Date: Thu, 3 Jan 2008 18:39:33 +0000
From: pinkpanther2@hotmail.co.uk
Subject: 'A Warm April Saturday' chapter 15
All the usual disclaimers apply. If for some reason, you shouldn't be
reading this, then don't, okay? If you do, neither I nor Nifty will be
responsible if the bogey men catch up with you!
And now to something a little more pleasant: another big thank you to all
the guys who have written to me in response to my recent appeal. The
response has been overwhelming and I really am very grateful to all of
you. PLEASE keep them coming, guys! We authors are a sensitive bunch; we
need frequent reassurance that we haven't been wasting our time, LOL!! So
if you haven't written before or if you've not written for a while,
please just send me a quick note to let me know how you think the story
is progressing. Please send your comments to
pinkpanther2@hotmail.co.uk and I'll reply as soon as I can.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
We've been back at school for just over a week. The weather's totally
changed; from warm and dry right up to the end of our half term break
to cool and wet now. We arrive for our games class. It's not rained
today, but it did yesterday and the day before. We're used to the
soccer pitches being firm and dry; I can't see the being like that
today. We get changed and troop out onto the field. There are twenty
seven of us. We split into three groups of nine. One group does some
skills practice while the other two play a short match then we change
round. There's no surface water, but the pitches are very muddy. By
the time we go back in we're all filthy.
"Right lads, in the showers!" Mr. Maynard orders.
It's the first time he's said it. There's no question about it
though; we're dirty; we can't go back to class the way we are. Even
so there's a bit of muttering; it's pretty clear that some of the
boys don't want to shower with everyone else. Daryl tries to persuade
Mr. Maynard that he doesn't need one. He has a point, I guess. He's
far less dirty than most of us; that's `cause he's done hardly
anything all class. Mr. Maynard's having none of it. Daryl pleads;
he's still having none of it. Eventually Daryl comes through to the
shower area looking like he's about to burst into tears, pulls off
his white underpants and gets under the water, his hand in front of
his privates.
Satisfied that everyone has gone in, Mr. Maynard leaves us to it. I
use the opportunity to have a quick peek at a few of classmates, the
ones that interest me, that is. Andrew's got a beautiful cock to go
along with the rest of him; I'd guess it'd be about the same size as
Stephen's when he gets hard. He's the only one in the class with any
pubes, a little crop of jet black hair sprouting right above his
uncut dick. Alwyn's not that big, sort of average, I guess, but I
expected that `cause he's not very big anyway, a bit like Gareth.
It's nice though, it looks just right on him. Josh is my height and
at least ten pounds heavier, but his cock and balls are very small.
For some reason it was what I expected. Josh and Alwyn are uncut too,
like almost everyone else in the class.
About a minute later, Daryl emerges from the shower. Most of us are
still standing there getting dry. He's still got his hand in front of
his privates, but he's not having much success. Now we know why he
played his face so much about having to have one.
"Batty-boy's got a hard-on!" Dalton sneers.
I turn and glare at him. He'll leave it there and I'll say nothing,
right? Wrong.
"Hey, batty-boy!" he calls, waving his little black penis around.
"You wanna suck my dick?"
Daryl looks mortified; most of the other kids look embarrassed, like
they're pretending they haven't heard what Dalton said. But we have
heard it, all of us. I don't think I could ever be mates with Daryl,
but there's no way he should have to put up with that sort of shit.
"Yeukkk! Who'd want to suck that?" I sneer back at Dalton.
"He's a batty-boy!" he says, looking at me like I just grew a second
head.
"And you've got shit for brains!" I snarl. "Boys get hard-ons! It's
what happens when you start growing up! Only you wouldn't `cause
you've got no balls!"
He looks totally shocked. Half the other kids are trying to stop
themselves giggling. I stomp back to my clothes and start to get
dressed. I'm seething; bullying's wrong, we all know that! There are
enough nice kids in the group that I shouldn't have had to do that
all by myself, but no-one else said a word. Michael returns and
begins putting on his clothes.
