The Jigsaw Puzzle
by Pink Panther
Chapter 9
November 2007
We've been back at school for a couple of weeks. Things have settled down. Dean and I work together all the time. That's helped a lot. I'm still aware that some of the other kids aren't talking to me, but it no longer seems to matter that much.
There is one thing that's bothering me though. I still haven't done anything about what Mr Broadhurst said to me. I know I ought to do something, but I've never done anything like that before. I haven't a clue how to go about it. I'm wary of approaching Mr Saunders because of what happened in the PE store. It's very difficult. I need to discuss it with someone, but who?
It's Tuesday afternoon and I'm at Anthony's house. We've been enjoying ourselves, you know, the way we do. I pull on my clothes, ready to go home.
"Anthony," I begin. "You remember when my sister and her mates had that run-in with Zav? Well, afterwards Broadhurst talked to me about it. He told me I needed to make myself fitter and stronger so that I wouldn't be such an easy target. What d'you think?"
"Well, you could, I guess," he says, sounding very non-committal.
"Broadhurst said it would give me more confidence," I go on.
"Yeah, possibly," he responds. "I've always been pretty good at looking after myself, so it's hard for me to say."
"Broadhurst said Mr Saunders would help me if I was willing to put the work in," I continue, "but I'm a bit worried . . . , you know?"
"That he might make a move on you? I dunno. I know he pervs on us. I've never heard of him actually trying anything." He pauses. "Sorry I'm not being very helpful. I just don't know."
Well, that's Anthony, telling it the way he sees it, just like he always does. But it has helped. I've actually managed to talk about it without completely embarrassing myself. So maybe I can talk to someone else. With a bit of luck, I might find some answers.
It's after school on Wednesday. Dean and I are on our way to his house. Going there on Wednesdays has become part of our routine. Sometimes I help him with maths, his weakest subject. Other than that, we just hang out, chatting about this and that and listening to rock music. We go inside and head up to his bedroom.
"This is a great room," I comment, flopping down on the armchair.
"Yeah," he responds, putting some music on. "I've not had it long. My old room was less than half this size. This was my brother's."
"So where's he?" I ask, having been totally unaware that he even had a brother.
"Doing voluntary work in Namibia," he says. "Next October he'll be going to Oxford to study law. Mum and Dad said it wasn't fair for him to keep the big room when he wasn't going to be here, so when he went, we swapped over."
I've not met Dean's parents, but I know I'll like them. They do really sensible things. When it's time for Claire to go off to uni, I'm going to suggest that we swap rooms.
"Cool!" I say, grinning. "So was he at the Grammar School too? I don't remember him."
"You wouldn't," Dean says, giving me a wry grin. "Neil's not much like me. He was on the rugby and cricket teams, played the cello and always did great in class, but he was never, you know, one of the stars. He just gets on with things."
I nod my understanding. I like guys who 'just get on with things'. There's a pause, the sound of Thin Lizzy's Jailbreak filling the void. I take a deep breath. Dean's as good a person to ask as any.
"After that business with Zav," I say, "Broadhurst told me I ought to do some training, you know, to get myself fitter. What d'you think?"
"Yeah, definitely," he says. "You could improve a lot if you wanted to."
"He said Mr Saunders would help me," I add, "but I'm not sure about asking him."
"Why?" he demands.
"He's a bit of a perv. He, you know, looks at us when we come out of the showers."
"Saunders is alright," he says firmly. "I've been alone with him loads of times, you know, after gym club and athletics training. He's never tried anything pervy. He's okay. Trust me."
"Broadhurst said I should take proper swimming lessons too," I go on. "You might as well know; I'm scared of the water."
"Not much point in you doing that at the moment," he says firmly. "What happens when we have to run round the field?"
"I get out of breath," I admit.
"Well swimming's even worse," he says. "Even if you could swim, you'd be gasping for breath after a few strokes. You need to get that sorted first."
"How?" I ask.
