Date: Thu, 10 May 2007 16:42:55 +0100 From: J Smith Subject: War Graves and Trenches Warning: this is a piece of fiction written for the enjoyment of guys who like to read about guys getting it on with other guys. It concerns a 16-year old schoolboy and a member of staff in his thirties who are forced to share a hotel room on a school trip. If that's not your thing, or is illegal where you are, or if you're too young, then turn back now. Otherwise, read on and let me know if it got you hot or if you want a continuation. Cheers, jsmith381@hotmail.com ******** WAR GRAVES AND TRENCHES It was a fuck-up from the start. There were only so many places on the trip, and I only made it to the waiting list. Most guys said it was really worth trying to get on, others that it was the best trip of the year. The war graves themselves weren't the feature of course, but the nights out in Brussels were said to be good value for lads our age with money to spend. But I had missed the deadline for applications, and now all my pals were off to Belgium to learn about the war and party in a city where it was rumoured you could drink and eat well for next to no cash, pick up dope with no hassle and maybe even chance a few euros on a sidestreet blowjob. It was all bullshit of course. None of my mates, at sixteen years old, would have been gutsy enough to pay a women to suck them off; but I guess the possibility that it could happen was more of a thrill than the actuality of being chicken. Even so, I was gutted at not going. And then there was all the shit with Forsythe. God knows what he actually did; nobody has ever really got to the details. But he certainly seems to have shagged Reggie's daughter good and proper. Reggie was Head of History, in most respects a hard nut to be avoided. He was clever but malicious; academic but evil. Essays not up to scratch would be burnt in front of the class. Substandard work was often returned covered in dog piss. "You fucking little toerags - how many times do you need to learn the fucking causes of the Russian Revolution?" he would bark. He got a total hardon for his own cuntyness. He really was a cumstain. But he got good results, I guess. He had this daughter called Letitia, or maybe Fenella. Some fucking stupid name. She was our age or maybe a year younger - about fifteen. She had long hair and big tits, and was a total fucking cocktease. As one of only about five females on campus under the age of fifty, she knew the power she had over the several hundred boys. She would lick her lips and push her tits together as we went past down to the sports fields. Most guys wanked themselves stupid thinking of cumming between her baps. (They were full, heavy and pink. Even I thought it might be worth a try.) But Forsythe got found out, and the shit hit the fan. Reggie went fucking ballistic and Forsythe disappeared, a total hero. Somebody had finally shagged Jemima! (Or Camilla?). Forsythe was sacked: behaviour unbecoming of a gentleman. Ha! There was never anything gentlemanlike about Forsythe. He used to towel-whip the nippers and flick his hard dick against his thigh until he shot his jizz in the showers after cricket. Fuck off Forsythe, you perv, everyone laughed. Serious business, he would reply, when you got too much jizz in your system. Gotta let it out or all kinds of shit could happen. All kinds of shit did happen. He boned Rosanna, or Selena - then Reggie found out somehow and had him marched off the premises, probably with his dick in a paper bag. I wonder if he got to fuck those baps before Reggie cut his dick off. Anyway, there was a space on the War Graves trip. "So, are you in?" leered Reggie at me. "It really is a most educational excursion..." I was in. But there was a catch. The numbers were all screwed, the rooms had been booked in twos and I was the last on board. Fucking hell, I was going to have to share with a member of staff. Please god let it not be Reggie. The cunt. It wasn't Reggie. He got to share with Daggers, who was a dreary bastard of an art teacher, about 50, probably alcoholic, definitely unhygienic, married to a fat cow. I got Keppel, the smart-arse cross-country mod langs guy. He was also a cunt, but at least had a full head of hair. Of the three, Reggie, Daggers or Keppel, anyone would have picked Keppel. But he was still an arse, and as hard as nails. He would twat your head hard with the spine of a dictionary if you got anything wrong in class. He was at least 90% of the reason I had given up German. Jesus, that first night. My pals fell into their snug twosomes, drunk as assholes, ready to snore and fart their way through the night until breakfast. I had just as much to drink as anyone but tried to hide it as I crashed back to the