Date: Mon, 6 Jan 2003 18:33:11 +0000 (GMT)
From: veneration2003@yahoo.co.uk
Subject: Stormchild  part 1

Disclaimer: You are at this site because you want to be. If you don't like
what you see, what are you doing here? No-one's forcin' ya. If you don't
think there is enough sex, it's not my fault. The story has a mind of its
own and is developing at its own pace.

Comments are welcome to veneration2003@yahoo.co.uk.

Stormchild

Chapter 1 The boy who came in from the cold

It was a dark and stormy night. Yeah, yeah, it's so cliche, but I've
always wanted to start a story with that. It was night, which happens
regularly, at least where I live. And it usually is dark at night. A
southerly storm had blown through, so it was raining and there was a
bitterly cold wind. The temperature had fallen below 10 degrees (cee, that
is).

I was driving home when I saw a hitchhiker on the side of the road. Was the
figure large, looming and menacing? Well no, it was rather small and
pathetic. As I drove past I realised it was just a young child who didn't
even have a jacket on and must have been soaked to the skin. I stopped the
car and opened the passenger door. The figure ran up and got inside. I saw
that my passenger was a young boy and, yes, he was soaked, from hair
plastered to his head, through soaked T-shirt clinging to his torso, to
sodden blue jeans and sneakers. The boy shivered and wrapped his arms
around himself in a futile effort to keep warm.

"Where do you want to go?"

"W...W...W...Woodton." His teeth chattered so much with cold he could
hardly get the word out and he had a bluish tinge to lips and face.

Woodton was a half hour drive away and I was concerned that the boy was
starting to suffer from hypothermia.

"I will take you there, of course, but you look so cold I think it could be
dangerous and you have to get warm as soon as possible. I live just around
the corner and I think we should get some dry warm clothes for you. Is that
OK?"

He just nodded his head and tried to hug himself even tighter. So I turned
the heater up full and drove the short distance home. By the time we got to
my house, I was sweltering from the heat, but my passenger looked no
better.

We went inside and the boy stood in the middle of the room, shivering,
looking like a half drowned puppy, with a puddle of water accumulating on
the carpet around his feet.

"you really should get warm as quickly as possible," I told him. "The best
way to do that is to have a hot shower while I get you some dry clothes."

'Aha,' you say, 'I know where this is leading. It is standard scenario
number 4.'

I led the boy to the bathroom, where I turned on the heater and water and
gave him a fresh towel. Then I left him while I found some of my old
clothes that were hopefully not too large. After returning with a bundle of
clothes in my arms, I hesitated outside the bathroom door. Should I have
respected his privacy and left the clothes outside the door? But then he
might not have realised they were out there. This was the only reason,
honest, that I knocked on the door and slipped them inside.

I daresay I should not have looked at the boy, but I could not stop myself
from glancing towards him in the shower. However, he was modestly turned
away from me, and all I could see was his back, hazed and obscured by the
condensation on the glass door of the shower cabinet. An indistinct view of
his rounded buttocks was all I was going to get.

'So this is the stage,' you think, 'where he turns towards you with a huge
erection, or asks you to wash his back, or you simply leap into the shower
and ravage him with your own enormous prong.'

Ha! I wish. None of those things happened, although my wee willie was
starting to think prong thoughts. Instead, I left the boy to shower in
peace.

He was in the shower for so long that I was beginning to wonder if he had
drowned, or simply dissolved and swirled down the drain. But after all, he
had an awful lot of warming up to do. Eventually the boy came into the
living room and stood, uncertainly, in the middle of the room, and for the
first time I got a good look at him.

He looked to be about five feet tall and perhaps around 13 years old. His
thatch of tousled blond hair crowned his very cute, almost delicate,
face. As for his body, there was no way of telling whether he was fat or
skinny in my clothes. Although I was not a large man, my clothes were
definitely too large on him. The jersey was baggy, with arms that hid his
hands. The track pants hung loosely on him, although the elastic at the
ankles stopped them from trailing beyond his feet. And those feet were
hidden by woolly winter socks.