"Aren't you worried about that big mate of his having a go at you,"
he whispers, "dissing him like that?"
"I'll worry about it when it happens," I say curtly.
I'm still angry; Michael just caught the rough end of it. I guess I'm
not best pleased with my classmates right now. Andrew comes across to
me.
"Dalton's disgusting," he whispers. "Kids like him make me ashamed to
be black."
That does make me feel a bit better, but why didn't he say anything,
back there in the showers? I don't believe he's any more scared of
Courtney Fredericks than I am. In case you're wondering, I am
worried, but it's done now; I'll just have to get on with it. I know
one thing; if Courtney and his little gang decide to make a thing out
of it, I'm not backing down.
It's lunchtime when I see them, leaning on the wall of the science
block. Dalton and Courtney give me the hard stare. The other kid
looks like he doesn't know whether he's on his arse or his elbow, but
that's nothing new. Hard stares I can handle; I don't stare back,
just ignore them and keep walking.
0 o 0 o 0 o 0
The following day we're back for our gym class; it's cross-country
week. I'm not really looking forward to it; the course is going to be
very wet and slippery. I don't fancy landing on my arse out in the
woods. Still, it'll be the same for everyone. We finish our
exercises. As we troop outside, Alwyn and Andrew pick up small bags
that they've left on the bench near the door of the gym. I've no idea
what they've got them for. I soon find out; as soon as they reach the
edge of the playground, they pull off their trainers and change into
something else. Right, they're using soccer boots! I trot over to the
start line. For sure, soccer boots will give them a bit more grip,
but they're not ideal for running in; the track through the woods is
quite stony underneath. Thirty seconds later, they're with us. Alwyn
lines up right next to me. I glance down. Strange, those aren't
soccer boots he's got on. Then it hits me; they're wearing running
spikes.
The race is no contest. They've got all the grip they want; I'm
struggling just to stay on me feet. Alwyn runs nine minutes twenty
two, his fastest ever time. Andrew does it in nine thirty five; I
struggle round is nine forty one. Shit! We go in to get changed. This
time everybody's muddy, even Daryl. Drying off after my shower, I
stand there glaring at Dalton, almost daring him to say something. He
scowls back and keeps his mouth shut. I stroll back to my clothes and
give myself a little pat on the back; I've just had a result.
0 o 0 o 0 o 0
I meet up with Tom outside our maths room.
"How did cross-country go?" I ask.
"Shit, man! It was all I could do to stay upright! I still won
though."
"I didn't; Alwyn and Andrew beat me. What time did you get?"
"Nine thirty eight. So what happened?"
"They'd got spikes on," I tell him, relieved to know that he's
struggled as well.
"Really?" he says eyes widening. "I'll have to ask mum if I can have
some of those."
0 o 0 o 0 o 0
I keep having fantasies about Daryl. Ever since I saw him with a hard-
on coming out of the shower, I can't get him out of my head. Here I
am, it's Thursday night, I'm in bed and the images just won't go
away. We're in the boys' room, in one of the stalls. I'm standing
with my back to the toilet, shirt pulled up, trousers and pants down
round my ankles. Daryl's kneeling in front of me sucking my dick. I
pull my hand off my cock. Shit! I don't even like the kid; there's no
way I should be wanking off thinking about him! I turn over, hoping
I'll fall asleep. The next thing I know we're in the boys' room
again, only this time Daryl's bent over the toilet and I'm fucking
that cute round bum of his. My hand's flying over my cock and it's
too late to stop. I soak my underpants. Shit!
I lie back gasping for breath. Fuck! That is well weird! Sure,
Daryl's a cute looking kid, nice cock too, about three and a half
inches uncut from what I saw of it. But we have absolutely nothing in
common; I couldn't hang out with him. I mean, it just wouldn't work;
he'd bore me shitless and those girly ways he's got set my teeth on
edge. But there's no-one I can talk to about it. For some reason I
don't want to tell James and I daren't tell Michael. Shit! If I told
Michael it'd freak him out totally! He'd absolutely know I'm gay!
