Date: Tue, 18 Apr 2017 14:38:53 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown <badboi666@btinternet.com> Subject: Fourteen again Chapter 22 Fourteen again by badboi666 =============================================================================== This story is - guess what! - fantasy. If sex with boys isn't your thing, go away. If, as is much more likely, you've come to this site precisely to get your rocks off reading about sex with a 14-year-old then make yourself comfortable - you're in the right place. Remember the three things: 1 Cum 2 Wipe 3 Donate =============================================================================== Chapter 22 (10 August 1957) I decided I needed a good night's sleep undisturbed by sex with anyone, not even a nice sweet boy of 12. Not that there was one I could see when I got to Paddington. So, given that I had almost £400 still, I went to a hotel nearby, paid cash ( £3 10/-) and slept, if not like a baby then like a man of 70. Jack's birthday was tomorrow, and I needed to find out the details. I also needed to buy him a present, but I had no idea what he would like (apart from a good seeing-to, of course, but that would be his extra present). I needed to find something more parentally acceptable. He had phoned back, as he had agreed to do, to say that his mum was fine with my staying over after the party. His timing was lucky as Tom and I had just finished our Chinese and were thinking about going back to bed. I had his address in Winchmore Hill, a suburb about half an hour out of Kings Cross. If I took a train there I could phone him and maybe arrange to meet. I took the tube to Kings Cross and caught a local train - perhaps the very one in which we'd had fun a week or so ago. As we went through the two tunnels I smiled at the memory. Maybe there'd be more of the same! I got to his station and found a phone box. The call was answered by a woman. "Hello, are you Jack's mum?" I said, "is he up yet?" (It was after 10.) "Cheeky monkey," she said, but with a chuckle in her voice, "I think so. Hold on, I'll call him." Breathless, "hello, Peter" and to his mum "he's the boy I met train-spotting last week, the one who's staying over tomorrow after the party." There was a moment's silence, then Jack said quietly, "it's OK, she's gone now. Where are you? Can we meet today? I can't wait until tomorrow?" So many questions, I thought. I told him that I was outside Winchmore Hill station. I knew that he lived in one of the poshest streets in London, and that it was only a few hundred yards away. "Gosh!" he said, "that's only a few minutes away. Can you come round now?" I told him that nothing would give me greater pleasure, although, being only 14, I probably didn't use exactly those words. "Why don't you come and meet me, then you can show me which is your house," I suggested. He was quick to agree, with the result that 15 minutes later I was being introduced to his mum. "Thank you for letting me come to Jack's party, and for letting me stay after," I said, believing that it was important for her to see me as another nice middle-class boy, not some oaf Jack had met while out doing whatever boys did nowadays. Jack's mum was a nice lady, but rather unworldly, and once I had passed the social test Jack and I were dismissed from her attention. "Go off and play now, boys." Too right, I thought. "Come up to my room," said Jack, I want to show you my things. I would have preferred seeing his thing, but that would no doubt happen anyway. "You cum yet today?" I asked. "No, luckily." Good, I thought, that means 3 or even 4 today. Jack's room was enormous. As well as a good-sized bed there was a large desk, a sofa, a state-of-the-art hi-fi system and an en suite bathroom and shower. Jack's parents must be extremely well-heeled. "Do you have any brothers and sisters?" I asked. "No, it's just me. I think I bore my parents, so I spend a lot of time up here - no-one ever comes in apart from the maid to make the bed and clean. Can we do things again?" I was happy to agree, but less confident that Jack was about our not being interrupted. "Might your mum not come in to see whether we'd like biscuits or something?" "No, she's probably forgotten about you already. If we died up here it would be the maid who'd find us tomorrow. Trust me." As I had used those words to him on the train I could hardly deny that this was his house, and he knew how it operated. "OK," I said, and put my hand on the front of his trousers. To my surprise he burst into tears. "What's wrong?" I said, "did I do something?" He shook his head, unable to speak. I led him to the sofa where I sat down and cuddled him. I had no idea what was up, but clearly I was the person who needed to comfort him. What could it mean? Gradually he calmed down and was able to tell me what was making him cry. It was a long story, but it boiled down to his being extremely lonely. His parents were distant, he had no friends of his age living nearby, the few friends he had at school lived too far away for casual are-you-coming-out-to-play contact. When I bumped into him - no, seduced him - at Kings Cross I was the first person who had shown any warmth towards him for ages. So our adventure had not just been sexual, but had also been social. I wondered which aspect had been the more important, and feared it was the latter. For a boy our - his - age to find sexual partners wouldn't be all that difficult. It might require the plucking up of courage, but it wasn't hard to do. Finding a friend, however, was much harder, not least because the poor kid had no idea how to make friends in the first place. I had walked into another delicate situation, and I had no idea how to help. Beyond taking his mind off his loneliness with some hot boy-on-boy action, that is. "Look, Jack," I whispered in his ear, "I'm here, and I'm your friend. Tomorrow's your party but today it's just us. Let's just do what boys do," and I licked his ear. He giggled, "yes, I'd like that more than anything." "Good, because today's the last day in your whole life when you'll be 13," (unless you met an obliging fairy in old age, I thought) "and we have to make it truly memorable. Almost as memorable as the first day of being 14 will be." He giggled again. I said, "it's been over a week since we did things, so you've had plenty of time to think about what we did, and maybe about what you'd like to do now. Got any ideas?" and I waited to see what he'd say. "Last time we sucked each other's cocks - that was great - and then you licked my arse - what did you call it?" "Rimming." "Yes, then you stuck your fingers up my arse and we