Date: Thu, 6 Oct 2016 16:39:47 +0000
From: Andy Brown <andybrown2000@outlook.com>
Subject: Tutoring Dylan - Chapter 6

Tutoring Dylan - chapter 6


Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction which features sexual
activity between a teenage boy and a grown man.  If you do not want to read
such a story, or it is illegal for you to do so because of your age or
where you live, then I recommend you go read something else instead.  The
characters in this story do in fact exist. However, none of the things in
this story have ever happened. Also, clearly to protect the characters, I
have changed their names and some facts about their lives.

This story is property of the author; please do not post it elsewhere
without the author's permission.

Please support Nifty with a financial donation - whatever you can afford -
so that this archive of stories can remain free and available.  Just go to
http://donate.nifty.org/

This is a rather long chapter - longer than I originally thought it would
be - which is part of the reason for its delay.  Once again, thanks to
everyone for the continued feedback, it's a great encouragement.

Apologies to any American readers for the cricket references in this
chapter.  You'll just have to take time to learn about the greatest game on
the planet!

***

From the end of chapter 5:

"That's settled then," she said.  "What time do you want to pick him up?"

"I'm working the late shift Thursday and Friday," I replied, "so I could
probably do with a lie in Saturday morning.  How about if Dylan still goes
diving and then I pick him up after lunch.  Say half past one?"

"Great.  See you then," Sandra said as she went through to the lounge.

"Well I best be off now," I said to Dylan.  I put an arm around him and
pulled him in close to me.  We kissed.

"Thanks Andy," he said.  "I don't think I'll ever get tired of that."

I smiled to myself as I opened the front door.  "See you on Saturday," I
called out to him.


***


After getting home from my time with Dylan I decided to grab a shower as I
could feel some remnants of our hot session still on me.  Discarding my
clothes on the bathroom floor I looked at myself in the mirror and could
see several spots of cum on my chest and abdomen that I had obviously
missed when cleaning up earlier.  I couldn't tell whether it was mine or
Dylan's.  If I had discovered it earlier I would have been tempted to taste
it, but after the drive home it had gone dry and crusty.

I turned on the shower and gave it a few moments to warm up before stepping
underneath the spray.  The hot water cascaded over my head and down my
body.  Relaxing in it's warm stream, I cast my mind back to what Dylan and
I had done together that evening.  It had been glorious.  Feeling his hands
running over my body, his delicate touch as he first held my penis and how
this soon transformed into a more rapid stroking.  The orgasm he teased out
of me was mind-blowing, certainly one of the most powerful I'd had for many
years.  He'd then proceeded to kneel over me and frenziedly jerk himself
off, splattering my chest with his load too.  Magnificent!

The most intriguing part of the though, I thought to myself, was the
fantasies he had shared with me.  Wowzers!  I decided to make it my mission
to ensure some, if not all, of these came true.  Despite having cum less
than an hour ago, my cock was once again rock hard.  I squirted some shower
gel on my hand and lathered up my cock.  Grasping it in my hand, I began to
jerk off.  Soon I was grunting and groaning, my climax quickly coming as I
shot my load all over the shower door.  Breathing heavily I gave myself a
few moments to gather myself and then squirted more shower gel into my palm
as I finished washing myself.


***


After slipping on a clean t-shirt and pair of boxers I made my way
downstairs.  Walking through the hallway I checked in on my hamster Gerald;
he was asleep.  Not wanting to wake him I quietly topped up his food and
then took off his water bottle.  I took it into the kitchen and refilled
it, then attached it back to his cage.

Settling myself down on my sofa, I switched on the TV and soon found the
end of the cricket.  At the interval England had managed to keep Sri Lanka
to a modest 140 all out from their 20 overs.  According to the commentator,
it was a good pitch for batting, so I was surprised that the Sri Lankan
total was so low.  England should reach the target comfortably, I thought
to myself.

Soon the England innings started. After five overs, England had lost two
wickets for only thirty runs, not at all what I'd expected.

I decided I needed a drink.  As I walked back through the hallway I heard a
scampering noise.  Gerald was awake.  In the kitchen I poured myself a
glass of wine and took it back through to the lounge, resting it on the arm
of the sofa.  I took Gerald out of his cage and gave him a cuddle, stroking
his brown and white fur.  He fidgeted as I held him.  Finding his ball in
the corner of the room I placed him in it and let him have a good run
around.

Picking up my glass of wine I slumped on the sofa and turned my attention
back to the game.  The captain Morgan was in now and the two of them had
quickly taken the score to 53-2.  Taking a sip of the wine I settled in to
watch the action unfold as Gerald continued to scurry across the room and
occasionally bang into the furniture.


***


By now, England had scored 106 runs without losing any more wickets, and
with both batsmen looking in good form, the result seemed in little doubt.
Gerald had stopped running about, obviously tired from his exercise.
Putting down my half emptied glass I undid his ball and he crawled into my
hand.  We snuggled for the rest of the game, England winning comfortably
with two and a half overs to spare.

It was getting late and despite now needing to be at work until after lunch
tomorrow, my activities with Dylan had worn me out.  After switching the TV
off I put Gerald away.  I picked up my glass and swigged the last mouthful
of wine.  Once empty I took it through to the kitchen and then made my way
up to bed.


***


I slept like a log and woke up refreshed.  After brushing my teeth and
eating a bowl of cereal, I changed into my cycling gear and filled up a
water bottle.

It had been nearly a week since my last ride so it took me a few minutes to
get my legs warmed up.  I decided to cycle across to the centre of town.
The traffic was fairly light as the rush hour had already been and gone.
Going through the old market square the cobbles gave the bike's suspension
a good test.  I wound my way down to the river and across the bridge
bracing myself for the incline that was to follow.  For a good 15 minutes I
ploughed uphill, the road getting ever steeper as I made my way up to the
summit.  Finally I made it and pulled my bike into the side of the road as
I dismounted.  Breathing heavily and with sweat pouring down my face I
looked back down across the valley.  The view never failed to take my
breath away.  It was worth all the effort.

I took a few swigs of water and then turned the bike around.  This was the
fun bit.  I pushed down on the pedals to get the bike moving and then let
gravity do its job.  Soon I was flying back down the hill, air blowing past
my face.  As I got near the bottom of the steepest part of the descent I
pulled on the breaks and slowed right down as I got to the junction at the
foot of the hill.  I'd nearly come a cropper a couple of months ago at this
turning and I wasn't keen to repeat the experience.

About 20 minutes later I arrived back home.  After stowing my bike back in
the garage, I stripped off my sweaty clothes and jumped into the shower.
Once cleaned up I got dressed and headed off to work.


