Date: Mon, 10 Mar 2008 21:00:55 +0000
From: xenophon66@hotmail.co.uk
Subject: They Reach the Sky part 1

They Reach the Sky
by
Xenophon


Disclaimer: This story involves homosexual acts between two underage boys.
If this offends you, or is illegal for you to view, or you are too young to
read it, leave now and do not return.

This story is entirely fictitious, and any similarity to persons living or
dead, or to actual events is entirely coincidental. So there. All
professional sports results incidentally included are real, however.

"You come on like a drug, I just can't get enough. I'm like an addict
coming at you for a little more. When there's so much at stake, I can't
afford to wait. I never needed anybody like this before". SM


Chapter 1

I suppose I should start by telling you a little about myself. My parents
were childhood sweethearts. They met in primary school at age six, were
best friends from age eight and began dating at fourteen or so. They went
to the same university to be together, and married when my dad qualified
medical school at 23. Five years later, Mum fell pregnant with me. At this
point, Dad was training to be an obstetrician, and by all accounts was very
good at it. They set up home in a suburb of south London, hoping for a big
family. Sadly, my mother died during childbirth. It wasn't a medical
cock-up or anything, just a rare but almost invariably fatal complication
of labour. After that, Dad just couldn't face the idea of seeing women in
labour every day, and he quit to take care of me. As a result, we've always
been very close. He taught me to walk, talk, play football and cricket,
swim, read, write, count- well, sufficed to say he adored me- I was the
spitting image of my mother, and all the love he had for her went on top of
what he felt for me. He was always there when I needed him. When I was old
enough to go to school, he had to go back to work to make ends meet, and
retrained as a GP. He took me to school every day and picked me up at the
gates after school.

I didn't like primary school much. I was short and skinny, and worst of all
I was bright, so I was bullied fairly non-stop until I left. My only real
friend was a boy who lived just up the road from me. James (never Jim,
unless you wanted a nose bleed) and I were almost inseparable. Because Dad
didn't finish work until after school, I usually went round to his. Even
though we went to different schools, we finished about the same time. We'd
play computer games, or football or cricket in his back garden- although he
was massively better at both sports than me, and as a result there was
never any competition- and chat about boy things- TV, football, the change
to secondary school, football, books involving swords and dragons, and, oh
yeah- football. As you might be able to tell, we were both a little
obsessed with football, like many English pre-teen boys. Unfortunately, he
supported Tottenham Hotspur (Spurs for short), the great rivals of my team,
West Ham United (the Hammers or the Irons for short), and this was the only
thing we ever argued about. We were the best of friends.

When the time came for me to decide on what secondary school to go to, my
Dad decided he could afford to try and get me into a private school, in the
hope that the bullies who had picked on me for being bright wouldn't
follow. I got in to the one I liked most, and although James would be going
to a different school, I was excited. In the September after my eleventh
birthday, I went to my new school.

I loved it. All of a sudden I wasn't unusual for being smart, the other
kids liked equally geeky things to me. Although I got forced to play rugby
(which I loathed- being small and skinny made me naturally useless, and
tackle practice in the freezing rain is no kind of fun in my eyes) instead
of my beloved football, there was proper cricket training, and a team,
although I was only good enough for the second XI, the coach made me
captain thanks to my ability to read batsmen, and my slow bowling got us
wickets. I captained the house team too.

There were two choirs I could join, singing all sorts of music, with
regular concerts and church services. There was an orchestra I could play
my cello in (although it wasn't very good, it was good fun). There were
drama lessons, plays and even house competitions, and although I stunk as
an actor, it was good fun.

However, halfway through my first year, we had to move- the big house my
parents had bought expecting a big family was too expensive for Dad to
keep, so we planned to move to a smaller house nearer my school. While I
was sad to leave, especially to move further away from James, our new house
was nice, James still lived near enough for me to see him all the time, and
there were other things- and this is where the story proper starts.

