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Oscar

Jack Ladd



A Jack Ladd Publication

www.jackladd.org

@jackladd_odu (Instagram)

Copyright Jack Ladd 2017

Cover Art by Thomas Fethers and Shannon Walshe

Edited by Jack Ladd

Published by Jack Ladd



This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. While venue names have been kept to maximise location authenticity, any descriptions and resemblances to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Jack Ladd.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Jack Ladd (jackladd89@gmail.com). Unauthorised or restricted acts in relations to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author, graphic designer and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator and designer of the artwork.

Published in 2017 by Jack Ladd Publishing.

WARNING

This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers.



Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Grindr: Grindr

iPhone: Apple Inc.



Preface


Initially published on Nifty.org, the first chapter of Oscar was written one cold, wet Wednesday afternoon in late 2015.

It began as an exercise. A writing workout, if you will, to stop my brain from frying at my keyboard after I’d come to a road block in my first novel, Oscar Down Under Part One (the first in a series of tales based on my life-changing years spent living, learning and loving in Sydney, Australia).

However, as the weeks progressed and my writer’s block vanished, I realised there was more to Oscar than his life Down Under, and that if I wanted to do him any justice, I would need to start at the beginning.

It was then I knew that Oscar wasn’t just an exercise. It was a prequel. The first in a series of prequel novels leading up to his journey to the other side of the world.

This book is an edited and remastered version of the story that was published on Nifty.org in full, chapter by chapter each fortnight, from late 2015 to early 2017.

To those discovering Oscar for the first time, all I can say is I hope you enjoy his story. And to those who have been following his journey already, I say thank you.

Thank you for your support, kind words and encouragement.




One


I was the first gay kid at my school.

The first people knew about.

Where I’m from, word gets around quick. People talk: it’s human nature. When someone in my class caught me leaving a bowling alley toilet cubicle with another teenage boy on a Sunday evening, red-faced and with a bulge down my jean leg, even if we’d only been snorting coke the rumours would have spread like wildfire.

And boy did they burn.

Luckily for the other kid, he went to a different school. A posh, private school with tuition running into the tens of thousands of pounds per term. Less than a mile from the gates of mine, but so socially and economically distant, he may as well have been royalty. Cut off from the peasants.

Cut off, hidden and protected.

Unluckily for me, we hadn’t been snorting coke. And, while I hadn’t had a choice in what happened next, if I could, I wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

It made me who I am today.

It wasn’t the easiest: understatement of the fucking century. Especially at an all-boys grammar school. Free education served on a plate of high expectations and expected gratitude, surrounded by a steaming, undulating throng of testosterone.

But, school had been fine up until that Sunday evening. Not good but not bad. I’d never been much at making friends, so I’d kept to myself. Stuck to the shadows. Stayed out of trouble.

I’d known I was different since I’d figured out how to wank. I’d tried, beating off to pictures of girls on the Internet. Grainy videos of desperation that proved one thing and one thing only.

Look at the boys.

And I had. I’d looked and thought about them plenty. Talked to plenty whenever I’d had a chance. Watched them in the classroom and on the field. Outside of school and on the bus home.

I’d relished it. Knowing I was different. Silently enjoying the spoils from the background. Until I hadn’t been able stay in the background anymore. Until my body had yearned for more than stolen glances on rickety, old coaches and blissful but agonisingly brief brushes of skin against skin in noisy corridors.

Until I’d discovered Gaydar and my world had expanded like a supernova. Until I’d finally been able to talk to other people like me. Learn from them. Meet up with them.

Get caught.

When I walked in the next day, the Monday after, naturally there were problems. The kid who’d seen us didn’t hold back. He told everyone.

First came name calling. Then segregation. Then violence.

But even though it hurt, and the rage of revenge simmered and boiled for years after, there was another feeling. A feeling I hadn’t expected.

Relief.

Even when a gang circled me in the quad at break, and did what they did to me, a part of me didn’t care.

I’m free.

Free from normality. Free from pretending to be the person everyone else had wanted me to be. Free from the mundane crap fed to me on TV and in movies and by society.

Grow up. Have kids. Work like a dog to buy a house. Keep working until its paid off. Slowly get old and fade into nothing.

The same shit on repeat every day until I die.

And, like the juiciest cherry on top of the whole sweet and sour situation, I soon found out there were other perks to being the first openly gay guy at my school.

I wasn’t shocked when my MSN messenger started bleeping with friend requests from lads that had never spoken to me in their lives.

Naturally they didn’t dare speak to me in person. And I didn’t blame them after what had happened to me. But behind the anonymity of a keyboard they unloaded all sorts. All kinds of hormone-enriched desires and fantasies.

It was like I’d suddenly become the only flame in a world full of adolescent moths, and life was getting hotter by the days.

My favourite came a month after I’d recovered from the incident in the quad. Three weeks back to school.

Adam Stanmore.

Adam, was special. Not because we fell in love, oh no. Our story’s not one of sunshine and lollipops. It was what he represented.

Adam was the leader. The head of the pack and King of School. Six-foot-six, he was the guy every boy wanted to be and every girl wanted to be with. He was captain of the rugby team and his house parties were legendary.

I was a social outcast that no team wanted, who had turned to the solitude of swimming and jogging to keep the Gaydar messages coming. We couldn’t have been more different, but, as it turned out, he and I shared something very striking in common.

It began, like the rest, with a message on my computer screen:


Hey Oscar. I hope you don’t mind the add.


Unlike the rest, however, Adam took time to crack. The others would get to the point almost instantly. They’d get caught up in the excitement and then beg or threaten me to stay quiet. But tempers and fears were easily subdued with logic:


If I talk, we stop fooling around, and neither of us want that, right?


Boys like logic.

I guessed Adam had more to lose. Social status means a great deal, especially at eighteen. He talked to me for hours on end, almost every night, but he never gave anything away. Not even a hint.

He talked about sports and school and which girls he fancied. Others would do that too, but they’d usually end with something like “but she’s so frigid” or “I heard she gives shit head”. Something for me to latch onto.

But not Adam. Adam was a real gentleman.