***


After working late shifts on Thursday and Friday it was nearly 11 when I
woke on Saturday morning.  Once showered and dressed I ate a couple of
slices of toast and caught the last few minutes of 'Saturday Kitchen' where
Greg Davies was being cooked a delicious looking lamb and courgette dish by
John Torode.

Breakfast finished, I headed back upstairs to complete my packing.  The
main items: tent, sleeping bag, cooking equipment and most of the food were
already lying in the hallway downstairs.  I stuffed my carry mat, a few
extra clothes and my toiletries into a holdall and took this downstairs.
Grabbing a few items from the fridge and cupboards I added these to the
food bag and then took everything out to the car.  All set for the weekend
I headed off to Dylan's.


***


At just before half one I pulled up outside Dylan's house.  His sister
Imogen met me at the door and told me Dylan was just finishing his packing
but should be down in a few minutes.  Dean invited me to wait in the lounge
and offered me a drink.  I declined his offer as I was eager for us to get
going and didn't want any more hold ups.

"What time do you want him back tomorrow?" I asked.

"I think he's got a fair bit of homework to get done," he replied, "plus
his gymnastics session in the evening, so around lunch time would be good."

"That's fine."

After a few minutes of awkward silence Dylan burst into the room.

"Hi Andy," he said excitedly.  "I'm ready to go."

"So I see," I told him.  He looked as wonderful as ever, today decked out
in a blue t-shirt, white shorts and khaki hiking boots.  A heavy looking
rucksack was slung over his shoulder with a yellow carry-mat hanging
underneath it.  Under one arm he clutched his pillow and under the other
his sleeping bag.

"Are we off then?" he asked, clearly eager to go.

"Sure," I replied.  Dylan gave his dad a quick hug and we made our way back
into the hallway.  His mum came out of the kitchen to meet us, and Dylan
received a long hug and a kiss on his forehead from her.

We made our way out to the car.  "Just throw your stuff in the back seat,"
I told him.

"Okay," Dylan said, taking me at my word as he opened the back door and
throwing his bags and pillow across the seats.  I shook my head at him as
we both climbed in the front.

"What do you want to listen to?" I asked him once we were both safely
strapped in.  I passed him my iPod.  "Have a look through and see what you
fancy."

A couple of minutes down the road Dylan finally settled on an album he
wanted to listen to and the music started pumping out of the Bluetooth
speakers.  I recognised the song immediately.  'Pompeii' by Bastille.  Good
choice, I thought.


***


Nearly two hours later we arrived at the campsite.  The traffic had been
fairly quiet and we'd made good time.

The journey had gone well.  I'd learnt a lot about Dylan.  We'd discussed
how his sports were going.  He was still doing well with his gymnastics,
practicing with his club three times a week.  It was now six years since
he'd first started there and by the sounds of it he was doing some pretty
advanced stuff.  He particularly enjoyed doing the vault and the floor
exercises as he was quite springy and usually managed to get good height on
his vaults, leaps and tumbles allowing him plenty of time to put in extra
turns and twists.  A couple of months ago he'd been to the regional youth
championships and had come 6th for his age category on the floor and 3rd on
the vault.  Some of the other disciplines were another matter.  Dylan was
struggling with his upper body strength which was hampering his progress on
the rings and the bars.  He'd also had his first go on the pommel horse a
few weeks ago and had come off it quite spectacularly, his arms unable to
support the weight of his body.  So he was spending a couple of lunchtimes
a week using some of the weight equipment at the school gym to try and
increase the strength in his arms.

As well as his gymnastics I learnt that Dylan was also very much into his
diving.  He'd only started this when he was in Year 6 but his gymnastics
training had obviously helped him with the flexibility needed to succeed in
the sport.  When his friends had heard he had started diving he had taken
some gentle ribbing, however this had got a bit more severe when he started
high school with several older boys teasing him about having to wear tiny
Speedos when he dived.  One boy had said that Dylan's Speedo only needed to
be small anyway as it only needed to cover his tiny dick.  Dylan had got
quite upset about this but the teasing had died down eventually.  Recently
he'd been crowned under 13 regional champion and was due to take part in
the national championships later in the year.  This required another two
training sessions a week - Saturday morning and Wednesday before school.
His coach wanted to bump this up to three sessions a week as they got
closer to the championships.  Dylan knew that eventually he'd have to make
a choice between these two sports that he loved if he was going to get
further with them.

After discussing his sporting achievements we spent most of the rest of the
journey chatting about his friends.  Dylan, it seemed, had a good group of
friends around him who had been incredibly supportive when Luke had outed
him on Facebook.  His three closest friends - Jack, Sam and Charlotte - had
all been particularly great with him, and the experience had in fact
brought them closer together.  Jack, who had been in Dylan's class at
primary school, had always had a fiery temper, and had promised to "fuck
Luke right up" but the others had managed to curtail his anger.  Away from
school Dylan still hung out with Will, but he was in the year below, so it
wasn't cool to hang around with him at school.

Things with Luke were apparently no better as he continued to ignore Dylan.
I repeated my previous advice to give Luke time and to try talk with him
alone.  I wasn't entirely convinced myself that it would work, but it was
worth a shot.

I was keen to find out more about Joe, the other openly gay boy in Dylan's
year.  Dylan explained that Joe had been picked on quite badly in Year 7
with a number of the other boys in his year calling him "puff" and "fag".
Joe had been in the same PE class as Dylan last year and the bullying was
always fairly bad in the changing room after the lesson, not helped by the
fact that Joe was pretty hopeless at most sports.  On one occasion one of
the bigger boys in the year - Tom Adams - accused Joe of checking him out
as he was getting changed.  He started pushing and shoving the younger boy
about, calling him all sorts of names and telling him to admit that he was
a faggot.  Other boys had quickly joined in and Joe had ended up on the
floor facing a barrage of insults, some of the boys kicking him, and one or
two even spitting on him.  Joe started crying and kept shouting out for
them to stop but they refused, Tom constantly shouting at him to admit what
he was.  Eventually Joe snapped, admitting that he was gay.  The other boys
laughed at him and gave him a few more kicks before leaving him and getting
changed.

"So why didn't they do the same to you?" I asked him, puzzled by the
treatment they had handed out to poor Joe.

"I'm not sure really," he replied.  "I think maybe they just used the gay
thing as an excuse with Joe.  Most of the other kids just don't like him.
He's in top set for everything and he spends most of his time in the
library.  He never gets in trouble and he's crap at sports.  He's a bit of
a sitting duck really.  Plus he's not got many friends and he's really
camp."

For the final few miles of the journey there was an uneasy silence between
us.  In some ways I wanted to lecture Dylan for not doing anything to help
Joe.  But I also knew that it wouldn't have done much good.  Dylan would
probably have been hurt as well and Tom and his mates might have assumed
there was something going on between Dylan and Joe and given him a hard
time too.  Altogether I was relieved that this had happened to Joe and not
Dylan, though that thought didn't lie easy with me.


