Date: Mon, 06 Jan 2003 18:29:43 +0000
From: Jeffrey Fletcher <jeffyrks@hotmail.com>
Subject: A Tale of Two Englishmen

This is a story that involves sex between males.  If such a story is
offensive to you, or illegal for you to read where you live, then do not
continue, go and surf elsewhere.

This is a work of fiction and in no way draws on the lives of any specific
person or persons.  If there is any similarity to any real persons or
events it is entirely coincidental.

This work is copyrighted by the author and may not be reproduced in any
form without the specific written permission of the author. It is assigned
to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it
may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written
permission of the author.  My thanks to John who has read this through for
any details that me need explanation for transatlantic, or non UK readers.

If you wish to comment on the story then do contact me on
Jeffyrks@hotmail.com.  I aim to reply to all messages.

A TALE OF TWO ENGLISHMEN

This story is dedicated to Ron, who lives in an English village, and whose
chance remark while we were chatting gave me the idea for this tale.  The
story bears absolutely no resemblance to his relationship with J.  Neither
Ron or J identify in any way with either of the two main characters.

Part 1

Their first meeting was unfortunate.  It took place at night.  But it was a
special night. It was the night when an old year departed and a new year
began.  But this New Year was different.  It was being greeted all across
the world by fireworks, parties and special celebrations.  It was both the
beginning of a new century and a new millennium.

The place where they first met was a village recreation field in
Hertfordshire, some twenty five to thirty miles north of London.  They were
not alone.  There were some two, perhaps three hundred, villagers of all
ages on that field.  That was the problem.

The first salvo of fireworks had shot up into the night sky on the stroke
of midnight, with a mixture of ooohs and aaahs from the crowd.  A boy of
about twelve was being chased by a boy of the same age through the crowd.
The first boy bumped into Simon and forced him to take an involuntary step
backwards.

"Ouch! That was my foot," came a startled voice behind him.

"Sorry.  I'm not used to being butted in the stomach."

"And I'm not used to have my toes trampled on," muttered the man behind.

"Now Malcolm, I'm sure it wasn't as bad as all that," said a woman's voice.

The fireworks continued, spectacular and noisy.  The crowd trampled the
sodden grass of the recreation field into a quagmire.  Half an hour later
it was all over and the crowd dispersed. Many went to continue their
celebrations, and some to their beds.

-0-

Their next meeting did not take place until the first week in March.  It
was in the more civilised surroundings of the village hall.  The occasion
was a coffee morning and bring and buy sale organised by the Women's
Institute.  [Coffee mornings, often combined with a small sale where
people, usually women, bring some things and buy other things, like cakes,
plants, cards etc.  A pleasant way of raising small sums of money for
charity.]  Both wives were members of the Women's Institute.  Malcolm's
wife, Janice had been a member for many years, ever since she and Mal had
moved out to Whitgest in the mid seventies.  She was now an important
figure, usually involved in organising events such as coffee mornings,
garden parties, outings and expeditions, and especially the
W.I. contribution to the village fete.

Patricia, usually called Pat, Simon's wife was a very new member.  They had
moved into the village within the last twelve months, and were therefore
regarded by some as new comers, and therefore somewhat suspect until they
had served their twelve to fifteen years of probation.  Janice Pridham had
no time for any of that probationary nonsense.  Pat looked a capable and
reliable woman, so Janice had no hesitation in asking for her help in
staffing the plant stall that morning.  She had done so fully aware that
some of the more long established members would disapprove.

So Pat had enlisted her husband's help in unloading their car of the
various boxes and pots of plants, that she had collected over the last
couple of weeks.  Janice had enrolled Malcolm's help to assist her in a
similar way.

Both wives regarded their newly retired husbands as useful helps and
assistants, with nothing better to do with their newly acquired leisure
than to fetch and carry for their devoted, but ever hard working spouses.

Both Malcolm and Simon were quickly coming to the realisation that the
leisure of retirement was a pure illusion.  The daily slavery of their
working lives was perfect freedom when compared to the constant, "Darling,
can you do this?" and "Dearest, will you do that?"  They both were
beginning to fear that the rest of their lives looked like being largely
spent as `hewers of wood and drawers of water'.

