Date: Thu, 05 Jan 2006 19:11:14 +0000
From: Pink Panther <pinkpanther2@hotmail.co.uk>
Subject: The Running Boy, Chapter 9

The story below is a work of erotic fiction.
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This story contains scenes of sexual interaction involving under-age boys.
If this is not what you wish to read, please leave this page now.

Feedback is more than welcome and I always respond to it. It's great to know
that people are actually reading what I've written! Please e-mail thoughts,
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			       CHAPTER NINE

So, I'm a new boy again. It's different this time; when I started at
Ridgefield most of my classmates had already been there for two
years. There were lots of people to help me find my way around. This
time we're all new, all the boys in my year anyway. The dormitory is
similar to what I've been used to; seven beds instead of eight, but
otherwise much the same. The school has the same sort of atmosphere
too, disciplined but relaxed. I like that.

I sort my things out, sizing up my room-mates. A mixed bunch, there
are a couple of quite fit looking boys, a couple who are sort of
ordinary looking, one boy who is at least thirty pounds overweight,
and Jocelyn. Jocelyn looks very similar to Marcus; just his hair's
not quite as blond. He's got Marcus's self confidence too but the
similarity ends there. Marcus was horny as fuck and addicted to
sucking cock. He was also cheeky, feisty and definitely all boy; he
even played on the rugby team. Jocelyn's different. Everything about
him says he's gay. He just seems not to care who knows about it. I
wonder if any of these guys are into the sort of night-time
activities that went on at Ridgefield. I'm going to have to be
careful on that one; I don't want to get labelled or anything. I
guess that our dorm at Ridgefield was pretty extreme. I don't think
things went anywhere like as far in the other dorms; a bit of casual
messing about, wanking each other off, that was more or less it. I
wonder if it's going to be like that here. Maybe things won't even go
that far.

It's five o'clock. Our housemaster, Mr. Blackhall, gathers us
together, fifteen of us, the boys in my dorm and the one next door.
He looks quite old but very lively. I think I'm going to like him.

"Right, boys!" he says brightly. "I want to start by welcoming to
Langstone. I'm going to tell you a bit about the way we do things
here."

He runs through lots of stuff, what's expected of us, the school's
emphasis on self-discipline, you know, behaving like young adults. He
tells us the only two things that the school won't tolerate are drugs
and bullying, says what we should do if we're being bullied or we
know of someone else that's being bullied, like he actually cares
about stuff like that. He seems pretty cool for an old guy.

"Very good!" he says finally. His friendliness and enthusiasm are
like a warm bath. "Now before we all go off for supper, I'd like each
of you to tell us all a little about yourselves."

So I find out Jocelyn may be girly but he's major-league clever. And
there's one other runner in my dorm, Martin Whitford. He's only run
school events before. He didn't run the Inter-Counties or the English
Schools, but he finished right behind me at the Prep Schools' so he's
got to be useful. He's the fittest looking boy in the dorm too.
There's a runner in the other dorm as well, but he finished fiftieth
in the Prep Schools, not even up to Patrick's standard. So are Martin
and I are the two best runners that have come here? The other boys
tell us their stuff too but I don't remember much.

The evening is pretty strange. A handful of boys are with friends
from prep school; a few have friends or brothers higher up the
school. Most of us don't know anybody. I'm sure I'll soon get through
it, but right now it's sort of difficult. We're feeling our way, like
we're desperate not to say the wrong thing.

                            0 o 0 o 0 o 0
Our first day of classes comes to an end. It's gone well. It's not
just Mr. Blackhall who's keen and friendly, all the teachers seem to
be like that. They go on about helping us to make the most of our
abilities like they actually care. So this is it; right now, what I
came here for, what got me my scholarship, the first meeting of the
cross-country team. I feel the butterflies in my tummy like I do
before a race. Martin and I collect our kit from the dorm and head
down to the changing room. A few of the other new boys are already
there. I spot him immediately; it's that shock of almost black hair.
Deon McInnes is here. In his running shorts his legs look even longer
and slimmer than I remember them. Wow! So Martin and I aren't the two
best runners that have come here. We've got three out of the top
seven from the Prep Schools; that should make quite a team. I get
changed quickly and sit down next to him.