***


Arriving at the campsite, I pulled the car up in front of the farmhouse as
I'd been instructed.  Leaving Dylan in the car I knocked on the door and
was greeted by what I assumed to be the farmer's wife.  She was portly and
looked to be in her late 40s, with long brown hair pulled back into a
ponytail and wearing a pair of dungarees with a checked shirt underneath.

"Hi," I said to her.  "Are you Mrs Taylor?"

"Aye," she responded, "but call me Babs.  And what can I do for you?"

"I'm Andy Brown.  I spoke to your husband a few days ago about coming to
camp in your field with my nephew."  Yes, this was a lie.  But how else was
I to explain coming camping with a 13 year old boy?

"Right you are.  You're the only ones booked in this weekend so you've got
the pick of the field."  She pointed to the field that lay to the left of
the farmhouse.  "Let me show you where everything is."  She stepped past me
and I followed her to the edge of the field.

"This here's the toilet block and showers," she continued as we reached a
small stone outhouse.  "Just restocked it this morning so there should be
plenty of loo roll for you.  And it's got its own boiler so there should be
plenty of hot water.  If you want any cold for cooking and the like, then
there's a tap just on the side."  Her stubby finger pointed to where it
was.

"Thanks that all sounds great," I said.  "Is there anywhere decent to eat
around here?"

"Your best bet would be the White Hart.  Top quality beer and decent grub.
Just head back down the lane and turn right.  It's about a 10 minute walk."

"Thanks.  Sounds ideal."

We walked back round to the farmhouse.

"Well Andy, if there's anything else you need just give us a shout."

"Thanks.  Will do."

The door closed behind her as she made her way back inside.  I walked over
to the car and between us me and Dylan unloaded our bags.

"We've got the whole field to ourselves," I told him.  "So we may as well
pitch the tent right down at the bottom end so the owners don't overhear
us."

After putting the tent under one arm and my sleeping bag under the other, I
picked up my holdall.  Trying to prove his strength, Dylan slung his
rucksack over his back and his pillow under his arm.  He then attempted to
carry his sleeping bag, the food bag and the cooking equipment in his arms.
I rolled my eyes as I locked the car.

Less than half way down the field I could already see Dylan's arms were
beginning to shake and the items in his arms were wobbling.  The first to
fall was his pillow which slipped out from under his arm.  Luckily the past
couple of weeks had been very dry and so the field wasn't muddy.  Dylan
stopped to pick it up but was unable to do so.

"Just leave it," I shouted back to him.  "We'll come back for it once we've
got everything where we need it."

Dylan trudged on but was clearly feeling the strain in his arms.  After a
few more metres his sleeping back also slipped from his grasp.  By this
time I had made it to our desired location and put down the items I had
been carrying.  I slung my sleeping bag and holdall next to the wall that
surrounded the field, and then proceeded to unpack the tent.

I had just started to pull the dome tent from out of the bag when Dylan
finally caught up.  He was puffing and panting as he dropped the bags he
was carrying next to mine.  Grabbing the bottom of his t-shirt he pulled it
up to wipe the sweat from his forehead, giving me a nice view of his toned
torso at the same time.

"I think you dropped a couple of things," I said with a smirk on my face.
"We didn't have to carry everything in one go, you know."

Dylan glared at me.  "Well I didn't see the point in making two trips," he
replied grumpily.  "Anyway, I thought I could manage."  He stomped off to
collect his fallen items.

When he returned I had already laid the fabric of the tent out on the
ground, having already checked that the ground underneath was fairly
smooth.

"Are you gonna help me put this up?" I asked him.  "Or do you fancy
freezing your balls off outside all night?"

He smiled at me, his bad mood going as quickly as it had come.  "Yeah," he
said.  "What do we need to do?"

I explained to him how we needed to unfold the two poles and then thread
these through the flaps on the outside of the tent to form two arc shapes.
Within a couple of minutes we had got both poles unfolded and connected,
and had laid these down on the ground next to the fabric.

Between us we managed to get the first pole pushed through its flaps and
the tent was beginning to take shape.

"Hold that steady," I said to Dylan as I made my way around the other side
of the tent and began to push the second pole through.  Once the pole was
more than half way through I moved back around to stand next to Dylan and
pull it through from the other side.  Suddenly the tent went slack.  I
looked around and saw Dylan had let go of the tent and was tying his
shoelace.  With nothing to hold my weight I plunged to the ground, landing
on top of Dylan as I fell.

"Aaaarghhh!" he yelled, as I fell onto him.

"What?" I said.  "It was your fault.  You let go of the tent!"

Dylan frowned and rubbed his side where my knee had connected with him.  I
sat up, my knees either side of his thighs, our crotches pressed together.
Determined to get rid of his frown again I started tickling him.  First his
tummy, and then working my way higher up his chest.  Dylan began to squirm
and giggle, my fingers producing the result I'd hoped for.  The more Dylan
squirmed, the more I tickled him.  His breathing got heavier and I could
feel his dick get hard in his shorts which caused mine to do the same.
Exploiting his weakened position I pulled his t-shirt off him so I could
attack his bare skin.

"Stop!  Stop!" he cried out, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.  I continued
to work my fingers up his body until I reached his armpits.  Previous
experience told me he was particularly ticklish in this area and as I began
my work in this area it was clear that the past two years had changed
nothing.  My fingers attacked his moist armpits with gusto, the downy hair
tickling my fingers.  Tears began to run down his cheeks and even through
both pairs of shorts I could still feel his dick throb.

"Enough, please!" he shouted.  With a final tickle to his ribs I pulled my
hands away and leaned in for a kiss.  Dylan's lips quickly relented and
soon our tongues were wrestling.  As we kissed, our crotches ground
together causing both Dylan and myself to moan.  After a few minutes of
this Dylan pulled his mouth away from mine.  "I'm...I'm...I'm gonna..."

I pulled my body off Dylan's and stood up leaving the boy panting on the
ground.

"Hey!" he called out to me.  "What did you do that for?  I was just about
to cum!"

"I know," I replied, winking at him.  "But there'll be time for that
later."  I reached out my hand which he grabbed and I pulled him up.  "Now
let's get this tent finished."