I replied to everything, pretending to care, waiting and waiting for my chance. I asked about his home and his family, about what he wanted to do with his life and where he wanted to go. But it was always just chat.

No leads. Nothing.

Until one Friday. One Friday when I was close to giving up, I learned his parents would be away and he had the place to himself for the weekend. When I asked what time his inevitable party would be starting his answer was surprising.


No party.


Why not?


Can’t be bothered.


Fair enough. What you gonna do then?


Watch movies. Chill.


Then the little on-screen pen started moving. There was more.


Wanna join?


My heart missed a beat. My cock twitched. Bingo.


Sure. What time?


7?


Sweet.


And it was. Sweeter than sugar. Sweeter than manna from heaven.

Not that I let myself believe it off the bat. I was cautious. Wary. I’d heard horror stories, about guys getting tricked or lured to places. Had my own. So, when I turned up the next night, I watched his house. To make sure he really was alone.

He was.

Knock, knock.

I can remember what he was wearing like it was yesterday. Immaculate white sport socks covered his feet, size thirteen at least, heading up and underneath grey tracksuit trousers. The ones that cling in all the right places. To his thick calves and his bulging thighs.

His crotch.

Around his torso was a tight, white t-shirt that fit over his wide pecs like an extra layer of skin. His biceps bulged out either side, supporting two powerful arms, and his shoulders rose like a flawless peak beside his strong neck.

His jaw, square, was smiling, and his blue eyes twinkled under the hallway light. Beautiful blue eyes below a full head of thick, dark brown hair.

‘Hey,’ he said.

His voice. I’d heard it hundreds of times before. In class, on the field, but never at me. Deep and commanding it reverberated through my body, sending chills down my spine.

I don’t remember what I said back, but it must have been funny. He laughed, showing off a full set of gleaming white teeth. Then I remember following him down a narrow hallway, past a small living room and into a kitchen. He got a couple of beers out of a fridge.

I remember watching the vein on his right arm, and his triceps and deltoids tense as he pulled the shiny metal door open. We drank on aluminium stools around a kitchen island, facing each other. Our knees centimetres apart.

I remember the clink of glass as we toasted the weekend. I remember the tour he gave of his house. The sound of the stairs creaking beneath us, the click of a doorknob as he showed me into a bedroom. His bedroom. I remember the double bed, unmade, with a plastic Tupperware box sitting on top.

He asked me if I smoked pot.

‘Fuck yeah,’ I said.

Picking up and opening the box he sat on the right side of the bed and patted the space next to him. His mattress was firm, not hard, and I could feel the heat of his body down my side.

He smelt good. Too good. I had to fight every urge to touch him. Taste him. I watched his hands instead.

They selected two short rolling papers and turned them so the strips of shiny glue gleamed towards us. Then he lifted them to his mouth. Stuck them together after a single stroke of his tongue. He smiled: I was staring.

Saying nothing he continued, placing the L-shape down and grinding the pungent green before mixing it with tobacco. He rolled it together quickly.

It was textbook. Expert hands.

‘Here. After you,’ he said.

‘Piss off,’ I said. ‘Roller’s rights.’

He chuckled, placing the small white spear between his thick lips, and lit it. Breathing in deep he closed his eyes and exhaled, billowing white into the air around us.

He looked like a model as his hand brushed against mine, passing me the smoking stick.

‘That’s what I like about you,’ he said.

‘You what?’ I said after blowing out my own cloud; a gorgeous sticky, gloop beginning to drip through my head already.

‘You don’t take any shit.’

It was my turn to chuckle. He came to that conclusion after I smoked second?

‘What’s funny?’ he said.

‘Nothing.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘Honestly, it’s nothing.’

But I couldn’t stop: the giggles had got me already. Way quicker than usual. I couldn’t believe I was sat next to Adam Stanmore, captain of the rugby team. Smoking his weed. Drinking his beer. In his house. On his bed. And like all laugher, it was contagious.

The rest I’ll never forget.

The joking and sniggering as we finished the joint. The play fighting and shoving. The give of his mattress as he pushed me onto it. The smell of his deodorant as he pinned my arms above my head. The weight of his body on mine; him six-foot-six, me six inches shorter.

His pleading stare.

I took my chance. He didn’t pull back. Didn’t stop me.

Lying between my legs, our cocks hard as stone and grinding against each other under layers of fabric, we kissed.

He was a phenomenal kisser. No wonder all the girls wanted him.

One hand supporting my neck, his thumb caressed my cheek, and the other ran down my chest, my stomach, under my t-shirt and behind onto my back. All the while his tongue glided over mine and explored my mouth.

He tasted like victory.

Releasing his hold his hand joined his other. Gravity pushed him down onto me harder and I threw my arms around his neck. His back tensed as he lifted us away from the mattress with his core and his fingers grabbed my t-shirt. Then, whipping it over my head and breaking my link, we were horizontal again. And I was shirtless.

Expert hands indeed.

Enormous and dominating he knelt over me as the cool air of the room tickled my naked skin. Grinning he pulled up his own shirt. Slowly. Two, four, six-pack. His pecs, hairless and smooth, gleamed like golden silk in the dim lamp light. Throwing the crumpled material to the floor, he remained kneeling.

Licking my lips, I took in every inch of his perfect body through my wide, blue eyes. I followed his V-lines down and under his waistband to his bulge almost ripping open the thin grey cotton. I opened my mouth a fraction.

He got the hint.

Shuffling up towards my face, knee-step by knee-step, his towering figure grew. Bigger and taller until I could smell him: a faint trace of washing detergent mixed with the cum-infused sweat of his crotch.

‘You want me to fuck your mouth?’ he said.

‘Yes.’

A huge hand struck my face. Hard, but not painful. A heat prickled over my cheek. Pre-cum beaded onto my leg.

‘Yes, what?’ he said.

‘Yes, please.’

‘Good. Take them down.’

Taking hold of his waistband either side of his thick quads, I peeled downwards. He wasn’t wearing any underwear.

Thick, long and straight his cock swung free and landed on my face with a thud. I kept pulling. His balls, big and full swung against my chin.

