Gareth and Phil
by Alexander


Part Two : Gareth & Phil Find A Home

Chapter 9

Gareth telephoned Phil at least three times a week for the next three weeks, asking every time if he’d got a job yet or found a house for them. So far the answers had been no, but in a way that wasn’t a bad thing as each time they spoke on the ‘phone, they always seemed to end up having a long-distance jerk-off session!

Gareth hadn’t mentioned anything to his mum and dad about the possibility of moving either. Not only did he think that they might not let him if he asked and not Phil, but also his dad was such a dick head that if Gareth wanted something, he would stop him anyway just for the sheer hell of it. What was noticed by his parents was that Gareth was in a much better mood for the first few days after his holiday, and he’d even stopped wetting his bed. They didn’t say much about it except to think that he’d grown up a bit. One evening his mum said how much better it was for him now that he didn’t do it. By itself, that would have been alright, but then his dad had to go and ruin it for him by adding, “And about bloody time boy!” Gareth wet the bed that night.

It was for the last time though, because afterwards he always thought about Phil just before he went to sleep and either jerked himself off or went to sleep holding his erect cock dreaming, of the time when he would be able to leave home and go to live with him. And he wasn’t going to let his father keep putting him down all the time: what he thought didn’t matter a toss to him anymore.

Things were working out more or less OK for Phil as well. He’d had two interviews for jobs in Dover. One was for a travel company who wanted an IT manager and the other was for an insurance company who needed an analyst. He didn’t get the insurance one, but was offered the job with the travel company which he accepted after his second interview. The money was OK too, just enough to keep him and Gareth he thought, if they were careful. Phil decided to stay in Dover the night after the final interview and spent the afternoon visiting letting agents and looking through the newspapers. He made a list of the better flats and apartments whilst having dinner in the hotel and made his mind up to look at them in the morning.

Later that evening he was talking to the barman when he happened to mention that he was looking for somewhere to live and showed him the list he’d made. He also told him that his younger brother was staying with him as well: not for the first time Phil was thankful that they had the same surname so that wouldn’t be a problem. The helpful barman suggested that he crossed two or three of the addresses out as they weren’t in very good areas. He also suggested that he went back to his new employer and ask them because they sometimes kept lists of accommodation for new staff. That was the first thing he did the following day as he saw the receptionist. She was pleased to help him and dug out a folder from her desk. After she’d flipped through it a couple of times, she volunteered to telephone some of the places and see if they had anything available. At the third try she found an empty two-bedroom flat not very far away on the Folkestone Road. It was a reasonable area although a bit noisy because of the traffic. The only problem was the rent. It was a lot more than he thought it would be and there was no way he could afford it. The receptionist assumed that the second bedroom was for his girlfriend or something and they would be able to share the costs, but when he said that it was for his schoolboy brother, she apologised. Then she said to wait a minute and disappeared into an inner office; when she came out she was accompanied by the man who’d interviewed him yesterday. They shook hands and went back into his office. The Office Manager, David, sympathised with Phil’s predicament and said he’d got an idea. It turned out that Phil had to do a three-month probationary period with the company, following which there would be a substantial pay rise. Provided that Phil did his work satisfactorily, he couldn’t see any problem with the rent after that, and in the meantime the company would help him with some of the rent. What Phil didn’t know, and wasn’t told, was that they had offered him the minimum wages, expecting him to ask for more, and therefore could afford to give him a bit more anyway!

Phil was over the moon! In one glorious day he’d solved almost solved the two major problems in his life and the world was a wonderful place. He took a taxi to the house to look at the flat: he would have taken almost anything at that point, but even so was quite pleased when he saw it. The house was in the middle of a long row of four-storied Victorian terraced houses, built originally for now non-existent holiday makers he supposed. These had been converted over the years into flats and bed-sits, and for the most part were still respectable houses.