"Do some running," he says, "just short distances to begin with. You'll have to concentrate on controlling your breathing. Then gradually build it up. I mean, you don't have asthma or anything, do you?"
"No," I admit.
"I knew you didn't," he goes on, "because you're never off school. And you don't carry any weight, so you should be able to run okay. You just need to learn to breathe properly."
This sounds alarming to me. I've always hated running because of the way it makes me feel.
"I don't know," I say uncertainly.
"I'll help you," he says.
Now that does grab my attention.
"How?" I enquire.
"I'll go out running with you," he says. "I'll make sure you're okay and don't overdo it. We can do some circuit training too. I can show you the exercises. We can do them together."
It sounds like a very good offer. Deep down, I know I ought to jump at it, but doing anything like this is such a big step, I'm wary about committing myself.
"Wouldn't you find that boring?" I ask. "I'm useless, especially at running."
"Well you're not going to do it on your own," Dean says pointedly.
"What d'you mean?" I counter, feeling slightly offended.
"When was it that Broadhurst spoke to you?" Dean asks.
"End of September, I think," I answer, screwing my face up as I try to remember.
"And six weeks later, what have you done?" he demands. "If you were going to do this on your own, you'd have started by now."
I can't argue with that. Then the answer hits me. There's one more person I need to speak to.
"Thanks for offering," I say, playing for time. "It's more than anyone else has done. I need to think about it. I'll tell you tomorrow afternoon if that's okay."
"Yeah, sure," he says, smiling. "There's no rush."
Our French class has just finished. As the other kids head out to lunch, I wait behind until everyone else has left. Mr Ashton's sitting at his desk, checking through some papers. I go and stand next to him.
"Sir," I begin. "Is it alright if I ask you something?"
"Fire away," he says brightly.
"After Claire and her friends had that dust-up with Zav, Mr Broadhurst spoke to me. He said I ought to do some training, you know, to make myself stronger. He said it would give me more confidence. Well, I've not done anything yet, but yesterday afternoon I was round at Dean's house and he said he'd help me if I wanted to do it. I just want to know what you think."
"I think you should say yes before he changes his mind," he says, smiling. "It'll be much easier if you have someone to work with. I'm pleased that you and Dean have started hanging out. You'll be good for each other."
"So you think I should do it?" I ask.
"Absolutely," he says, looking right into my eyes. "I was a lot like you when I was at school. I wasn't much use at any of the physical stuff. One regret that I have is that I didn't do anything about it until I was at uni. But it takes you right out of your comfort zone, and that's always hard. These days, my partner and I work out pretty regularly. Actually, it's how we met."
"Thanks sir!" I say grinning from ear to ear.
All the doubts are gone. He says I ought to do it. That's good enough for me.
We've sorted out our programme. Dean's fixed it all with Mr Saunders. We'll run together Monday lunchtimes and after school on Wednesdays. On Tuesday and Thursday lunchtimes we'll go in the gym to do circuit training. I can't say I'm looking forward to it, but I've committed myself now. I'll just have to do my best.
Monday lunchtime, Dean and I head straight for the gym changing room. We change quickly into shorts, tee-shirts and trainers. I'm feeling very nervous.
"Great to see you making an effort," Mr Saunders says, bustling through. "But don't expect instant results. You'll have to stick at it if you're going to get anywhere."
"Right!" Dean says brightly. "Before we go out, you need to do some breathing exercises. Breathe in nice and slow. Pull the air right to the bottom of your lungs." I do as he says. "Now slowly breathe out again." I do that too. "Okay," he says. "Let's practise doing that, breathing in and out deep and slow."
We spend a couple of minutes, standing facing each other, taking long deep breaths. It feels very strange.
"Okay," he says, smiling, "time to go. That's how you have to breathe when you run. Don't try to run too fast, and don't talk! Just concentrate on keeping your breathing deep and slow."
We trot out onto the field. I'm surprised at how slowly we're running. At this pace, it's not hard to breathe the way Dean showed me. We're more than halfway round the field before my chest starts to tighten. That's much further than I usually manage.