Without hesitating I licked them into my mouth and rolled them over my tongue. Gently and carefully I gave them the occasional tug, sucking a little harder and revelling in the way his body shuddered.

Thud-thud went his cock as he smacked himself against my cheek.

Opening my mouth, I shifted direction, letting his balls hang against my chin, wet and sticky. I licked him from base to tip. Six inches, seven inches, eight inches, nine, until I felt the satin softness of his head and tasted the saltiness of his pre-cum.

I can’t wait any longer.

Grabbing hold I opened my jaw as far as it could go and wrapped my lips around him. He was big. The biggest I’d ever had.

I sucked and sucked, running my hand up and down his shaft as more and more of his pre-cum mixed with my saliva and snaked down my throat. Every taste bud savouring every molecule.

Then, seizing my wrist, he threw my hand away from him and grabbed a tuft of my hair. Pulling me in he drove himself in deeper until his pubes prickled my nostrils. My gag reflex tried to kick in but I didn’t let it.

Not with him.

I put my hands on his legs, to steady myself, but he let go of my hair and a vice-like grip tightened around my wrists. My shoulders strained as he lifted my arms above my head, shackled together by one of his hands.

I didn’t resist. I didn’t want to.

Looking up I watched. Watched him pump in and out of my mouth. In and out. Over and over. His eyes locked on me. You are mine, they said.

And I was. I would have let him do anything to me.

He could tell.

Letting go of my wrists he grabbed the back of my head and pushed in the final inch-and-a-half. My throat stretched and my eyes watered as he choked me from the inside. Groaning deep and guttural and grinding into my face.

Still holding my breath, I pushed my jeans down and took out my cock. He pulled out, letting me grab a quick gulp of air, but quick it was. He thrusted back in. Built his speed: Faster and faster to match the rhythm of my beating hand.

Back and forth, back and forth, I took it like a pro. My lips kissed the base of his stomach each time he smashed against the back of my throat. His balls slapping against my chin. My mouth gurgling and gulping: full.

‘Wow,’ he said, sliding down so far he pushed tears from my eyes.

Digging my fingers into his arse cheeks he let go of my head. Arching my neck I took a long, full breath.

For a few seconds he watched me, lying on his bed. Panting. My body shaking and my own muscles tensing as my hand continued to jerk.

A strand of saliva dripped off him and into my open mouth.

‘You want my load?’ he said.

‘Yes please.’

‘You gonna blow too?’

‘Yes, sir.’

This time he put both hands around my head, lifted me up and let rip. No mercy.

As my tonsils squeezed around him, his breath grew heavier by the second. I felt the blood rush to his cock from inside my mouth. The surge of my own climax began to crescendo. My cock tightened. My hole clenched. My fist pumped as fast as it could.

He pulled back, just in time, and, no hands, blew as my own load hit my abs and poured off in ten different directions. Hot and salty his filled my mouth. It cascaded over my tongue and down towards my stomach. But I closed my throat and let it pool.

Not yet.

Black spots speckled my vision. Blood whirred through my head. My synapses flared into overdrive, flooding my body with pleasure. I closed my lips around him and sucked out every drop.

For what seemed like minutes I unhurriedly licked him clean. His body jolting each time my tongue swept over his tip. Until he could bear the sensitivity no longer.

Pulling out he bent over me and, with two thick fingers, wiped back in a gooey line that had spilled over my cheek. I opened wide and let him play with my mouth. Let him push himself and his load down until his knuckles knocked against my front teeth.

Then, his fingers still inside of me, I swallowed.





Two

Lying on Adam’s bed, his gloopy, salty fingers sliding out of my mouth as hundreds of millions of his finest swimmers plummeted to the depths of my stomach, wasn’t the last time I’d feel the sharp prickle of fear over my body after taking a load.

But, it’s up there with the scariest.

Straightening himself upright his face became partially hidden in darkness. His body tensed. The room went silent. Something primal inside of me jolted awake.

Uh oh.

‘What the fuck are you doing, you filthy faggot?’ he said.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’d heard those words before. Especially the last one.

Those delightful six letters had always managed to find their way to my ears at break or lunch, or from cars of lads to and from school.

And online.

I’d quickly learned that the chat windows were also a place for boys to hang their dirty laundry. Stop the stains of insecurity from stinking out their minds by directing their fear and anger at me.

Especially after they’d had their fun. When reality would come crashing back and their sordid fantasies were inescapable black facts on white screens.

As I’ve said before, logic’s your friend in these situations, gift-wrapped in straight boy slang and guarantees. But without the QWERTY line of defence it was infinitely more confronting. Particularly when the guy in question was my size and a half, height and width, with fists like bricks and pinning me down with his entire body.

Think. Carefully.

And what’s that they say about fight and flight? When you can’t do one you do the other, right?

In an instant, my upper lip raised in a snarl. Adrenaline pumped through my veins and my fists clenched. My eyes darted to his flesh. He was close enough that I could sink my teeth into somewhere very sensitive and very delicate and he would not want to clamp my jaw any tighter.

But a lot can happen in half a second of reaction time. He could move. He could punch me before I even tried.

If I can do maximum damage before the carnage to my face begins, I’ll wake happy. If I wake.

To my relief it was all for nothing. Adam, it seemed, liked to play games. And I should have seen it coming really. He was the captain of the rugby team.

‘Get the fuck off me,’ I said.

‘Whoa, Oscar, buddy, I’m kidding.’

‘Don’t call me buddy.’

‘Look, honestly, I’m joking.’

And he was. Or at least, when he gently pushed me back onto the mattress, shuffled towards my feet, put two hands either side of my waist and licked every one of my load-coated abs clean with his wide, flat tongue, it was a pretty convincing performance.

‘Trust me now?’ he said looking up with a glazed grin before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

In the panic, I’d momentarily forgotten where and who I was with. But from that angle, in the lamplight, past my chest rising and falling slower and slower as my heart calmed and my extra testosterone fizzled into embarrassment, I remembered.

Adam was very handsome. His eyes were stunning. They really had been twinkling under the light in his hallway. And while in the gentle glow of his bedroom the blue was almost gone, the gleam was not.