The door was opened by a middle-aged lady who turned out to be the owner. After a brief chat about his work and what sort of flat he wanted, she showed him to the third floor. The flat took up the whole of the floor, not very wide but quite long. At the front was the living room with the kitchen alongside. Down a narrow hallway was a small bedroom followed by a larger one with the bathroom next to it. The furniture was a bit shabby and well-used and the kitchen had a few bits and pieces of mis-matched crockery and oddments of cutlery, but enough to be going on with. Once he and Gareth had put a few pictures up and spread their possessions out, it would probably look alright. There was only one question which Phil hadn’t asked, and was afraid of the answer. When they’d agreed the rent and so on, he told her that his 13-year old brother lived with him and he would be going to school in Dover. He didn’t elaborate why he lived with him and hoped she didn’t ask. This didn’t worry her apparently, in fact she seemed quite pleased. “It means that you won’t be upping and leaving after a few weeks like a lot do,” she explained. “Little boys can’t be doing with being moved around too much can they?”

And that was that. He signed the contract, to move in as soon as he liked

Leaving the house, happier than ever, he wanted to ring Gareth straight away, but he would be in class now. Instead he sent him a text message and asked him to ring as soon as he could. In the meantime, Phil went back to his hotel and had a drink with the barman to thank him, before sitting down in the window to gather his thoughts together.

First there was the big problem of getting Gareth’s parents to agree. He was sure they’d let him go if he could only find the right way of asking them: that wanted a lot of thought. Second, there was still the slight problem with money. They’d have enough to live on if they were careful, but there wouldn’t be a lot spare. He’d already made his mind up to use what little cash he had to buy some new things for the flat, and he could also borrow some from the bank. He’d never had a bank loan before, even when he was at college, and so his credit was good. He was turning these thoughts over in his mind when the phone rang.

It was Gareth. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was only 11.30 and he should be in lessons.

“Hiya! What you doing?” Phil asked, “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“Yeah, but I’ve come out for a piss,” he laughed, “And I’m sat in the toilet!”

Phil’s cock stirred slightly at the mental image of Gareth sat in the toilet talking to him with his pants round his ankles and stroking his dick. He was probably wrong, but the picture was nice.

“Good, I’ve god some good news for you. I’ve got a job, and a flat in Dover for us.”

Phil couldn’t get any further because he was interrupted by a deafening shout of pure joy from Gareth. God knows who heard him or what they would think, but somebody must have! It took two or three minutes to quell the whoops of glee from his cousin before he could carry on. He explained as best he could about the flat and where it was and so on. He was sure that Gareth wasn’t listening to half what he was saying, but that didn’t really matter just now, they were both too happy to care.

Gareth interrupted Phil and asked him if his prick was hard, “ ‘Cause mine is and I wish you were here to see it and, well, you know!”

Phil knew exactly what he meant and wished he was there too, but he simply laughed and said, “You randy little sod. Wait till I see you!”

Gareth giggled delightfully and made Phil promise that he’d call him later when he was in bed and they could have another long-distance talk followed by a jerk-off.

“What do you think I’m doing now?” Gareth laughed, but there was a serious note to his voice now as Phil realised that he was supremely happy with the news that his heart’s desire was soon to be fulfilled. They closed the connection with goodbye kisses and a reminder that they’d talk later.

Phil’s dick was so hard now that he just had to take care of it. Making a hurried escape to his room, he stripped off completely and lay on the bed, softly stroking his engorged dick and dreaming of Gareth doing the same thing almost a hundred miles away in a school toilet in Milton Keynes.

On the stroke of midnight, Phil rang Gareth. The phone was answered instantly by a breathless boy, “Hiya!”

“Hiya yourself,” Phil replied. “And how are you tonight, as if I didn’t know?”

“Fucking brilliant!” he whispered. Phil didn’t like to hear Gareth swear, it always seemed to grate when he did, which thankfully was only very rarely. He could be excused this time though and Phil ignored it.

“Good. Did you have a nice you-know-what this morning?”

“Mmmmmmmm,” he said, “And I bet you did too.”

“Nope. I’ve decided to stop doing that now. I’ve got a little boy to look after and I don’t want to teach him bad habits!”

“Much too late for that,” Gareth giggled, “And in any case it was you who started it, so sucks to you!”

