Gareth and Phil
On the short drive home, I experimentally took hold of Gareth’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. I was delighted when he squeezed me back and held on.
“You done that sort of this before?” I asked conversationally.
“No, never. At least never like we just did.” he replied. “I wanked off with a friend of mine once, but we only did it that once.”
I was a bit surprised. He was a good-looking boy, and he seemed to be comfortable with what we’d done, if not very experienced. If asked, I would have guessed that he was just a little more experienced than he said he was.
Later that day, I drove happily back to my hall of residence, my mind full of Gareth and the fun we’d had. I also made my mind up that I would visit again just as soon as I could, whether or not my father and his brother made it up. I thought that I could get to like Gareth a lot, and apart from feeling sorry for him living alone with ageing parents, I felt that there was some affinity between us, apart from the obvious sexual one.
As luck would have it, what with one thing and another, it was another four weeks before I could pay a return visit. I telephoned them one Thursday evening, asking if I could spend the week-end with them again. There was a slight pause as Gareth’s mother obviously consulted her husband. My heart sank as I just knew that for some reason or other I wasn’t going to get invited. Nervously I waited, certain by now that they knew what Gareth and I had done.
“Yes. That’ll be all right. Your Uncle Bill and me are going out on Saturday night though and there’ll only be you and our Gareth here, if that’s OK.”
After a brief conversation, I gratefully replaced the receiver, more than a little relieved that our secret was still safe. Then it dawned on me. Did I mind staying home with Gareth! Did I !! I rushed to my room and throwing my clothes off as fast as I could, had a much-needed, quick and very enjoyable wank, thinking of the upcoming weekend.
After an eternity, Saturday eventually arrived, and just after nine in the morning I was pulling into their driveway. I’d even got up early and skipped breakfast so that I could get there as soon as I could. My Uncle and Aunt and started to chat idly over the breakfast they were having when I got into the kitchen. Gareth, as usual I now knew, sat silently, not uttering a word as he ate. Still without talking he got up from the table, washed his dishes at the sink and disappeared to his room.
“How is he?” I asked conversationally. “Got over his cold?”
“Yes. He’s better now.”
There was that edge again. Not exactly unfriendly, but not the tone of voice one would expect someone to use when talking about their son. The door opened and Gareth came in, his arms full of bedsheets. Silently he stuffed them into the washing machine and switched it on. Still in silence and not looking at anyone, he washed his hands at the sink.
“Wet your bed again?” his father barked at him.
I looked at him in disbelief. The bastard! I wasn’t surprised to learn that Gareth wet the bed, even at his age. Given his parents nature, I probably would too. No, what amazed me was that his father would belittle him in front of a visitor, even if he was family. Gareth turned to face his father, and in a low voice simply said, “Yes.” Experience had obviously taught him to stand still and not try to leave the room until his father had had his say. I sensed that another row was about to erupt, and I felt that familiar knot in my stomach once again. Anxious to forestall the scene, I desperately interrupted the exchange and asked if there was a good garage nearby as I needed some bits for the car. Luckily it worked. Uncle Bill’s passion for cars was the one topic almost guaranteed to divert his attention.
“What is it you need?” he asked, even looking interested.
“Spark plugs,” I said in desperation. They were in fact OK., but when the devil drives, etc.
“What sort are they?” he queried.
Whilst we were discussing the best type of plug for my car, I noticed Gareth took the opportunity to slip unnoticed out of the room.
Having told me that the ones I had, despite being the manufacturer’s recommended ones, were not the best sort to use, he reached for the telephone and called Steve. After a brief conversation with his son, he told me that Steve had a boxful of just the ones I needed and that I could have a set if I wanted to go and collect them. I thanked him profusely and said that I would go and get them now. I had no desire whatsoever to go visiting either Steve or Robert to be honest: I didn’t like them very much, and I am sure the feeling was mutual. Nevertheless, it was worth it to escape from the house for a while and hopefully take Gareth along for company. I had no idea where he lived, and despite being told two or three times, still couldn’t quite grasp how to get there. I was just about to suggest that Gareth came with me when, without warning, Uncle Bill shouted for Gareth to ‘get his arse down here. Now!’
A few seconds later Gareth walked into the kitchen, chin on his chest and fear showing in his face, assuming that the row he’d narrowly avoided earlier was about to re-kindle.
“Show Phil the way to Steve’s house. He’s got something to pick up.”
The faintest sign of relief showed as he grabbed his coat from the rack and headed out towards the car. As I looked at him, I realised that during the hour or so I’d been here, I’d only heard him speak one word. The feeling of deep sorrow hit me again.
Gareth sat in the passenger seat, head bowed and hands resting in his lap. Sensing that he needed some cheering up, I lightly slapped him on the knee and asked if he was OK.
“Yeah. ‘Spose so,” he said, head still bowed.