I can’t stay angry at that face, no matter how stupid it is.

And he’d missed a spot.

‘You’ve still got some on you,’ I said, sitting up, leaning in, putting a hand around his neck and pulling him down so I could kiss his lower lip clean.

Then I punched him in the stomach.

Tensing his powerful abs, he effortlessly stopped my fist in its tracks. Grinned.

‘I deserved that,’ he said.

Pushing me back down and himself backwards to standing he pulled his tracksuit trousers back up, whipping the waistband against himself. His deflating cock still making an impressive mound.

For a minute, we said nothing. Him standing. Me sitting. Him still grinning like an idiot. Me savouring his flavour all through my mouth; on my tongue, between my teeth, around my gums. Both shirtless. Both pleased with ourselves.

I broke the silence by picking up his box of goodies.

Click-click went the plastic blue fasteners on each side of the lid. From the smell, I could tell it was good weed. Sickly sweet it crumbled nicely between my fingers. I rolled a joint, sat up against his headboard and lit it.

‘Almost as good as mine,’ he said, sliding in next to me through the fresh haze.

Our bare shoulders and feet touched. Our faces forward, staring at the black screen of a TV on top of a clothes chest. Various items strewn sloppily over open drawers.

‘In your wet dreams,’ I said, passing the joint before draining the dregs of my beer I’d put on the bedside table.

It was warm but still tasty. Everything at Adam’s was.

‘For a moment, I thought you were going to beat the shit out of me,’ I said.

‘Yeah, I’m sorry. It was stupid.’

‘It’s alright. It was kind of funny.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Kind of. In hindsight.’

‘Yeah, sorry again.’

‘All good, man.’

He passed the joint back and I took two full drags. We kept eye contact the whole time.

‘I wasn’t expecting that,’ I said.

‘What? You and me?’

‘No. I knew that would happen.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Come on, of course I did.’

‘How?’

‘It’s not like I predicted the exact outcome, but do you really think you’re the only guy to add me on MSN since everyone found out–’

‘You suck dick in bowling alley toilets?’

Taking a long drag, I held it in for three counts and blew, slowly, in his face. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just stared, smirking through the sticky fog a foot from my lips, until I passed him the joint again.

‘He sucked my dick, alright?’ I said. ‘But yeah, since everyone found out. I didn’t expect you to be so cool with it.’

‘Cool with what?’

‘Being like me.’

‘Like you?’

‘Being a filthy faggot.’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘Yeah. Most guys aren’t as ok with it. They’re nervous. It’s hot. Sometimes.’

I laughed and turned, but he wasn’t smiling. He looked sad. Taking two more drags, he dropped the joint in his finished bottle of beer. The sizzle of the extinguishing cherry in the remaining dregs echoed up the neck and lingered in the air alongside its final wisps of heavy grey.

‘I’m not gay,’ he said.

‘Sure you’re not,’ I said gesturing to my stomach, crusting slightly under an invisible layer of dried saliva and cum.

‘I’m not,’ he said turning to face me.

He rested his head in his hand, propped up by his elbow. His bicep like a boulder of muscle.

‘I’m bi,’ he said.

‘Really?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You’re not the first guy to tell me that either.’

Although, in his defence, he was the first I believed.

I’m not entirely sure why. Call it intuition, or a gut reaction. Pun intended. Or maybe it was just the look in his eyes. Lost. Unsure.

A minority in a minority.

Shifting my position, I matched his. On my side, facing him. Our noses almost touching. He said nothing.

‘You alright?’ I said.

‘No one’s ever going to believe me.’

‘I believe you.’

‘No you don’t.’

‘Adam, mate, I do. I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously but come on, can you blame me?’

‘I suppose not.’

‘Why so sad?’

‘I’m not sad. It’s just fucked up. If two girls get it on they’re not automatically branded dykes for the rest of their lives. But if a guy so much as touches another lad then he’s just gay. That’s it. Nothing else.’

‘It’s not so bad, you know? Who the fuck wants to be a sheep anyway?’

‘You wouldn’t understand.’

Get a grip you fucking pussy, is what I’d wanted to say. Even though I didn’t blame any of them for staying in the closet, it didn’t mean I had any patience when they came bitching about their lives to me.

I didn’t get the luxury of coming out. It was forced on me.

Instead I said, ‘Society’s fucked up, man.’

‘True.’

‘So when did you know?’

‘That I liked guys too?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Remember Mr. Price?’ he said.

Time suddenly stood still. For the briefest fraction of a moment but I felt it through my whole body.

Mr. Price?

‘How could I forget?’ I said.

How could anyone forget Mr. Price is Right? Hands down the sexiest sports teacher our school had ever had. Potentially the most handsome man I’d ever seen.

Six-foot-three, early thirties, hairy legs always, always on show under tiny rugby shorts come rain, hail, snow or shine. Shaved head, brown eyes, strong jaw, big arms.

Perfection.

Then one day, he’d gone crazy. Literally started screaming at a year seven boy in front of the whole school for next to no reason. No one had known why or what had made him snap so suddenly.

Or so I’d thought.

‘Right?’ he said.

‘No!’

He nodded, sucking in air between his teeth. Envy punching me in the stomach. Hard.

‘You lucky fucker. When?’ I said.

‘Year eleven.’

‘What, you were fifteen?’

‘Sixteen.’

‘You looked about twenty-one,’ I said. ‘Still do.’

He winked. Nudged me with his shoulder.

‘At first he was just a good teacher. I was already his height and still growing so he must have known I was a natural for the game. He’d give me extra pointers after school and drive me home. To be honest I thought he fancied my mum.’

But?

‘But then one afternoon after practice, I got a phone call. My grandad had tripped and was in hospital. He was fine, just a few scratches and bruises, but when I got back to the changing rooms there was no one there except him.’

I pictured it. Row after row of metal benches in a misty, muddy room. White tiled walls glistening with condensation from the showers. Mr Price’s office in the far-right corner.