Dylan went back to his original place of holding up the first pole.  I
noticed he'd decided not to put his shirt back on; I was glad.  Following
suit I decided to take mine off too and threw it on the ground next to
Dylan's.  With a final few pulls the second pole was also in place.  I told
Dylan to hold both poles steady which he did.  The bonus of this was that
it put the whole of his body - including his armpits - on show as he had to
stretch his arms out to hold both pieces of metal.  With Dylan holding the
tent steady, I went around and pushed the tent pegs into the ground.  This
was no easy task as the dry weather had caused the ground to be quite hard.
A couple of times I had to use the mallet I had brought with us.  As I
worked, I kept sneaking glances at Dylan's exposed body and I was sure that
on a couple of occasions he was also sneaking glances of me at the same
time.  Once the pegs were all in place I then instructed Dylan to let go of
the poles and to help me tighten up the ropes.  It was a joy to watch him
in action, seeing the burgeoning muscles in his arms straining as he worked
on the ropes.

Finally the tent was finished and we hauled all of our equipment inside,
putting the food bag and cooking equipment in the porch area, and our bags
of clothing in the main section.

"It'd probably be a good idea to get our sleeping bags sorted now," I
advised him.  "And then we don't have to worry about sorting them out when
we get back from dinner."

"Okay," Dylan replied.  We both set to work on flattening out our
carry-mats and laying our sleeping bags - and in Dylan's case his pillow
too - down on top of them.

I pulled a cricket bat and tennis ball out of my bag.  "Fancy a game?" I
asked him.

"Sure."

We made our way back outside the tent and tossed the Dylan the ball.  "You
can bowl first," I told him.

For the next hour or so we played cricket, the pair of us alternating
between batting and bowling.  Thankfully the field was fairly flat with
only a fairly shallow incline.  Dylan's bowling technique was okay; he
bowled a good line but his length was consistently short and he lacked any
real pace.  This made his bowling very hittable and on a number of
occasions I slogged him to cow corner, meaning he had to do quite a lot of
running around to get the ball back.  When it came my turn to bowl I
deliberately bowled him a combination of yorkers and off-cutters which
Dylan found difficult to deal with, usually either missing the ball or only
blocking it.  The result of course was that I had to do very little running
around after the ball and more often than not the ball stopped close to
Dylan and he threw it back to me.  Eventually I could see that Dylan was
getting fatigued.

"Hey," I called to Dylan.  "Maybe we should take a rest now.  Why don't you
go sit down in the tent a while."

"Thanks," he replied.  "You pulverised me out there.  How did you learn to
hit the ball so far?"

"Practice I suppose."

"You're really good.  Do you play for a team?"

"Not anymore," I told him.  "I used to.  I played for my school team as an
all-rounder and then for the second XV at university.  When I moved back up
here I joined a local club for a couple of years but then when I started
teaching I didn't have the time so I had to give it up."

"Maybe you should start doing it again."

"Yeah, maybe."  I pondered this idea.  Maybe, now I had a bit more time on
my hands, I could join a team again.  But the cricket season was more than
halfway through now, so it would have to wait until next season now.  "I'm
just going to the toilet," I called back as I headed off to the out
building Babs had pointed out earlier.


***

When I returned to the tent, I could see that Dylan had kicked off his
boots in the porch area and was engrossed on his tablet.  Quietly I took my
own boots off and then launched myself at Dylan, rugby tackling him to the
ground.  Dylan let out a scream and dropped his tablet on the floor.  I sat
myself up, once again with my knees on either side of his thighs.  Resuming
our earlier fun I once again tickled Dylan's body, paying particular
attention to his ribs and armpits which seemed to be his most sensitive
areas.  Quickly Dylan was in fits of giggles and doing his best to wriggle
free, though with the position we were in his attempts were futile.

As we horsed around I could feel we were both hard again.  I tickled back
down Dylan's body until I got to his hips.  Raising myself off his legs
slightly I undid his shorts and pulled them down to his knees.  His white
boxer briefs showed a distinct bulge.  Tickling his ribs with my left hand,
I used my right hand to rub and squeeze his package.  The sounds he was
emitting were an amazing mix of giggles and groans.

"Urgh...urgh...urgh," he called out.  "I'm gonna...I'm gonna..."

I pulled my hand off his bulge and stopped tickling him, allowing him a few
moments to rest.

"Shit!" he groaned.  "I was so close, and you stopped again.  Stop being a
bastard and let me cum."

"Patience, my dear boy," I replied as I bent down and kissed him.  "A
lesson for you here.  The longer it lasts, the greater the pleasure at the
end."

"But I want to cum now!" he shouted in frustration.

I gave him another quick kiss and then pulled his boxers down to join his
shorts around his knees.  Spitting on my hand I closed my hand around his
throbbing erection and worked my saliva around his dick.  Adopting the
technique I'd used last time I worked my hand up and down his shaft sliding
my thumb over his head or circling under his ridge.  Dylan moaned and
panted, clearly once again close to cumming.  I used my other hand to rub
one of his nipples, causing more groaning from the boy.  This added
stimulation was enough to send him over the edge as five streams of cum
shot out of his dick over his torso, much of it pooling in his belly
button.  Dylan's body went limp and he panted with relief.  I looked down
at him lying there.  His cum still had a watery quality of it that was
typical of boys his age, not yet becoming the white viscous liquid of later
puberty.  But it looked delicious and though I'd promised myself that my
first taste of it would be when I first had his organ in my mouth, I
couldn't help myself.  I dipped my finger into the pool in his belly button
and brought it up to my mouth.  The taste was awesome, wonderfully sweet
but with a slight bitter twang in the background, a hint of his developing
adolescence.

"Delicious!" I pronounced.

"Really?" he asked, obviously curious.  "I didn't know you could eat it."

"Well you can, and yours is the best I've ever tasted."  He blushed.
"Maybe you should try some," I said, plunging my finger back into his belly
button.

He paused.  "Nah, I don't think so," he replied, scrunching his face up.

"Fair enough," I said, sucking his juice off my finger again.  "Your loss."
I hoped I'd maybe sown a seed in his mind.

By this time I was incredibly horny myself.  Lifting myself up off him I
pushed down my own shorts and underwear.  I grabbed my hard dick and began
jerking off, rubbing my copious precum around my head.  Within moments I
was grunting and groaning, my orgasm building.  My left hand stroked up and
down Dylan's side and the feel of his soft skin on my hand helped bring me
to orgasm as I shot numerous ropes of cum over Dylan's stomach and penis.
The last few drops dribbled down onto my fingers.  It had been a while
since I'd tasted my own cum so I brought my fingers up to my mouth.  Not
bad, I thought as I tasted it, but nowhere near as good as Dylan's.
Exhausted, I clambered off Dylan's legs and laid down next to him on my
sleeping bag.


***


I woke some time later, noting that the sun had shifted its position,
showing we must have been asleep for quite some time.  Dylan was still
asleep next to me.  I could feel my stomach rumbling and looked at my
watch.  It was just after 6 o'clock.  Leaning over I kissed Dylan on the
cheek.  He stirred.

"Time to get up sleepyhead," I whispered to him.

