Truths In Departure
by David Heulfryn
Part I: Unexpected Discovery
David Middleton loved himself. I had known him for nearly five years, since starting secondary school. In that time, he grew more confident and self-assured. He was neither particularly handsome nor tall; he looked quite unremarkable. It was his belief that he was more, that made him stand out and drew us all to him.
We were not a gang, no one ever really got up to much mischief. It was more a clan of young boys with David as the object of their attention. We all either wanted him to like us, to behave like him or look like him. His attention gave our life some meaning, and we rose above the usual turbulence of adolescence. He made our days more bearable.
I always knew my fascination with him went far beyond what the other boys had. For them, it was more like hero-worship, for me, it was more precious and less tangible, and, with a careless glance or an inadvertent touch, thought it might be lost at any time.
For almost five years, I remained content merely being a friend to him, never expecting anything more from him and never asking for anything more. Late at night, it was always his features I imagined while trying to sleep, his face calmed and soothed me.
But I soon realised that I barely knew him, he had a life and secrets he never spoke of to the group. And it was me he singled out to share his burden. For one of the few times in my life, I felt special.
It began on Friday. Our last period was always Games. I never really enjoyed Games, but it was the chance to see the boys in my class showering that made the lesson worth tolerating. It would provide me with plenty of images to get me through the weekend, and David especially enjoyed the chance to show off his body to the other, less confident boys.
In the last few minutes of play, the rugby ball was thrown to me. I caught it and tucked it under my arm to make a run for the try line. I had a clear run while most of the opposition was still disentangling themselves from the maul. The ball had been kicked out and Mick, our scrum-half, passed the ball to the nearest team-mate who had the sense to stay out it, me. I was tired and ready for the whistle to blow, but we were only losing by five points and knew that I would be lynched if I did not make my best effort to the line. There was just enough time for me to make the try and for David, our best kicker, to make the conversion and we could win.
Despite my fatigue, I drew a sharp breath and made a dash for the line. As I ran closer, my mind focused on the space between the goalposts, willing myself to go faster.
Almost there. I was about to score my first try in many months when I felt arms wrap around my knees. A boy had launched himself from the ground, and as his arms held my legs tight, his shoulder collided with the back of my thighs, and his hurtling weight threw me to the ground. We slid together for about half a metre, but I was too dazed to release the ball or pass it to anyone behind me.
The whistle blew, and the opposite was awarded a penalty for me not releasing the ball. They took their penalty, badly, the ball hitting the ground not even close to the goalposts. The whistle blew again, the game was over.
“Too bad, Mate.” David came over to me and gave me a firm slap on the back.
“I did my best, but I was just too knackered.”
As we walked into the changing room, the damp stench of drying mud and the steam from the showers hit me. My mud-stained legs ached from the final hard tackle. I quickly stripped and wrapped my towel around my waist. As I walked into the shower room, I noticed David was with a couple of lads, laughing and re-enacting the games’ best tackles and mauls.
The two dozen or so shower heads filled the room with a warm mist. Hanging my towel on the rail, I made my way quickly to the nearest available showerhead and, facing the wall, let the warm water soothe my body, while I stared at the water splashing at my feet.
I raised my head, and furtively looked around me. I saw David stride naked from the towel rail to the shower next to mine. As he approached, he slapped my bare back, like he had done on the Rugby pitch.
“Good game, eh?”
My stomach tightened, and I began to feel faint. I just managed to mumble a quiet, yep, before I concentrated, a little too hard, on washing the caked on mud from my arms and legs.
He had touched me. No-one had ever touched me while I was naked, and this was the first time he had done it. We would always talk and laugh with each other in the showers, but we never touched. I realised it meant nothing and was just a friendly slap on the back, but I also knew that this might be the closest we ever got to touching each other’s naked bodies; the closest to sex that we would ever come.
I left David in the showers and rushed back to the bench to dry myself and slip on my underwear, waiting for him to join me. We always changed next to each other, ever since the first day at school, so I knew his routine well. David always took a leisurely shower, providing anyone who wished the opportunity to see him naked. He would wrap a towel around his waist as he left the showers, but it would soon come off when he reached the bench where he hung up his school uniform and stowed his bag.
I sat on the bench, drying myself properly when I saw him walk over. He stood next to me, closer than usual, removed his towel and began to dry his hair. He turned his body and inched closer to me. His dick was only half a metre from my face, and I tried to concentrate on drying my feet and toes, my eyes ever darting to look at him. I must have had the driest toes that day as I did not want to sit up and have his dick even closer to me. I had to pretend not to have noticed if only to prevent the taunts that would inevitably ensue later if the other boys were to notice. I had seen his dick many times, but never this close; it looked wrinkled as it hugged his tight ballsac.