In fact he reminded me of Charlie Chaplin's 'Tramp'. OK, the clothes were
completely different, the boy didn't have a moustache, he was much younger
and certainly much sexier. But even so, there was that lost and wistful
look to him.

"Do you feel better now?" I asked.

"Um, yeah." The boy looked wary, no doubt at finding himself in a strange
man's house and clothes. Little did he know how strange.

"My name's Martin. What's yours?"

"Eric."

"It's nice to meet you Eric. Let's find a coat and some shoes for you to
wear and get you on your journey."

Once all that mechanical stuff was sorted out and I stuffed his wet
clothes, which I had found left in a sodden mess on the bathroom floor in
typical boy fashion, into a supermarket shopping bag, we were in the car
and on our way to Woodton. We drove in silence, but I was intensely aware
of Eric sitting beside me, gazing out into the rainy night. Was this brief
time to be the extent of my encounter with this child of the storm. I had a
pang of regret for all the possible futures that were unlikely to occur.
Which was probably just a fancy way of saying that I fancied the boy
something bad, and regretted not getting a look at his cock when I almost
had the chance.


Chapter 2 Home, bitter home

Once in Woodton, Eric directed me to his home and we stopped outside. Even
in the light of the street lamps I could see that the house was
dilapidated. The paint was peeling off the weatherboards and the lawn badly
needed mowing. The grass of my lawn was almost as long, but that was a
deliberate policy of efficiency of effort and keeping the lawn in a healthy
state. When other people don't mow their lawns, it's because they are lazy
slobs.

"Thanks for the ride. Um, you had better come inside so that I can give you
your clothes back."

"Yeah, sure."

I was not at all sure that I wanted to face Eric's parents, as the meeting
could be awkward. But, it had to be faced, so we went up the path and in
the front door. The hall was dark, dingy and had a damp, rank smell. My
nose wrinkled in protest.

"Mum, I'm home," shouted Eric.

"What? What are you doing here?" came the reply and Eric's mother appeared
in the hall.

She sounded cross and looked tired, worn and not very happy to see Eric.
And then she saw me.

"Oh, I didn't know there was anyone here."

"I'm sorry to intrude, but I have just given Eric a ride from town."

Eric's mother frowned as she looked at her son. "Eric, what do you think
you were doing... Hey, what's with those clothes?"

I hurried to explain the situation, though not, strange to say, that Eric
took a shower in my house. His mother looked at me with increasing
suspicion. This was not one of those mothers who, after five minutes
conversation, pleads for you to bonk her young son because that is what he
wants and needs. No, this was one of those mothers who knows you are a
dirty old man and what you are up to; and lay one finger on her precious
baby and you will be in prison with your balls stuffed down your throat. In
spite of my wishes, that was the only sort of mother I had ever met.

"Eric, go and get changed now, so we can give the man his clothes. I guess
you had better come in and wait, Mr ... ah?"

"Lynn, Martin Lynn," I replied, as I followed Mrs 'why don't you give me
your own name then, dammit' into the livingroom.

In the room were two little brown-haired boys in their pyjamas, sitting on
the sofa and watching TV. Two pairs of eyes swivelled towards then, when
they realised I was just a grown-up, dismissed me as unimportant and
returned their attention to the program.

'Cute little muffins,' I thought, then decided the wisest thing was to
focus solely on the mother. "I know it was a bit irregular, but Eric was
suffering from hypothermia. It was important he got into warm dry clothes
as soon as possible, or it could have been very dangerous."

"Yes, well." This was one unconvinced mother. "What Eric thinks he was
doing hitchhiking, when he should have been with his father is another
matter. I suppose you had better sit down. What is it that you do, Mr
... ah?"

"I'm a senior manager at the Bethle oil company."