“What you doing now?” Phil asked.

“Laying on my bed with nothing on and playing with my cock. You?”

“Same thing and I’m looking at that picture of you in your swimming trunks, you know, the one where ……..”

“I know, I know,” Gareth said. “Just think we’ll be able to do it together whenever we want soon, it’ll be fantastic won’t it?”

Phil had to agree with him and his cock gave a jerk of understanding when Gareth interrupted:

“I’m gonna cum,” he stammered out, “Jesus!”

Phil heard the moan; stifled, but still audible.

There was nothing else that Phil do except release his own pent-up load in sympathy with his young lover and shot great wads of his hot, sticky cum all over the bed. There was nothing to be heard on the phones except heavy breathing for a couple of minutes before Gareth managed to whisper out a breathless, “I love you” before he switched off. He knew Gareth well enough to know even that would have been a tremendous effort for him if he’d had a good cum, and he was sure he had.

Phil suddenly remembered that he’d not told Gareth that he was going to come up to Milton Keynes in a couple of days and tell his parents of his plans. He texted Gareth to expect him at ten on Saturday and to tell his parents.

The following morning his phone bleeped at breakfast. The simple one word reply was ‘Yippppeee!’

Phil smiled and willed his cock to go down.

Phil telephoned his uncle and aunt, without Gareth knowing, and asked if he could come down for the day on Saturday, explaining that he would like to give Gareth a birthday present. That was agreed to, and Phil took a deep breath before continuing.

“There’s something else as well.” He paused. “How would it be if Gareth came to live with me?”

There he’d said it. There was a pause at the other end, and before his aunt said anything, he went on to say that he’d not mentioned it to Gareth yet, but they got on alright together and they would be company for each other, and he’d make new friends …. He was conscious that he was gabbling a bit in his nervousness and made an effort to slow down. “It might do him good to get away from Milton Keynes for a while anyway,” he finished, hoping that he’d not ruined it by stupidly adding the last bit. His aunt was quiet for a second or two before Phil said he’d ring them back on Friday night to find out what they thought. She agreed to this and they broke off the conversation.

Rather to his surprise, Phil was shaking a bit when he put the receiver down and took a moment to gather his wits. He’d done it, for better or for worse, he’d done it. Taking a deep breath and trying to force it to the back of his mind for the time being, he concentrated on collecting together and packing the few things he wanted to take with him to the new flat. It seemed that every thirty seconds the problem surfaced though, and despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop worrying, ‘What if’s’ going round and round in his mind. To break the cycle, he dressed himself more appropriately and paid a visit to his bank. There was surprisingly little difficulty there either. Once he’d explained about his new job and the flat, they were quite happy to give him a loan. Much more than he needed in fact, and he didn’t have to mention Gareth either. He decided to take only half what he was offered, with the option of taking the rest later if he wanted it. Feeling better now, he bought some new crockery and bedding on the way home. It was a very odd and novel feeling, shopping for two – his family as he was now starting to think of it – and exhilarating in a strange way.

Eight o’clock on Friday eventually arrived, and with trembling fingers he dialled the number. It took three or four heart-stopping rings before the receiver was picked up.

“Hello?” said his aunt.

“Hi! It’s me,” Phil replied.

“Oh, hello Phil.” There was a pause. “We’ve had a talk about Gareth and we think it’s a good idea, if you still want to that is.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. All the worries, the planning and the stress had paid off: I could feel the weight lifting off my shoulders and was walking on air. I realised that I was still being spoken to.

“ ………. and when you get here tomorrow, we’ll talk some more.”

Mustering as much gravitas as I could, I said that I’d look forward to it, which was something of an understatement.

An hour later my phone rang again: it was Gareth. This surprised me a little until he said that he’d spent the evening taking with his mum and dad about coming to live with me. For once, it seems that they’d actually talked to him in a decision involving himself. He was considerably calmer now than he was the last time we spoke and I asked him where he was.

“Come out for a walk to the shops so’s we could talk,” he said.

“Great. So what did they say to you?” I was intrigued as to how they’d put it to him.