So on that blustery March morning, in the warmer, though stark,
surroundings of the village hall the two men were formally introduced.

"Hallo, Pat.  Good to see you," said Janice, as Pat pushed open the swing
door with her bottom, while carrying a box filled with small plants, and
followed immediately by Simon carrying the a tray with small plant pots,
each one with a ferociously spiked cactus in it.

"This must be your husband," continued Janice.  "I don't think we've met."

"Yes.  This is Simon.  Simon this is Janice Pridham."  said Pat.

"You must meet my husband."  She turned slightly and called to a sturdy
looking man at the other end of the hall.  "Mal, there are some folk here I
want you to meet."

Malcolm obediently answered and walked down the hall.  Proper introductions
were made, and the men shook hands.

"Weren't you the man who trod on my toe at the fireworks, when we saw New
Year in?" asked Malcolm.

"I probably was. I seem to remember being pushed back by some hurrying
youth, and treading on someone's toe.  Was it yours then?"

"Yes, I had to hobble around with a limp for ten days." said Malcolm with a
completely straight face.

"Oh Mal! May you be forgiven, I never noticed any such thing." said Janice.

"Just shows how little you notice my sufferings," said Mal, giving Simon a
surreptitious wink.

"Take no notice of him.  I have had to put up with his teasing for nearly
forty years."

They were interrupted by a small aggressive woman, who came marching across
the hall, all flashing eyes and bristling bosom.

"Mrs Pridham, you're on the Village Hall Committee, aren't you?"

"Yes, why?" answered Janice Pridham.

"Have you seen that notice on the board?"

"What notice is that?  There always seem to be so many."

"The notice about a meeting for homosexuals in Luton.  I think it is a
disgrace.  We don't want that sort of thing advertised in the village.
Such repulsive behaviour ought to receive no publicity.  I hope you will do
something about it."

With that the woman turned on her heel and walked away.

Janice just muttered, "Oh dear.  I suppose I'll have to do something about
it."

The two men had edged away the women.  Both felt highly embarrassed.  They
talked for a few moments about inconsequential matters, before their
respective wives called them away to further fetching and carrying.

It so happened that that morning they were the only two men present, and
once the coffee morning and the bring and buy sale started receiving
customers, they each got a coffee and some biscuits and retreated to a
table in a far corner of the hall where both were secretly hoping for a few
minutes peace.

"I gather you're new to the village," said Malcolm.

"Yes, we moved in during the autumn," replied Simon.

"Where were you before?"

"We lived in Finchley, north London.  Know it at all?"

"I know of it.  Don't think I've ever been there."

"Have you lived here all your life?" asked Simon.

"No.  We used to live in Luton.  But moved out here in the 1970s.  Where
are you living?"

"We've moved into one of those new bungalows at the far end of the
village."

"Oh, I know.  They look rather nice."

"It's okay for Pat and me.  She always wanted to move out into the country.
I put it off until I retired."

"What did you do before you retired."

"I worked in the City.  Finance, all my working life.  You retired?"

"Yes.  I started to retire about five years ago, my son took over the
business.  I soon felt I wasn't needed, almost not wanted.  So I gave it
all up last summer."

"What was your work then?"

"I'm an ironmonger," said Malcolm, with a grin as he saw a fleeting look of
surprise cross Simon's face.  "My great grandfather had a small shop in
Luton.  My grandfather, and then my father took it over. It has very much
been a family business.  When my turn came I started expanding.  I opened
shops in Dunstable, St Albans, Hitchin and so on.  When my daughter got
married she wanted to put `company director' on the marriage certificate.
`No way!' I said, `Company directors are two a penny, but ironmongers are a
rarer breed.' "

"How are you finding retirement?" asked Simon.

"I am learning to take orders," replied Malcolm.

They both laughed.

"Yes, one day I was involved in moving millions of pounds around.  The
next, I was moving plant pots."

"That's just it.  From the sublime to the ridiculous in one easy step."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each contemplating his lot.