His stomach growled.  "Okay," he replied groggily.  "Is it time for dinner
yet?"

Typical teenager, I thought.  Always thinking about his stomach.  "Just
about.  But we best get cleaned up first."

Dylan looked worried.  "But we can't walk over to the shower block like
this!"

"Don't worry," I reassured him.  "I've brought these."  I pulled a large
box of baby wipes out of my bag and we both proceeded to clean up.  Once
dressed I gathered the used wipes together and stuffed them into a bin bag.

After pulling on our boots I zipped the tent up to make sure we didn't get
any flies or other bugs in whilst we were out.  Then we set off back up the
field and down the lane towards the White Hart.


***


From the outside, the pub looked well kept with a number of colourful
hanging baskets attached to the front.  There were a few cars in the car
park which suggested we wouldn't be the only ones eating there tonight.

"Dylan," I said.  "There's one thing we need to make sure of before we go
in.  If anyone asks you're my nephew.  That's the story I told them at the
campsite and that's what we need to stick to."

"Okay Uncle Andy."  I smiled at him and put my arm round his shoulder,
pleased that he had picked the idea up so quickly.

We walked up to the bar and waited for a couple of minutes whilst the
barmaid served an older couple.  Once she'd given the gentleman his change
she came over to us.

"Good evening," she said brightly.  "What can I get you?"

"A pint of Lakeland Gold, and what would you like Dylan?" I asked.

"A coke, please."

"With ice?" asked the barmaid.

"Yes please."

"And can we have a couple of menus," I added.  She quickly poured both
drinks and handed over a couple of menus.

"If you want to find yourself a table," she said, "I'll come over in a few
minutes and take your order."

"Thanks," I replied as I picked up my beer and a menu.  I walked over to a
table by the windows, Dylan following behind with his drink and menu.

After settling ourselves down and taking a sip of our drinks we both began
to look through the menu.  There looked to be a good selection and I had a
hard time choosing between a couple of options.  The barmaid came over, pen
and paper in hand.

"Ready to order?" she asked.

"Just about," I replied.  "What do you fancy Dylan?"

"Can I have the sausage and mash please Uncle Andy?"

"Course you can," I said to him.  "One sausage and mash, and a mixed grill,
please."

"Certainly," she said.  "And can I just say what a polite nephew you have."

"Thanks," I said.

"Oh, and how would you like your steak?" she asked.

"Medium rare please," I replied.  " I like my meat soft and juicy."  Dylan
coughed, nearly choking on his drink.

"Are you okay?" she asked, looking concerned.

"Fine, thanks," he spluttered, his face going beet red.  The barmaid walked
off as I gave Dylan a gentle kick under the table.

"Behave yourself," I scolded him, chuckling to myself as I did so.

Whilst we waited for the food to arrive Dylan told me eagerly about some of
the things he had been doing at school.  Overall he was doing well, top
sets for most subjects.  His writing in English was still a weakness, much
to my dismay.  How could my favourite ever pupil not do well in the subject
I'd studied at university?  His comparative difficulties in this area
always struck me as odd since he was an avid reader, sci-fi and fantasy
being his favourites.  He was enjoying having different teachers for each
subject because even if one was boring, he didn't have to put up with them
all day.  History was still his favourite subject and part of me was quite
pleased to hear that although his teacher in this subject was good, she
wasn't as good as me.  The subject had always been a favourite of mine too,
I told him.  I had studied it up to A level and it was a close run thing
when deciding between it and English literature at university.  I still
liked to read the occasional history book and would often visit historical
sites and museums when I had the chance.

Dylan was also enjoying exploring his more artistic side since starting at
high school.  He was still as useless as ever at art - at one stage in year
4 I'd wondered whether he knew one end of a paintbrush from the other!  But
he was loving both drama and music.  He had started saxophone lessons in
year 7 and had taken to the instrument quite quickly.  After about six
months he had joined the school's jazz orchestra and was really enjoying
the opportunity to play in a group.  Dylan had also been in the production
of 'Oliver' the drama and music departments had jointly put on back in
March.  He had been given the minor part of Charley Bates, one of Fagin's
boys.  It had involved half a dozen lines of speech plus a few solo lines
in a couple of songs, as well as singing in the chorus.

"It was a real buzz being up on stage," Dylan said to me.

"It's a pity I didn't get to see you in it," I told him.  "I'm sure you
were brilliant."

He blushed slightly at the compliment.  "Thanks.  Mum and dad have got a
recording of it."

"Well I might just have to borrow that.  Then I can tell you what I think
of your performance."  Just as I was telling him this, the barmaid brought
our food over.

"Here you go," she said, setting our food down in front of us.  "Anything
else I can do for you?"

"Can I have some ketchup please?" Dylan asked.

"And can we get some more drinks as well," I added.

"Of course.  Be right back."

Soon enough she returned with a bottle of ketchup and our drinks, taking
away our empty glasses as she went.  Dylan poured a great big blob of red
sauce on his plate.  It always amazed me how teenage boys wanted ketchup
with everything.  My brother had been the same; he was never fond of
vegetables and so used to smother them in ketchup.

We spent the next ten minutes or so in near silence as we both devoured our
food, occasionally pausing to pass comment on the meal or to take a sip of
our drinks.  At one point Dylan stabbed one of his sausages with his fork,
dipped it in his ketchup and then sucked the sauce off the end.  The sight
of this gave me an instant hard-on; I couldn't wait for Dylan to perform
that action on my sausage.

Soon enough we both finished eating, our plates virtually empty.  Dylan
breathed out heavily and rested his hands on his stomach.  "That was
great," he announced.  "I'm full up."

"Glad to hear it," I replied.  "So you won't want a pudding then?"  I
smiled already guessing what the answer would be.

"Oh, there's always room for pudding," he said returning my smile.  "I'm a
growing boy after all."  He stretched his arms upwards to emphasise his
point.

The barmaid had obviously seen us finish and so came over.  "Everything
okay with the meals?" she asked.

"Perfect," I told her.  She began to pick up the plates.  "Could you bring
the dessert menu over.  My nephew here seems to think he's still hungry."

She chuckled to herself.  "Of course.  And will you be having one too?"

"Certainly," I replied.  "It would be rude of me to make him eat by
himself."  We laughed together as she took the plates away.  Moments later
she returned with the dessert menus and left us to make our choices.  Soon
enough we made our choices and the barmaid came back to take our orders.

As we waited for the puddings to arrive we returned to the subject of
school.  "So have you joined any sports teams?" I asked him.

"I wish I could," he replied, "The PE lessons are pretty good and I do
fairly well in most of the sports but I don't have the time to practice
with any of the teams.  One of the PE teachers wanted me to join the
basketball team but they train at the same time as my gymnastics so it
didn't work out.  I've swum for the school a couple of times in
competitions - they don't do training, Mr Finch just sees who does well in
lessons and puts them in the team."