I’d played rugby before, back when sport had been a compulsory subject. I knew how the room would have looked. How it would have smelt. How it would have felt: the heat from twenty or so sweaty boys still radiating like fog.

‘He was at his computer with his back to me. He didn’t hear me come in so I started to get undressed. Then I heard a woman moaning.’

‘Porn.’

‘Got it in one. He was jerking off.’

‘What I would give,’ I said, meaning every, single, word.

‘Mate, it gets better.’

‘I’m all ears.’

His eyes lit up. He probably hadn’t told this story to anyone before and he was loving it. And so was I. With empty balls, my cock still twitched eagerly under my Calvin Kleins.

‘Back then I already knew there was something different about me. I was into girls, but sometimes in the showers I’d see one or two of the lads and I’d start getting. You know.’

‘Yeah. I do.’

‘So, I crept forward like a ninja. I only had shorts on so it was easy. I got to the door frame and watched. I could see it all. The bird on the screen getting fucked from behind. Mr. Price with his rugby shorts by his ankles, his t-shirt lifted up to his nipples, his cock in his hand. It was beautiful.’

‘How big was he?’

‘I don’t know in inches but he was big. Bigger than me and mine was almost full size back then I assure you.’

‘I wouldn’t doubt it in a million years.’

Adam smiled and winked.

‘You like this story?’ he said.

I did. Big time.

‘It’s alright,’ I said.

‘There’s more.’

‘I won’t stop you.’

‘I watched. For ages. It probably wasn’t even a minute but it felt like hours. I was transfixed. I’d never dared to even look at gay porn and there I was, metres away from Mr. fucking Price about to blow a nut all over himself. And then, just when I thought he was about to shoot, he stopped, paused the video and, without turning, said, “I know you’re there”.’

‘No fucking way.’

‘Yes fucking way.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I froze, like a statue. I considered grabbing my stuff and running, but I couldn’t move. Thank fuck I didn’t because by the time my feet started working he reached over to the spare chair with his free hand and pulled it next to him.’

I knew exactly which chair Adam was talking about. I’d sat on it.

I’d only been inside his office once: he’d caught me ditching PE. I did it all the time, but I’d been lazy. Or maybe I’d let him see me. Maybe I’d wanted his gaze to fall on me for once.

He’d been sat in this expensive, black orthopaedic chair and I remember sitting less than half a metre from him. Opposite his phenomenal body in his futuristic thrown. His cool and calm demeanour. Collected. In charge.

I’d been inches from him and mesmerised. Sat in awe on the uncomfortable, green fabric, rickety spare and wishing and yearning I was on his.

On him.

‘He wanted you to join,’ I said.

‘Yup. He pulled it over and patted the top. Didn’t say a word.’

‘Tell me you joined him.’

‘Without a doubt! I didn’t hesitate. I walked over and sat down. He didn’t even look at me, he just pressed play.’

‘Fuck.’

‘Yeah it was hot. So hot. I kept looking at him from the corner of my eyes but he never took his off the screen. He just pumped and pumped as this chick with giant tits got smashed by some guy with tatts.’

‘Shame.’

‘That’s what I thought. Until he was about to blow.’

‘What happened?’

‘His breath started getting heavier and his legs started tensing. At this point it could have been EastEnders on the screen, I wasn’t watching. I was watching him. Watching his muscles flex and his arm work like a piston.’

‘Fuck.’

‘Then he started making these deep, throaty grunts and I knew what was coming.’

I closed my eyes and I could see him. Hear him. His shaved head rolling back on his huge shoulders. His chest filling with air. Every muscle in his legs and arms swelling.

‘Before he blew, he reached across with his free hand and clamped it on my leg. Then he turned, stared straight into my eyes, dug his fingers and thumb into my quads as hard as he could and unloaded himself all over his stomach.’

My cock ached to be free. Free from my jeans and in my hand. Pre-cum soaking through my underwear to my leg.

‘How big was his load?’ I said.

‘Huge. It shot out of him and kept on pouring. It went all the way up to his stomach and on his shirt but he didn’t care. He just squeezed my leg harder and harder, staring at me.’

For a minute neither of us said anything. We were lost in images.

I was savouring every second of his story. Knowing exactly how it would have played out. Adam no doubt relishing a memory relived. A secret shared from a past still hidden.

It was his turn to break the silence.

‘Oscar, I’m hard as a rock.’

‘Me too.’

‘What shall we do?’

‘I have a few ideas,’ I said.




Three


Boys who like boys like boys who like boys.

Sounds simple, right?

Think about them for a moment. Eighteen-year-old lads like Adam and myself. Full of energy. Ever-growing creatures of mystery, muscle and testosterone. Going through changes, both mental and physical. Emerging into manhood is normal. It’s natural.

Like they’ve done since childhood they’ll question it. What, why, how do we understand these changes in our hair-sprouting, sweaty bodies?

We do what everyone must do to learn. We experiment. We experience.

You’d think, then, with hormones flying and adolescent heights to scale, when two boys who like boys are in bed together, engines fired and imaginations infinite, they’d soar as high and as hot as they can.

Think again.

Life isn’t like the movies. And it certainly isn’t like porn. Yes, it wasn’t difficult to get my co-pilot, Adam, to feed me an inflight appetiser and spin me some dinner entertainment, but, the main course was still a blip on the horizon.

The problem was, most boys who like boys at that age, that electrifying and terrifying age of adulthood, don’t know how to fire the engines and fly. And, while most of them have seen many an on-screen demonstration, novices often get apprehensive around the knobs and buttons.

I could tell by the fear in his eyes and the trepidation in his voice, Adam was going to be no different. Fortunately, I wasn’t like most boys. I’d had a lot of practice in the cockpit.

'Well?' he said.

His eyes were still wide with anticipation. His cock really was as hard as a rock under the thin, grey fabric of his tracksuit trousers, stretching across his entire leg. But so was mine, aching to be free of my denim.

Time to prepare for take-off.

Sitting up against the headboard, I narrowed my eyes and fixed my gaze. Only his moved. They followed me. His chiselled face, illuminated by the bedside lamp, remained still. Propped up in his strong hand at the end of his sculpted forearm.