Fuck, I can't do that! I'm worn out. I turn over again; a minute
later I'm fast asleep.
0 o 0 o 0 o 0
Me and James get into the Saab. We're driving over to Tom's house,
then James is taking us to a shop in Teddington to buy some spikes.
It's a shop that a lot of runners go to. James says we'll get a much
better choice there, especially as most people buy spikes in the
summer. Tom gives his mum a quick peck on the cheek and we're on our
way. Tom's scruffy as always; ripped jeans, old Nirvana tee-shirt,
and the black leather jacket his mum bought from a charity shop.
It's a bit of a trek, across through Croydon and Kingston. We chat
about this and that. We try really hard to get Tom to join in, but
he's so shy he won't say a lot. With him sitting in the back we could
almost forget he's there. It takes us almost an hour, but it's worth
it. I've never seen a shop like it; running shoes, running vests,
running shorts, lycra training pants, whatever runners want, they
stock it.
We look at the spikes; James was right, they've got more than a dozen
different ones we could have, from cheap Gola ones up to some really
expensive jobs. James said we should be able to get a good pair for
between thirty and forty pounds, and I know that Tom's mum gave him
forty pounds, so that's our limit.
"I'm having these for my birthday," Tom says quietly.
That figures; he'll be twelve in a few weeks, and I don't think
they've got much more money than we used to have. We both settle on
some Nikes, red ones with the Nike logo in gold; they're thirty two
pounds. It's time to try them on. We both find them really
comfortable and they look wicked! They feel a bit odd though; they
sort of push you up onto your toes. I guess we'll have to get used to
that.
I do get one surprise; Tom's feet are actually bigger than mine; I'm
size nine, he's size ten.
"I'm still taller than you!" I say, grinning at him.
"I'm not sure about that," James says. "Let's check."
We stand back to back.
"Exactly the same height," James tells us. "Not a millimetre in it."
Wow! A few months back I was more than an inch taller. Well, I'm not
now!
"You're going to use these for cross-country?" the assistant asks.
"Yeah," we tell him.
"You'll need some long spikes then; twelve millimetre or fifteen
millimetre?"
He produces a couple of packets. It's hard to decide; the fifteen
millimetre ones look scary, but maybe they'd grip better. We describe
the school course to him.
"You want the twelves," he says, smiling. "You only need the bigger
ones if you're running through a total mud-bath. You boys just
starting, then?"
We smile and nod.
"Great," he says, smiling. "Enjoy it; that's the main thing."
So that's it; a pair of shoes, a bag, a set of twelve millimetre
spikes and a spike key; total cost thirty seven pounds each. He packs
them up for us and hands them to James.
"The great thing about these is that's they're nylon uppers," he
says. "Once you've got the mud off them, just wrap them in a towel
and throw them in the washing machine; they come out looking like
new."
Before we leave, James insists on buying me a pair of white running
shorts. They've got sewn-in briefs so you don't have to wear anything
under them. It's a bit embarrassing though; they're so skimpy I'd
feel really self-conscious wearing them. We head out of the shop; it
was great of James to bring us here; we'd never have been able to get
these shoes round where we live. I'm really looking forward to
running in them.
0 o 0 o 0 o 0
Thursday after school is our activity evening. We can stay behind and
do all sorts of different things. I go to the computer club. We don't
play games; we start by learning about different types of software
like spreadsheets and databases. Later on we can get into things like
designing websites and even writing our own software. It'll be a long
time before I'm able to do that though; I'm just at the beginning.