"Hi," I say quietly, "I remember you from the Prep Schools'
Championships"

"Oh, right! And you are?"

"Ryan Crossley."

"Yeah? I thought you might have won that. What happened?"

"It was too muddy; I never run well when it's really muddy."

He grins. "Well, I needed to get you back after the Inter Counties.
Coming up to the finish I was battling with this other kid for third
place; thought I might get a medal. Then you came sprinting past the
pair of us!"

"Yeah, that was probably my best race."

"That other kid from your school, Newton, has he come here too?"

"No, his dad wouldn't let him. He's gone to the same school his dad
went to."

"Shame."

"Yeah."

For a moment I feel the hurt again. Shelby was very special; he
should be part of this.

"You run track, don't you?" Deon asks.

"Yeah. Do you?"

"A bit, don't like it much. You won the fifteen hundred at the Prep
Schools."

"Yeah. Did you run in that?"

"Yeah, but I hadn't done much training. I went out in the heats. What
time did you run in the final?"

"Four thirty-one."

"That's quick; my best's only four forty-nine. Is that your fastest?"

"No, I've run four twenty seven."

"That is fast! Where was that?"

"At a track meeting in Oxford, running against older kids."

"Oh! Still bloody quick though!"

Then `he' appears from the staff changing room. There's immediate
silence. Mike Shardlow was an international runner himself a few
years ago; he's supposed to be a brilliant coach. I'm completely in
awe of him. He's not a gym teacher; he teaches French and German.
Having the chance to work with someone like him is just a dream.
Jonesy was a pretty good coach; this guy's at a whole different
level.

"Hello boys! Great to see you all!" he says warmly. "I think I know
most of your names; just put your hand up when I call your name out."

He reads from a list; Deon, Martin, myself, half a dozen other kids.

"Right! Is there anyone whose name I haven't called?"

Two boys put their hands up. He writes their names down. Two minutes
later we're out running, over the playing fields and out onto the
farmland beyond. We're all going to do a basic four mile course; the
guys who finish that easily will go on to do an extra two mile loop.
Six miles is a shade further than I'm used to but I think I should be
okay. Deon's a born front runner, just like Shelby. He keeps trying
to push the pace on, only Mike won't let him.

"Just keep it steady," Mike tells him. "When we get onto the extra
loop you can pick it up if you want; we'll see what you've got left."

Twenty odd minutes over footpaths and bridleways and we're back in
sight of school. The group doing the extra loop has more or less
sorted itself out: myself, Martin, Deon and a couple of boys I don't
know. As the rest of the group head back to school Deon winds the
pace up. Now we're really running! I get onto his shoulder and try to
keep relaxed. It's a fraction quicker than Shelby ever ran; I'm
working hard but I'm okay. Mike directs us from a couple of yards
behind. We're into the last mile.

"Okay!" Mike calls to us. "It's a straight run back from here; let's
have a nice strong run back to the gate then jog across the field to
ease down."

Deon doesn't need asking twice. There's another surge in pace; I'm
hanging on now. But I am hanging on; running just on his right
shoulder like I was glued there, Mike shepherding the other boys
several yards behind us. The minutes tick past. My lungs feel like
they're on fire but I'm not letting him go. The gate that leads us
onto the school field comes into view, a hundred yards in front of
us. I could sprint past him, but I don't. There's no point; this is a
training run. I know I could if I needed to; that's what matters. We
reach the gate and jog across the field towards the changing room.
Mike and the other boys follow twenty seconds behind.

"Well done lads, that was excellent!" Mike tells us enthusiastically.
He turns to me. "So you're Ryan Crossley?"

"Yes sir."