"It's a shame about the basketball," I said.  "I was in a couple of teams
when I was at school, cricket in the summer and football in the winter.  It
was good fun, the football especially.  We had a great team spirit, and I
always enjoyed our showers after training and matches."

Dylan grinned.  "Yeah, that's my favourite bit of PE."

Once again the barmaid returned, this time with pudding in tow.  Warm
chocolate fudge cake with ice cream for Dylan and a large slice of treacle
tart with whipped cream for me.  In very little time at all Dylan had
demolished his fudge cake and had scraped the plate clean, eager to taste
every last morsel.  I was struggling to finish mine.

"Do you want to finish this off?" I asked him.

"Are you sure you don't want it?" he replied.  In response I pushed the
plate towards him.  With gusto he attacked the remains of the tart and soon
my plate was as empty as his own.

"Right," I said to him, "I best go pay for the meal.  We don't want to
leave it any longer or we'll be walking back in the dark."

"Thanks," said Dylan.  "I'm just going to use the loo."

As Dylan headed off to the toilet I finished off my bear and then wandered
over to the bar to settle up.


***


The sun was just beginning to set as we arrived back at the camp site.  The
sky looked absolutely beautiful, a blaze of red and orange.  I set up our
cooking equipment just outside the tent and put a pan of water on to boil.
Setting up two mugs beside it, I spooned some drinking chocolate into each.
As we sat waiting for the water to heat up, the sky got darker as the sun
finally set.  The stars were incredibly clear in this part of the country
with few artificial lights or any pollution to obscure them.  It looked
like it may be a full moon which allowed us to see what we were doing
without having to use a torch.

"Andy," Dylan began, "how old were you when you realised you were gay."

"Difficult to say," I responded.  "I suppose I always felt sort of
different, even when I was very young.  Most of my friends before I started
at school were girls and we used to play with dolls and things.  As I went
through primary school I began to think about other boys and was curious
about what was between their legs.  I never thought about that with any of
the girls in my class though.  So, looking back, I suppose I knew I liked
boys when I was about 7 or 8, but I wouldn't have called myself 'gay' at
that age.  To be honest I don't think I even heard the word until I was 11
or 12, and even then it was just something boys said to insult each other.
So I'd say I didn't start seeing myself as gay until I was about 14."

"So was that when you came out?" he asked.

"Fuck no.  No, I didn't come out till I was 18 and at university."

Dylan looked puzzled.  "So why did you hide it for so long?"

"Well life when I was a teenager was a bit different to how things are
now," I explained.  "People weren't as open minded back then."

"But you're not that old.  It can't have been that different!"

"You'd be surprised.  Attitudes have changed a lot in the past 15 years or
so.  Back when I was a teenager gay people couldn't get married like they
can now, and the age you could have sex was older for gay people than it
was for straight people.  And homophobia was rife, especially in schools.
Not that anyone would have called it homophobia back then, but that's what
it was.  I remember quite a few boys in my year were bullied quite badly
because other boys thought they were gay.  Most of the time it wasn't
particularly physical, it was mainly name calling.  With one boy it was
relentless.  It started when he was in year 8 and went right through into
the sixth form.  Every day he was called 'fag', 'gay boy', 'bender', and
lots of other things too.  He used to self harm, you could sometimes see
cut marks on his arms through his school shirt.  But nobody did anything.
Other boys were too scared they'd get picked on too.  The teachers turned a
blind eye.  I can't believe they got away with it, but that's how things
were."

"That's awful," Dylan said.  "I never realised it used to be like that."  I
could see his eyes had gone a little red and puffy.

"Yeah, but things haven't completely changed have they?  Just think about
poor Joe at your school."

Dylan's eyes dropped to the floor.  I put my arm around his shoulder.  "Do
you think I should do something to help him?" he asked.

"Hmmmm.  I'm not sure there's much you can do.  I don't think it'd do much
good you standing up to Tom and his friends; I don't want you getting
beaten up too.  Probably the best thing to do would be to tell one of your
teachers what happened, if they don't already know.  And maybe you could
hang out with Joe a bit."

Dylan sighed.  "I suppose.  But I don't really like him."

"I know.  But maybe you will if you spend some time with him and get to
know him a bit better."

"I suppose," Dylan replied half-heartedly.

 I looked over and realised the water had begun to boil.  I picked up the
pan and carefully poured the boiling liquid into the two cups, stirring
them as I did so.  I passed one to Dylan and turned the cooker off before
taking a cup myself.

"So did you ever get bullied like that?" Dylan asked.

"Thankfully not.  Somehow I managed to float under the radar.  I've never
come across as particularly camp, I always tried to keep any glances in the
changing room unobvious, and I suppose being on the football team helped."

"Does that mean you didn't have a boyfriend until you went to uni then?"

"Yup.  The single life it was for most of my school days.  I did have a
girlfriend for a bit when I was 13, but besides a few very awkward kisses
nothing happened between us."

Dylan laughed.  "So you didn't have sex until you were 18 then!" he said,
sounding horrified.

"No.  I may not have had a boyfriend, but that didn't stop me from having a
bit of fun.  I didn't actually have anal sex until I was 16 but the first
time I did anything with another boy was when I was 12.  It was the start
of year 8.  His name was Justin.  We'd been at primary school together but
we hadn't been close.  When we moved to secondary school we were in the
same form and even when we started to be put into sets we were in pretty
much every class together.  We started to hang out at break time and lunch
time.  His house backed onto the playing fields at the top of the school
and sometimes we'd go to his house for lunch, usually just the two of us.
One day we were at his house.  We'd eaten lunch and we were sat on his bed
chatting.  We were looking through his football sticker book and were sat
really close to each other.  Out of the blue, he kissed me on the cheek.  I
was stunned.  He apologised but I told him it was okay, I quite liked it.
We kissed again, this time on the lips.  Both of us had bulges in our
trousers.  He offered to show me his if I'd show him mine, so we both
unzipped our trousers and pulled out our dicks.  We looked at each other's
- mine was a little bigger than his but his was a bit thicker.  He asked me
if he could touch mine and I said he could, so he reached over and started
jerking me off.  It felt amazing so I did the same to him.  After a while
he asked me if I wanted a blow job.  I couldn't believe it and told him I'd
love one.  Just as he lowered his head towards my dick we heard a door bang
downstairs and footsteps running upstairs.  Quickly we stuffed our dicks
back in our pants and zipped up.  We were just in time as Justin's brother
burst into the room."

"That's shit," Dylan said.  "Did he blow you the next time you went round?"

"Well that's the weird thing really.  After that we sort of drifted apart
and I don't think I ever went round to his house again."