We moved in at the start of the summer holidays. As we moved our stuff in,
I saw a boy perhaps a year or two younger than me in the house opposite
ours. I had started puberty quite early at ten, and by now was well into
the process. I had hair on my balls and above my dick, and had discovered
the pleasures of masturbation, and they were getting messier. I think I had
an inkling I was gay, but hadn't really admitted it to myself. I did know
that I much preferred to think about my male friends when I wanked rather
than girls or women. The significance of this was to rear its head soon.

When the removal men had gone, Dad began unpacking boxes, and muttering
under his breath about things not being where he put them before finding
them in another box. I had unpacked most of my stuff, and was bored. The
doorbell rang.

"Cool," I thought, "our first visitor!"

I ran down stairs from my new room, shouting, "I'll get it!"

At the door was the boy I had seen earlier. He was a few inches shorter
than me, had curly blonde hair, green eyes behind glasses, and a physique
which suggested regular sport. I felt my pulse quicken, and my tongue lose
its agility.

"Hi!" he said, in a beautiful voice. "My Mum sent me over to say welcome to
the street, and to bring you this."

He handed me a tin.

"It's pineapple upside down cake- my Mum's speciality. I'm George." he
said, holding out his hand slightly awkwardly.

I gawped at him stupidly.

"Rob, who is it?" Dad called from the kitchen, coming out to see.

My brain finally found gear again.

"Dad, this is George. His mum gave us pineapple upside down cake. Can he
stay for dinner?" Now why did I say that? I barely know this kid, he could
be really annoying, he might have better things to do.  "George, would you
thank your mother for me, and ask her if she, your fine self and anyone
else who lives with you want to join us for a curry tonight," Dad said. I
nearly kissed him on the spot. "Rob, why don't you go with him?"

George smiled brightly. "Sure! Come on Rob!"

I followed him over to his place. His mum was about fifty, and very
friendly. She was quite well spoken, and graciously accepted the invitation
for her, her husband and George to come for dinner.

"Would you like to stay until it's time for dinner? I'm sure your Dad's got
loads to do, and it must be boring for you."

I nearly bit her hand off. I ran back over to ours to tell Dad, and get
permission. He said yes. I went back to George's.

"So, what do you wanna do? Wanna see my room?" he asked.

"Yeah cool," I said. We went upstairs. His room had a 'football fan's room'
sticker on the door. "Who do you support?"

"You'll see," he said. As we went in, I nearly leapt in the air. His room
was a shrine of claret and blue- he had West Ham posters and pendents, West
Ham bedclothes and rugs- even a West Ham bin. We supported the same team!

"Me too! You go much?"

"Nah, I've only been once about two years ago- the game we beat Chelsea,
with Di Canio scoring his last goal at home, before we got relegated," he
said.

"Cool, I went to that- we're season ticket holders. We went to the both
play-off finals. Winning the last one was awesome- we sang all the way
back. Where did you sit when you went?"

"Er, the family area- above the away fans."

"Cool. We're in the west stand, just behind the away manager. You should
hear some of the things people say!" I said, excited. "Hey- wanna see if my
Dad can get tickets for you to come to some games with us next season?"

"Yeah! That'd be awesome!" he said. "What do you wanna do till dinner? PS2?
I got the new Pro Evo."

"Yeah cool- I'll be rubbish, I'm used to FIFA, but yeah." For those of you
who don't know, Pro Evolution Soccer (aka Pro Evo or PES) and FIFA are the
main rival football computer games.

We spent the next couple of hours playing Pro Evo- mainly him spanking me
heavily- and chatting. Basic stuff, the kind of things you say to someone
you just met.

"So, how old are you?" I asked.

"10. I'll be eleven on April 23rd. You?"

"Twelve, thirteen on March 17th. Wait- April 23rd? St. George's Day?"

He grinned. "Guess how I got my name? How come you're not Patrick- March
17th is St. Patrick's Day, innit?"

"Yeah, it is- it's my middle name. Dad wanted me named after his all-time
hero, Bobby Moore, but for some reason it was always Rob, not Bobby. What
school are you at?"

"Crowsholm, just started in January. What about you?"