Stayed in the shower too long, I thought, caused it to shrivel. And I just wanted to reach out with my moist lips and warm him up. Of course, I resisted.
I looked up at his face, expecting him to smile at me knowing he was too close, but his eyes were looking across the changing room as he mouthing some words. I cricked my neck behind me and saw he was having a silent conversation with another boy, someone we never hung out with.
Soon the torment was over, and David pulled on his pair of skimpy sky blue briefs. We dressed back into our uniforms and, as we heard the clang of the end of school bell, we walked out of the school gates together.
“Sorry, Mate. But I’ve got to dash off.” David said.
I hesitated. “Er. Alright.”
He dashed off, running home, while I sauntered in the opposite direction, meandering along the pavements until I reached home.
When I got home, all I wanted to do was be alone in my room and ensure that the entire incident after Games was etched into my memory, but I had chores. My Mother got me to work, clearing the rubbish and helping with dinner as soon as I got changed.
After washing up the dishes from dinner, I watched television for an hour with my parents before going to bed. Exhausted, I fell asleep, today’s events stored for future use.
I woke up the following morning with a smile on my face. It must have been one hell of a dream as I felt quite light-headed. It was not until I got out of bed that I noticed and felt my moist pyjamas. It was fresh. No wonder I was smiling, my wet dream must have just happened, jolting me back to consciousness.
Peeling off my pyjamas and wrapping myself in my dressing gown, I made my way down the hall to the bathroom. Allowing my dressing gown to fall open, I ran the hot tap and washed my face. I dampened the flannel, which the soap rested on, and washed the cum from my groin and pubes. I would have taken a shower, but it would have been unusual on a Saturday morning, and I did not want the barrage of questions it would cause. It was bad enough I came in my sleep, I did not wish Mum knowing.
My parents always had a lie-in on Saturday and were used to waking to find me gone. I would get up early, eager to go round to see David, to play, to mess around and just relax in his house on our own. His parents were out all day working, and they had started leaving him on his own about a year ago. My parents always kept a close eye on me when I had friends round, so I was glad for the space I got on Saturdays.
I felt the gentle breeze of the bright and warm morning on my cheeks as I walked the mile or so to David’s. My smile having gradually dissipated as the sense of my dream waned. Approaching the cul-de-sac where he lived, I thought again how odd that they lived in a four bedroomed house. He was an only child; meaning two rooms were never used, but I supposed that one may have been a study. As I thought, I realised that the doors to the other two rooms were never open. I often noticed his parents’ bedroom door slightly ajar, even saw their unmade bed when they must have woken late and rushed off.
Walking past the small, neatly trimmed front lawns of the houses, I kept my eyes on the lawn in front that was slightly more overgrown than the others. No doubt David had his orders to get the mower out later to make sure their house did not look out of place.
The backdoor was always left unlocked for me, and I walked straight in. The kitchen was spotlessly clean, so I thought that David was not up yet. Just to make sure, I poked my head into the living room, but the house was quiet, not even the sound of a television coming from upstairs. I would often come round and find him still in bed, either asleep or watching his portable telly.
I began to climb the stairs and was about to open my mouth to call him when I heard a grunt. I stood still and silent and heard the noise again. My heart began to race, as I became excited at the thought of spying on David.
Slowly climbing each step, avoiding the creaks, I poked my head above the landing until I could see through the spindles of the balustrade.
His door was wide open, and I could see the dirty soles of his feet as he lay naked on his bed. I gasped and held my breath, my heart felt like it was about to explode, and my stomach was tied in knots. I struggled to release my breath without panting and let my eyes watch.
David lay with his legs apart slightly, looking at the ceiling. My eyes travelled from his dirty feet up the inside of his legs, lightly covered in fair downy hair. His balls were loose, covered with a few wisps of brown hair which swayed in the breeze from the motion of the hand on his dick. His right hand gripped his hard dick tight, squeezing the blood to the angry, moist head. The firm movements caused further groans and his foreskin periodically retracting, and allowed me to see the glistening head. His other hand roamed his body, tweaked his nipples, tousled his patch of light brown pubes and pulled on his balls.
My own dick was hard, pushing against my briefs and tenting my sweatpants. I kept my hands gripped firmly on the spindles as I felt my dick leak. I resisted all temptation to touch myself and mess up my underwear.
Continuing to watch, mesmerised by the motion of his two smooth balls as they lifted and fell with each stroke. I noticed him quicken, and he breathing became heavier. My head was floating as I waited to see him cum; my hand went down and squeezed my dick once. I should not have done that.