“You never told me that you’d called them and asked them,” he said with a slight element of chastisement in his voice. “And so when I got in and they told me what you’d said, I was really surprised. I pretended that was the first time I’d heard about it, but it was hard ‘cause I was real happy inside. I was scared too ‘cause dad kept looking at me.”

“Yeah, I bet. Then what?”

“Well, the first thing mum asked me was what I thought about it. I said at first that I didn’t know, but it seemed like it might be OK. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” Gareth giggled. “I wanted to laugh and cry and jump and fly all at the same time!”

Not far underneath the surface of that beautifully maturing just-13-year-old-body was a small child which escaped once in a while with a delicious sense of humour and a delightful playfulness. It was one of his most endearing characteristics and I loved him all the more for it. It was also the one which pissed his dad off I guess.

We chatted for a while about what happened next. He’d gone on to tell them that we’d had a good time camping and we got on alright. “I even made mum smile when I told her you made me do the cooking and washing up. I think that was what swung it!” he laughed.

“What did your dad say?”

There was just the merest pause before he replied, “Nothing.” I felt desperately sorry for him at that moment. His father couldn’t even be bothered to take enough of an interest in his youngest son’s life to ask him if he actually wanted to move away from his home. Gareth knew this.

“Anyway,” Gareth said, cheering up, “What time you gonna get here tomorrow, ‘cause I can’t wait!”

“Sometime around ten I guess. You gonna be there?”

“Where else do you think I’d be, dork!”

He was right. Stupid question.

“OK then, I’ll see you.”

I was just about to switch off when Gareth said, “Wait!”

I listened. There was a pause and Gareth continued, “Thanks! I mean it. It’s gonna be OK isn’t it?”

This was the deadly serious Gareth. He could see a way out of his not-too-pleasant life, and now it was actually going to happen he was scared. The question was a statement of fact as much as anything else.

I dropped my voice and whispered, “‘Course it’s going to be alright.” Then added, “I love you. See you tomorrow.”

“Love you too, See ya!”

I could have left home there and then and been happy to drive to Milton Keynes to camp out on their doorstep overnight until they woke up. Instead I satisfied myself with a couple of pints of lager and an early, but largely sleepless night.

Despite a slow drive, I was parked up at the end of their road before nine o’clock the next morning looking at their house and thinking that I wouldn’t have to do this trip much more, thank God!

It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn’t actually bought Gareth a birthday present. What with all the joking about his birthday present being to move in with me and so on, it’d completely slipped my mind. Now I had a slight problem. Did I do nothing and not buy him anything; did I get him something special or did I get him something in between? Something special might send the wrong signals to his parents, almost as if I was congratulating him for leaving home. Getting nothing would seem churlish; Gareth wouldn’t mind, but I’m sure his dad would notice. I chose to resort to the old stand-by and get some deodorant and after-shave stuff for him. With a bit of luck, I would be able to give him a special and more personal gift later!

As much to kill time as anything else, I drove to the shops, chose a gift and had them wrap it for me. I was still twenty minutes early, but I was pissed off with hanging about and so went straight to their house. No sooner had I pulled up outside than the front door opened and out shot a very excited young man. With a supreme effort, he managed to slow himself down and walk fairly leisurely towards me, his beautiful face wreathed in smiles. Putting a friendly arm on the shoulder nearest to me and ensuring he kept a little distance away from me, we went back into the house. The last thing we needed was an all-out embrace and kiss on the front door-step, much as we would have liked it.

I was slightly nervous as we sat and had a cup of coffee once I’d said hello to everyone. I gave Gareth his present which he opened with typical speed and a ‘thanks!’ accompanied by another heart-stopping smile. I really must get a grip of myself; I can’t keep going all weak-kneed every time he smiles at me – my cock would never take the strain!