‘Did Mr. Price ever do what I just did?’ I said.

Above a mischievous grin, his stare, animated and excited, lingered for a second more. From my angle, the colour was back with a vengeance. His eyes sparkled again. Then they flicked down to his crotch.

‘Many times,’ he said, running his palm from the tip of his cock, wrapped in cotton, down to the base.

Closing his hand around himself he squeezed. His whole body tensed. A long, thick vein bulged along his bicep.

‘Good memories?’ I said.

He looked back up. His eyes searing blue in the light.

‘Some of the best.’

‘Who was better?’

‘You.’

I grinned. Good answer.

Although, from the way Adam had worked my throat, I hadn’t needed to ask my first question. It was superfluous. I could tell mine wasn’t the only mouth he’d fucked that didn’t usually have lipstick around it. Unless teenage girls were suddenly into rough deepthroat.

Unlikely.

But, the next question. That mattered.

‘Did you suck his?’ I said.

Letting a dude suck you off is one thing. Sucking one off is another. Some of the so-called straights had gotten quite uptight when it came to choking down a few inches. And in my case, more than a few.

‘Yes,’ Adam said.

‘Did you like it?’

He looked down again. At me.

‘I fucking loved it.’

An even better answer. Clearly Mr. Price had taught Adam more than how to ruck and scrum.

‘Good,’ I said.

Unfastening my belt, I pulled the two ends apart. The buckle slumped onto my leg with a clink and I undid the top button of my jeans.

‘Help a brother out?’ I said.

‘You want me to suck your cock?’

‘Be a good boy.’

Recollection flickered in his eyes like I’d hoped it would. He’d heard those words before.

Shifting his weight, he rolled onto his front, over one of my legs, so his torso rested between them. Running his hands up the outside of my thighs to the top of my arse, he supported himself by his elbows.

His mouth was only inches from my crotch. His feet, over the end of the bed, lifted toward me until his soles pointed to the ceiling. His bare back looked phenomenal, tensed in all the right places, down to two hidden but almost spherical arse cheeks.

Licking his lips, he pinched the tiny gold rectangle at the end of my zip and pulled. Tooth by tooth the metal unclasped until two flaps of denim splayed open, revealing a layer of thin white cotton stretched over my hard cock.

He took a deep breath, no doubt savouring the sight and smells in front of him. Looking up he watched me intently. He was waiting.

He is a good boy.

‘Now pull down my jeans. Slowly.’

Without a word, he grasped my waistband with both hands and peeled my jeans down. The bunching material forced my legs closer together. Sliding my feet up the bed, I lifted my knees up and to the side, away from his head. With one last pull, denim, metal and leather hit the floor.

Opening my legs, I lowered them to their previous positions either side of him. The room was warm but the air tickled my freshly naked skin. Clenching, I raised my cock beneath its tight restraints.

‘He wants to be free,’ he said.

‘He does,’ I said. ‘Pass the weed.’

‘How will I smoke?’ he said, handing me the box.

He looked cute when he was confused.

‘I’m going to smoke. You’re going to suck.’

He smiled, raised his eyebrows and said, ‘Ok.’

He was enjoying our little role reversal.

‘I’m going to ask you some questions,’ I said.

‘What about?’

Pulling down the band of my undies with one hand I pulled out my cock with the other. For a second he went cross-eyed: his vision refocusing on something big and new and close. His mouth hung open.

‘I’m asking the questions,’ I said, releasing my underwear and putting my now free hand on the back of his head.

I pulled him towards me. He didn’t resist. My cock pulsed with imminent anticipation in my other hand.

His hair tickling my fingers, I felt the wet heat of his mouth wrap around me. My arse tensed, my hole clenched, my body shuddered and a short breathy gasp forced its way out of my mouth.

His tongue, smooth and slippery, glided across the underside of my shaft, up and around my head. I let go, of him and myself, and leaned into the pillows bundled against the headboard behind me.

For five long minutes, I left him to enjoy himself as I rolled a joint. At first, he was careful and considerate, which I appreciated. The last thing you want is a toothy amateur going gun’s blazing.

He made sure his lip covered his top front teeth and his tongue covered the sharp canines below. He opened his jaw wide enough to fit me in but didn’t lose suction. I was impressed. He was a total gentleman.

Until he found his rhythm and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Until his inner cocksucker came out. Then, jerking, licking, savouring and kissing, he was in heaven.

And so was I. On a scale of one to ten, one being your dick comes out bleeding and ten being you blow so hard you cum out his nose, Adam was a solid eight. Truth be told, there were occasions when I had to stop rolling and surrender to the waves of pleasure lapping at my balls.

He’s definitely done this before.

Finished rolling, I lit the joint and inhaled deeply. He slowed down and watched me. Watched me hold the heavy, blissful drag as I stared back into his eyes. My head swimming with a growing layer of fresh THC. My body tingling thanks to his thick, eager lips attached to his hungry, eager mouth.

I exhaled into the air and counted to ten in my head, his tongue dancing around the head of my cock. Then I spoke.

‘So,’ I said.

He stopped sucking and looked up: his cheek pushed out from the inside. It was a good look on him. Lifting his head, he released me from his mouth with a slurp. My cock catapulted backwards and slapped against the base of my abs.

‘So?’ he mimicked.

‘So tell me. What else do you fucking love to do?’

‘I dunno. What do you like to do?’

Breathing out a cloud of smoke in his face, I grabbed my cock in my free hand and slapped it against his cheek.

‘What did I say about asking questions?’

He smiled.

‘I fucking love to fuck,’ he said.

‘Who doesn’t?’

He said nothing. He was learning.

‘But we’ve got all night,’ I continued. ‘Surely there’s something else you’d like to do?’

He looked down and to the side. His fingers absentmindedly playing with the bedsheet.

I couldn’t believe it, Adam Stanmore, captain of the rugby team and King of School, had gone all shy.

‘It’s ok. You can tell me,’ I said.

‘There’s one thing I’ve never done,’ he said. ‘Mr. Price wanted me to do it to him, once, but I didn’t want to.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t think I was ready.’