"Oh, a professional man, then. Where are my manners, would you like a cup
of tea?"

"No thanks, I'm fine, Mrs ... ah?"

"Iris Jansen. Look, will you excuse me, there is something I need to finish
doing."

"Yes, certainly," I replied as settled in the chair strategically chosen so
that I could easily watch the muffins on the sofa.

The younger boy, the one with very short hair, looked to be about nine and
he sat with crossed legs. The older, larger boy may have been about
eleven. His straight hair swept across his brow and he sprawled on the sofa
with his feet on the floor.

'If they only move a little,' I thought, 'I might be able to see up their
shorts.'

My heart began to pound at the thought, as I found looking up boys' shorts
an incredible turn-on. One of my most vivid memories of junior school was
one sports day when I was about 12, when I was standing across from a boy
sitting cross-legged on the grass. With a little movement, I was in the
right position to look up his baggy shorts to see his little prick. He
wasn't wearing any undies, the grubby little sod. My memories were
interrupted by the older boy on the sofa.

"This show is such crap," he complained. "Change to the other channel."

"Nah. I like it, it's fun."

"Change the channel," and he gave his little brother a vicious punch on the
arm.

"Ow, stop it. That hurt."

"Then change the channel, or I'll do it again."

"No, don't wanna."

"Gimme the remote," middle bro demanded and he lunged across the younger
boy to grab the TV remote.

"No, piss off," little bro protested as he held onto the remote and tried
to fend off his brother.

As the two boys struggled, legs flew in the air and I stared intently for
views up their shorts. While I did get to see up both boys' pjyama shorts
several times, it was not enough to see pricks or balls. But it was enough
for my face to go red and my cock to start to stiffen.

"Stop that at once, boys, or I will give you a good belting," Iris shouted
as she burst into the room.

I sat back guiltily and the boys subsided, as did my own little man.

Eric walked into the room with my clothes in his arms and Iris switched her
attention to her next target.

"And what the hell are you doing here? You are meant to be staying at your
father's this weekend."

"He's gone to the pub with his girlfriend and left me alone, so I came
home," Eric whined as he hugged the clothes protectively to his chest.

"Well, I don't expect anything better of the bastard, but you could have
stayed at his house and watched TV, or somethin'. And you know I don't like
you hitchhiking."

"I missed the bus, didn't I. And I got fuckin' pissed off because Dad
promised to take me to see 'Lord of the Rings' but he went out with his
girlfriend instead. So I came home."

"Don't you bloody swear," Eric's mother shouted. "And it doesn't matter if
you don't see some dumb movie; it's not important. Hitchhiking in the
storm, when you could get your death of cold, or worse when you are picked
up by who know who, that's what's important."

"The movie is important," Eric shouted back, "and now I will never get to
see 'Lord of the Rings'."

Conflict is something I hate, so I had to interrupt, even though it is said
you should never get between a mother and her cub. OK, I know that doesn't
refer to when they are fighting, but stepping into the middle of a fight is
always a hazardous thing to do.

"Look, I don't want to interfere, but I would like to see 'Lord of the
Rings' again. Why don't I take Eric tomorrow?"

Eric swung towards me. His mood changed in an instant and his face shone in
hope.

"Really? Do you mean it?"

"No, of course you can't," Iris said. "It's quite impossible."

She tried to be firm, but with her anger so abruptly deflated while in full
flight, her voice was instead weak and uncertain.

"Hey, can we go too," middle and little bro's piped up.

"No, you can't," replied their mother. "That would impose much too much on
Mr .. ah, the gentleman."

"Does that mean it's OK if I go, then?" Eric asked.

"It would be no trouble," I assured Iris, "and it would mean he would be
out of your hair, so you could get some peace and quiet. I'm sure he can be
a real handful."

Eric scowled at me at that, but kept a tactical silence.

"Well,..." Iris hesitated, then "What time is the movie? Eric can't be too
late home."