"Okay, let's stop here," Dean says, realising that I'm beginning to struggle.
"Now blow out hard," he orders, exhaling powerfully, "then pull the air in deep and slow."
We repeat this several times. After around a minute, I'm ready to continue. We complete the circuit of the field.
"You did okay," Dean says, grinning. "Want to try another one?"
I nod. After some more hard breathing, we set out again. By halfway round, my chest feels like it's about to explode.
"That's okay," Dean says reassuringly. "You know what to do."
It takes longer this time, maybe ninety seconds before I'm ready to go again. Eventually, we complete our second circuit. My heart's pounding out of my chest.
"Now don't just stop," Dean says firmly. "Do the breathing recovery exercises again."
After a couple of minutes, I'm feeling something like normal. We wander back into the changing room and get back into our school clothes.
"You did great," Dean says quietly. "As long as you stick at it, it will get easier, trust me."
I smile and nod. I definitely will stick at it. I like Dean; I'm not going to let him down by wimping out. I'm not going to let Mr Ashton down either. I'll never be a world-beater, but I am going to get better.
It's two weeks since I began my training programme. I've just run a complete circuit of the field without stopping, the first hint I've had that I'm improving. We set off on our second lap. Halfway round, I'm out of breath, same as usual, but after doing the breathing recovery exercises, in well under a minute I'm ready to go. We complete the lap.
"That was great!" Dean says as we head back to the changing room. "And that's just the start."
"You know when you run with your dad," I ask. "How far d'you go?"
"Three or four miles," he says casually. "Not far."
That's alarming. If four miles is his idea of 'not far', I can't imagine what he'd think 'far' was!
"I don't think I'll ever be able to do that!" I protest.
"Oh, you will," he says nonchalantly. "It'll take a few months, but you will. You actually run quite well. Once you can breathe properly, you'll be okay."
I swallow hard. When I've always been so useless, it's difficult to get my head round the idea of running that sort of distance. Will I really be able to do it?
It's Saturday afternoon and I'm on my way to Dean's house. His mum and dad will be there. I'm really looking forward to meeting them. A Jaguar S-Class and a VW Golf are sitting in the drive, both top of the range and around a year old. Nice! I walk up to the front door and ring the bell. Dean comes to the door dressed in football shorts and a Nirvana tee-shirt. His legs are so long that the shorts finish way above his knees. Man, he is hot! We go inside.
"Ian's here!" Dean calls.
His dad emerges from the front room. He's tall too; Dean's the spitting image of him. He extends his hand.
"Mike Griffiths. Pleased to meet you!" he says, smiling warmly, his handshake firm and friendly. "Make yourself at home!"
"Thanks!" I respond smiling back. "Dean says you play rock guitar."
"Yeah, well I try!" he answers, grinning. "Dean told us you're into pop music."
"Are you going to bring your guitar to my room?" Dean asks.
"No, let's set up in there," his dad says, jerking his head towards the front room, "so we can make plenty of noise without annoying the neighbours!"
I follow Dean up to his room. He hands me his guitar.
"Will you take that for me?" he asks, unplugging his amplifier.
With the leads safely stowed, we head back downstairs. I spend the next hour listening to them play. They sound great, and that's not the only thing that impresses me. The rapport between Dean and his dad is amazing. The way they gel when they're playing, the little remarks they make to each other, even their body language; you can see how close they are. They're not just father and son; they're like best friends too. It's nearly six o'clock when Dean's mum appears.
"Dinner will be ready in ten minutes," she announces before disappearing again.
"I hope you're hungry!" Dean says, grinning.
"I'm always hungry!" I respond, smiling back.
Dinner is excellent. In between mouthfuls, Dean's dad asks me about my interest in art and design, the different places I've been, the galleries I've visited, the works that I particularly like, what I hope to do in the future, everything. He asks really intelligent questions too, not quizzing me, just like trying to get to know me. I love talking to him. Finally, the meal is over.
