Date: Wed, 6 Feb 2008 11:56:09 -0800 (PST)
From: Sebastian Wallace <sebastian_wallace@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Friends Reunited

FRIENDS REUNITED
by Sebastian Wallace

===

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Finding myself with half an hour to spare a few weeks ago, I signed up to
one of those social networking sites to see if I could track down anyone
interesting who I went to school with.  Finding my old school was pretty
straightforward; finding anyone interesting was more difficult.  After
scrolling through pages of names of people I wouldn't have even given the
time of day to when we'd been at school together, one name jumped out at
me: that of Simon Forester.

Simon and I had been in the same yeargroup of our boarding school and had
been quite friendly for while.  We'd never been best mates or anything –
Simon had always seemed rather too reserved and peripheral to form deep
friendships – but we'd had similar senses of humour and had enjoyed one
another's company.

He'd always been too smart and sincere to be drawn to the trappings of
popularity, and I'd respected his reluctance to fit in to the accepted norm
while lacking the courage to do likewise myself.

As my mouse hovered over Simon's name, I thought back to the night our
brief friendship had ended.

We'd taken to creeping into each other's rooms after lights out and would
pull the duvet over us as we sat on the bed together, chatting into the
small hours.  It wasn't uncommon for lads at my boarding school to bunk up
together after lights out; the rooms were so cold and the pyjamas so flimsy
that it seemed natural to share each other's warmth.  Our housemaster
discouraged such bed sharing, but generally turned a blind eye to it.
After all, everyone needs a hug once in a while, especially boys who were
so far from home.

Despite the bed sharing, sexual encounters between boys in the boarding
house were extremely rare.  It was accepted that lads would discretely wank
together and that their hands would sometimes happen to find each other's
cocks, but anything beyond that was likely to cause scandalised gossip
throughout the school and the perpetrators would be widely ridiculed.

I remember that when I was in the third form, one of the fifth form lads
was caught sucking the head boy's cock in one of the cleaner's cupboards.
The head boy's authority over us never recovered and the fifth former chose
to leave the school at the end of the year.

Simon and I were therefore well aware of the possible consequences when,
one night in his room, we had allowed a bout of playful wrestling under his
duvet to develop into something far more serious.

It had happened so quickly.  One minute we had been trying to grab each
other's cocks through our pyjama flies, giggling at the silliness of what
we were doing; the next we had both developed erections and had started
masturbating each other, marvelling at the different sizes and shapes of
each other's organs.

Simon had told me how big my cock had felt and I had enjoyed the sensation
of his, smaller and thinner than mine, throbbing in my fist.  Our rhythm,
which was slow and uncertain at first, gradually increased as we became
accustomed to handling each other's organs and adapted our techniques to
suit each other.

As our hands became steadily faster, Simon's bed frame started creaking to
the same rhythm and our elbows made low thumping noises against the
underside of his duvet.  I was aware that other boys might hear us, but
Simon's hand felt far too good as it as it slid up and down my cock for me
to suggest we stop.

Within minutes, our hands had been frantically tugging each other's
foreskins back and forth as fast as we could.  We were both groaning with
pleasure and gasping breathlessly into each other's faces.

Then suddenly, before I was really aware of what was going on, Simon had
yanked my pyjama bottoms down and had started hungrily sucking at my cock
beneath his duvet.  I'd grabbed his head and had roughly face-fucked him,
too consumed by the pleasure of receiving my first blow job to consider
that we might get caught.  He'd gagged and spluttered but I'd managed to
get almost my entire length – a good seven inches even at that age –
into him.  Soon my balls were whacking against his chin and my pubic bush
was tickling his nose.

His technique was quite inept but his eagerness more than made up for that.
Just having his mouth around my cock, sliding it across his warm, wet
tongue and feeling his throat massaging my ripe bell-end, was more
exquisite than I could have imagined.

As my orgasm neared, Simon had withdrawn his mouth and had pulled his own
pyjama bottoms down.

He'd gasped, "Do me, Seb.  I really want it..."

In the heat of the moment, I'd misunderstood what he meant by `do me', and
had grabbed him, rolled him onto his front and mounted him from behind.

He'd cried out, "No!" but my cock was already between his firm, round
cheeks, searching for the tight hole that nestled in the lightly hairy
cleft between them.

He'd grunted when I'd found it and had pressed my cock head into him; and
then he'd let out a sigh as his bowels had accepted the intrusion and my
full length, slick and slippery from his mouth, slid into his rear.

I'd wrapped my arms around his chest and had started fucking his backside
as quickly as I could.  The duvet fell to the floor and the air of the room
felt cold on the exposed cheeks of my arse, but I didn't care.  I felt a
sexual urgency that I'd never before experienced: I was sweating and
panting and my cock felt impossibly large with its excitement of being
inside him.

Simon grunted, "Oh god!" as my rapidly thrusting hips made a rhythmic
slapping sound against his pert buttocks.  He'd struggled to open his legs
wider and to push his arse upwards towards me so that he could better
accommodate the hammering of my cock.