He was obviously embarrassed. Not only about the bed-wetting business, but also by the fact that I was nearly witness to another family bust-up. He didn’t know that I’d already seen more than enough of those.
Idly, I left my free hand resting on his leg, gently drawing circles with my fingers on his thigh.
“It’s all right you know. I don’t care about the, er, the problem” I said gently, leaving it to him whether I meant the wetting or argument, or both. “Just as long as you are OK.”
Lifting his head up, he managed to give me a weak smile.
“Listen. How about we go for a drive after we’ve been to Steve’s?”
That was it. The grin broadened and he sat upright, suddenly alert and wide awake. Steve, his wife and kids lived on the outskirts of Milton Keynes on a notorious housing estate. Rough, tough and dangerous to those who don’t know it. We reached his house without difficulty and went in through the back door. Steve’s eyes said it all. All the intervening years were as nothing as our eyes met, old, bad memories suddenly surfacing. We went through the polite pleasantries as we shook hands and he handed me the plugs.
Grudgingly he asked if I wanted him to fit them for me. Not really wanting to get my hands dirty, and also not wanting to turn down what was probably (for him) a gesture of friendship, I took him up on his offer. Within a few minutes the job was done, and with a much better atmosphere between us, we shook hands again and parted company.
“Wanna go for a drive now?” I asked Gareth unnecessarily.
“Can we?” he almost shouted, bouncing up and down in his seat.
“Yeah. Any ideas where?”
“Back on the airfield?”
“OK. then. Let’s go.”
I’d noticed the last time we were at the airfield, the country lanes that approached it were little used and quite wide. It was with only a little trepidation therefore I suggested that Gareth might like to drive the last mile or so to the field through the lanes. He was overjoyed. All the traumas of the morning vaporised instantly as he adjusted the driving seat and started the engine. He really was quite a competent driver already. On the couple of occasions we had to negotiate our way past oncoming cars, he did so with confidence and skill. I relaxed and began to enjoy being driven for a change, even if it was by a 12 year old! We spent a very enjoyable half hour practising reversing, three point turns and so on. Gareth (and me) were relaxed and happy, the world outside our car forgotten for a little while at least. I kept glancing down at his crotch, waiting and watching for the inevitable to happen. And I wasn’t to be disappointed. It didn’t take very long for the tent to grow in the loose track suit trousers he was wearing.
“I see our friend’s feeling better now,” I laughed, nodding in the direction of his boner.
Without a trace of embarrassment, he grinned at me and retorted, “Yeah, and it’s not the only one!”
He was right of course. I’d had a boner almost from the time we’d left Steve’s house in anticipation of what I hoped would happen again.
A few minutes later, I noticed that Gareth was rubbing his upper arms. The steering is quite heavy on my car, and it takes some getting used to, especially if you are only a young, slightly-built boy.
“Wanna stop for a funny half hour?” he grinned at me.
So that was it. He’d accepted our situation and had even gone as far as giving it a sort of name. ‘Funny half hour’. As a sort of allusion to our activities, it was perfect: and appropriate.
“No thanks. Not today. I don’t feel like it.”
For a fraction of a second he believed me. The look on his face for that instant was delightful. Disappointment, disbelief and surprise all together. Then he cracked up.
“Christ, I thought you meant it for a minute!”
“Yeah, well. Maybe I could be persuaded to change my mind.”
This time we went over to a different part of the airfield where we’d seen some small brick-built structures. The doors and windows had long since gone, either stolen or rotted away. Skilfully Gareth slid the Landrover between them and parked.
“Let’s explore,” he said, “The back of your car isn’t very good.”
He was really getting into this I was pleased to see, and willingly joined him in the exploration of the buildings. The third or fourth one we went into was OK. Well-hidden, dry and not too smelly. It also had the advantage that we could see the track anyone would have to come down if they were approaching us. Grabbing the blanket and sleeping bag I always kept in the back of the ‘rover, I threw them to Gareth who spread them over the floor. Still dressed, we lay down facing each other, arms under each other’s shoulders. Gareth’s head resting on my shoulder. From the way he relaxed and closed his eyes, I was sure that it had been a very long time since anyone had shown him any physical affection and tenderness. We lay in silence for a minute or two simply enjoying each other’s company. I felt supremely happy at that moment and squeezed Gareth tightly. I felt an emotion I’d never felt before and was almost about to tell Gareth how much I ……… but I thought better of it and instead kissed him on the forehead.
“OK now?” I whispered.
“Mmmmm.” he sighed as he wriggled closer to me, eyes still closed and a contented smile on his lips.
At that moment, it wasn’t sex we wanted, it was the company, the closeness and the tenderness. I felt Gareth’s hand slide under my shirt and up my hairless chest. The feelings were wonderful as he played with my nipples and even tried to tickle me under my arms. This I didn’t want him to do as I was supremely ticklish just there, so I rolled over, pulling him on top of me. Wrapping my arms round him, I hugged him and gave him a soft, experimental kiss on the lips.