switched round to a 69 position (I remembered what to call that) and I fingered you as well. Then we came again. And ... you kissed me." "What did you like best?" "Well, there were two things. Cumming was great - far better than a cum when you just wank yourself - but ... this is soppy ... the best thing was when you kissed me. I haven't been kissed before and it felt like electricity. Is that silly?" "Of course it isn't, everybody likes being kissed, but not everybody who's 13 gets kissed in the way I kissed you! I take it that you enjoyed all of those things?" "Yes." "What about the things that your wicked imagination and your dirty mind has thought of? Have you teased yourself with thinking what else it would be fun to do?" "Yes. I want you to fuck me, and I'd like to fuck you if you don't mind." These polite boys! Of course I didn't mind. Ginger Jack's body is a big turn-on - you remember I like gingers - and although I might be fucking his body I still liked him, and I felt sorry for him in his lonely state. "We can do all those things, but where? Is it really OK up here?" "I'm sure it is, but if it'll make you feel happier let's go downstairs and grab some food and a drink. Then no-one will think to come up and offer us something. Tell you what, let's do that now, then come back up here for a picnic and you-know-what. Then we can take sandwiches and go out to Kings Cross or somewhere. Then let's see after that." That seemed a good plan, so we went downstairs to gather supplies. We returned to Jack's room armed with biscuits, apples and a bottle of juice each. Sex would be fun, but would be all the more fun after we had demolished the food and swigged the squash. Five minutes later the plates were empty and we looked at each other. "Come on then," said Jack, "let's get on with it." The romance of the early teenager still has some way to go, I thought, but there's plenty of time for that. We were out of our clothes and naked in seconds. Each of us stood drinking in the beauty of the naked boy in front of him. I saw Jack in his glory: five feet tall, slender, red hair, nice nipples, a few ginger pubes, lovely uncut 5 inches jutting out, gently beating with the rhythm of his heart, low-hanging balls so full of boy-promise. I knew that if he turned round I would see a beautiful pair of cheeks concealing the hottest arsehole. Nice long slim legs. I moved towards him, my cock rampant as well, and took him in my arms. Our cocks swung together. We embraced. Jack pulled me over to the sofa. "Best not use the bed or the maid'll know we've been at it." It was all one to me, but it seemed a wise precaution to put a towel on the sofa before we got too excited. I got one from his bathroom and spread it out. "To catch the drips," said Jack with a grin. "I'm hoping there won't beany drips as I intend to catch any that might fall on my tongue." "Yes, that's a good idea." Straight into 69 we went, me on top, him underneath. We lapped each other's foreskins and soon they were peeled back and our red-ended cocks were being licked and sucked with gusto. Neither of us had cum since yesterday, so there would be a quick pair of orgasms to let the pressure off a bit. We each instinctively knew this, and neither of us held back. "OK to cum in your mouth this time?" I asked him, "you licked it up happily enough before." "Yes, I'd like it in my mouth this time; I want to feel it pulse out of you." We went on sucking and licking, and soon the inevitable began to start churning. "Mmmm!" from Jack, with more energetic sucking. Our cocks were now deep in the other's mouth and our heads were bobbing furiously. Suddenly a big "mmmmmmm!" and Jack's cock began to spurt the first spunk of the day into my mouth. Three good jets, all swirled round my mouth before being swallowed. That put me over and I grunted as my cock shot into Jack's mouth, and again, and again. "Mmmmm!" from Jack again, "it's tastier when it's hot like that." I rolled off him and, switching ends, kissed him deeply. The tongue music was what he needed, and he put his arms round me a squeezed for all he was worth. "Oh, Peter, I've missed you so much. I thought you'd forgotten about me when you didn't ring." Time for a lie. "Course not, silly, I told you, I was away in Cornwall." (As though they hadn't got phones in Cornwall yet. But he seemed happy with it.) "Anyway, I'm here now, and we're together. I think we ought to go train-spotting, don't you? That way our balls will have a chance to refill and we'll have three or four hours thinking randy thoughts about how I'm going to fuck you. Your cock will be aching by the time we get back!" And that is what we did. Armed with sandwiches (maids are almost as useful as fairies in some ways) we went to the station and caught a train for Kings Cross. We did all the things train-spotters do. We went down into the Gents for a piss and a look at each other's cock while doing so - somehow naughtier than looking at the same cock two hours earlier when Jack was naked. A funny thing, breaking societal norms, a bit like pissing in the open air being sexier than pissing in a bog. As we were pissing I reached across (we were alone) and held his cock. As I expected his reflex was to pull back, and so he pissed on my hand. I licked it clean. His eyes popped out, "Christ! you're crazy! That was my piss." "Yes, and very tasty it was. You should try it some time." And I let the idea drop; if he picked it up later, fine; if not, not. I felt I was probably onto a winner: what boy has not lain in his bath fountaining his piss to see how high it would go? And if it falls back on him, then why not on his pal? But I was getting ahead of myself. We took a train back to Winchmore Hill, and \got back to Jack's at around 4.30. "My meal is at 6 - d'you want to stay?" "Will that be all right? Won't your mum mind?" "She won't care; she probably won't even know. Polly (at last I discovered the maid's name) does my meals. We'll ask her." Jack put his head round the kitchen door and I heard him ask if his friend could stay. "Of course he can. It's good that you have a friend visiting you." So that was that. We had 80 minutes of high-grade fucking time before us, with the prospect of more boy-fuel at the end of it. We went back up to Jack's room again for the second coming. =============================================================================== <End of Chapter 22> badboii666 "at" btinternet "dot" com is where the depraved suggestions of readers will be gladly received, and maybe even incorporated. Make sure you drop something Nifty's way at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html