"St. Dominic's."

"Cool, we're both just down the road. I was thinking about
St. Dominic's. Is it good?" he asked

"It's school, some of it's boring, but as schools go, I think it's
good. Where were you before January?"

"Kuala Lumpur. My dad worked there. We lived there for two years. We were
in England for about a year before that, and then it was KL before that. I
was born there."

"Cool," I said, "so you're half Malaysian?"

He grinned. "You think it's cool? Most people make jokes."

I was surprised. "I'd never do that. I think you're cool."

He smiled at me and blushed. "You're cool too."

There was a slightly awkward pause. "What does your dad do then? Must be
quite important if it takes him halfway round the world."

"Dunno really- I've never seen much of him except at weekends, when he has
to work in his study. He works at some office in London. What does your Dad
do?

"He's a doctor."

"Cool." he smiled at me again. I felt a stirring in my groin. What was
going on with me today?

At this point, his front door opened, and my Dad and his came in, talking,
naturally, football. It turned out they both came from the same part of the
East End, although his dad had lost most of the accent and mine still had
his, and were both lifelong Hammers. They were chatting like long-lost
brothers about old games, old players I'd barely heard of, and where they
grew up. We went back to ours and Dad ordered an Indian delivery. After the
initially awkward bit where we got to know each other- his parents were
called Angela and Vic, it turned out- we had a nice time. We ate the
pineapple upside down cake for dessert- it was gorgeous! Then they had to
go home as it was late.

"Have you made a new friend then, Rob?" Dad asked.

I blushed. "I think so. He's cool."

"Good. Not missing James already then?"

I shook my head.

"Off to bed then son. And take a shower in the morning. I'm at work
tomorrow, so I'm trusting you to look after yourself. George can come round
if you want, or you can go to his, but I expect you to behave- and no
mess." He hugged and kissed me goodnight.

Before I went to sleep in my new room for the first time, I thought about
my new friend. My cock became stiff in my pyjama shorts. I slipped my hand
under the waistband, and fondled my scrotum, feeling the soft black hairs
that grew there. My erection grew to its full four inches. I began sliding
my foreskin up and down over my glans, thinking about George- his hair, his
eyes, his pink lips, his pert buttocks under his jeans. I came in record
time, my watery semen landing on my flat stomach.

I cleaned myself up with a tissue, and as I fell asleep, I could see his
face behind my eyelids, and his voice rang in my ears.



Chapter 2


"The one who saved me, accepts me for who I am, just me, and always gives
back tenfold whatever I give." LK

The next day was a Thursday. I went over to George's after my shower, my
short brown hair still a little damp. George's mum didn't like the idea of
us being unsupervised at mine, so we stayed at his and watched the first
day of the Edgbaston Test cricket Match- England vs Australia, the
Ashes. We'd been thumped at the First Test at Lord's, but their star fast
bowler was injured in the warm up, and hopes were high. We watched the
whole days play, with England on top, chatting all the while. When play was
finished, we went over to mine for dinner, as Dad was back from work, and
then played cricket in the back garden. This was how we spent the next
three and a half days- watching the cricket at his, then recreating our
heroes' feats in my garden. Every night I would stroke myself to an
explosive orgasm thinking of my new best friend. On the morning of the
final day, when it seemed certain Australia would win, England snatched
victory from the jaws of defeat, to win one of the greatest matches ever by
the second closest winning margin in 140 years of Test cricket, 2 runs. As
the umpire raised a crooked finger to signal the last Aussie out, and
England had won, both George and I leapt to our feat wooping with joy,
jumping up and down. He then threw his arms around my neck and hugged me
fiercely. I hugged back, still jumping for joy, hoping he wouldn't notice
the lump that had grown in my briefs. If he did, he didn't let on.

The summer followed a similar pattern- when Dad was at work, I'd be at his,
playing PS2 or watching cricket, or later in the summer, football, and when
Dad was home, we'd play football or cricket in my garden, or swap fantasy
novels (we both had a passion for them), or play on my PC. Occasionally one
of my school friends or James would join us. Despite him being younger,
they all thought he was cool. Most days it was just the two of us though.