room where Keppel was doing some stretches on the floor or some such fucking crap. "Pissed, are you?" drawled Keppel, as I stumbled over the shoes I had just kicked off. "Keep control of your system if you possibly can, you little turd. I won't take kindly to vomit all over my gear." The tight Afrikaner twang in his vowels gave his voice a curt nastiness. What a fucking shit. I went into the bathroom and pissed and farted really loudly, and drank about two pints of water. Then I stripped off to my boxers, fell into bed and tried to ignore him and his callisthenics. Or Yoga. Or What-the-fuck-Ever. I was asleep in a few seconds, even with the lights on full. I awoke suddenly, and looked at my watch. It was 3.03am, my head throbbed, I was desperately dehydrated, and the pressure on my bladder was almost painful. Jesus, my throat felt like the Sahara. I struggled out of bed and lurched for the bathroom. There were four full litre bottles of water on the shelf, all cold. I drank two of them in next to no time, and had a fantastically long and satisfying piss, trying to make as much thunder noise with my piss stream as possible. Maybe I shouldn't have done that. Keppel yelled "shut the fuck up!" even before I was shaking the drips off. I cracked open a third bottle of water - it was even more life-giving than the others. Keppel appeared as I had it upended totally, glugging deeply at the ice cold relief. "Could you fucking make any more noise, you little ass wipe?" he grunted, shoving past me to get to the pisser. He was wearing white boxerbriefs. They bulged. My head was staring at the ceiling as I held the water bottle, but somehow I still noticed his bulge. Shit, I was in trouble. I had to get back to bed before I sprang a boner. He turned and pissed, even more noisily than me. I looked at his back, flawless, broad, tanned. Shit, the fucker was fit. He ran miles a week, and it was obvious. He was toned. I recapped the water and turned back to bed, already on the way to hard. I was under the covers before he himself got back into bed. He was heavy-breathing within a couple of minutes, then lightly snoring. I nursed my erection. Oh well: why not. I pushed back my covers, hooked my boxers under my balls and jerked it, thinking of Keppel's bulge. I shot up my stomach a couple of minutes later, hitting my face and neck. Relieved, I pulled the covers up and slept like a dead man. Keppel was up and about earlier than me. I first heard him talking quietly on the phone, presumably to Reggie, about the arrangements of the day. Then he was in an out of the bathroom several times, and I heard him take a dump and a shower. Then there was a long pause in which I guessed he was shaving, but I was half in and out of sleep so I wasn't paying much attention. Suddenly Keppel said, "out of bed, lad" right close to my ear. I yawned and opened my eyes. He was standing with his back to me, with a white towel around his waist. His back was as perfect as I had seen it while he was pissing in the middle of the night. Better get into the bathroom before he spotted my morning glory. But it wasn't to be. As I got out of bed, he turned and looked at me. I just stood quite still, unable to get past him, so I waited until he had paid me another insult. That was the first time he looked at me properly, I think. He was a couple of inches taller than me, but not much. A bit broader, but then I was skinny at that age. He ran his eyes up and down me. I felt embarrassed. "Jesus, boy. Look at you. Cum tracks all up your chest and a full-on bone in your lunch box. Get in the fucking bathroom and make yourself presentable. And have some fucking manners and ask before you wank off in my presence again." Then he turned, loosened his towel and threw it on his bed and started to dress. His ass was as hard as rock, hairless white buns above taut thighs. I ran the shower and used the noise as cover for another explosive wank. The bastard had somehow got to me. The graveyards were sobering. The ladchat and bullshit, alive as usual on the bus, began to fade when we first saw the endless lines of dead heroes, and was a faint memory by the time we walked among the graves listening to the unthinkable statistics the tour guide churned out. Left to our own thoughts for a while, most guys walked off on their own to contemplate the phenomenal price the Allies had paid to defeat the Nazis. Some guys cried to themselves. I was one. (All denied it later, of course). Hundreds, thousands of soldiers in this cemetery alone; some known, some anonymous, most not much older than us. I was completely surprised by my reaction, and totally unprepared for it. I walked aimlessly, avoiding the company of others, reading the endless names, wandering far