It wasn’t long before ‘The Subject’ came up. I explained about my job and what it was all about, as much as I knew anyway, and also lied that the job came with a flat which was too big for one and that’s when I thought of Gareth. He was listening intently, staring into his drink and swinging his legs under the table avoiding eye contact with everyone. My uncle and aunt seemed satisfied with my explanation and the provisional arrangements I’d made so far and told Gareth to thank me. Not, I noticed, another question asking if he still wanted to come and stay with me. Gareth mumbled a quiet ‘thanks’ still not looking at me fully. His father was about to say something to him, but changed his mind and said to me, “We can give you 25 pounds a week towards his keep.”

This was a bombshell. It was the last thing I thought they’d do, and I certainly wasn’t going to ask them for help, no matter how short we were. For an instant I was furious with them: it was almost as if I was being paid to take a troublesome kid off their hands. Then I thought better of it and accepted the offer with grateful thanks, allowing themselves to feel better now that they could feel less guilty about selling their son, which I thought it came very close to.

How Gareth felt during this conversation I’ll never know: I never had the courage to ask him. It must have been extremely painful for him, being talked about as if he were a bag of goods being bought and sold. Thankfully, once one or two little things had been ironed out, the topic was dropped and we changed to lighter things. When I asked Gareth what he’d got for his birthday, he perked up and dragged me off upstairs to his room. I think we were all grateful for the break anyway.

Once inside the door, even before it was closed, Gareth leapt up at me, wrapped his legs round my waist and kissed me deeply. He was getting too big for this now and being unprepared for the onslaught, I almost fell over. I pushed him down to his feet and kissed him again, quickly, just in case we were interrupted. His presents were scattered around his desk and bed, the torn and discarded wrappings decorating the floor. Most of them were clothes: shirts, socks, trousers and so on. And, I suddenly realised they were nearly all school-type clothes. I stared at him questioningly and asked, “No games or anything?”

“Nope.” He replied, “I got what I needed though.”

Apparently once the surprise of my phone call was over, they’d had a family conference and all had agreed that he should go if he wanted. I hadn’t thought about this aspect and was thrown a bit by it. Gareth explained to me that once it’d been agreed that he could go, everyone had decided to buy him ‘useful’ instead of ‘birthday’ presents, which meant school clothes. I determined that later I would buy him something more appropriate than school shirts and socks.

I’d been asked if I wanted to stay for the night, but had got out of it by saying that I wanted to go to Dover and spend Sunday cleaning the flat up and moving some of my stuff in. Gareth’s eyes lit up suddenly and I knew exactly what he was thinking, and so did everyone else in the room.

Everyone turned to look at me. This was a totally unexpected turn of events and my mind turned over rapidly. There was no real difficulty in his coming with me, except that I didn’t fancy the idea of driving back tomorrow. It was a long way and I had to look after the pennies now.

We compromised somewhat when my uncle offered to meet me on the outskirts of London on Sunday afternoon and collect Gareth. This was workable I thought, and agreed, much to Gareth’s delight. Dashing off upstairs, he said he was going to pack his things. I would probably have driven all the way there and back anyway for the chance of spending a night alone with Gareth, but they weren’t to know that were they?

There was a bumping and banging down the stairs and we all turned to see Gareth struggling to carry a gigantic suitcase. It was obviously full, and heavy: Gareth was sweating and panting with the effort as he fought his way to the front door. The case held a great deal more than anything he could possibly need for an over-night stay, and there was no way he could have packed it in the two or three minutes he was out of the room, but nobody said anything. I offered to help him carry it out to the car, but he was determined to do it himself and wouldn’t let me anywhere near it. As far as he was concerned, it was the ending of one chapter of his life and the start of a new and better one, and he was determined to do it himself. He allowed me to help just a little as we lifted it into the back of my Landrover.

There wasn’t much to keep either of us in Milton Keynes after this, and with almost indecent haste, Gareth and me made our way to leave. I looked in the mirrors as we drove away. His mother was standing in the door waving at us. His father had returned to his newspaper and pipe.

We were driving up the hill out of his village when it suddenly struck me. Within the past couple of hours somehow I’d managed to sort Gareth out, sort some more cash out for us, get half his belongings in the car, and incidentally end up with an exuberant 13-year-old bouncing up and down in the seat next to me sorting his prized comics out, on the way to Dover and our new life. Four weeks ago, there was me and my graduation certificate – full stop!

