Date: Thu, 30 Apr 2009 13:39:54 +0100
From: tina foster <tinafosteruk@gmail.com>
Subject: Chess Mate Encounters Teen/Teen

By Reading this, you acknowledge that it's intended for adults only, like
the rest of the work of tinafosteruk@gmail.com

If you're not old enough to read this, "why are you here?? Go away..."

To those who enjoy reading these, thank you for your attention. It's
appreciated.

...

Chess-mate

As I look back at the events that helped form who I am, it occurs to me,
that it was a game of chess that had got me into male on male sex.

Up the road from where I live on the Wirral, in the U.K.; there is New
Ferry, on the main road into Birkenhead.

I used to register as unemployed, back when I was seventeen or so, then
walk over the road, to look in the window of the model shop and price the
sci-fi orientated plastic kits that I couldn't afford.

Then one sunny afternoon I'd called in, ostensibly to check out some paint
prices whilst ogling the shelves and the latest kits in.

The glass counter, at waist height, generally had the storeowner behind it,
to my left and that day ahead of me, was a young-man. He had been wearing
short-sleeve check-shirt worn loose over light-fawn corduroy trousers,
thick-framed black glasses: and had black hair, thick and tousled.

He had a slight build, brown eyes and acne.

I noticed a lot, as I had approached where he stood and rambled, as I do.

Yet, that aside, the young fellow knew more than I did about models and
such things. Furthermore, there'd been a real spark of interest between the
two of us.

So, I'd lingered.

And, as customers had come and gone, I'd stayed and chatted.

I'd learnt he was on holiday from Uni and helping his Dad in the shop: and
when time wore on and I decided to go, I'd realized that I would go back to
see him.

So it was that two weeks later, after signing-on, I had gone back to the
shop.

I'd opened the door, causing the bell above it to ring. He'd looked up as
I'd entered, directed his eyes to his Father behind the counter on his
right, then smiled, his eyes downcast.

It was obvious he liked my company, as well.

I approached his end of the shop and started talking, much to his Dad's
annoyance I'd guessed, as he tutted away several times.

And, after awhile, I hadn't noticed his spots, just his smile: and, I had
noticed the way he held my gaze, just that little bit more than necessary.

Finally, at about half-three in the afternoon my friend's father had
announced, "I'm going out. I have an order to see to." In hindsight, that
remark had been prophetic.

But, I digress.

As soon as the door closed behind his Dad, my new friend grinned, "His
order is probably at the bar. He likes to have a half of mild with his
friends at this time of day."

As the door closed on the traffic outside, I had turned back to him and
grinned.

He looked back at me and grinned in return.

"So besides models of space-craft, what do you like?" He asked me.

With my both my hands on the counter-top, I stared into his eyes.

 "Reading, walking, writing, chess..." I'd begun, quoting the list of
hobbies I'd put down on a C.V."

"You play chess?" He'd asked curiously.

"Uh huh?"

"When I close up, do you want to come back to my folks and play a game of
chess?" He had asked, and then added, "They won't be back for a couple of
hours."

`Why not?' I'd mused: `might be interesting?"

Less than an hour later, he was shutting up shop and we left the shop. He
locked up and we walked round the block to the car park, where his dirty
old olive-green Triumph.

"It gets me around," he justified, with an airy wave of his hand.

I had just smiled my response, as he unlocked the car door, then leant
across and opened up the passenger door.

He started up the engine once I made myself comfortable, then reversed the
car and manoeuvred his way out of the car park and into the traffic.

And, as we had driven towards where he lived I had been filled with a sense
of expectation, such was the tension between us.

The journey had only taken about fifteen minutes where he lived, in one of
the poshest parts of The Wirral, in a large bungalow on the corner of an
estate.

He'd parked the car in the driveway, then walked slowly to the front door,
looking over his houlder to look at me following him, as he turned the key
and entered.

"Won't be a second..." he informed me, as he turned to the alarm on his
left and turned it off: "Now c'mon in."

I had followed him into the front room where the furniture looked classy
and the wood of the sofa suite and welsh dresser and cabinets looked well
clean on a late sunny afternoon.

Patrick, I think it name had been Patrick; he got the board and pieces out,
then set them down on a small poof, in front of the armchair, where he
intended to sit.

"You set `em up and I'll make us a cup of tea. Okay?"

"Uh huh, sure," I'd responded, sitting cross-legged on the floor and
placing the first pawn in place.

"You okay with tea, or prefer a cold drink?" He had asked me, from where he
stood in the doorway.

"Tea, no sugar," I answered as I had continued to put the chess pieces in
place.

"We've got at least an hour or so," he called from the kitchen.

He had been referring to his folks, of course.

Minutes later, Patrick was back with two cups of tea. He had passed me a
mug of tea, which I'd taken, then sat down in the armchair before me.

"So, let's get on with it," he had announced with a smile.

I had placed a white pawn in one hand, then a black in the other.

Putting my hands behind my back, I asked: "Black, or white?"