It's nearly five o'clock when I leave. Usually I go straight home,
but right now I need a piss so it's off to the boys' room. I'm just
finishing when someone comes in and stands at the next urinal but
one. I glance across without even thinking about it. It's Daryl; he's
got a raging hard-on and he's playing with it. Holy shit! Now what am
I going to do? I know what I ought to do; ignore him, do up my flies,
walk out of the door and pretend it never happened, yada, yada, yada.
Yeah? Well you try it! My dick's just jumped to attention in, like no
seconds flat. My heart's thumping, my throat's gone as dry as
sandpaper and I'm stood there rooted to the spot like I was paralysed
or something. Fuck! If someone comes in now, we're dead!
But they don't. They're not likely to either; we're probably the only
ones left in this part of the building. Daryl looks across and
smiles.
"Very nice!" he whispers.
I'm still in shock. I've been having these fantasies about me and
Daryl in the boys' room for the past week; now we're here. How
fucking weird is that?! The thing is; I still don't have a clue what
to do next. My head's saying that having sex in here is a really bad
idea. Well my dick's not listening. I move across so I'm standing
right next to him. He reaches over and fondles it. The touch of his
fingers is electrifying; I almost cum on the spot. This is still way
too risky. I jerk my head towards the stalls; he nods and smiles. We
go into the furthest one and bolt the door.
"Have you done this before?" I whisper.
"No; never had the chance," he says, still smiling at me.
I'm not even thinking any more. I open the top of his trousers and
pull them down followed by his underpants. He's got a gorgeous body;
him being so useless at sport just doesn't make sense. I fondle his
cock, stone hard and throbbing like crazy. Fuck! This is so hot! He's
got my trousers and briefs down without me even realising it. He puts
his hand round my dick again, his fingers running along the underside
of my shaft. Holy shit!
"Beautiful cock!" he whispers, eyes sparkling. "Can you cum?"
"Yeah, can you?"
He shakes his head. Suddenly any inhibitions I had just disappear.
I'm going to go for it and fuck what happens. I drop down onto the
toilet seat, lean forward and take his cock into my mouth, sucking it
right down to the base. It feels awesome! I run my hand up between
his legs so I'm tickling the sensitive area right behind his balls.
He rests one hand on my head, spurring me on even more. I move my
fingers a bit further back, not actually touching his bum but heading
that way. I don't even have to ask; he loves it! Without any warning
at all he shudders violently, his cock springing up between my lips.
I suck and lick till he goes limp then gently let him go.
I look up; he's got a serene smile on his face. Yeah, well I know
what that's all about. He's just had his first sexual experience with
another boy and he can't believe how awesome it was.
"Will you do me now?" I ask.
"Yeah, cool!" he whispers.
I get to my feet. I'm expecting him to just wank me off, but he
kneels down in front of me, like in those fantasies I've been having.
He pauses for a second then goes right down on me. If he's never done
this before he must have been born to it; he's a natural, the
sensations in my cock are unbelievable, I stroke his hair; he sucks
even harder, working his tongue all over the end of my dick. My
orgasm's getting very close. The muscle spasms hit me like an express
train; I have to grab the loo roll holder to stop myself falling
over. The spunk surges through my cock and squirts over and over into
Daryl's mouth. My cock's so sensitive I have to pull away. I'm
wondering if he'll spit it out; he doesn't, he swallows every drop.
We dress in record time, unlock the door and head out onto the
corridor. The place is deserted.
"I just want to say thanks for standing up for me," Daryl says.
"Nobody else did, not even Andrew."
"Why Andrew?" I ask, thinking that he can't possibly be gay too.
"Oh, Andrew's always going on about standing up for the rights of
minorities," Daryl says. "Well gay people are a minority, but he
didn't stand up for me."
That takes the wind right out of my sails; seems like Daryl's got a
lot more about him than I'd given him credit for.
"You know we're not going to be mates," I say.
"Yeah," he says, smiling but looking a bit sad at the same time.
"We don't have much in common," I continue, by way of explanation.
"Apart from being gay," he says.
"Yeah, apart from that."
"I guess not, but thanks anyway."