I felt my stomach rise to my throat, and I knew it was too late. I closed my eyes and tried to hold back, but I had no choice. My dick erupted and spewed cum into my briefs. The feeling was so intense that I held my breath and closed my eyes while my balls continued to cum, soaking my briefs.
As my balls relaxed, I slowly took a breath and opened my eyes. David carried on pounding his dick, but I saw that his balls were tight. David started to pant and, not even blinking, I kept my eyes glued to his dick as he pumped it fast.
He stopped. I waited, mouth agape until I saw his first shot of cum fly from his wet knob. I swallowed empty air as I saw it land on his chest. After the second shot, his hand began to slowly rub his dick again, teasing out more cum until the last few drops were squeezed from his tip and rolled down his shaft.
He released his dick and let his hand fall to the bed. His dick slapped against his stomach, slowly deflating as he lay catching his breath.
I felt the coolness of my own cum on my balls and tore myself away from David. I crept back downstairs and went into the living room. I looked at the front of my sweatpants. Nothing was showing, yet. Pulling them down, I noticed the huge wet stain on my briefs. I could not remember ever having cum so much but knew that I would have to do something. I did not want it showing through or me even stinking of cum for the rest of the day. I pulled my sweatpants to my ankles, pushed them over my trainers and kicked them aside. Carefully taking off my sopping briefs, ensuring my cum did not leak, I scrunched them up and wiped my dick and balls clean. I took hold of my limp dick and squeezed it, a few drops of cum oozed from my tip that dripped onto the carpet beneath my feet.
Pulling back on my sweatpants, I had the problem of what to do with my damp underwear. I could not leave them hanging around, wondering how I might explain why my cum-soaked underwear was in his house.
Thinking and waiting for inspiration, I sat on an armchair. After a few moments, I quietly went back outside and hid them behind the dustbin; I’ll pick them up when I leave.
Bursting back inside and shutting the door louder than usual, I called out to David as I bounded upstairs. Great plan, I thought. David would hear me, giving him a chance to cover himself up. But it did not work.
As I stood in the doorway to David’s room, I thought, “What the fuck…”. I had made enough noise to rouse an army. But he lay on his bed, as I had left him, naked and in full view. His dick had now returned to normal but glistened as his cum began to dry. I also saw two large pools of cum on his chest and one just above the wisps of hair surrounding his navel.
Thinking quickly, I grasped his shoulders and shook him until he stirred. “David, are you alright?”
He shot up and threw his legs to the floor. I defensively stepped back from the suddenness of his movements. He sat up and rummaged through the pile of clothes next to the bed. As he found he briefs, he began wiping his cum from his chest.
“What are you doing here?”
“I always come round Saturdays!” I sounded confused.
“Oh, shit.” Finding some shorts on the floor by his bed, he stood up and climbed into them. “Didn’t I mention yesterday after school.” He trailed off and then almost to himself. “Of course, I didn’t. I dashed off.”
“What. D’ya want me to go?” I felt embarrassed and dejected; my face must have been beet red. But he was not as embarrassed I would have expected, he seemed calm; not at all concerned or shy that he had just wiped off his cum in front of me.
“No, of course not. I’ve just got someone coming round for an hour later, that’s all. What time is it?”
“Fuck, they’re going to be here at ten.” He came close to me and rested his hands on my shoulders. I felt like I was being comforted after a bereavement but could smell the scent of his fresh seed. “Now, I don’t mind you staying and watching, but they must never see you.”
He looked serious.
“If you are noticed then both of us will be dead. Things will never be the same again, and school will become hell. I’ll let you know anything you want after they leave. But they must never see you.” He again stressed the last point, and the look in his eyes filled me with fear of what was to come.
He looked around his room. “Under the desk. Quick.”
I squeezed myself under his desk, my legs behind the draw unit and just my chest and head could be seen. He pushed his chair under draped his jacket over to further conceal me. Piles of clothes, books and CDs were already strewn on the carpet, which further camouflaged me.
“What can you see?” He asked.
“Just the bed and the door, really.”
“Not really, but it’s ok. I’d be alright for an hour or so.”
“Good. Now remember, not a sound, and I’ll explain everything once they’ve left. But I know you’ll be ok with it.”
He left the room, and I hear a door creak.
Coming back into the room, he said, “I can see them coming down the street now.”
“Who?” I whispered, but I do not think he heard me.
“Remember what I said!”
David lay down on his bed, his arms tucked behind his head and his eyes casually looking at the ceiling. I stared at the brown hairs in his armpits and took a deep breath, not expecting to smell him, but hoping.
I heard the faint sound of the back door closing and someone coming up the stairs.
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