from the place where the tour guide had tailed off. Towards some shady woodland at the extreme edge of the vast acreage, I stood and looked at yet another grave stone. Tommy Butler, Fusilier, Age 19. RIP. I don't know how long I stood there. But it was a long while. The sun and the near silence seemed to envelope me, and I became one with Tommy Butler for a while. "Too much to take in, eh, this place?" said a voice just behind me. It was Keppel. The bastard. I ignored him. "What kind of life do you think old Tommy here had, eh?" I didn't want to speak to anyone, and stayed quiet. I resented Keppel's presence and radiated my strongest fuck-off vibes. "Just fucking nineteen, eh? Just a fucking kid. Fuckin hell. Probably called up at 18, sent to the Front, dead within a year. Drunk a few times for certain, but definitely never been stoned. First and only time overseas to the wartime hell of Northern France; no Spanish sunshine for him. Probably still a virgin too. A few fumbles with his mates, perhaps." I just wished Keppel would shut up and fuck off. He placed his hand on my shoulder. "What about you, kid? You're three years younger than Tommy here. What would you do, if you only had three years left?" I still stayed quiet. The pressure on my shoulder became an insistent squeeze. I wanted him to remove his hand. But he didn't. "Three years..." he intoned, quieter, leaning in to my ear. "Would that be long enough, do you think?" He gripped harder, and I felt the pain in my shoulder. Fuck, Keppel was a hard cunt of a bastard. I determined not to show he was hurting me. "You reckon that would be long enough, to scratch that itch you got, kid? All that stuff you think about? All that stuff you daren't tell your mates about?" Now his mouth was right next to my ear. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my neck. "Or can you not even own up to it yourself yet?" he whispered, mocking, and stabbed his grip on my shoulder so hard I cried out and flinched. "Fuck off, perv," I groaned as I twisted out of his grasp. He laughed. "I'm the perv, am I? You're the one with the boner, boy." He turned and walked away, towards some distant figures contemplating other graves, his forceful, aggressive masculinity evident even in his swagger. Fuck him. ***** Reggie, Daggers and Keppel didn't care what we got up to as long as nobody died and they weren't inconvenienced, and that night we went out to drink as heavily as we had the night before. But even though we had money in our pockets and a whole night in front of us, the mood wasn't there. It had been a desperately sad, serious day and nobody much felt like gratuitous drunkenness or even cheap oral sex. About 10pm the evening petered out and the crowd disintegrated. I was one of those who went back to the hotel. As I went into the room I could hear Keppel in the shower. Relieved I didn't have to speak to him I dropped onto my bed and searched round for something to read. I was tired and slightly drunk and I knew I would be asleep in minutes. I slithered out of my jeans and shirt and lay on the bed in my boxers, looking at a guide book from the War Graves and Trenches people. "Fucking hell, kid," grunted Keppel as he came out the bathroom door and saw me. "Don't just sneak in like that. I had no idea you were here. Why the fuck are you back this early anyway?" I looked at him - it seemed ok to, because it seemed this was a conversation. Still, with a small towel round his waist and the water dripping off his cropped blond hair onto his broad shoulders, it was difficult to keep my voice level. "Not much appetite for beer after all those graves I guess," I said quietly, almost unable to control my eyes from sweeping all over his hard torso. His large nipples, the clippered fair hair on his chest and his dense, dirty blond treasure trail plunging southwards over his rigid abs into his towel were all branded into my memory in a split second - filed into the wank bank. I would examine that snap-shot later, but for now I had to maintain eye contact. "You bunch of pussies. Back in bed before the adults have even gone out?" He laughed and turned away from me. The conversation was over and I turned back to my book. He was rummaging in his bag and then I knew he was going to remove his towel. I did not know where to look. Had it been one of my mates, we would have laughed, or it would not have been an issue. But now a searing hot guy who I knew to be a cunt but who I had already had two hot wanks about was going to flash me his cock. And if I reacted wrong I would be out the school, like Forsythe, probably also with my dick in a paper bag. But he turned his back to me, and the towel was briefly used to rub the inside of his thighs, then to vigorously