Once, he asked me to play my cello for him. I blushed and said I wasn't
very good.

"I'm sure you're great! It doesn't matter anyway- you'll be better than
me!"

So I played him some stuff I liked.

"That was great! I wish I could play an instrument. I sang in the choir in
KL, but we don't have one at Crowsholm."

"Cool. I'm in the choirs at my school. What stuff do you like to sing?" I
asked.

He blushed. "You'll laugh at me."

"I'd never do that. I swear!"

"I like the Christmas carols." he said in a small voice

"Me too! What's your favourite?"

"Veni Emmanuel."

I grabbed my school hymn book- we weren't religious, but we all had to have
one at my school, and I like singing. I found the carol.

"Wanna sing it together?"

His face lit up. "Cool!"

We sang it together. I could carry a tune, but my voice was never really
very nice until it broke, which didn't happen for six months after this or
so. His voice, however, was gorgeous! My heart melted. As he sang, I looked
at his beautiful face- when did I admit I thought he was beautiful?- and at
his pink lips and blonde curls, and felt my pulse quicken and my dick
stiffen.

Then, all of a sudden, he had to go- his parents were taking him to see
relatives or something, and he wouldn't be back for a couple of days, just
in time for the last Test of the Ashes series.

I realised, when he had gone, that I was probably in love with him. Did
this mean I was gay? My heart sank, knowing what people thought of poofs at
school. What would Dad say? I cried myself to sleep that night- not before
I had fondled myself to ecstasy thinking of my angel's soft, pink lips on
mine.

I spent the next day moping around the house- practising off-breaks in the
garden, playing on my computer or reading, but nothing seemed to make me
happy. James was away on some exotic holiday, or I'd have phoned him to try
and take my mind off things. I missed George- we hadn't gone a day without
seeing each other since we moved in. But I was also worried by the feelings
I was having. I'd admitted to myself I fancied George- maybe even loved
him. How would he feel if he found out? He'd probably be repulsed, and our
friendship would end- no one likes a poof when you're that age. What would
Dad say if he ever found out? He'd probably throw me out. Eventually I
found myself sitting in the back room of the house crying.

"What's up, my lovely?" I heard, not having realised Dad was home. He knelt
next to my chair and wiped a tear from my cheek. I couldn't lie to him, not
after what he gave up for me.

"Dad," I sniffed, "I... I think I'm ...gay."

He pulled me fiercely into his arms, and kissed my cheek.

"Thank you, Robert! I'm so proud of you!" he said. I was stunned. That
wasn't the reaction I'd expected. I thought he'd pull away from me, hit me
even, and throw me out. He also never called me 'Robert'.

"Huh?" I said, confused.

"Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me, thank you for having the
courage to tell me, and to admit it to yourself, and thank you for being
such a wonderful son!"

"This must be a joke or a trick" I thought. Then I said: "Y-y-you... don't
hate me then?"

"How could I hate you? I love you more than anything! I'm proud of you in
so many ways! You think because you fancy boys not girls that could ever
change that? Oh, my lovely, no!" He embraced me tightly again. He sat back
and looked me in the eye. "Is there one boy in particular that made you
realise this?"

I nodded.

"Does he perhaps live opposite us, have blonde hair and support a team that
we do too?"

I nodded again, blushing. "You won't tell him, will you?"

"Of course not- that's for you. I just want you to promise me something,
Rob."

"Anything."

"Wait until you're ready before you do anything. Make sure that you, and
whoever you do it with wants to do it. And I mean 'want', not 'wouldn't
mind'. And wait until it's someone you love and who loves you."

I blushed again. "You mean....?"

"Sex? Yes. George is younger than you, and less physically mature than you
I'm guessing. Let him make his own mind up if he likes boys too, if he
likes you in particular and what he wants to do about that."

I started. "You think he might?"

"I've seen the way he looks at you. He idolises you. But let him work it
out for himself."