"So when did you get your first blow job then?"

"Not until I was 15.  I had a few more mutual jerk offs at sleepovers and
scout camps and things but didn't get blown until I went away on tour
during the Easter holidays with the football team I played for on a
weekend.  We went to Ireland for a week to play some matches against other
teams our age.  There were four of us in each room.  On our final night we
decided to play 'truth or dare.'  It began tame enough with a few easy
truths to answer and then silly dares like take your top off, pretend to be
a monkey, or show everyone your bum.  But one of the other lads had sneaked
in some beers and as we played we got more and more drunk.  And so the
dares got less tame.  Soon we were all naked, a few of us had been dared to
kiss, and there had been a few jerking offs.  It ended up being my turn and
I was dared to give one boy - Dave I think he was called - a blow job.  I
was a bit scared to do it in case I was labelled a 'fag' but we'd all
agreed at the beginning that 'whatever happens in the bedroom stays in the
bedroom' so I did it.  He had a fairly chunky dick with a good sized patch
of dark pubic hair above it.  I can't imagine my technique was brilliant
but it must have been enough to get him off as he came in my mouth and the
others egged me on to swallow it.  A few goes later it was my turn to be on
the receiving end and Jimmy, our cute blonde right winger, blew me.  He was
fairly good actually, and I always wondered whether that was his first time
or not.  Soon after that we were all too drunk to carry on and we crashed
out on our beds."

"That sounds cool.  Are you going to tell me who you first had sex with
then?"

"I think we'll leave that story until the morning.  It's getting quite dark
so I think we should settle into the tent for the night."  Dylan handed me
his now empty cup and I used the remaining water in the pan to give both
cups a quick swill out.  As he stood up, Dylan gave a yawn and stretched.
"In fact, " I said, "I think we could probably both do with a quick shower
before bed."  I prodded his side.  "Because you stink," I told him.

Dylan lifted my arm up and sniffed.  "So do you," he chuckled.

Leaning into the tent we both grabbed our towels and toiletries.  Once we
had our things together we headed up the field towards the shower block.


***


After completing our showers we began to dry off.  Dylan reached for his
t-shirt.

"Don't put that back on," I told him.  "It stinks!"

"Then what am I supposed to wear?" he asked me.

"Here's an idea," I suggested.  "I dare you to walk back to the tent in
nothing but your towel and your boots."

"Fuck off!  There's no way I'm doing that!"

"Awww," I teased.  "Is little Dylan a chicken.  Cluck, cluck, cluck!"

"I'm not a chicken!" he hit back.  "Fine.  I'll do it.  But only if you do
it too."

"You're on."

Once fully dried, we both wrapped our towels round our waists and pulled on
our boots, carrying our toiletry bags and the rest of our clothes in our
arms.

"3, 2, 1, go!" I shouted.  We both sprinted back down the field towards the
tent, desperately hoping that neither Babs or her husband chose the wrong
moment to look out of their windows.

Soon enough we were safely back inside the tent, having kicked our boots
off in the porch and stowed our dirty clothes in our bags.  We lay on top
of our sleeping bags, breathing hard after our sprint across the field.
Both of us still wore only our towels.  After regaining my breath, I put my
arm around Dylan's shoulder and pulled him towards me.

"I think it's time to try out another item from your list," I whispered to
him.

"Oh great!" he replied enthusiastically.  "Which one is it?"

In reply I pulled my arm from around him, sat up and pushed myself away
from him so that my feet were next to his head.  "Get licking," I
instructed.

Dylan reached out and lifted up my foot.  He held it in his hands, looking
uncertainly at it.

"It is clean you know," I said.  "Start by licking the sole.  Then maybe
suck on each toe."

Dylan did as suggested.  Bringing my foot closer to his mouth he reached
out his tongue and made contact.  His tongue tickled slightly as he worked
his way up my foot, but it felt amazing and I was soon hard.  With a few
more licks he reached my toes.  Moving his mouth slightly, he sucked on my
big toe causing me to moan.  Over the next few minutes he worked his way
across, sucking each toe in turn and then finished by licking right down my
foot again to my heel.  He lowered my now rather damp foot to the floor and
repeated the process with my other foot, though this time with far more
confidence from the outset.  Again I moaned and groaned as his tongue got
to work, my dick throbbing in the confines of my towel.  Eventually he
lowered this foot too.

"Wow," I moaned.  "That was great.  I can't wait to put your tongue to
other uses soon."  I think he picked up on my meaning as he blushed
slightly.  I stood up, pulling my towel off me as I did so and throwing it
to one side.  Crouching over Dylan I undid his towel.  Automatically he
lifted his bottom up, allowing me to remove it completely.  I pushed his
knees apart and sat down between them so I was facing him.  Reaching out
with my feet I grasped his straining erection between them, using his own
saliva to jerk him off.  Dylan began panting and groaning as I rubbed my
feet up and down his dick.

I could tell Dylan was getting close to orgasm so I pulled my feet away and
lay down next to him.  Pulling him on top of me we began to kiss, our
tongues soon becoming entwined.  As we kissed I began a steady motion with
my hips, rubbing our hard dicks together.  We were both feeling horny and
the precum we were emitting lubricated our dicks and aided our movements.
After several minutes of kissing and rubbing against each other our moans
grew steadily louder.  Dylan was first to shoot, three small spurts coating
my cock and dribbling down over my balls.  This sent me over the edge too
and I added five large shots of cum to Dylan's load.  Our kissing slowed
down as we regained our breaths and eventually I pulled away from him.  The
kiss broken, Dylan rolled off me.  We lay facing each other and I gave him
a quick peck on the lips.

"Enjoy that?" I asked.

"Yeah, it was awesome," he replied.  "Even better than when you jerked me
off."

"Me too," I whispered.  "But now I think it's time we both got some sleep."

I pulled him towards me so his back was against my chest and my dick
nestled between the cheeks of his bottom causing my now softened dick to
harden slightly.  As I pulled him closer our cum squished between us.  I
wrapped my arms around him, placing a hand over his crotch and feeling the
stickiness of our combined loads.  Within minutes we were both fast asleep.


***


The tent was basking in sunshine when I woke up.  My body was still pressed
against Dylan's back and my morning boner was lodged between his buttocks.
I could tell from the way he was breathing he was still asleep.  I
considered laying there a while longer but my bladder was straining for
release.  Carefully I eased myself away from Dylan and pulled on
yesterday's clothes.  I grabbed some clean clothes and my towel and headed
off for a shower.