‘Are you ready now?’

‘I think so. With you.’

‘Lucky me.’

‘I’ve thought about doing it ever since you gave your presentation in English. I just wanted to bend you over Miss Stephenson’s desk.’

Taking a final drag of the joint, I dropped it into our beer bottle ashtray. It sizzled to an end next to the others. My cock, hard and gooey, bounced on my stomach.

I knew exactly what he was about to say.

‘Mate. You can definitely do that to me,’ I said.

‘You don’t even know what I want.’

‘Ask me then.’

He eyed my cock.

‘Don’t worry. You’re safe,’ I said with a wink.

‘Can I rim you?’

Got it in one.

No wonder he hadn’t wanted to stick his tongue up Mr. Price’s hole. Don’t get me wrong, I would have happily buried my face deep between those glorious peaks, but when you’re young and confused and used to hairless pussies in your face, it’s not exactly the first thing you’d go for.

‘Fuck yes,’ I said.

‘It’s all … ok down there?’

Remember what I said about them being apprehensive around the equipment? Case in point.

‘You mean will you get shit in your mouth?’ I said.

He laughed. Nervously. Said, ‘You really don’t mess around do you?’

‘No. And no, you won’t. I’m clean as a whistle.’

‘How do you know?’

I smiled. Poor innocent, uninitiated boy. As if I hadn’t come prepared.

Not that I blamed him. I’d felt the same way when I’d been less experienced. Until I’d met a silver fox in my early days of Gaydar.

He used to pick me up in his Mercedes and drive me to a penthouse room at the Hilton in the city. He’d let me use the big bath for as long as I wanted and order champagne and strawberries to the room. Then, spotless, I would lie on my stomach on the king-size bed with my face in plush hotel pillows and he’d eat me out for hours.

That guy had taught me a few lessons about sexual upkeep. After the first time I’d douched, I couldn’t believe how good I’d tasted on his lips.

I smacked Adam in the face with my cock again. His saliva had congealed and it struck his cheek with a slap.

‘Trust me,’ I said.

Glaring at me, he wiped away the gunk with the back of his hand. Neither of us said anything. I could almost hear the cogs in his head turning.

Then they stopped.

Pulling my briefs down and off in the same motion he threw them across the room. Then, putting my feet soles-down on the bed, I sat myself up. My cock flopped on to the duvet and my balls hung below. The V of my naked legs ran either side of his head.

Lifting himself up, he kneeled in front of me and wrapped his hands around each of my shins; his fingertips digging into my calves. Pushing me back until my shoulders rocked against the headboard, he lifted my arse. My cheeks spread.

He looked at my hole. I couldn’t see but I knew I was hairless. I'd been looking forward to Adam’s house all day and I’d come prepared.

‘Ok,’ he said. ‘I trust you.’

‘Then let rip.’




Four


We all have those moments. Moments we wish lasted longer.

What happened next, on Adam’s bed is one of them: the split-second moment before his hot tongue sent ripples of ecstasy through my body.

It was the look in his eyes. The soft curve of his smile. The gentle dip in room volume as he took a breath and held it.

He was no longer just one half of a horny duo. He was that, certainly, but he was more. He was a social anomaly too. Accepted without judgement. He wasn’t just Adam, rugby captain and King of School. He was Adam, cock-sucker-soon-to-be-arse-rimmer.

And proud.

In a thump of a heartbeat, he was finally being himself and doing what he’d dreamt of. And I know now I was lucky to be a part of it.

But not at the time. I was oblivious to any deeper meaning. Both of us were: neither of us recognised any significance. We were kids. And, like I said, it wasn’t love between us.

It was freedom, and at that age, it’s too easy to take freedom for granted.

Ironic, seeing as, stuck in a town in the middle of an overcrowded island, with my hole winking up at a sexually frustrated, testosterone-fuelled rugby player, I was physically and psychologically far from free.

I was utterly dominated and I loved it.

Yanking my legs toward him he effortlessly pulled me down the bed, away from the headboard. The cotton of the sheets whispered as my back swept over it. He could have thrown me around like a rag doll if he’d wanted to.

Even if I resist he can.

Instead he wedged his hands under my knees and pushed my legs until the fronts of my thighs touched the bed alongside my torso. My calves folded towards him and locked his grips in place. He smiled and raised his eyebrows.

Impressed.

‘Is that all you’ve got?’ I said.

A devilish grin crept up into face and seeped into his eyes. I recognised it. He’d worn it pumping his cock down my throat.

His hold tightened. The veins on his arms swelled. He had more.

Relaxing my lower body, I let him compress me until my arse pointed to the ceiling. I clenched my hole as tight as I could. Even though I could scratch my head with my knees, I still needed to be as tight as possible.

The more you clench, the better it feels when his tongue pushes you open. And there’s aesthetics to think about.

‘Wow,’ he said.

In all fairness, I’d checked before leaving the house. One of the many advantages of having a mirror facing your bed is bending yourself over and pulling your cheeks apart to ensure you’re looking your best.

It’s a pity Adam doesn’t have one in here.

Straightening his legs out behind him, he lowered himself down in a push-up motion. His body weight shifted through me, straining the springs below us.

Lying flat on his stomach he held my legs in position. It was nothing for his humongous arms.

He lowered his head, showing off his thick, chestnut brown crown. My hole rose to meet him and his breath was warm against me. Chills shot over my skin.

He froze and looked up. His blue eyes piercing into mine. His lips quivering inches from my hole, served on a platter in front of him.

What now?

‘I’ve never done this before,’ he said.

I know.

‘It’s ok,’ I said gently. ‘Take your time. Enjoy yourself.’

Three seconds passed.

Patience, Oscar.

‘What does it taste like?’ he said.

If I didn’t know rolling my eyes would kill the mood they would have rolled out my head and onto the floor. Now’s not the time for a fucking Q&A. I was happy to keep this position for as long as necessary but it wasn’t for a heart to heart.

‘Like skin,’ I said.

‘Really?’

‘Sweaty skin. With a hint of metal,’ I said with a wink.

‘Metal?’