"Nick Jones coached you at Ridgefield, right?"

"Yes sir."

"I've known Nick for years. When I first started running in senior
races he was one of the stalwarts of his club team. He was never a
world beater or anything, but he knows about running in races. So
what happened to the other kid from Ridgefield, the blond boy who
just beat you at the Prep Schools, where's he now?"

"St. Mark's"

"St. Mark's? They don't even run there as far as I know!"

"It's where his dad went. He wanted to come here but his dad wouldn't
let him."

"What a waste!" Mike comments, shaking his head.

He chats briefly to each of the other boys as well. Finally he checks
his watch.

"Okay, from here on you five will be training with the main
intermediate group; that's mainly year ten boys, and a couple of boys
from year eleven. Okay! Get a shower if you want then make your way
to prep."

After running like that having a shower's a no-brainer. The other
four seem to think so too. I quickly learn the names of the two boys
I didn't know, Greg Markiewicz and Adrian Moore. In their own way my
training partners all fit-looking kids, but Greg is super fit. He's
got slim legs like the rest of us, but his upper body is amazing,
great six-pack. Beautiful cock too. Turns out he's a triathlete; does
a lot of swimming. I guess that explains it. Training with the kids
from year ten is going to be a real challenge. I know there are two
that finished ten or a dozen places ahead of me at the English
Schools. This is going to be tough.  I dry myself off, dress quickly
and head over to prep.

                            0 o 0 o 0 o 0

We're two weeks in. I'm enjoying it here just as much as I thought I
would. I've only got a couple of complaints. The training sessions we
do with Mike are absolutely brilliant, but quite often he's working
with one of the other groups, so we have to train on our own. Alex
and Philip, the two boys who beat me at the English Schools, want to
boss the group. Deon and I can keep up with them and they don't like
it. I guess they'll get used to it. The other thing? Sex, or the lack
of it. In two weeks there hasn't been a sniff of anything.

It's early and I'm awake. I check my watch; it's five past five.
Fuck! Why am I awake at this time? Everyone else is still asleep. Or
are they? There are creaking noises from the far side of the room. I
look over the covers, allowing my eyes to get used to the darkness.
The noises are coming from Jocelyn's bed. The creaking intensifies
then stops. I think I know what that means. Half a minute later
somebody gets out of the bed and crosses to the bed on the other side
of mine. That's Martin's bed. Martin's been in bed with Jocelyn. Wow!
So things are happening!

                            0 o 0 o 0 o 0

"Martin, are you gay?" I ask.

"Why d'you ask?" he responds, eyeing me suspiciously.

"I saw you, sort of, more heard you I guess, yesterday morning. You'd
been in bed with Jocelyn."

"Yeah, well he was sort of helping me out. I like girls really, but
there aren't too many of those round here. You aren't going to say
anything, are you?"

"No, of course not! So what did you do?"

"Just messed about ., you know."

He sounds defensive; somehow I don't believe him.

"Sounded like you were .., well, doing it to him."

He looks alarmed.

"Yeah, well, I suppose. It was cool; he was well up for it. I didn't
make him or anything."

"Yeah, no problem." I say casually.

Suddenly he turns it on me. "So are you gay then?" he asks pointedly.

I could lie, of course; he wouldn't know. Only I'm not going to.

"Yeah, I think so," I tell him, like it's no big deal.

"Fuck! You've kept that quiet!" he responds, grinning. "So were you
doing stuff at prep school then?"

"Yeah."

"So did you have ., you know, a boyfriend?"

"Yeah."

"Cool. Where's he now?"

"Got a scholarship to Westhorpe."
"Right! Good at sport then."

"Yeah; rugby, cricket, athletics ., everything really."

"Not the kid who beat you at the Prep Schools?"

Fuck! I'm not telling him I was doing it with Shelby as well; it'd
make me sound like a slut.

"No, he's at St. Mark's." I say casually.

"So what did you and your boyfriend like doing?"