"But what if he doesn't want to wait until I'm ready?" I asked, worried.

"Listen son," Dad said, sitting in the chair opposite mine, "love waits-
love doesn't care about selfish desire, it wants to do what the other
person wants too. When I fell in love with your mother, I would have waited
forever. If I went back again and knew I would lose her so young, I would
still do it all again. I cherish the time we had together, and wouldn't
have done anything to jeopardise that. Even knowing I'd lose her. I still
cherish her, and will always be grateful for the time we had together, and
for the wonderful child we had together- a child who is becoming a man
soon. But remember, if you want to get off, have a wank. And before you
deny it or look shocked, I empty your wastebin, remember? Love isn't just
about getting off. It's more than that. So wait until it feels right for
both of you- who ever the other person is."

"Ok Dad, I promise." I hugged him and kissed his cheek again. We were both
a little tearful, but it wasn't sadness- it was a father's love for his son
and his lost wife, and a son's love for his father.

George came back on a Wednesday night two days later, too late for me to
see him. The final Ashes Test started the next morning, so I went over to
his for the start of play. His grin was as wide as the Thames when he
opened the door, and my heart beat faster at the sight. I'd known him for
only eight weeks, and already it felt like we'd been friends for ever, and
always would be.

"Hi!" he said. "They're about to make the toss!" He turned into the
house. "MUM! ROB'S HERE, CAN WE WATCH THE CRICKET TOGETHER!" he yelled.

A muffled reply came from the kitchen, "Yes, but don't forget to tidy your
room!"

"Thanks Mum, I won't," he called back.

We went upstairs, and immediately our pattern of cricket watching at his
then cricket playing resumed. The Test swung back and forth, until the
final day dawned with England in deep trouble, until George's hero, Kevin
Pietersen, rescued England, and tied the match- England had won the Ashes
for the first time in eighteen years. Both George and I whooped and leapt
into the air. He embraced me again, and I felt a familiar stirring in my
groin. His mum had come in to see what the commotion was, and cheered along
with us. Just as we calmed down, George turned to me on his sofa.

"Thanks for watching this with me! You're my best friend ever!" he said.

I blushed and said, "You're my best friend too!"

"I want to kiss you," he blurted out. He then turned a shade of claret only
matched by the West Ham paraphernalia around the room. His mother looked
shocked, and awkwardly left. When she was gone I turned to my squirming
friend.

"I'd like it if you did," I ventured, hoping he had meant it, not just been
overly exuberant.

"Really?" he said. "You don't think it's weird?"

"No, I really like you, and that's what kissing means, isn't it?"

"But, we're both boys?"

"So? If we both want to, why is it weird?"

He shrugged, and leaned in slowly, tentatively. His face was right in front
of mine. We moved together. I tilted my head slightly and our lips met. We
only held the kiss for a second, but it felt like my lips were flowing with
electricity, and my heart was doing somersaults in my chest, while my cock
was the stiffest it had ever been.

"That was nice. Thanks," he said.

"I liked it too. You can do that whenever you like."

The doorbell rang. It was Dad- he was taking us to the West Ham-Aston Villa
game. As we sat on the tube, we were all full of England's win, and
discussing the game ahead. I felt George sneak his hand into mine. When he
wasn't looking, I saw Dad wink at me. We held hands until we changed lines
and had to get on a much busier train.

The game was awesome. George sat next to me, and hugged me every time was
scored. It was a terrific four-nil win for us, his favourite player, Marlon
Harewood, getting a hat-trick. We held hands again on the train home. When
we dropped him off at his house, I popped up to his room to say goodbye.

"That was the best day ever!" he said, his eyes flashing like
emeralds. "Winning the Ashes AND beating Villa four-nil! And all with my
best friend."

I smiled at him. He hugged me again, and we had another brief, chaste kiss.

"ROB! PAST YOUR BEDTIME! LET'S GO MATE!" came Dad's voice from downstairs.

"I'll see you tomorrow, right?" he said, slightly fearfully.