The conversation resumed with questions and answers about their working
days.

To outward observers they were two respectable newly retired Englishmen.
They had certain things in common and differed in others.  Apart from their
new retirement, both were keen computer men.  Retirement had freed them to
spend more time learning, often from their grandsons, how to do this and
that.  They both liked computer games, and both liked surfing the internet.
This common ground was not discovered on that March morning.

"Do you play golf?" asked Malcolm.  He and Janice played regularly.

"No.  We still play some tennis.  We've joined a club in St Albans.  We try
to play all the year round. Do you play?"

"No.  I'm a member of a Rotary Group in Luton."

"My only other real indoor interest is that I keep up the schoolboy hobby
of collecting stamps."

"Interesting.  Where from, especially?" asked Malcolm.

"When I left school I decided to specialise in Crown Colonies.  There were
quite a lot of them then.  Nearly all gone now, of course. But I still
collect from the ex Crown Colonies."

Their conversation drifted on.  It was the usual exchange of information
that forms such a large part of male conversation.  Eventually Janice and
Pat came over to them, with the request for help in clearing up, and
putting various unsold items back into the cars.

It was strange that one of the great interests and enthusiasms that was
common to both of them did not surface at that meeting.  But perhaps that
was because they met in March.  But there was another thing that they had
in common, and there was no way either of them would have even hinted about
it to the other.

-0-

That night Malcolm had his usual shower before going to bed.  He undressed
in the bedroom, and putting on a dressing gown, went through to the bath
room.  He stood for a moment in front of the mirror appraising himself.  He
was in good condition for a man of sixty.  Though he was five foot ten and
a half, he only weighed 13 stone.  Many of his contemporaries weighed more,
and had considerable extensions to their fronts.  He had always enjoyed the
more active side of his work, and playing golf had kept him fit.  As he
stood there a slight smile of approval spread over his face.

He turned on the shower, adjusted the heat, and went in.  He began to soap
himself.  He always worked down.  Face and neck, arms and chest, stomach.
Then with a fresh lather of soap he began to wash his vital parts.  As he
soaped his penis and testicles he looked down at them with approval.  He
was pleased that they had not disappeared below the horizon of a beer
belly.  He soaped his penis thoroughly, and it slightly hardened.  He
almost spoke aloud, `Well old friend, how're you doing?  Not much fun
nowadays.  This retirement business is making that sort of thing
difficult.'

As he continued gently to fondle himself, he thought back to the last time
he had used his equipment for its most enjoyable purpose.

It had been as long ago as the previous summer.  He was still working about
one day a week.  A business acquaintance of many years had taken him out
for a meal to mark his final retirement..  It just gone nine in the evening
when they parted.  There was still quite a lot of light in the sky.  He
made a slight detour on the thirty mile journey home.  He went to a picnic
area, situated just off a main road.  During the day, especially in the
summer it was full of families and hordes of children chasing each other
among the gorse and hawthorn bushes.  But as the evening came on, and the
long twilight of an English summer evening progressed, the picnic area
became the centre of another sort of activity.  Various cars would make
their quiet way, and park.  Almost always every car had just one man in it.
Windows would be lowered.  A man would get out of his car and perhaps lean
against it, with his thumbs hooked into his trouser pockets.  Sometimes a
stroll was needed, and a man would set off into the bushes, and another
would follow.

Malcolm had driven into the picnic area, parked his car, and lowered the
car window and watched.  There were three other cars there.  Two were
empty, and one had a man sitting inside smoking.  Malcolm could see the
smoke rising from the car window.  He sat and waited.  After ten minutes
another car crept into the picnic area and parked about thirty feet from
Malcolm.  The engine was cut, and for a couple of minutes nothing happened.
Malcolm and the other man eyed each other.  Then Malcolm heard the other
man's car door open.  In the fading light Malcolm saw a man, probably in
his forties, get out and walk to the front of his car and perch on the
bonnet.  Malcolm got out of his car.

They looked at each other and nodded.  Malcolm walked towards the man.
"Nice evening."