"Thanks!" I say brightly. "That was wicked!"
"You're very welcome," Dean's mum says, smiling. "We're pleased to have you here."
"Want to help me clear away?" Dean asks.
"Sure, no problem!" I respond, grinning.
We carry everything through to the kitchen and load the dishwasher. Dean makes tea for his mum and dad. We carry it through. Finally we carry his guitar and amplifier back to his bedroom.
"Your mum and dad are so cool!" I enthuse as he closes the door. "They seem really pleased that I've come over."
"Oh, they are," he says, giving me a wry grin. "They never liked me hanging out with Zav. They're more than happy that I've become friends with someone like you."
"How d'you think they'd react if they knew I was gay?" I ask guardedly.
"When I told Dad why Zav was picking on you, it didn't bother him at all," he says quietly. "Working as barristers, Mum and Dad have to deal with all sorts of people. Sometimes they have to defend people who've done some really bad stuff, yeah? They'll be totally cool about you being gay. Mum might ask if you're really sure you are, but that'd be about it."
"I haven't told Mum and Dad yet," I say, looking down at my feet. "I don't know when I'll be able to. Mum wouldn't like it at all. I don't think Dad would like it exactly, but he'd be okay about it. Mum, well, it's like she thinks I'm still her little boy. She nearly threw a fit when she found out I'd cycled to Anthony's house."
"He lives near here, doesn't he?" Dean asks, changing the subject.
"Yeah, Grosvenor Terrace," I confirm. "That was the problem. I have to cycle through town to get there. Mum thinks it's too dangerous. I'm nearly fourteen for fuck sake!"
"Oh right," Dean says absently. "I've seen him about. I just never knew exactly where he lived." He pauses for a second. "Talking of cycling," he goes on. "What are you doing tomorrow morning?"
"I've still got a bit of homework to finish," I tell him. "I'll be free after that."
"Is there a park near you?"
"Yeah, just down the road. Why?"
"I thought if I cycled over to yours, we could go for a little run in the park," he suggests. "Then afterwards I could cycle back here again."
I'm not one hundred per cent keen on the idea, but without Dean's help I'd never have even started getting myself fit. I'm not going to say no.
"Yeah, okay," I agree.
"About half past ten?" he asks.
"Yeah, that'll be fine."
"If I bring my maths homework with me," he enquires, "could I check it against yours?"
"No problem!" I respond, giving him a big smile.
I'm pleased he asked that. It means that there'll be something in it for him. I'm sure he can't find running with me much fun.
It's half past eight when Dean and I pile into his dad's Jaguar for the trip back to our place. I could have gone on the bus, but they insisted on taking me. I've had a great day. My friendship with Dean has blossomed in a way I would never have expected a few weeks ago. I'm feeling happier and more settled than I have in a long time. It's strange the way things work out sometimes.
Dean arrives a couple of minutes before half past ten. I bound down the stairs to let him in.
"Mum, this is Dean," I announce, taking him through to the lounge room where she's reading the Sunday Times. "He's helping me get fit. We're going for a little run around the park."
"Pleased to meet you," Dean says politely.
"Pleased to meet you, too," Mum answers, smiling.
She raises an eyebrow like she doesn't actually believe I'm doing this. I guess she's not used to seeing me dressed in football shorts and a tee-shirt either, certainly not at this time of year.
"Good morning!" Dad says warmly, strolling through from the kitchen. He and Dean shake hands. "So you've actually got this young rascal interested in getting fit," he teases. "That's quite an achievement!"
"Oh, I'm just helping a bit," Dean says modestly.
"Well I'm pleased to see it, so thanks anyway," Dad says. "Will you want a shower afterwards?"
"No thanks," Dean answers. "I've got to cycle home. I'll just towel myself off, if that's okay. I've brought a clean tee-shirt to change into."
"Excellent!" Dad says approvingly. "Well, we'd better let you get on."