towel his hair. As he bent over to step into another snow- white pair of rod-hugging boxerbriefs, I caught a snatched glimpse of a heavy ballbag between his legs. His ass, the same pair of granite-hard white buns I had seen the night before, nearly made me lose my load as the underwear he had selected slipped over his mounds to encase his ass. Almost relieved I hadn't seen his dick, I rolled over onto my stomach and studied my book intently as he continued to dress. My bone nearly bore a hole in the mattress. "Back later, kid," he said, almost chattily. "And don't drink all the fucking water tonight." I looked up as he went out the door. He flicked the light off leaving only my bedside lamp lit, but even in the silhouette of half-light I could see that his red polo shirt emphasised his broad shoulders and his faded Levis rode tantalisingly over his hard ass. Jesus. The moment the door clicked shut I rolled over onto my back and hooked my boxers under my balls, letting my hardon slap against my stomach. A strand of clear sticky precum glinted in the lamplight. I worked my dick very hard and fast for about twenty seconds, to try and lessen the overwhelming tension in my whole body, then taking a deep breath, got up to look for a prize, dick bobbing. Easy as pie. Keppel had a white linen kit bag on top of his main luggage and I knew instantly it was his laundry. A pair of grey and red sports socks and that day's pair of white CKs were on top. Oh man. I huffed one of the socks and nearly passed out. In that second I decided I would cum in one of them and put it back in his laundry bag. The other sock seemed even more intense - sweaty, fetid and sexy. Fuck, this was going to be the quickest wank in history. I jumped back on bed and lost my boxers. I lay back and snorted hungrily at the second sock while I poked my dick into the first and started a hard slow action. Tight grip, so that the sock made full contact with all my wet erection. Oh my God. My ass started to lift off the bed and fuck upwards into the sock and my hand. I just couldn't seem to stop it. I was still clutching the CKs, but the sock I was sniffing was so intense I didn't want to leave it. Then I realised I could have both. I stuffed the toe end of the sock into my mouth and then snorted the inside of the cock pouch on those CKs. Oh Fucking Hell. The beautiful aroma of cock faintly tinged with piss. Man cock. Real hard bastard Afrikaner cock. And the taste of his toe gunk and sneaker sweat all around my mouth. With his CKs arranged over my nose and his sock in my mouth, my free hand tweaked my nipple while I fucked the other sock. This was the best wank I had ever had. It was going to be over in only a few moments, but in the meantime... I gave into it totally. I started to moan and writhe and buck my hips. I always cum harder if I let myself get vocal, and I started to let go. "Oh yeah you fuckin stud, oh yeah your hot sweaty feet and your fuckin fuckin hot chest... oh yeah man, do me with your rock hard dick..." The sound of the door opening only registered partially on my radar, but the sound of it clicking shut sent me into a terrified frenzy. The level of panic that shot through me was like a high-voltage electric shock, and the adrenaline that was immediately injected into my system made me wildly snatch at all the stolen clothing and somehow, somehow try frantically to hide it and then get myself under the bedclothes in the three-quarters of a second it would take before he-- "What the...?" One foot on the floor, one knee on the bed, my long erection bouncing, pointing right at him; I didn't know what to do - I was more desperate than I had ever been. I had one hand behind my back with the stolen gear in it, but as I looked at him staring at me in incredulity, I realised one of his socks was still on the bed. I had managed nothing. I hadn't hidden the gear or myself. Worse, I had frozen still while looking at him. And my cock was still hard as a hammer. Coyly - and pointlessly - I tried to put a hand in front of it. Whatever he had expected to see, it wasn't this, and he was momentarily flummoxed by the sight of me. His hand wandered to the desk where his forgotten wallet - obviously the reason for his sudden return - too late I saw it, far too late - as if he was still acting on previous instinct. Then, within a second, he began to realise what he was looking it. "You fucking little pervert," he snarled, nastily. "I've not even been gone five minutes. Look at you, wanking your bone before I'm even out the fuckin door." I was paralysed. My heart was thumping a thousand to the minute, but it was the only part of me that seemed able to move. Inside I screamed for help. Please let this be a nightmare, please