"Yea.  I always like this place at this time.  Quiet, almost private.
Unlike during the day," said the man.

"All screaming kids and shouting Mums."

The two men continued to eye each other.  Each assessing the other.

"Fancy a stroll?" the man asked.

"Good idea," replied Malcolm.

The man led the way though the bushes.  The path was wide enough for them
to walk side by side.

"Come here often?"

"From time to time, I suppose three or four times each summer.  Do you come
often?" asked Malcolm.

"I try to get once a week when it's I fine and dry.  I've even been here in
the middle of winter."

"Other guys here then?"

"Sometimes.  Have to sit in the cars though. Often too cold to be outside."

They began to walk closer together.  Their arms brushed each other.
Malcolm let his hand rub against the other man's.  Malcolm's hand was held,
and squeezed.  As if by mutual consent they made their way into some
thicker bushes.  It was much darker.  They stopped and turned towards each
other.  They moved closer, and embraced.  They pushed together.  Malcolm
felt his cock harden, and also the other guy's the same.  The rubbed
together for a while, both showing that they were enjoying the contact by
making little sounds of pleasure.  Malcolm reached for the man's crotch,
and felt a hard penis.  They pulled apart, and undid their zips and pulled
their cocks out.  In the dusk they could barely assess each others
equipment.  Again they pushed together, and this time their lips met, and
tongues began to explore.

Then the man pulled away and knelt down on the ground, and took Malcolm
into his mouth.  The feeling of warm enclosure over his cock heightened
Malcolm's pleasure.  He felt his cock being licked and played with.  A hand
came and lightly held his balls.  Then the real sucking began.  Malcolm
tried to pull away as he felt his climax rising within, but the other man
would not allow him to escape.  Within moments Malcolm passed the point of
no return.  He felt great gushes of spunk shoot from his cock into the
other man's mouth.

That had been the last time for Malcolm.

His revere was broken by Janice calling from the bedroom.  "Are you
alright, Mal?  You've been ages in that shower.  What on earth are you
doing?"

Malcolm looked down at his now hardened penis.  There was not time to wank
himself off now.

"Just coming?" he called.  "Or not just cuming," he muttered under his
breath.  He stepped out of the shower.  Drying himself cooled his sexual
ardour.  He put on his pyjamas, and made his way to the bedroom.  As he got
into his bed. [They both had single beds yet slept in the same room].

"You were an age in the bathroom.  I want to get to sleep," complained
Janice.  She put out the light.

Malcolm lay there thinking of that last time.  Would there be more times
like that.  Now he was retired it was so difficult to get away to do what
he wanted to do.  Janice liked to know where he was going, and places like
the golf club or Rotary were not safe to be away from.  There was no
slipping out from work for an hour or two, or a non existent business
meeting to go to.  Surely his active sexual life could not be over.  Surely
the future held more than the ministrations of his own hand.

At the other end of the village Simon was going to bed.  He and Pat had
separate bedrooms.  They had started sleeping apart some fifteen years
before.  Simon's snoring kept Pat awake, so he was exiled to his own room.
He was more than happy about this arrangement.  It gave him that small
extra freedom.  He controlled the light, so not only could he go to bed
when he wanted, he could read for as long as he wanted, and he could read
what he wanted.  If he wanted, he could read in the middle of the night.  .

That evening he went to the small desk that was in the room.  At the back
of the lowest drawer were a number of books.  Here they were safe from the
prying eyes of Pat.  He was in the middle of reading a book by Mike
Seabrook called Out of Bounds.  It was a gay novel, the softest of soft
porn.  Yet a book that dealt with a gay issue.  He had first read it some
years before.  He lay on his side, one hand holding the book, and the other
alternately playing with his penis and turning the pages.  He read several
pages, and then put the book to one side, and turned out the light.

He lay there with the same feelings of frustration as Mal at the other end
of the village.  His thoughts turned, not to the most recent sexual
escapade, but to his first.  He had the good fortune to have had a good
first encounter.  He smiled to himself as he remembered.  As always his
penis stiffened.