The run around the park and back to the house requires two stops, each of no more than a minute. I am making progress, even though we're still not running very fast. Dean is as patient as always, never complaining about having to wait for me.
Back at the house, we head up to my bedroom, pulling off our tee-shirts. Dean might be a bit scrawny, but I don't care. He is fit! After towelling off, we each pull on a clean top. Dean takes his maths book from his backpack. We compare answers. They match perfectly, so if I've got them right, which I'm sure I have, he has too. We grin and slap hands.
"Want a drink?" I ask.
"Yeah, please!"
We wander down to the kitchen.
"Tea, coffee, orange squash?" I enquire.
"Tea please!"
I make two mugs of tea. We take them back upstairs, settling down in front of my computer. We spend the next hour chatting idly about this and that while watching rock videos. I like having Dean here. Even though he knows I'm gay, we're totally comfortable with each other. It's a good feeling.
At half past twelve, Dean says goodbye to Mum and Dad and sets off for home. Ten minutes later, lunch is ready.
"So how did you become friends with Dean?" Mum enquires.
"Oh, we're in class together," I say casually. "The boy he used to hang out with got moved to another group. He'd been in a bit of trouble. So Dean and I started hanging out, yeah?"
Claire diplomatically keeps her mouth firmly shut. She really is a star. She could have dropped me right in it.
"He seems a very polite, pleasant young man," Mum goes on, "quite a contrast with that other boy you brought here. Good looking too."
I smile sweetly but say nothing. It's true enough in a way. On the surface, Dean and Anthony would seem to have very little in common, except for one thing, of course. They're both hot.
"Well, I'm delighted to see you trying to get yourself fit," Dad says. "Dean's obviously been a big help."
"What does his father do?" Mum asks.
"His mum and dad are barristers," I tell her.
"Hmmm," Dad says thoughtfully. "I noticed the car when they dropped you off yesterday evening. I got the impression that they weren't short of a few quid."
"His dad's really cool," I say enthusiastically. "He plays rock guitar and piano. He and Dean play together quite a bit, and sometimes they go running together."
"Makes sense," Dad says, nodding. "A job like that must be very intense. Playing music with Dean sounds like a great way of getting away from it."
I don't say anything, but inwardly I'm glowing. Things have gone really well. Mum took to Dean immediately. It might sound a bit babyish, but her approval is still important to me. I have to deal with Mum every single day. I know she wants the best for me, but sometimes it can be a real pain. It makes things much easier if she actually likes my friends.
"I'm pleased that you and I have started doing more things together than we used to," Dad continues.
"Yeah, I am too," I say, smiling at him.
Wednesday afternoon is damp and miserable. The final bell goes. As Dean and I stride towards the changing rooms, a fine drizzle is falling.
"Okay," Dean says brightly. "Let's go and do it."
Left to my own devices, I doubt that I'd go running in this weather, but Dean's with me. I'm not going to wimp out. We change into our running kit and head out onto the field. We complete our first lap with no problem. We don't even get really wet.
After a short recovery period, we set out on a second circuit. Suddenly the rain becomes much heavier. We're getting soaked. Worse still, we're almost halfway round. Going back would be nearly as far as going on. I've never completed the second lap without a break, but there's no way I want to stop now. We'd catch pneumonia! We plough on, getting wetter all the time.
"Concentrate and relax!" I tell myself. "You can do it!"
Somehow, we complete the lap. We trot into the Sports Hall where Mr Saunders is playing badminton with some senior boys.
"Sir," Dean asks, "Is it okay if we have a shower?"
"Sure," Mr Saunders responds, smiling. "You know how to turn them on, don't you?"
We make our way into the changing rooms. Dean turns on the showers. We strip off our wet things and trot under the warm water. This is new. I've seen Dean naked before, of course, but that was after games when all the other boys were there. Now it's just the two of us. I can't let him see me getting a hard-on. That would be way too embarrassing.