“Happy?” I mouthed.
“Yeah. But not as good as I’ll be in a few minutes,” he said softly at the same time as he began to unbutton my shirt.
“Can we get undressed? Everything?” he queried, his voice trembling with emotion. “I’d like to ………………”
I stopped him with my finger on his lips and sat up so we could undress each other. Just a few seconds later we lay facing each other, naked as the day we were born. I drank in Gareth’s beautiful slender frame. I’d know a few boys in the distant past of course, and had even been nude with a few of them, but no one compared with Gareth. He was consummately handsome in an innocent, boyish way. His now solidly erect prick only adding to his Adonis-like body. I failed to understand completely what he found so attractive about me, and for the first time wondered what I would do if I ever lost him.
My somewhat morbid thoughts were interrupted when he took hold of my tool and began to play with it. I returned the favour, now devoting my full attention to him. Over the next few minutes, there wasn’t a square inch of our bodies that we didn’t explore many times over. The sensation of his delicate fingers dancing their way over my hyper-sensitive skin was supremely erotic. More than once I had to ask him to stop before I shot my load over him. This caused no little amusement on his part, and he even threatened to get dressed and go home if he wasn’t allowed to have his fun. This I prevented by pulling him down on top of me and pressing my lips against his. At first he struggled against me a little, more through surprise than anything else, but eventually he allowed me entry to his mouth and was soon kissing me just as passionately as I was him.
Reaching down between his legs, he manoeuvred my cock so that it was between his legs, tight up in his crutch and pressing against his tiny balls. His own prick he carefully laid straight on his stomach. Then he began to hump me. Not only was he massaging his own prick, but he was wanking me off between his thighs at the same time. I lay back, not able to do anything except stare into his beautiful face and enjoy the new and fantastic experience. Gently I ran my fingers through his fair hair as he became totally lost in his own distant world of hedonistic pleasure. It wasn’t long before I sensed that his movements were taking on a sense of frantic urgency. His fucking motions became intense, almost violent in their intensity: eyes tightly closed, he was groaning and moaning loud enough to wake the dead as he raced headlong towards his impending climax.
When he ejaculated, he pressed his slim body tightly into mine, and at the same time squeezed me so tightly it hurt. I felt his cum leave his steel-hard cock in six or seven heavy bursts. My own spunk shooting at the same time, going I knew not where – or cared! It took quite a few minutes for him to come down from what must have been the most intense experience of his young life. I had the feeling that he’d actually lost absolutely all control of himself and was totally animalistic in his passion. He wasn’t just fucking me, he was fucking the world – for perhaps on one of the few occasions in his life, he was in charge and doing what HE wanted, freely and without pressure, able for once to totally give himself over to passion. All the pain, the anger, the stress, was being exorcised through someone who not only didn’t pose any threat, but even showed some interest in him as a person. Gently I continued to stroke his hair and back, whispering soothing nonsense in his ear. I could feel the wetness from his tears on my shoulder and hugged him closer to me. There was nothing either he or I could say that would make sense at this point – the only thing we could do was hold and comfort each other.
When he did eventually roll off me, he lay crooked in my arm, head resting on my chest. His eyes were red from crying, and the bright smile he always wore when we were together, a long way away. There were even bright flecks of blood on his lips where he’d bitten them. I think he’d frightened himself badly. I’d be most surprised if he’d ever experienced such a mind blowing and body-wracking emotion before. Thinking about it as we lay there, I was certain that in those few minutes he’d driven a great many devils out of his life. His mother, his father, his bed-wetting, his ……… I’m sure there were more I wasn’t aware of. He was also acutely embarrassed I assumed.
“Better?” I eventually asked.
He simply nodded, unable to trust himself to speak for the time being.
“It’s all right, you know. I understand.”
I didn’t of course, but he didn’t need to know that.
“That was the best ever,” I added truthfully.
Slowly he got up and searched for his clothes, hastily abandoned a life-time ago. I watched, unmoving as wordlessly he got dressed. Just as silently he sat on an upturned box, staring vacantly into space as I dressed myself.
Once dressed, I moved to him and grasped him by the shoulders. Lifting him up, I looked in to his eyes and grinned at him. “You were perfect. We can have a funny half-hour like that any time you like,” I said, with as much tenderness as I could muster. I sat on the box next to him and put an arm on his shoulder.
“I wish ………” he started to say, but stopped when the tears started again.
“Shush,” I whispered. “Don’t say anything. There’s no need. I understand more than you think. Just relax and get your breath back.”
He managed to cheer himself up a bit by the time we got back home, at least enough to behave normally as he entered the house.
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