let me wake up right now... But no. Instead he identified the stray sock that was still on my bed, still scrunched up from where I had been fucking it, and still wet with my precum. "And my fucking socks? You little fucker." His hard tight vowels became even more aggressive, and his eyes narrowed. Yet his voice and his anger and his aggression just made my dick throb even harder, and my heart pump like I would explode. "Oh my god, oh my god..." I muttered to myself, somehow trying to edit him out of the room. Finally I found some coordination and I reached for my boxers and tried to step into them. In doing so I put down on the bed what I had been hiding behind my back. "And my skids...?" he said, quietly, incredulously. Oh Jesus. How could I have done that? He pounced on them, as if to check they were his. The slightly yellow piss mark on the inside of the cock pouch was turned outwards as I had spread it over my nose to snort. "You've been jerking off sniffing my underwear?" His voice was so quiet I couldn't bear it. I tripped slightly as my left leg wouldn't go into my boxers. My cock still bounced like a loose cucumber. "You filthy, dirty little cunt." He unbuckled his belt in a flash and whipped it out in one loud crack. "Get over here right now." Shit. He was going to beat me. My panic became desperation. "Please, Mr Keppel, no sir, I'm sorry, I won't do it again, I just..." "Get over here right now or I will punch you into next week." His voice chilled me into submission. I still couldn't get both legs into my boxers, so I staggered over to him. He took his belt and threw it onto the bed. I was surprised - had he changed his mind on whipping me? And then, my God. He unpopped his jeans buttons in one rip and pushed them to his knees. His snowy white boxerbriefs were revealed - the bulge as awesome as ever. His thighs like solid trunks. "Wha...what shall I... what do you...?" I didn't know what to say, I didn't know what to do; I had no idea what he was thinking or expecting. I stood in front of him - not daring to think. He brought his hands up to my face and then placed them on my shoulders. Without any delay or messing about he pressed my shoulders firmly downwards until I was kneeling in front of him. My heart nearly exploded. "Surely a little undie-sniffer like you does not fucking require instructions?" he sneered. He grabbed the back of my head and pulled it firmly into his crotch. The bulge smashed me on the nose. Then he held his head in place and began to squirm his hefty package into my face. "Seeing as you seem to like my gear so much, here's the real thing," he sniggered. I do not know why he found this funny. Either it was an exquisite torture designed to humiliate me further, or he genuinely wanted me to get to work on his rod. Either way my own dick strained upwards in desperate hardness. The contact, the smell, the warmth, the increasing rigidity of his packet made me mad with sexlust. I'd never had any sexual contact with anyone before and I felt like I might cum at any point. I tried to push my nose in a little further, transfixed, hungry, scared stiff. "Jesus fucking Christ, are you a total numskull? Open your mouth. Now." I opened my mouth and looked up at him. He seemed without any emotion as he flipped his stiffening shaft out of his undies and slapped it into my face. That was the moment I knew something fundamental about myself: I wanted nothing more than his cock in my mouth. Everything went out of my head except his cock, snaking in front of me. The fact that he had caught me and I was terrified, the unexpected possibility that he might actually be up for messing about, even the fact that I was naked on my knees with my own long rod bolt upright and impossibly hard, all faded away. The only thing in existence was his cock. I had nothing to compare it with except my own, but it seemed big, beautiful, manly and completely irresistible. It bounced and bobbed as it hardened further and as he continued to slap it around my face. I was desperate for the taste of it, and tried to catch it in my open, gagging mouth, but he kept swinging it out of reach, dancing in front of my eyes, too close for me to look at properly, but still hypnotic. And he sniggered. "Gotta open wider than that, boy. You think this is just like your pals' little dicks?" I stretched open as wide as if I was at the dentist. He laughed again. "Now we might be in business." He smeared his cockhead over my lips, and I tried to lick and taste him, but he seemed to be enjoying teasing me. "Oh what a little slut you have turned out to be. Look at you, hard as a rock and desperate for cock!" He snorted in amusement at his own rhyme. "Well, boy, your education starts here." He put his hand on