Once we were on the open road, Gareth stacked his pile of magazines and comics up neatly and put them on the floor. Then he turned round and said, “I can’t believe it!”

“What?” I replied smiling at him.

“You and me. We’ve done it!” He slid closer to me, slipped his arms round my waist and hugged me tightly. He reached over, kissed me on the neck and grinned impishly, his arms still gripping me firmly.

“What you got in your case? It weighs a ton,” I asked.

“My things.” was all he deigned to answer, as if that explained everything.

“When did you pack it? You couldn’t have done all that in two minutes.”

“Nope. I started putting things in it the day after we came back from camping. All the clothes I didn’t need, my best games and things, some books, some ……….”

“OK,” I interrupted, “ I get the idea, but don’t you think you were just a bit previous?”

“Naaah. I knew you’d get things organised.”

I didn’t mention to him that packing a suitcase might just have given the game away to his parents if they had seen it!

“Where is Dover anyway?” he asked as he made himself comfortable on the seat; as usual, curled up foetus-like with his head in my lap, one thumb in his mouth and the other hand making its way southwards.

“Here, have a look at the maps.” I tossed him my road atlas, “I think its at the bottom of page 80.”

If I thought this might stop him toying with his dick or taking his thumb from his mouth, I was mistaken. He turned over onto his back, rested the atlas on his knees and turned to page 80. Back went the thumb and back went the hand. I ruffled his hair and smiled at him. This was the Gareth I knew and loved. He could be clever and mature when he wanted to be, a 13-year-old son anyone would be proud of: he could also be charmingly child-like and innocent when he was comfortable and at ease. Secretly there was nothing he liked more than a big cuddle and a lot of TLC.

His head was resting in my groin and quite deliberately he rolled his head slightly from side to side, knowing precisely the effect it would have on me. Within seconds I was rock-hard and had to lift his head up to move my dick somewhere less painful. He didn’t even bother to stir himself, just as if I was doing the most natural thing in the world. I reached over and picked up the atlas. His cock was sticking out from his flies, his hand wrapped round it lovingly, which was no more or less than I expected of him. I replaced the atlas and relaxed, concentrating on my driving. Life at that moment was particularly good I thought to myself. Very good in fact.

An hour later we were approaching the outskirts of London. I decided to drive round rather than have the hassle of fighting my way through the centre: it was longer, but we were in no particular hurry and I didn’t want to disturb the magical atmosphere in the car. I stopped at some traffic lights and Gareth raised his head just enough to see where we were.

“I’m hungry,” he said as much to himself as to me and dropped his head back in my lap. Like me, he was far too comfortable and peaceful to be bothered much about anything, but a boy and his stomach ………… !

I pulled into the next roadside café we saw and stretched my arms and legs.

“Wanna go in for a meal, or take-away?” I asked.

“Dunno. Let’s go see what they got.”

The fresh air hit us suddenly, rudely waking us up from our dream-world. There was nothing special to eat in the café, so we made do with a couple of hot-dogs and tins of soft drink. Throwing them into the car, I headed for the toilets. Gareth followed, almost holding my hand but deciding against it at the last second. We were in the big world now, not his dream one. The toilets were disgusting and we didn’t stay in there a second longer than we had to, not even to wash – our hands were a damn sight cleaner, even after we’d had a piss, than the sink had been in many years I guessed.

We sat in the car and finished our food in silence. Gareth had opted to take my place behind the wheel, relegating me to the passenger seat. We threw the remains of the packaging at the waste bin, missed, and left it to join the rest of the rubbish scattered around.

“Can I …….” Gareth started, but was stopped.

“Not here, too busy. But I promise you can later.”