I knew this was wrong – that I shouldn't be using another boy for sex,
and especially not like this – but the extreme pleasure I was feeling
made it impossible to stop myself.

I reached beneath Simon for his cock and found it throbbing stiffly against
the mattress.  As soon as I touched it, he'd started gasping and a stream
of hot had liquid squirted out from its swollen head.  There seemed to be
so much of it and the flow of it seemed to be so continuous that I'd
briefly wondered if he was peeing, but its sticky viscosity made it clear
that it was, in fact, an extremely copious deposit of his semen.

My own balls had begun emptying themselves almost immediately and I'd
pumped my own climax into his rectum.  Even after I'd come, I had an urge
to continue to fuck him and it must have taken me half a minute or so for
the thrusting of my spent cock in and out of his sloppy innards to finally
slow to a stop.

We'd lain for a moment with our bodies still connected in a way that –
twenty minutes earlier – neither of us would have dreamt of, while we
recovered our breath and the sweat on our skin rapidly cooled down in the
chill of the room.

And then, as I'd slowly opened my eyes – I hadn't even been aware that
they'd been closed – I saw that someone was shining a torch on us.

"You dirty little bumboys," said the voice of Paul Adams, one of the
prefects, from behind the torch.  We must have been so immersed in what
we'd been doing that we hadn't heard him open the door of the room.

Needless to say, the following day the whole school had known about what
Simon and I had done.

I had laughed the prefect's story off as an exaggeration, claiming that the
two of us had just been wanking and had cum while we'd been rubbing our
bodies together.  I was a pretty popular guy and well respected in the
class and on the sportsfield, so most guys bought my story.  The news
quickly dissipated and people lost interest, but I was careful to give
Simon a wide berth from then on.  We nodded our acknowledgements when
passing in corridors, but never had again had a proper conversation and
certainly never visited one another's bedroom.

Since leaving school, I'd often wondered how Simon was and had hoped that
our brief sexual encounter – which almost certainly represented the
first time for both of us – and its aftermath had not had any lasting
effect on him.

I knew he probably harboured a lot of resentment towards me after the way I
had treated him, but was interested to find out how he was doing.  So,
putting my guilt and reservations aside, I dropped him a brief e-mail
saying hello.

It would not have surprised me if Simon hadn't replied or if he had written
back with a curt and angry response.  However, the next day the e-mail
waiting in my inbox from him was headed "OMG! Sebastian Wallace!!" and the
contents expressed his delight to have been contacted by me.

It turned out he was working as a musician in London, living with girl
called Christina in a flat in Croydon, and they were looking forward to
birth of their first child.  His references to our school days were all
heartily positive and no mention was made, of course, to the night which
had caused us to drift apart.

I replied that I am married, have a young daughter and am working as a GP
in Leeds.  I politely mentioned that we should meet up sometime, as seems
to be customary in exchanges of this type, but didn't expect that we ever
would.

Yet his almost immediate reply readily took me up on the offer.  He said
that he had a couple of hours work to do in a studio in Manchester and
would love to visit me in Leeds afterwards.

I mentioned his visit to my wife Melissa, but she finds entertaining
tiresome – especially when it involves friends of mine – and so she'd
said that that Simon's visit should coincide with a night when she and our
daughter stay over with her parents.

The plan was formed, then, that Simon would come over to mine for a meal in
the early evening and would set off back to London afterwards.  I wasn't
sure how we'd get on after so many years, but I was sort of pleased that it
would be just the two of us as having Melissa around would have added an
extra complication to the evening that I didn't need.

We hit it off pretty well, though, considering how little we still had in
common and how few shared memories of school we had to talk about.

Simon had grown up pretty nicely.  He was tall, like me, and had developed
a solid chest and a thick set of muscles on what had been quite a weedy
body when he'd been at school.  His hair was short and had been lightened a
little and he wore small narrow glasses which looked good on his angular
face.

We chatted over the meal I'd made about his career in the music industry
and I was impressed at how many well-known names he'd worked with over the
years.

At half past nine, I realised that we'd been enjoying each other's company
too much to have noticed how late it was for him to be setting off back to
London.

He laughed, "Yeah, it's like when we used to chat until all hours in each
other's beds."

I blushed and looked down.

He said, "Well, I'd better go, I guess.  It's been a lot of fun, though,
Seb.  You haven't changed a bit, mate..."

I smiled and suggested, "Look, we could open a bottle of whisky and you
could stay over in the guest room.  The bed's made up and you'd be more
than welcome..."

He grinned.  "Make it gin and you've got yourself a deal."

I nodded.

We went into the living room and I poured us both a large drink.  We sat
back and let the conversation run wherever the mood took it, enjoying each
other's senses of humours like we had twenty years earlier.

By about half past one, most of the gin had been finished off and the two
of us were nicely merry.

After I'd laughed loudly about some cutting observation Simon had made
about one of the teachers at school, Simon asked, "Why did we lose contact,
you and me?  We should have been mates all these years..."

I felt myself sober up slightly by the surprise of his question, and said,
"I suppose it was because of what happened that night in your room."