He got comfortable in his plush velveteen covered armchair, then leant
forward, with his elbows on his knees, fingers clasped and his chin resting
on them.

He stared intently, for a moment or so, and then said, "White."

White it had been: and had moved first, a knight as I recall.

There'd been connection between us: something I learnt of more of later,
desire.  His eyes met mine for a second: then he'd said, "Your move."

Not quite a virgin, I had still been inexperienced.

He had reached for something, perhaps moved a piece, I don't know: but I do
remember how I'd felt, the moment the back of his wrist brushed against
mine and his skin touched mine. It'd felt electric.

Now the air was filled with expectation.

I had gone to move, but hadn't. I'd just sort of let my piece hover the
board, for a moment or so.  "We could make the game more interesting, if
you want?" he said and I turned my head a little, to look at Patrick
questioningly.

"The loser could suck the winner cock," he said with a smile and a raised
eyebrow, which I assume was there because he was reticent about my
response.

Yet, I quite liked the idea.

And, though my mouth hung open for a second or two, I had said, "Yes,
sure."

As each piece was played and my line of players lost to him grew longer, my
nervous anticipation turned to excitement: I was losing and soon would suck
cock.

Pretty soon I was down to three pieces, whilst he had more than a third of
his pieces left and I'd looked up at him from where I sat cross-legged.

He had been grinning, from ear to ear.

And, I recall turning to pick up my drink, knocking it back and licking my
lips slowly.

We'd continued to play and, as time passed I found myself down to one
piece, a king.

It'd then taken him less than ten minutes, to pin my piece down to a corner
and though I'd shifted it again and again, the end was inevitable:
"Check-mate!"

At that point, Patrick had sat forward in his chair, looked directly at me
and smiled.

"Your move," he'd said, rubbing at the crotch of his trousers.

It'd been obvious, hadn't it?

His Mother was due home, so I recall: and the clock on the wall had said it
was about three fifteen, three twenty, something like that; as I'd slid
into a kneeling position before him.

Then he'd widened his legs, so I could shuffle to just between his knees
and licking my upper lip, I'd looked at Patrick and smiled, nervously.

With the back of my hands together, I'd slid my hands up inner thighs
toward his zip and the bulge waiting there for my eager fingers.

I'd stroked the length of him, feeling him getting hard, my own erection
tenting by underwear, with this apparent need I'd discovered, to suck cock.

Patrick had smiled, looking down at me, as I undid the clasp to his
trousers, then I'd eased out his hard shaft and lowered my open mouth to
it's crown, already leaking the copious amount of pre-cum that covered
it. I'd so liked the taste.

Then his hands had found my head and he held my cheeks as my mouth filled
with flesh.

Moment's later, my nose had brushed against his pubic hair and then I'd
drawn slowly drawn back, with a loud slurp.

As I had I'd looked up to see whether my move had been the right one.

His head had been thrown back. His eyes had been closed,

Abruptly he opened his eyes and looked forward, "Why do you stop?"

"I haven't," I told him, licking the head of his hard erection, with
swirling lashes of my tongue, which left him covered in saliva.

I'd held him at the base of his length with my left hand, as I enveloped
him with my mouth again, then drawn back again.

I had continued my action, deep-throating him, with ease.

Patrick's hold on my face had lessened as his bucked upward and he groaned.

"Oh that's so good," he sighed, looking down at me, as I kept up action,
looking up at this young man, this geek with a proud cock, which filled my
mouth.

My mouth fuck had pleased him and I'd enjoyed pleasing him, as I had knelt
there between his spread legs, my need to satisfy him paramount.

A slut for hard cock, I lathed his shaft with my moist tongue, taking
pleasure in his moans of enjoyment.

"Oh God, Oh god," he had exclaimed, clutching at my face, as he began to
thrust upward, trying to get deeper into me.

Gagging momentarily, I had gripped his thighs, looking up at Patrick, as he
sat back a little and I had t lean forward, to keep him in my mouth, where
I'd wanted him.

The move I'd made had certainly been right, for me.

I'd realised that as I'd leant forward, my head in his lap, as I swirled
the tip of my tongue around the head of his shaft, endeavouring to bring
him to climax; to bring him off and fill my mouth with a creamy libation,
his cum.

Then I'd drawn back again, slowly: as his thighs tensed beneath me and
Patrick had moaned aloud with pleasure, as I had got what I'd wanted.

And, as his cum filled my mouth; I had sat back onto my haunches, with a
smile and his creamy seed trickled from between my lips, there had been so
much.

Suddenly Patrick had sat up, tucking his now flaccid penis back into his
underwear and he had zipped himself up.

"Look at the time!" He'd exclaimed as he stood; "She'll be home soon."

My own erection had to be ignored.

But, I had satisfied one need: to satisfy him: so what did it matter?

He had stood, looking momentarily panic-struck and he picked up the cups to
take to the out of the living-room to wash.

"I won't be a minute," he had called from the kitchen, "then I'll take you
back into town. You can guess a bus, or train then. Okay?"

It hadn't really been a question, more of a statement really. After all,
his Mother had been due home and we had to make a move.