He had been about fourteen.  He was in the middle of puberty.  Hair was
growing round the base of his penis.  To his delight it compared well with
the other boys in his form at school.  He had discovered the delights of
masturbation.

Then to his embarrassment he was told that over Christmas he would have to
sleep with an uncle.  Every Christmas his mother's family met to celebrate
the feast.  His mother was the oldest of eight children, and there was a
considerable age spread between them.  So this uncle, the youngest in his
generation, was only seven years older than Simon.  Now Simon had slept
with this uncle before, but that was some years earlier.  Now he was
embarrassed, because not only was he conscious of the physical changes in
his body, but also he knew that he had no control over his penis.  It had a
marked tendency to harden at the wrong moment.  Also it always was hard
first thing in the morning.  The last thing he wanted was for his physical
changes, and especially a hard on, to be seen by his uncle. He could not
guess what the reaction would be.  Disgust?  A sarcastic remark?  Or
laughter?

He had made sure he was safely in bed before his uncle on the first night.
There was that in him that which wanted to watch his uncle undress, so that
he might see of his uncle's that of his own which he wished to hide.  But
he had resisted the temptation and remained firmly facing the wall.

His uncle had got into bed, and promptly turned out the light.

"Well, Si.  How's life?"

"Okay."  Simon turned on to his back.

"How's school?"

"Fine.  Doing quite well."

"What are your best subjects?"

"Maths.  Physics and Chemistry."

"Going to do something scientific then?"

"Don't know?"

"You've grown a lot since I last saw you.  Quite a man now!"

"You think so."

"You're taller.  Your voice has broken.  Do you shave yet?"

"No"

"I expect there're changes down below."

"What do you mean?"

"Hairs round your cock and so on?"

"Yea."  Simon was rather surprised at his uncle's frankness and began to
wonder where the conversation was leading.

"And getting hard ons?"

"Um," replied Simon, as a minimum of an assent.

"Are you tossing yourself off yet?"

Another, even quieter, "Um."

"Good."

"Why good?"

"Shows you're a man."  There was a pause.  "You like doing it?"

"Um."

"Good.  How often do you toss yourself off then?"

"At least once a day." confessed Simon.

"Good man."

"That's alright is it?"

"Fine.  Quite normal for a lad your age."

There was a moment or two of silence.  Then his uncle asked, "You got a
hard on now?"

"A bit." whispered Simon.

"I've got more than a bit," said his uncle.

`Have you?" asked Simon with some surprise.

"Yea.  I'm a normal man too.  Check up and feel it if you like."

"You sure?"

"I wouldn't have asked you if I didn't want you to."

With some hesitation Simon reached across.  His uncle took his hand and
planted it on his cock.  It was not a flesh to flesh contact as there was a
layer of pyjamas between.

"Cor, it feels massive."

"Go on feel it properly."  The uncle pulled the cord on his pyjama
trousers, and opened them so Simon's hand could have uninterrupted access.
He felt it.

"Feel my balls too."

Simon hand explored.

"That feels nice.  I like that.  Can I feel yours?"

"If you like."

His uncle's hand now came across and felt Simon's rampant cock.  The uncle
then undid Simon's pyjama cord to allow his hand freer access.

"Like that, Si."  He moved himself closer.  "You ever done this sort of
thing before?"

"No."

"So this night will be special for you in that respect."

Simon was conscious of a feeling spreading through him.  When he tossed
himself off he felt good, but this was several degrees better.  He found
himself giving a little moan of pleasure.

"You're liking it, aren't you.  You've got a lovely cock down there."

"Its not as big as yours."

"It will be in another two or three years."  He began to toss his nephew's
penis properly.

Simon groaned.  He was fast approaching his climax.

His uncle moved, and Simon felt the bedclothes wrenched off him.  Then he
felt his cock enveloped in a warm wet place.  For a moment he was
surprised, and wondered what his uncle was doing.  Then he felt his uncle's
tongue caressing his cock.  All of it seemed within is uncle's mouth.  But
he could not take much of that.  He tried to push his uncle away, as he did
not want to unload into his uncle's mouth.  But uncle was ready for that,
and was having nothing of it. He grasped Simon firmly and sucked.  At once
Simon's body bucked as he felt himself shoot into his uncle's mouth.  His
uncle kept his mouth firmly fastened as the last jerks poured forth, and
Simon's breathing returned to normal.