He shrugged.  "I don't understand why that made any difference.  We both
enjoyed it.  I never understood why you avoided me after that."

"I dunno.  I didn't want people to talk, I guess."

"The fact you never spoke to me made it look more weird, to be honest.  We
should have just gone on like we had nothing to hide."

I felt uncomfortable by his directness.  I said, hesitantly, "I sort of
felt... well... guilty, I suppose..."

He smiled.  "Yeah, I figured you did.  But you should have talked to me
about it."

I shook my head.  "Come on, Simon.  You were the last person I'd have
talked to.  After what I'd done to you..."

He looked confused.  "What you'd done to me?  What had you done that was so
bad?"

"The way I used you for sex.  Just turned you over and... well... used
you..."

He blurted out laughing which surprised me further.  "When you said you
felt guilty, I thought you meant you were screwed up about the fact we done
something gay together.  If you felt guilty about how you treated
me... well, I dunno if you noticed but I came buckets!  It took three days
for the wet patch on my mattress to dry out!"

I smiled weakly at him.  "Yeah, but it was so... I dunno... passionless.  I
just humped you like a dog would."

He grinned.  "Your technique could have shown a little more sophistication,
I have to grant you that.  But we were just two lads experimenting.  There
were bound to have been a few rough edges."

I shook my head.  "You deserved better.  You were my friend.  I used you
like a piece of meat.  How could I have looked you in the eye straight
after that?"

He smiled and nodded.  "I hold no grudges, Seb.  Like I said, I really
enjoyed it.  It was painful at first, but... well, to be honest, it felt so
good that it made me a lot more sexually curious than I probably would have
been otherwise..."

"That wasn't your only time with another guy, then?"

He hesitated, and then said, tentatively, "Well... not exactly.  What about
you?"

I smiled.  "Not exactly."

"So I guess you've perfected your techniques since then?" he asked with a
smirk.

I grinned.  "Maybe I could still benefit from a little more practice."

He nodded, still smirking, and finished off the last of the gin in his
glass.

"Okay," he said after he'd put the empty glass back on the coffee table.
"Let's relive that night again, but tell me how you wish things had gone
between us."

I chuckled.  I was growing to like his frankness.

"Okay.  First off, we should have been naked."

He nodded.  "The pyjamas had a certain innocent charm, in retrospect, but
I'd go along with that."

"We should have kissed."

He smiled.  "Yeah, I agree.  At the time I'd have probably gagged – you
know how it was, lads were told they didn't do that kind of thing together
– but now I'd say kissing is pretty essential."

I nodded.  "We should have explored each other's bodies with our hands
–"

"And mouths," he interjected.

"I should have licked around your nipples, caressed your back and your
arse..."

He grinned and I thought I saw the bulge in his trousers grow a little
larger.

Gaining in confidence, I went on, "I regret that I didn't suck your cock.
It was selfish of me to ignore it."

He shrugged.  "Yeah, it would have been nice, but what you did instead more
than made up for it..."

At the risk of shocking him, I put in: "I should have given your arse a
good rimming.  Nice and deep."

He looked surprised but pleasantly so.  "Yeah?  My, we have been busy since
school, Dr Wallace, haven't we?"

I grinned.  "Would you agree, though?"

He nodded, repositioning his legs to allow his bulge to develop even
further.  "Very much so.  As long as I could return the favour..."

I ventured: "And I should have let you fuck me.  We should have taken it in
turns."

He smiled.  "Oh, absolutely.  I'd be right behind you that one..."

I picked up the remains of the bottle of gin and walked over to refill his
glass.  The length of his cock now formed an unmistakable rod beneath the
straining material of his trousers.

As the liquid sloshed into the glass, I muttered, "If only we could have a
second chance..."

He looked up at me, glancing at the obvious mound my own erection was
making in my trousers, and nodded.  "Well, you know what they say: it's
never too late..."

I sat down on the sofa next to him and we smiled at one another.  I liked
the way that a few lines were beginning to form around his pale brown eyes;
he looked so much more handsome in maturity than he had as a youth.

He leaned forwards towards me and our lips met in a kiss.  His tongue
probed deeply into my mouth and mine wrestled with it, allowing him
dominance with only gentle resistance.

I wrapped my arms around his back and felt its broadness and strength
beneath his shirt.  One of my hands travelled down his spine to his arse,
round and muscular, and I gently caressed it through the tight seat of his
trousers.

He combed his fingers through my hair as our mouths continued to devour
each other.  His tongue was strong and insistent and his breath was hot and
tasted of alcohol.

He reached behind himself and grabbed my hand from his arse.  He pulled my
arm around to his crotch and pressed my hand onto the bulge which had
formed there.  His cock felt large and thick beneath the thin material of
his trousers and it throbbed with excitement between my fingers.  He'd
clearly grown up a lot since I'd last touched it and had developed into an
extremely well-endowed man.

I stopped him and pulled back.

Smiling, I said, "This time we're going to do it properly, Simon."

And I stood up, pulling him out of his chair and towards the bedroom.

===

Find me on Facebook!
Or e-mail me: sebastian_wallace@yahoo.co.uk

===