I turn my back on him and begin to think through some of the maths problems that we've been set for homework. After getting dried I return to the changing area. I pick up my boxers.
"I can't put these back on," I complain. "They're soaked."
"You should have run without any like I did," Dean says.
That comes as a surprise. I hadn't realised he'd done that.
"Are you still coming to mine?" he asks as we get dressed.
"Sure," I say.
It's drizzling again when we step outside. I'm okay; I've got a warm weatherproof jacket to wear over my school uniform. Dean hasn't. By the time we reach Alexandra Square, he's pretty damp. We go inside and head up to his bedroom.
"I'm going to get changed," he announces.
He strips down to his boxer shorts. There it is. I can't miss seeing it.
"You've got a hard-on!" I blurt out.
I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean to. It just came out, like it wasn't really me that said it. There's an old saying: 'When you're in a hole, stop digging!', but I'm so flummoxed, I forget that as well.
"It's okay," I go on. "I have too."
I've really done it now. I've no idea what'll happen next. There's an uneasy silence, each of us watching the other, waiting to see who'll be the first to speak. To my relief, it's him.
"So d'you wanna . . ." he asks hesitantly.
"If you're up for it," I respond, almost without thinking.
"Are you getting . . . , you know . . ."
"Sure," I tell him.
So here we are, stark naked. We get onto his bed, lying down side by side.
I wrap my fingers around his dick. Fully hard, it's a real beauty, a bit longer than Jimmy's but not as thick. After stroking it a few times, I let him go. He returns the favour. It feels fantastic.
"You're really special," he whispers, smiling at me, our pricks just touching each other. "When I came to apologise to you, I was sure you'd tell me to fuck off. You could have. After what happened, it would have been fair enough. But you didn't. You made it way easier than I thought it was going to be. And when I asked if I could sit next to you in class, you could easily have said no. Instead you made me feel really welcome. You even offered to help me with my maths. You've no idea how much that meant. Hanging out with Zav, I never made any proper friends. So when we split, I felt so alone. I've always been shy. I get really tongue-tied, trying to talk to people I don't know very well. But you made it so easy for me. I'm not sure how, you just did. And thanks to you, I've got to know Matthew and Smudger, and the girls of course. It's changed my life, yeah? I'll never forget it, that's for sure."
"You don't seem shy to me," I say, grinning at him. "Of course, I was pretty alone too. I'd always hung out with Mark and Andrew, but after that business with Zav, they decided they wouldn't talk to me anymore. Oh, I could chat to Matthew and Smudger but it wasn't the same. We were never going to be close. Apart from Anthony, I guess I didn't have any proper friends either."
"We'll always be friends," he says, still smiling. "Just as long as you want, I'll be there for you."
I lean across, moving my lips towards his. He pulls away.
"Sorry," he says. "I don't do that."
For a moment, I'm confused. Then it hits me.
"You've done this before," I say.
"Yeah," he whispers.
"With Zav?"
"I guess that's something else I shouldn't be telling you," he answers. "He always wanted to do it, but he was totally paranoid about anyone finding out. You're not going to say anything, are you?"
"No, of course not," I assure him. "I'm not going to say anything about this either. This is just between us, yeah?"
"Yeah," he agrees, "totally!"
"Mr Ashton reckoned that one reason for Zav picking on me," I go on, "could have been that he was worried that the other kids might think he was gay."
"Dunno," Dean says, shrugging, "I've given up trying to work out why Zav does what he does. Of course, his mum expects him to marry a girl from a 'good' family, have kids, all of that. He'll do it too."
I grind my teeth. That's horrible. It's no wonder he's so screwed up. I know my mum won't like me being gay, but she'd never try to push me into something like that.
"So what did you do?" I ask.
"You know," he says, "feeling each other up. Then we'd wank each other off. I got the feeling that he'd have liked to do more, but we never did. He started it, of course, like he started everything we did."
"When was that?" I ask.
"About a year ago," he says.