the back of my head and pushed his knobend into my mouth. The smell, the warmth, the hardness, the taste - I was overwhelmed by so many sensations I went light-headed and thought I might faint. I closed my mouth around his fat cockhead and loose foreskin, and I was transported to other-worldly bliss. I had never even seen an erection other than my own up close, certainly never touched one, and now I had one in my mouth. I hadn't seen this one yet either, not properly, and I had no idea how big it was - no true sense of its size at all - but at sixteen I couldn't have immediately and accurately sized a guy to the nearest half inch like I can now. And in fact, even though I had a cock in my mouth, I still hadn't actually touched one. My right hand went instinctively to the thick strong shaft that joined his helmet to his body, gripping hard, feeling and massaging, then wanking, thrilled at its fat, thick rigidity. My left hand went to my own dick, which was so hard it was in danger of snapping. I got into a rhythm, natural, easy, obvious. I wanked both cocks and suckled hungrily on the top two inches of his now iron-hard erection. I felt my whole body buzzing with purpose, with sex, with life. "Leave your own dick, alone, boy," he said, gruffly. "Don't want this party over before it's started." I doubted that something as common place as me ejaculating - I had, after all, had two or three orgasms a day for the last four years - would stop me sucking his cock, but I did what he said. Quickly I found that without the familiar handiwork on my own cock, my desire for his cock became, if possible, even greater. The only way I could get release now was from sucking, and I chomped and vacuumed like my life depended on it. I was assaulted by so many new sensations that I could hardly process them all. I never imagined that hardness could be so smooth, or so warm, or that warmth could somehow have a taste, or that soapy smells would be as hot as the musk of manliness. I never realised that a scrotum could feel so heavy, or that a bush displays a cock like a cushion, like a podium. I never thought that the pushing, insistent thrust of a hard shaft in my soft mouth could feel so unbearably sexy that it reverberated all around my body, making my dick throb and my balls churn. I used my saliva to make him as slick as I could, and scooped the excess along his rod to wank him better. He loved it. I always thought that when I gave my first blowjob I would try to copy what I had seen done in the hundreds of hours of porn I had watched online, but when it came to it instinct seemed a better guide. I knew I would not be able to take all of him to the root, and I didn't want to anyway. It was so sexy to hold the throbbing fat rod and slurp the end that I got up to about three inches of him inside me, and wanted no more. Even though he seemed eager to push it in further, he didn't force me. There still seemed to be room for both my hands on his shaft, and when I started a two- handed assault while my tongue flicked under his fat glans with his skin full back, I sensed that I had him. Something had shifted. His body language was compliant, relaxed. I realised I had the power now and another surge of adrenaline hit me. He had become a pussy! He was moaning and writhing and rubbing his nipples and smoothing his hands over his flat belly and taut thighs. He kept one hand on my head, but it was out of the enjoyment of mussing my hair more than to steer the action. I was now steering! My cock ached and ached, dripping streams of clear snot, begging for attention, for release. I felt like a hard, hard cunt ignoring it, and I loved the feeling. Since I started work on him, the insults had stopped, the aggression faded to deep sexual enjoyment. I knew he was just going to sit back and wait for me to deliver a climax for him. In fact that is literally what he then did: removed me from his cock, then sat at the head of my bed, leaning back against the wall, knees slightly raised and his legs wide open, his hairy trench spread slightly open in front of my pillows. At some point he had lost his red polo shirt, and was now clad only in socks. He smiled at me, an invitation to resume my work on his monstrous prong, which I saw properly now for the first time. It was a glorious slab of meat: a long, fat, straight woody: the head fatter than the rest: and the balls, bush and trail making the whole into something approaching perfection. To my teenage first-timer's eyes, it was way beyond a dream. He smiled again. Another realisation: I preferred him when he was arrogant. As I looked at him there, I knew something about myself, and something about him. First, I was gay. This was something I had known for a long time