‘From all the blood vessels.’

‘Oh.’

I could tell he still didn’t understand: biology probably not his strongest subject at school. But I’d already lost patience. Instead, reaching up between my legs, I ran my fingers through his hair. Curled a few strands in my fingers and let them go. Then I ran the backs of my fingers down his smooth cheek.

‘Besides,’ I said, pinching his chin between my thumb and index finger. ‘It’s not just the taste, it’s the texture. It’s like eating pussy. But better.’

He nodded and his stare relaxed. He looked down again and I followed his eyes. They were taking me in. My hairless pecs. My fat-less folded abdomen. My hard cock almost poking me in the nipple. My balls hanging backwards. My legs spread. My hole.

Clunk-clunk went his head cogs. Decision made.

And what a decision. Considering the false start, I assumed he would be like most rimming virgins. Slow and careful; kissing and licking the peripheral; slyly breathing as much scent and tasting as much flavour as possible to discern the terrifying, new territory. But not Adam

Finally convinced, he lived up to his moniker of king and went for glory.

His large, flat tongue squashed strong against me and ran from the tip of my tail bone up, over my hole, to the bottom of my rigid cock. My body, pinned firmly down, still managed to roll as a wave of ecstasy undulated towards my head, cracking vertebrae on the way.

My head thumped into the doughy white of his pillow. Blood rushed to my hole and my cock. The room, hazy and grey from our smoke, span a full three-sixty as my crack tingled hot to suddenly cold. He’d pulled back: millions of his saliva molecules evaporating away my body heat into the air.

I watched him, down, past my contorted body. He was looking at me. Now his eyes flickered with excitement, and behind closed lips, his tongue moved through his mouth.

He was tasting me. Like wine. He swallowed.

‘Well?’ I said.

‘Well what?’ he said still smirking.

I said nothing. I had no point to prove.

I always taste good.

Arching my neck, I put my hands behind my head. He matched my speed. As the backs of my hands met his pillow, his tongue met the constricted walls of my hole.

Like bare wires touching, each tightly packed bundle of nerve fibres jolted into action, firing a loud moan into my stomach, through my lungs and into the room.

Finally able to unclench, I fully surrendered. One-hundred percent malleable my knees pushed a final inch into the bed and his tongue drove inside of me.

Every hair on my arms and legs stood on end. His hands clasped tighter above, or from that angle, below my knees. He moaned into me and my cock shuddered. Pre-cum dribbled onto myself, squeezed out by his vibrations.

I closed my eyes as he forced me open again and again. Darkness descended and my other senses took over. My breath grew heavier, taking in the sweet saltiness of our bodies. Visions of him doing everything I could imagine danced through my mind to the rhythm and sounds of his hot, wet muscle.

For how long he spread me open and ate my arse I have no idea. I fell into a sexual blackout. All I know is he took my advice. He took his time and enjoyed himself. Didn’t waste a second.

He pressed and prodded and probed, licking and kissing and slurping between my cheeks. Eventually he moved his hands down, sweeping his thumbs over and under so he could hold me open wider. Cool air tickled my insides as my hole gaped open for a second before he plugged me with his tongue again.

‘Oh god,’ I croaked, unable to stifle praise for the present. ‘Oh my fucking god.’

Reaching out in the blackness, I found the back of his head and pulled him into me harder. I opened my eyes. To watch. But the sting of lamplight slammed them shut again. Shielding my vision with my other arm I fixed my aching retinas on him.

He was stunning. It all was. My own biceps and triceps bulging as I held him down. His fingers digging into my thighs either side of my crotch. His nose squashed into the base of my cock. The tops of his wet cheeks glistening.

I couldn’t see his lips but I could tell he was smiling. I saw it in his eyes, staring at me over the ridge of my gooch.

Everything is going to plan.

Letting go of his head I put both hands on his shoulders and gave them a deep squeeze. His muscles were knotted and he reacted exactly how I’d expected a sportsman accustom to remedial massage, legitimate or not, would.

He stopped eating, his jaw hung and then a long, deep breath blasted over me as he savoured the release.

‘I thought you said don’t stop,’ he said, speaking into my hole.

‘I have an idea.’

He looked up. He liked my ideas.

I tapped his wrist with my knuckle twice. Time to let go. With one last push, he propelled himself backwards and up to kneeling.

Unfolding and straightening my legs I stretched before rolling up to sitting. He watched me, naked, shuffle towards the headboard. I watched him. His wide chest rose and fell. His hairless but powerful abs shimmered slightly with sweat. His cock tented his tracksuit trousers. He wiped his mouth and I laughed.

‘What?’ he said.

I looked down. At his tent.

‘Those are a bit pointless, don’t you think?’ I said.

‘Any excuse to get me naked.’

Leap frogging up he stood his entire six feet six inches. Still watching me he finished undressing. Peeling the stretchy grey fabric down, he released his cock.

Now mouth-level it bounced. Up and down, jutting from a flawlessly defined groin. He rolled off his white sport socks one by one.

Everything about him was proportionate. His body was basically perfect. His cock was perfect. Sweet wafts of my dried spit mixed with his load reached my nostrils and my mouth watered. I wanted to wrap my lips around him again. Feel my throat stretch.

But it’s my other hole’s turn.

‘I want you to fuck me,’ I said.

His grin reappeared.

‘But not here,’ I said.

‘Why? What’s wrong with here?’

Rocking myself forward I sat on the edge of the bed. He didn’t move.

‘I want to watch.’

He made a confused face.

‘What, like, film it?’ he said.

I kissed his cock. So stupid.

‘Not quite,’ I said.

‘Then what?’

I kissed him a second time. So adorable.

‘How do you think?’ I said.

It took two seconds. One: his brow unfurrowed. Two: his eyes brightened.

‘Naughty,’ he said.

‘That’s my middle name.’

‘There’s one in my parents’ room.’

‘How big?’

‘Massive.’

‘When do they get back?’

‘Tomorrow night.’

I kissed him a third time.

‘Excellent,’ I said.

‘There’s one in the living room too.’

‘Which is closer?’

‘Parents’.’


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