I kissed his forehead. "Count on it."

Chapter 3

"Respect was never ever questioned, every feeling reciprocated, mutual
ideas and passion- straight from the soul- from my soul" LK

I woke up happier than I could ever remember. It was a good half hour
before I even remembered the sport of yesterday. All I could think of was
George's lips on mine, and holding his hand on the tube. My morning wood
went down after my first piss of the day, only for my cock again to rise in
the shower as I thought of the blonde angel I would be spending the day
with. I tried to imagine what he looked like without his clothes- I'd seen
him barefoot in shorts and t-shirt, and liked what I saw, and wanted to see
more. I fondled my scrotum with my left hand as my right began sliding my
foreskin over my glans, exposing it to the warm water. I thought of his
small, perfectly formed feet, imagining kissing each toe and kissing the
soles. I thought of his soft, hairless calves, and thought what it would be
like to run my hands over the perfect white skin, and kiss his legs. I
imagined sliding my hands over his pale inner thighs, kissing and licking
the tender flesh. Before I even imagined sliding my hands up his football
shorts, I came powerfully, my semen quickly being washed away. I finished
washing and crossed the road.

His smile lit my life as he opened the door.

"Hi! Lets go upstairs," he said, full of energy as always, and ran up the
stairs. He pushed the door to as we went into his room. He then pushed his
arms around my neck and stood on tiptoes to kiss me. I was hard
instantly. He held the kiss for longer than before, and when he pulled back
his face was radiant. I felt like I had wandered into a dream. My arms were
around his waist, and his around my neck.

"Boys, I'm off to the shops- I'll be out for a couple of hours! Behave
while I'm gone! I'll bring Subway back with me!" His mum called up from
downstairs. Two hours! My mind was alive with the possibilities.

"Ok Mum," George called. He giggled, and I leaned into him. Our lips met
again. There was more passion this time. I ran my hands up and down his
back, while he stroked my neck and hair. When we broke, I looked at him
seriously.

"George, I need to tell you something."

"Anything, you know that."

"I...I think I'm gay. And what's worse, I think I love you."

He smiled. "I know. I just wanted to hear you say it."

He kissed me fiercely again. He pulled us tight together. There was no way
he couldn't feel my hard spike against his stomach. I could feel his hard
glans pushing against my balls through my shorts.

"You... you mean you like me too?"

"I love you, you great dolt! Now stop talking!"

Our lips met again. This time, I tried pushing my tongue gently against his
lips. He instantly opened his lips and our tongues met. They danced
together, as I tasted my love for the first time. I ran my tongue over his
teeth before resuming the dance. The passion grew in me. I pulled him to me
fiercely, and one hand crept under his t-shirt. Both his hands went under
my t-shirt. My other hand dropped to his tight buns that I'd been itching
to get my hands on for weeks. We broke apart. He pulled his t-shirt up and
over his head. I saw his creamy chest for the first time. There was no sign
of muscle development yet, but the evidence of our cricket and football
sessions showed- he was as firm yet soft and smooth as could be. His pink
nipples, the size of a 5p coin, were pert and beautiful. His flat stomach
was unblemished, and his innie navel made me want to drop to my knees and
dive my tongue into it.

"Like what you see?" he said shyly.

"Ynghyha," I mumbled, nodding like a toy dog on the back window of a car.

He grasped the bottom of my t-shirt and pulled it up. I raised my arms to
help him. We embraced again, and his tongue began its dance with mine once
more, before tickling along my teeth. The warmth from our bare chests
meeting was raising my passion still further. I ran my hands up and down
his bare back, as on of his clasped the back of my neck and the other
worked across the back of my shoulders. I moved one of my hands between us
and began fondling his bare chest, feeling his erected nipples. My other
hand slipped between his shorts and underwear and cupped his
bubble-butt. He began stroking my chest. He then pushed his shorts to the
floor. I could now feel his dick pressing against my leg through his briefs
as our embrace continued, our tongues still locked as if in combat. I undid
my belt and pushed my jeans to the floor. I ran both hands over that
gorgeous behind. I then remembered what I had promised Dad, and broke the
kiss.