We were wide awake now and taking much more notice of the world around us. I glanced at the atlas and worked out roughly we had about forty miles to go. Get there about six I judged. Then I remembered: I hadn’t told my landlady that we were coming down tonight! I started to look for a place to stop and phone her. Five miles later, I turned off onto a side road and stopped. Fortunately she was at home and sounded pleased to hear from me. I explained that we were coming down to drop some things off at the flat and would probably stay the night if that was alright. There was no objection and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Gareth had wandered off while I was making the call and I suddenly heard him shout out, “Phil, come over here and look at this.”

There was no urgency in his voice, so I walked leisurely towards him. He was sitting under a tree, trousers round his knees and his cock standing perfectly upright between his splayed legs. He flashed one of his special grins at me and stared at his swollen member.

“It’s done it again!” he giggled.

There was nothing I could do, or wanted to do, about him just then. I strode over and sat alongside, taking his cock in my hand and stroking it. It’d been ages since we’d done anything together and I was suddenly aware of how much I’d missed his presence and was desperate for him.

I pushed him onto his back, still holding on to his red-hot prick and kissed him deeply. His arms wrapped themselves round my neck and locked on firmly. We’d kissed before of course, hundreds of times, but this was different. We were together now, officially and for ever. All the tension and worries of the past days dissipated, all the problems had been solved and we could relax into each other. Our kisses became more passionate and harder; I let go of his cock and hugged him tightly against me, my hands worming their way under his clothes to be next to his silky smooth skin. I felt his fingers desperately struggling in vain to unfasten my belt and trousers. Breaking off our embrace for a second, we fumbled our trousers down as far as they would go and allowed our bodies to writhe and mingle together in a frenzy of a too-long frustrated desire.

I lay him on top of me, our bone-hard dicks alongside each other, and cuddled him. This was what all the planning and scheming had been about, this was what we both needed and wanted so badly. This was Gareth and Phil together at last.

I don’t know how long we were there like that, time had ceased to mean anything the moment I touched him. I moved my hands down to his butt cheeks and squeezed them gently, pulling him tightly into my groin. Gareth moaned in ecstasy and thrust his tongue deeper into my mouth, his body melding into mine. I was dimly aware of his desperate boyish thrustings, our cocks in a hot passionate embrace of their own, throbbing and beating together. I felt the exquisite tremor as he ejaculated suddenly and viciously, his boiling sperm spasming out, serving to bond us even closer. He was too far gone even to notice his cumming or to fly into one of his awe-inspiring orgasmic fits. Even after the release of his pent-up tension, he never ceased in his embraces or incessant kisses. Eventually, between kisses, he lifted his head just enough to look into my eyes and whispered softly, “Do it to me. Please?”

His voice was so plaintive and wistful that there was no way on Earth any man could have resisted him. I didn’t care who was around, didn’t care where we were, didn’t even care who knew about us. I lifted him up and sat him on my chest. Resting his delicate hands on my chest he looked at me, the urgent need for loving showing in his face. Staring deeply into his eyes, I grasped his waist and pulled him up. He grasped my cock with both his hands and held it as he slowly searched for the spot. Satisfied he was in the right place, he suddenly dropped straight down. There was the merest grimace as he released the muscle tension in his thighs and plunged, taking in all my solid tool in one quick movement before he came to a stop against my balls, his angelic face contorted with passion, his eyes shining with satisfaction.

“That’ magic! It’s been so long, Phil. Christ, it feels good!”

I lay and stared glassy-eyed ; first at his radiant beauty, then at his shiny adolescent prick, still painfully erect. It’d never looked nicer or more attractive, the tiny droplets of his love-juice glistening in the sun and serving only to fuel my desires, the growing fringe of soft downy pubic hair at the base of his dick looking for all the world like a golden halo.

Neither of us were in a fit state to last very long and within three or four strokes we both shot volcanic loads, desperately and frantically: his second and still powerful, my first and no less forceful. They arrived with frightening speed, but it didn’t matter in the slightest. We’d proved our love for each other in the best possible way, satisfying our physical lust in a few heaven-sent thrusts, celebrating our deep and abiding love. Completely exhausted we pulled our trousers up and nestled together in perfect peace.

After a life-time we unwillingly separated ourselves and somewhat sadly walked side-by-side back to the car, exhausted but blissfully content.


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