"You won't say anything, will you?" I ask, suddenly feeling a bit
nervous.
"Kiss and tell? I'd never do that," he says, smiling at me.
"Thanks," I say quietly. "You're all right."
He walks off along the corridor and out onto the yard. I watch him
go, trying to get my head back together. That just shouldn't have
happened. I don't care how hot it was; that was not a good idea. I'll
say one thing though; I got Daryl completely wrong. Under that showy,
pain in the arse exterior there's a really nice kid trying to get
out.
0 o 0 o 0 o 0
Sunday afternoon and I'm cycling over to Tom's house. We're working
on a science project and there's some stuff we need to check out.
It's strange; Michael's always been my best mate, but now I'm
spending so much more time with Tom, things are changing. I feel much
closer to him now than I do to Michael. Tom's mum is as welcoming as
always; I guess its one reason I love coming here. We head up to
Tom's room and settle down to work. Forty minutes later we've
finished; we've done it well too. We head back down the stairs.
"I'm glad you've teamed up with Tom," his mum says, smiling at me.
"Gareth's a nice kid, but he's like a nine year old; just wants to
play all the time, and his mum and dad don't bother. You seem to push
him along a bit."
"Yeah, well we like working together; it's cool."
There's a piano in the living room. It's always been there, but I've
never heard anyone play it. I know Tom does play `cause Gareth's told
me, but he was asked to play once or twice when we were at junior
school and he shied away, said he didn't really play or something.
"Do you play this?" I ask him.
He looks embarrassed.
"Oh, he doesn't like playing in front of other people." His mum says.
"So how did you learn?" I ask, pretty well knowing that he hasn't had
lessons.
"Picked it up mainly from listening to my old records," his mum says.
"Ray Charles and that; we like Ray Charles, don't we Tom?"
"He was awesome," Tom says quietly. "That film they made of him a
couple of years ago, we went to see it, didn't we mum? We've got it
on DVD now; I've watched it loads of times; it's amazing and that's
just a film. Seeing him live must have been unbelievable."
I'm totally gobsmacked; most of the time he never says more than a
few words. I've never heard him talk like that, not ever!
"Come on, Tom!" his mum says. "It's Chris, your mate! Let's give him
a tune."
He sits at the piano, and plays some chords running right up the
keyboard. I don't know about not being able to play properly; it
sounds pretty good to me. To my amazement his mum starts to sing.
It's slow and very sad.
"It brings on tears
Into my eyes,
When I begin,
To realise,
I've cried so much,
Since you've been gone,
I'm going to drown,
In my own tears."
Tom plays beautifully and the power in his mum's voice, wow! She
sounds like one of these black singers, only better. She's amazing!
The song ends. I sit there completely blown away
"I'd no idea you could sing!" I say, still hardly able to believe
what I just heard.
"Oh, I've been singing since I was little," she says, smiling. "When
I finished university I gave it a go for a couple of years. That's
how I met Tom's dad; he plays the saxophone, wonderful player, seemed
like a marriage made in heaven to start with. But I couldn't handle
the lifestyle; I needed something more secure, that's why I went into
teaching. He didn't, of course, playing was his life. The thing was
that he liked to have a girl at every gig, and after Tom came along,
most of the time it wasn't me. So when Tom was five I threw him out;
I'd had enough of it. Well, that's what marrying a jazz musician gets
you. Never showed much interest in you, did he Tom?"
Tom just shakes his head, looking slightly embarrassed.
"To be honest, I don't think he ever really wanted kids," she
continues.
I ride home with my head spinning. I had no clue about any of that.
Tom's mum's always been pretty cool, but all I knew was that she's
head of biology at the girls' high school. I'd no idea she'd done all
this other stuff; that's amazing. It sort of explains a bit about
Tom, too; even his choice of clothes is mixed up in there somewhere.
And that thing about his dad never showing any interest in him; right
now I feel closer to Tom than ever.