"Are you sure you want this, my love?" I said.

"More than I wanted anything before." His hands slipped below my waistband
and began fondling my buttocks beneath my briefs.

I grinned, and pushed my lips back to his, and our tongues lashed again. My
hands mimicked his and grasped his buttocks. I slowly stroked them, before
slowly working one around his hip. My heart was racing, and I could feel
that his was too. I finally took the plunge, and slid my hand onto his
scrotum. He was hairless, and his testicles were undescended and about the
size of marbles. I massaged them, my other hand still stroking his
buttocks. I moved my hand up to his cock, which was also hairless, and hard
as a drill. He was uncut and about three inches, his foreskin slightly
parted over his glans, so I could feel his piss slit without moving it
back. He moaned in my mouth, and both his hands moved to my crotch. When he
first touched me, I gasped and broke the kiss- it was like he had
electrocuted me through my cock. He gasped too.

"That's big! And you have hair!"

I pushed my briefs to the floor. My cock was just over four inches long but
quite thick, with the foreskin covering the whole head and bunching at the
tip. My grape sized testicles hung loose in a dark sack, covered with a
fine dusting of black hair. More pubes spread out in a fan shape above the
base of my cock.

"Can I see you too? It's ok if you don't want me too."

He grinned and slid his briefs (West Ham, of course) to the floor. He was
gorgeous. I stepped back and drank him in. Perhaps three inches shorter
than me, pale apart from his forearms and calves, he was completely
hairless and beautiful. We embraced again, and he pushed me back on the
bed. I grasped his prick and began sliding the foreskin up and down. He
moaned, and pushed his head back. I continued pumping, sliding his skin up
and down. I nibbled his neck and moved down his chest, kissing, licking and
nibbling his left nipple. He threw his head back and I felt his dick spasm,
trying to ejaculate semen his body couldn't make yet. I continued stroking
him until he stopped shaking. He kissed me tenderly, then pushed me back.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You had an orgasm, my angel. Did you like it?"

"I LOVED it! I've played with myself before, but I didn't know THAT would
happen if I kept doing it! Can I do you know? If you don't want me too it's
ok."

Yes, I was going to turn THAT down. I kissed him tenderly, just flicking my
tongue over his front teeth. "You can do anything you want."

He kissed me again, his own passion returning. He started sliding his hands
across my chest. His right hand found my glans with two fingers and thumb,
and started sliding the skin up and down. His left began fondling my right
nipple while his mouth continued it's wonders on mine. The sensations
coming from his small, soft hand made me thing the world was going to end
in pleasure. I had never imagined someone else jacking you off could feel
this good. As I moaned more and more, he kissed down my neck and across my
chest to my other nipple, sucking and licking like I had his. I arched my
back and curled my toes as the sensations he was giving me intensified. I
felt my urge rising, and warned him,

"When I come, somthing's gonna shoot out of my cock. It's not pee. You
don't have to touch it if you don't want. Aaahh....ooooooh....I'm gonna
coOOME!"

And I did, harder than I ever had before, and more- four hard jets of
watery semen covered my chest and stomach, before a fifth filled my pubes
and a final sixth coated George's hand. My cock spasmed several more times,
and George kept milking it, till I had to push his hand away as it got too
sensitive.

I kissed him again.

"Thank you. That was the best ever!"

He grinned, and sniffed at the spunk on his hand. He licked it
tentatively. Smiling, he cleaned his hand off with his pink tongue. I
cleaned myself up with a tissue. Still sweaty and sticky, we embraced
softly, bathed in post-orgasmic glow. His mum would be back in an hour and
a half or so. School started again in a week. We would have to make best
use of our time....


To Be Continued.



Part two is under way. Sorry it took so long to get to the action, but I
wanted to set the scene. Rob and George have some interesting times ahead
of them. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated, and may shape how their
relationship develops. Email me.

xenophon66@hotmail.co.uk

Flames cheerfully deleted.