Once clean, I popped my head back into the tent and stuffed my dirty
clothes and towel into my holdall.  Dylan was still asleep and I had no
intention of waking him.  Instead I filled up the pan with water and put it
on to boil.  Whilst waiting for the water to heat up I pulled out my phone
to check the sports headlines.  The signal was fairly weak and so
everything took a while to load: Serena Williams had won her 22nd singles
title by beating Angelique Kerber in the Wimbledon final; and Lewis
Hamilton had taken pole in qualifying for the British Grand Prix.  Just as
the story about the Grand Prix finally loaded, a mop of brown hair appeared
through the tent flap.

"Morning sleepy head," I said to him.

"Morning," he yawned.  "What's for breakfast?"

"Don't you think of anything else besides food?" I asked him.

"Doing sexy things with you," he replied cheekily.

"Why don't you go grab a shower," I suggested, "and whilst you do that,
I'll get some breakfast ready."


***


After Dylan had returned from the showers we sat outside as we'd done last
night, munching on some croissants and sipping hot tea.

"So," Dylan began, spitting shards of croissant everywhere, "are you going
to tell me about the first time you had sex then?"

"Okay," I said, "I suppose I did promise."  I took a final mouthful of
pastry and swilled it down with a glug of tea.  "There were two times
really.  The first time I fucked someone was a boy called Nile.  It wasn't
long after we'd started sixth form.  He was in the same year as me, but
lower down the school we hadn't really known each other - we were in
opposite sides of the year group so we never had any lessons together.  But
as we started A levels we were in two classes together: English and media
studies.  I knew the first time we talked to each other that he was gay
too.  But I didn't know if I should say anything to him.  What if I'd got
it wrong, or what if someone overheard us?  After one of our lessons we
both went to the toilet at the same time.  We were both standing at the
urinals and I noticed him glance over, obviously checking me out.  Nile saw
me and he looked away.  As we stood washing our hands I winked at him,
hoping this would reassure him and let him know I felt the same way.  It
obviously worked.  On our way to our next lesson he told me his parents
were going away for the weekend and asked if I wanted to sleep over.  Of
course I accepted.  The weekend was great!  We were both a bit nervous at
first, skirting round the houses by talking about stuff at school, but
after we'd raided his parents spirits cupboard we both loosened up and I
plucked up the courage to ask him if he liked what he'd seen in the
toilets.  That shoved the door wide open and before long we both poured our
hearts out to each other about our feelings, which other guys we fancied,
all that sort of stuff.  Eventually we ended up naked in his bed, kissing
each other all over, licking and sucking each other, and then he asked me
to fuck him."

"Awesome!" Dylan said.  "Was it good?"

"It was okay, I suppose.  He was nice and tight - I was only the third cock
he'd taken up there.  But we were both quite drunk and I didn't last long
so it was all over pretty quickly."

"So did he fuck you then?"

"No.  He was a total bottom and as far as I know he's never fucked anyone.
We got together quite a few times during sixth form, sometimes straight
after school at my house or whenever either of our parents went away.  I'm
still in touch with him, but he lives in London now and I've not seen him
for nearly 10 years."

"Well if Nile didn't fuck you then who did?"

"Ah," I said.  "That was Marcus.  He was a rugby player, fly half if I
remember rightly.  He was about my height but more muscly than I was at the
time, and very popular - especially with the ladies."

"So how did you get him to fuck you?" Dylan asked.

I chuckled to myself remembering how it happened.  "As I said, Marcus
played rugby and as well as playing for the school, he also played for a
local club, for the county and was also an academy player for one of the
nearby professional teams.  Which meant he was very busy.  Towards the end
of year 12 his work started slipping and he'd missed several deadlines.  I
only knew this because I was in his history class and he'd got a couple of
bollockings from our teacher.  It got to the stage where his parents had
been called in.  They'd apparently gone ballistic with him and threatened
that if things didn't improve then he'd have to stop playing rugby.  One
lunchtime he stopped me in the corridor and asked me if I'd give him some
help with his next history essay.  I was pretty surprised to be asked.
Although I was top of the class by a mile, me and Marcus had never really
gotten on and barely ever talked to each other.  I told him I'd think about
it.  Over the next couple of days some of the other rugby lads started
hassling me, telling me that I had to help Marcus as they needed him to
stay on the team.  So I agreed to do it, but for a price.  When he asked me
what I wanted I told him to come to my house after school and we'd discuss
it then.  Marcus came with me as requested, and I laid out my proposal.
I'd help him with every history essay between then and the end of A levels,
but for each essay I helped with he'd have to fuck me.  Obviously short of
other options he agreed, and the following Sunday we spent a glorious
afternoon working on our essays followed by Marcus sticking his cock up my
arse.  I've got to admit it really hurt the first time as Marcus wasn't
exactly gentle but it did feel really good."

"That is so hot," Dylan said.  "And now I'm really hard."

"Me too."  Looking down we both had clear bulges in our shorts.  "Let's go
back in the tent," I suggested.

Inside the tent we both stripped quickly.  Dribbling some lube over Dylan's
dick I began to jerk him off.  He reached over and did the same with me.
Soon enough we brought each other to orgasm as we shot our loads over
ourselves.


***


Once we'd cleaned up, we packed away our belongings and disassembled the
tent.  With everything stowed back into the car, I said goodbye to Babs and
we were on our way.

On the drive back home we chatted back and forth, mostly inconsequential
stuff like our tastes in music, films we'd seen recently, that sort of
thing.

After just over an hour on the road, I pulled in to a Little Chef.  We'd
only had a light breakfast so I thought we may as well make up for it with
a mid morning brunch.

Sat at a table in the corner we both ordered an Olympic breakfast (bacon,
sausage, fried eggs, mushrooms, sauté potatoes, griddled tomato, baked
beans and fried bread), mine with tea, Dylan's with orange juice.  When the
food arrived we both tucked in greedily - Dylan slightly more greedily than
myself.  Once finished we both leaned back, contentedly full as we sipped
our drinks.

"Andy," Dylan said.  "There's something I need to tell you."

This sounds ominous, I thought to myself.  "Go on," I said.

"Do you remember Oscar Wolf?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, worried where this was headed.  "Not the brightest of boys
but nice enough."

"Well he saw us.  The last time you came round."

"Oh fuck!" I said, louder than I meant to.  Several heads turned our way.
"What do you mean he saw us?" I asked, trying to keep my voice down this
time.

"On Tuesday.  He'd come round to see me.  He'd knocked on the door but
there was no answer.  So he came round to the back garden and looked
through the window.  He saw me pull your pants down and touch you."

"Shit," I muttered, my blood running cold.  "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
Has he told anyone?"

"No.  And he's promised not to."


***

End of chapter 6.  Will Dylan be able to keep Oscar quiet?  Keep reading to
find out.

This is my first time writing on Nifty and all feedback (no matter how
short the email) is greatly appreciated - andybrown2000@outlook.com