That would be a few weeks before Zav started hitting on me. It sounds like Mr Ashton could have been right.
"So you do this with Anthony?" he asks.
"Yeah," I admit.
"And do you kiss?"
"Yeah."
"I wouldn't do that," he says. "It's too gay."
"So are you gay?" I demand.
"Well, I guess I am a bit," he says guardedly, "But not totally. I mean, I really like you, but I like girls too. I'm sure I'll do it with them, you know, when I'm older."
I guess it sort of makes sense.
"So have you been out with a girl?" I ask.
"No," he concedes. "I'd love to go out with Rebecca, but I'm way too shy to ask her. And even if I did, I wouldn't get anywhere. Matthew's been going out with Jane for months and he hasn't."
"But you like doing this?" I suggest.
"Yeah," he breathes. "Way better than doing it on your own, init?"
I smile to myself. I never thought this was going to happen. But it has and he started it. And I don't have to worry about Anthony finding out. I won't breathe a word, and I know Dean won't. What Anthony doesn't know about won't hurt him.
"I'm going to show you something else we do," I whisper.
I scoot down the bed, resting my head on his tummy. He's bigger than I'm used to but it's not a problem. I take him into my mouth and begin to suck. From the sounds he's making I know he likes it. I slip my hand between his legs, stroking the area just behind his balls. He moans like he's about to have a heart attack. I let him go, flopping down next to him.
"So how was that?" I ask.
"Fuckin' awesome!" he breathes. He pauses for a moment. "I hope you're not expecting me to do that," he adds, looking at me apprehensively. "That's way too gay!"
"No, that's cool," I assure him.
"So d'you like doing that?" he enquires.
"Yeah, course," I say brightly, "or I wouldn't have done it."
"Right," he says somewhat uncertainly. "I've wondered for ages what it'd feel like. You do that with Anthony, yeah?"
"Yeah," I confirm. "We do each other."
"Does he . . . you know . . ."
"Yeah, we both do."
"Fuck! I never thought you'd have gone that far."
I snuggle up next to him, wrapping my fingers round his cock. He returns the favour. We don't say much. There's no need. It's like I'm in heaven, totally relaxed, soaking up the warmth of his slim, fit body. After several minutes I check my watch. It's five to five. I'll have to go home soon.
I turn myself around, kneeling astride his chest, my boy-parts directly above his face. Taking his right hand, I place it on my dick. I'm going to give him an experience he won't forget. I lean forwards, my lips closing over his prick. Very steadily, I push down until I've taken as much as I can. Then I go for it, I mean like really sucking him.
Beneath me, Dean's moaning and whimpering, his fingers absently playing with my cock. Suddenly, everything goes mental. As he begins to cum, my boy-juice spurts all over him. It's like totally wild!
After a few seconds, I allow his glistening penis to slide out of my mouth. Unsurprisingly, he's cum a lot more than Anthony does. I did okay though; didn't lose a single drop. It tastes much stronger than Anthony's too, almost spicy. I like that. I snake around, lying down next to him. His eyes are glazed over, his chest rising and falling.
"Well?" I demand.
"Fuck!" he gasps. "That was amazing! I'd no idea it'd feel that good!" He looks down at the blobs of spunk splattered across his tummy. "I guess you must like doing it," he comments. "I wasn't even wanking you properly." He climbs off the bed. "I need the bathroom," he says, smiling down at me. "I'll be back in a minute."
I'm on cloud nine, like, totally. You can't fake a reaction like that! Why would he, anyway? I simply never saw it coming. I was quite happy to have Dean as a friend. Sure, I've fancied him since I saw him coming out of the showers back at the start of term. I just never thought he'd be interested. Well, what a bonus! Best of all, he started it. So this is our little secret. Nobody else need ever know. I don't care if he isn't 'totally gay', as he puts it. I don't even care that he'll want to go with girls when he's older. Right now, he absolutely loves what we just did. That's cool with me. I'll do it with him anytime he wants.
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