"Just about everything, I guess."

He looks at me intently. "Did he ., you know?"

"Yeah. Not at first; he was pretty big. It was ages before I let him
do that."

"So d'you like it, then?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck! You've kept that well quiet! You've not done anything since
you've been here then?"

"No."

He grins. "You wouldn't like me to help you out, I suppose?"

Shit! Martin's okay; I run with him on the cross-country team, we're
in the same dorm. But that's it; we're not close or anything. But I'm
getting hornier by the day, he's a fit-looking kid and right now it's
the only offer I've got.

"Cool," I tell him. "When?"

"Tonight if you want; I'll set my alarm for half past four. I'll get
into your bed, okay?"

"Cool," I repeat, grinning at him.

                            0 o 0 o 0 o 0

I'm dreaming; a hand running over my back and down onto my butt. The
hand reaches round and fondles my stiff cock. It feels awesome. I
shake myself awake. The hand's still there, Martin's hand. Wow! So
this is it then. I'm already naked; I took my boxers off as soon as I
got into bed. I made sure I'd got the other stuff ready too, a towel,
lube, cotton wool and a pair of briefs for afterwards. Shit! I hope
none of the other boys sees what we're doing! I've not seen Martin
with a hard-on before. Soft, his dick's just about the same as mine.
It is when it's hard too; around five inches, uncut and on the slim
side of medium, average size balls, a bit of wispy pubic hair. That's
cool; it's more than a month since I stayed at Luke's house so I'm
glad he hasn't got a monster. I turn to face him, moving my lips
towards his.
"Sorry, I don't kiss," he whispers.

Yeah, well he's not gay is he? Whatever. I stroke his hair. It's fair
and very short, except at the front. He's got a fringe that almost
reaches his eyes. It suits him. I allow my hands to run all over his
chest and down his back. He's firm and satin-smooth all over. Wow! I
don't want to take too long over this; somebody might wake up. I
scoot down his body and take his stiff cock into my mouth. Shit! I've
missed doing this! I suck right down on him, stroking his thighs and
caressing his balls. He lies back, perfectly relaxed, his fingers
ruffling my hair. His cock twitches; he'll cum if I keep this up. I
slide my lips back up and lick all over the small, bulbous head. I
snuggle up next to him, cock my leg over his and pass him the lube.
He works some into me. He starts with one finger then moves onto two.
So he's done this before.

I'm about ready. I take the lube off him so I can smear some over his
dick but he stops me. Then another surprise, he grabs a small packet
from the top of my locker, opens it with his teeth and rolls a condom
onto his dick. I know what it is; I've just never seen one before. I
guess I won't be needing the cotton wool and the briefs. I rub some
lube onto his sheathed dick. It feels odd. I pull the pillow into the
middle of the bed, put the towel over it and get into position.
Moments later he's down on top of me, his dick nuzzling against my
boy-hole. He pushes down; it slides straight in. He sets straight to
fucking me. Right now I don't care. I've waited weeks for this; the
sensations of having a fit boy like Martin lying on top of me,
fucking me senseless are everything I remember them to be. Martin's
dick is thrusting over my prostate. My cock twitches uncontrollably.
This is awesome! It's more than twenty four hours since I had a wank
so it isn't going to take long. The tingling starts right down by my
feet, the same as always. Within seconds my whole body's shaking. My
bum tightens viciously round Martin's dick. Spunk barrels through my
cock and floods out onto the towel. Fuck! I've cum loads! Martin's
cumming too, his hot breath filling my nostrils. Finally we hit
Nirvana, that feeling of perfect calm and fulfilment, Martin still
lying on top of me, his dick embedded in my bum. He slowly withdraws.

"Thanks! That was awesome!" he whispers.

A moment later he's gone. I clean myself up and rearrange the bed. My
bum's a bit sore but it's okay. Strange though, with him not cumming
inside me it feels like we never really did it. I pull on my boxers
and fall asleep.