"Did you enjoy that, Si?"

"Yea.  It was great," said the teenager.

"It is.  I always like it when someone does it to me.  But I won't ask you
to do it to me.  Only if you really want to.  But I'd like you to toss me
off.  I don't think you'll have to do much before I shoot my load."

Simon got his hand back on his uncle's huge cock.  It did not take long
before another load was shot.  There was a strong smell of spunk in the
room, especially under the bedclothes.

"You ready for some sleep now, Si."

"Yea."

"Lets do it properly.  Take off your pyjamas and then we can really cuddle
up together."

They wriggled out of their pyjamas which were thrown onto the floor.  Simon
turned on his side, and his uncle curled up behind him.  So the last thing
Simon felt as he dropped off to sleep was his uncle's chest, groin and legs
pressed against his back, bottom and legs, and his uncles hand gently
covering his now very limp cock.

Neither of them was used to sleeping with another person, so they woke in
the middle of the night.

"You awake, Simon?"

"Yes."

"You alright?"

"Yea."

"No regrets over what happened earlier?"

"No none at all."

"Good.  Want some more?"  His uncle's hand began to touch Simon's cock
which immediately responded.  "You're a horny little bugger.  Up in no
time."

"You're much the same."  Simon could feel his uncle's cock pressing into
his bottom.  He pressed back and wriggled his bottom.  "That feel's nice he
added."  For a while his uncle did all the work.

"Can I suck you off again, Si?"

"Yes, please."  That was spoken with enthusiasm.  "Do you really like doing
it?" he added.

"Yes.  You've got a lovely suckable cock, and you taste good too."

Simon turned onto his side facing his uncle.  And his uncle started playing
with his cock and balls with his lips and tongue.  Every move stirred
Simon.  He had never realised so much pleasure could be given to one's
body.  He was a lot longer in reaching his climax this time.  But his uncle
also seemed to enjoy every moment of it.

After he had climaxed his uncle came on top of Simon and positioned himself
so his cock was under Simon balls, and caught between the top of his
thighs.  He held Simon close, while he thrust into the boy.  Eventually he
too shot his load.

"I enjoyed that too," said Simon.  "I'd like to do that to you, so I could
feel your massive cock hard against my belly."

"Tomorrow night for that.  I'll get something to lubricate myself, and
it'll feel even better for you."

They did the same sort of thing again when they woke, though this time they
had the light on, and could see and admire each other properly.  And three
times each of the two succeeding nights.

When they went to bed on that final night, as they began to make love,
Simon pushed his uncle on to his back.  And prepared to place his mouth on
his uncle's cock.

"Only if you really want to, Si"

His reply was to kiss, and then lick his uncle's cock and balls.  Then he
placed, what seemed to him, the huge cock in his mouth.  The uncle groaned
with pleasure.  It didn't take him long to climax, and Simon took it all in
his mouth.

"Alright, young man?  Did you like it?"

"I think I did."  He moved up and gave his uncle a very spunky kiss.

The remembrance of that first time left Simon with a very hard cock.  As he
lay on his back he tossed himself, and soon shot on to his stomach.  In his
younger days he sometimes shot onto his face.  But as the years had gone
by, and age began to take its toll, his range got less.  But it was still
two or three inches.

He reached for the handkerchief that he kept under his pillow for this
purpose.  He wiped his cock, and leaving the handkerchief to catch the
final oozings, he turned on his side and tried to go to sleep.

Again the thought came to him that perhaps retirement meant that his active
sex life, at least when it came to being with another man, was over.  He
was sad about that.  Eventually he went to sleep.

The reader may ask if Simon did it with his uncle again.  The answer is,
no.  The next Christmas the uncle announced his engagement.  Soon
afterwards he was married.  He and Simon never spoke about what had happen
over that Christmas.  But that was the way it was in the 1950s.