"There's a show at 6 o'clock," Eric said.

"You can't go then, as you would miss tea."

"Oh, that's alright. I will collect Eric early and we can get takeaways at
the food court before the movie starts."

"Yeah! Can I go Mum? Please, please, please."

She hesitated, before replying. "Well, that will give me give me a chance
to wash your clothes and you can collect them tomorrow when you pick up
Eric."

And so it was settled. We organised the details, with one very excited big
bro, wearing an enormous grin, and two little bro's, whining and
complaining that it wasn't fair, in the background.

As I drove home, I reflected on my encounter with Eric, with his fiery
temper and stormy relationship with his family. He did appear to be a child
of the storm.


Chapter 3 Travels in Middle Earth

The following day I collected clothes, washed and folded (a pity as I
wouldn't have minded having a sniff of unwashed undies that had covered a
boy package) and boy, dressed in grey T-shirt and grey nylon cargo pants
with red trim, all bright eyed and bushy tailed. Well, Eric certainly was
bright eyed, but I didn't know if his tail was bushy, although I suspected
it was.

Once again our drive was silent, although Eric did glance at me several
times. At the food court I went for an Indian curry, after giving Eric some
money to go to the Happy Hoppy Hamburger House. That wasn't its real name
and it was, in fact, a well known international hamburger chain, but as
they hadn't paid me for product placement, I am not going to place their
product.

"This is so great," Eric said, after he settled at our table with
hamburger, chips and cola. "We hardly ever get to eat at Happy Hoppy's."

Oh, dear. I was quite happy to contribute to the corruption of young boys,
but feeding their addiction to junk food was not what I had in mind. I
gazed at Eric as he devoured his hamburger, then he raised his head and
looked at me with his bright blue eyes, kissable lips glistening with
hamburger grease. 'Yuk', you think, but I wouldn't have minded cleaning
them with my tongue.

"What?" he asked when he caught me staring at him.

"Nothing."

Eric gave a small smile, as if pleased that he had my attention, and
returned his attention to his meal.

Once his hunger was satisfied, Eric chattered about school and home. I
learnt he had just started his first year in high school; that his
brothers' names were Grant (middle bro) and Harry and that they were both
pains in the arse; and that his father had left the family three years
ago. As Eric talked about his father and visiting him, I sensed that his
father was more interested in a succession of girlfriends than his
children. My heart went out to the poor lad who yearned for something his
father was no longer, if ever, providing.

Then it was time to go to the movies.

"I need a piss," I announced and headed to the toilets. LOTR is a very long
movie, after all.

Eric followed and stood beside me at the urinal. Pissing together at a
urinal is a very intimate activity. There you have two males, often
strangers, standing side by side, with their hands on their (own) cocks
which are sticking out of their pants. And then there is the need to avoid
appearing interested in the other guy's cock, while often actually wanting
to check out his equipment. Even the straight guys will do this. It's no
wonder so many men have trouble relaxing and letting go.

Having a sexy boy stand next to me didn't help either, but I managed to
relax enough to start pissing. I risked a glance towards Eric's crotch, but
all I could see was his protecting hand and stream of urine splashing
against the back of the urinal. I gave a mental sigh and concentrated on
the business at hand.

Lord of the Rings was wonderful. I had seen it before, which meant that I
could relax and let it wash over me, like visiting an old friend. I was
also very aware of Eric beside me. He was very still and intent on what was
happening on the screen.

Afterwards, out in the foyer, I turned to Eric. "I guess I had better get
you home now."

His smile disappeared and his face started to crumple. "But I don't want to
go home yet," he started to whine.

"Well, we could have supper at my place, first."

"Yeah, cool." And in an instant the smile was back and Eric was a happy boy
again.

Back at home, Eric sat beside me on the sofa and we drank hot chocolate as
we happily discussed the movie.

"Does Gandalf come back?" he wanted to know. And, "will Merry and Pippin be
OK?"