in a theoretical sense, but now I knew in a practical one. Looking at this masculine masterpiece, I knew I would never want Corinna's soft baps, or even wonder about them any more. For me, the way forward was cock, and it was a something or a relief to know that for sure. Second, Keppel was an arrogant bully, but I seemed to have tamed him. Even so, I strongly suspected this party, as he called it, would be more likely to end with his orgasm than mine. So I decided to get mine first. I didn't want him to walk all over me, even if this was my first time out. I smiled back, and knelt on the bed between his legs. As if we were old buddies, he massaged my head, rubbing my hair and neck as I went back to his awesome schlong. In this position I realised I had more control, and set about exploring his foreskin properly. I soon found I could draw it back and forth while in my mouth, and it was an obvious jump to getting my tongue underneath his slack skin and stretching it with my tongue and mouth while I wanked him. My own enjoyment of this new manoeuvre was sensational; I felt somehow like I was getting right inside him. But it was nothing to his own pleasure. "Jesus, boy, oh fuck yeah, oh man, that's done it, fuck yeah... fuck yeah... right there..." "Kep! You in there? You found your wallet?" Reggie's voice as he banged on the door made my whole body tense and freeze, but Keppel kept massaging my head and neck, an indication that I should keep sucking. "Yeah, Reg," he called. "I got it, but I suddenly don't feel too good. Give me a while and I might catch you up." "Sure, Kep. We'll be at that same bar and then on to the strip club." Then he was gone. I stopped and looked at "Kep". "What kind of strip club?" I asked. "Girls, pole dancing, just a bar. Nothing amazing. Drinks cost a fortune though. Reggie likes to stick 20 Euro notes right into their cunnies." I considered our new positions. This was a our first ever conversation, and it was mainly due to the fact that I was between his legs giving my first blowjob, while trying to ignore the intensely painful need to work on my own cock. "You into that?" I ventured. "What do you think?" he laughed again. "I think you'd rather be here with me doing this." "You think right, boy. Sex with a hot guy beats boning a pussy any day." "Does that make me a hot guy?" "Baby," he laughed, "you are the hottest guy in school. And I knew you were a homo two years ago." "How?" "You stared at Forsythe for a whole lesson once. Imagining what it would be like to suck his dick, probably." I was quiet. Forsythe had been my secret. I had loved him from a distance for a time, wanking myself into a frenzy just at the thought of the back of his neck, or the curl of his hair. I was gutted when Reggie got him expelled for boning Lucinda. Suddenly I knew I didn't want to talk to Keppel about Forsythe. He would only belittle what I felt, and anyway we had more pressing matters to hand. I went back to my blowjob, and within a minute I had him back up at boiling point. Again I found that if I could ignore my own crushing desire to masturbate, I had absolute control over Kep. I slowed and sped up, and slowed again, and each time he quivered and moaned in response was more confirmation that to suck was not necessarily to be passive. His great fat solid member throbbed hard in my hands and my mouth, and his breathing was fast and shallow. I sensed he was very close to orgasm. So I stopped. "Actually I was mainly fantasising about you," I said as I got up off my knees and stood on the bed in front of him. He gasped at the termination of my mouthwork. "I knew you were a hard cunt. I knew you'd lay back and take a blowjob. I dreamt your cock would be a porno dick, and it is. But I wanked like a fucking demon wondering if you'd be man enough to suck me off too." Maybe I risked him just drawing a close to our fun, but I didn't think so. There was a look in his eyes like I had never seen in anyone. He stared at my strong, straight aching teen bone, not as fat as his, but as long and as beautiful. He wanted it. He fucking wanted it. He looked up at me briefly, then back to my dick. I'd got him nearly to the point of no return, and now I'd presented him with my dick. His hands came up to my hips, and brushed my fair skin lightly. He leaned forward and his mouth was inches from my cockhead. I was faint with anticipation. I ran my hands over his cropped hair. He said nothing, but his lips were parting. He was going to do it. Keppel was going to suck my cock! He had resisted for no more than ten seconds. He was as much a homo as me. ********* Does this warrant a second part? Drop me a line if you enjoyed it, or if you'd like a list of my other stuff at Nifty. jsmith381@hotmail.com