. "And Rob's too kind- I'm the best
all-rounder. There are better bowlers and batters."

"Bollocks!" I said. "Well, maybe a better spinner, but no quicks or
batsmen."

"Settle down, lads- that means shut up, Rob, not keep talking, and watch
your tongue. For that, you get to pair up with Amin in the nets. George,
since you seem to know our reprobate spinner, why don't you join them?"
said Coach Breaker. "If Amin gives you any short stuff, you tell me- line
and length, Amin, line and length. Save the rib-crackers for other
schools. Clear? Right, there are eight nets, two we'll use for focused
work, the rest of you split into threes and pick a net. Decide who gets to
bat first- don't worry, you'll all get a go- and get playing. Why aren't
you moving? GO!"

We decided to let George go first, as he was the new boy. That, and I
didn't fancy facing Amin this lifetime, let alone straight up tonight, and
I think Amin wanted a look at my spinners before facing them. George didn't
realise either of these things, however, and was overjoyed to go first. I
went easy on him at first, just gentle off-breaks that he was able to
defend or even play some nice strokes off. Amin was not so kind. He didn't
bowl at his body, as ordered, but he did bowl fast for a 13 year-old
(albeit one of adult height) and was accurate. George barely got near him,
and edged a few, which were agreed to be wickets, and clean bowled him
twice and trapped him leg before once or twice. I did get him a couple of
times with good balls. George did manage to play some nice shots off Amin's
less accurate deliveries- he was taller than I remembered, and his growth
spurt seemed to have resulted in a slight loss of coordination. He was
still bloody good, though.

Then it was my go. I seriously wanted to improve my batting- at the moment
I batted 11 out of 11, and was hopeless. George's feeble medium paced
deliveries I could do something with, but Amin's quicker bullets were too
much. I scratched through my stint, not really accomplishing anything other
than massaging Amin's ego.

Then it was Amin's turn. He swatted my off breaks and George's
dibbly-dobblers around with ease. I got pissed off- I was being embarrassed
in front of the person whose opinion mattered more to me than any
others. Over the summer, I had, when alone, worked on bowling leg breaks-
that is, a ball which turns to the left after bouncing, unlike the off
break which turns right and to a lesser degree. I decided to use them on
this seemingly flawless player. My first delivery sailed up, dipped as if
pitching in line with leg stump, and Amin looked ready to pounce on what
would have been a truly rubbish off break. But it turned the wrong way. He
missed it completely, and the ball clattered into the stumps. George
cheered, and I whooped and leapt in the air.

"YOU BOY!" roared Mr Breaker. "Rob! Did you just clean bowl Amin?"

"Yes sir," I said, surprised at his reaction

"How? I've coached him for two years and I've never, ever seen him clean
bowled."

"It was a leg break, sir."

"A leggie? Seriously? Show me."

Amin prepared himself, and I bowled again to him, this time a bit closer to
off stump. Amin tried to defend it, not wanting to get shown up again by a
much smaller boy, but succeeded in doing nothing more than edging it. Were
this a match, he would be out again.

"All right boys, enough for today- home time. Rob, next week we'll practice
those leg breaks. This school hasn't had a leg spinner in 10 years. It's
about bloody time. Come see me before games tomorrow, and we'll talk. Now
hit the showers."

George was waiting for me, and we went back to change.

"Why don't we wait until getting home for a shower?" he said.

"I was planning to- you want to come over?" I said, winking after I checked
no one could see us, letting him know what I had in mind.

"I am. My parents have to go visit my Grandad- he's ill- and they're
letting me stay with you for two days until they're back. That's why my
rucksack was so full when I came over, but not so full when I left."

I gaped at him. "You mean, you knew... but, I mean, you know, you were..."
I dropped my voice to a whisper as we approached the changing
rooms. "Crying."

"That was because I didn't want to go home for even one night. I want to be
with you always. We at least get tonight and tomorrow night."

The song was wrong- they fly so high, they reach the sky, and they did not
fade and die- and it seems my dreams might survive too. I'm forever blowing
bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air.


To be continued....


That is not the end, but I wanted to finally explain the title. Part four
is under way. Watch out for more of Rob and George sharing their lives,
showers and a bed. How will they cope when George's parents are back? What
will they do if they sleep at George's house, without the double bed and
with George still in the closet with his parents? How will the demands on
their time when they can't be together affect them? You'll have to wait for
part four to find out.

Feedback, comments and suggestions are always welcome and greatly
appreciated, and may shape the future of the story. I can be emailed at

xenophon66@hotmail.co.uk

Flames cheerfully deleted.