'Aha,' you realise, 'it was 'The Fellowship of the Ring' we had just seen'.

But at last it really was time to take Eric home. He stood in the middle of
the room, looking rather forlorn. I hesitated, then reached out to place my
hand on his shoulder. In an instant, he melted against me and wrapped his
arms tightly around my waist. I hugged him in turn and kissed the top of
his head.

"I wish I didn't have to go." His voice was muffled as he spoke into my
chest.

"I know, I know. But perhaps we can do something else sometime. After all,
the next LOTR movie will be out in 12 months time."

"That's too long to wait," and he grinned up at me.

Reluctantly we let each other go and, as we walked out to the car, Eric
slipped his hand into mine. This was not the sort of thing that any
self-respecting 13 year-old boy would be seen dead doing, as it was deeply
uncool. It probably indicated his real need for affection. This was
starting to create a major problem for me. On the one hand I would love to
have sex with the boy. Oh why didn't I leap into the shower and ravage him
when I had the chance? But on the other hand, I found myself increasingly
wanting to protect and care for Eric. But then, I supposed that it didn't
matter as I was most unlikely to be able to do either.

Again, our drive to Woodton was silent, but this time it was warm and
peaceful. It was amazing how much communication there was in our silences,
which had been different for each drive. After a while, Eric rested his
hand on my thigh and I patted it before returning my hand to the steering
wheel.

Hand on thigh? If it had been my hand on a boy's thigh, that would mean
that it was about to slip up the leg of his shorts and he would then adjust
his position to give me easy access to his dick. At least, in my fantasies
it did. But there was an innocence in the reassurance in physical contact
that Eric was seeking, as odd as it might seem to say that such a
street-wise, and no doubt horny, teenager was innocent.

Back at Mordor, I mean Eric's home, Eric grabbed my hand and dragged me
inside; he was not ready to let me leave yet. Squabbling on the sofa were
the two junior orcs in their pyjamas. Iris was also in the room, looking
drained.

"Hey, Lord of the Rings was wicked," Eric enthused and he started to
describe all the cool details.

His younger brothers listened avidly, while I moved slightly to try to get
a look up their shorts legs. Grant noticed me looking and moved his leg to
block my view, so I hurriedly looked away, blushing slightly at being
caught at my perving.

Grant and Harry complained about not getting to see LOTR, and that it was
not fair that Eric got to do things, while they always missed out. Eric
told them 'tough' and to 'get over it'. Iris told them to shut up, or she
would send them all to bed. I thought it was already past the younger boys'
bedtime, but this household obviously had different standards.

It looked like turning into a normal evening at the Jansens, so before it
could deteriorate further into a shouting match I interjected. "Look, why
don't I take all the boys for a walk and picnic somewhere tomorrow."

"Yeah, right on," cheered Grant and Harry. "Can we, Mum?"

"Oh, no, you couldn't possibly. That would be imposing on you much too
much," she replied.

Eric frowned fiercely and shook his head, while he silently mouthed 'no'. I
rather thought that he didn't like the idea of having to share me with his
brothers.

"It would give you a break away from the boys, which I am sure you need and
deserve. Besides, I have now raised their expectations and it would be
unfair to disappoint them now."

"Please Mum, go on, let us" the younger boys pled, while Eric dumped
himself on a chair, folded his arms and crossly started to watch TV.

"Well,..." Iris hesitated. "It would be nice, but you don't know what you
are letting yourself in for."

"It's no trouble," I assured her, thinking that it was in fact very likely
to be a great deal of trouble.

We made the arrangements for the next day and I set off for home, wondering
what I had let myself in for. Harry and Grant appeared to be two very
troublesome boys, and I wasn't sure how I was going to cope on the walk.
From his stormy expression and sullen refusal to say to say goodbye to me,
Eric was not happy at having his brothers along. I hoped it did not spoil
our developing friendship.