That Boy in the Train
by Jolyon Lewes
Once the train had left Peterborough Max planned to go to the toilet to splash some cooling water on his sweating face. He gave his itching thighs a good scratch, deeply regretting that he hadn’t thought to wear pyjama bottoms underneath his trousers. He opened his book and waited for the train to move off. Then into his compartment came a young lad in his mid-teens and sat down facing him.
Trying not to look too interested, Max noticed the lad was wearing very brief denim shorts and a colourful T-shirt. He had thick, wavy, shoulder-length hair and was wearing a bead necklace and matching bracelet. Pretending to read his book, Max looked more closely. The face was that of a boy but at the same time a little feminine, with full lips, a cute little chin, a sweet little snub nose, grey-green eyes and long lashes. What a stunner, thought Max.
For ages Max had been trying to make himself fancy girls – he’d been trying really hard – but he knew he fancied this youth sitting opposite him on the train more than any girl he’d ever seen. He’d have tried to get talking to the boy but felt so conspicuous in his uniform that he assumed the boy would think him a freak and wouldn’t want to talk to him.
Max was very hot and was perspiring profusely. His trousers of thick, coarse serge made his thighs feel like they were burning. He could feel his scalp sweating uncomfortably beneath his beret. Within the too-tight tunic, made of the same hairy material as the trousers, his blue cotton shirt was drenched with sweat. His detached collar was no longer stiffly- starched but warm and soggy and the front collar stud pressed into his throat as if it wanted to throttle him. He wouldn’t be able to change clothes until bedtime, a truly miserable prospect, especially as the day would get hotter still. Time passed, slowly.
As the train sped through the oppressive Lincolnshire heat, Max tried to concentrate on his book but kept peeping jealously at the beautiful boy in his blissfully cool T-shirt and shorts. Oddly enough, each time Max glanced up the boy seemed to be looking at him. Not just looking but positively staring! Max put the book down, their eyes met and he offered a shy smile. The boy looked quickly away then immediately back at Max. He seemed to be trembling slightly and trying to force himself to speak.
“Y-you look smart in your uniform. Are you in the Air Training Corps?” His accent placed him somewhere in London, possibly south of the river.
“Actually, I’m a member of my school CCF – Combined Cadet Force,” said Max. “I’m going to a course at a big RAF base. I’m starting to learn to fly in August.”
“Christ! That sounds exciting!” said the boy, getting over his nervousness and giving Max a nice smile.
Just then the guard came along and Max felt quite chuffed to be able to brandish his impressive-looking RAF travel warrant. The man called him ‘sir’ but was probably being sarcastic. Nonetheless, Max could see he was being viewed by the boy with what looked like respect.
“My name’s Jeremy,” said the scrumptious boy, looking Max all over.
“And mine is Max,” said Max, his heart pounding with excitement.
Jeremy was gorgeous and it seemed that rather than be put off by Max’s uniform, he was attracted to it. If it had helped to generate an introduction, it had become a positive asset! The boys began to chat. Max was still incredibly hot but now he could think of other things than his physical discomfort. Jeremy said his school was a ‘progressive’ comprehensive quite unlike the independent school Max attended. He was on his way to see his elder brother.
Let’s restart the story from Jeremy’s point of view. He was going up to York to visit his brother Bill, who worked at the National Railway Museum. He had his sketchbook and wanted to draw some of the engines there, especially Mallard. He boarded the train at Kings Cross (as had Max) but a bunch of rough-looking men came into his compartment and seemed to be eyeing him up. All were smoking. It became impossibly hot and the smoke was hurting his eyes so while the train was stationary at Peterborough Jeremy set off to find a no-smoking compartment and spotted one that only had an RAF bloke sitting in it.
Nobody in Jeremy’s family had ever been in the armed forces and he’d always wondered what it must be like. Of course, he’d seen hundreds of war films and there was all that stuff about Vietnam on TV a couple of years back but he’d hardly ever been up close to a uniform. He wasn’t interested in fighting wars but he did like the look of some uniforms. He didn’t have cadets at his school so there wasn’t much chance of his having a military uniform to wear, beside which all he wanted to do was go to Art College.
The uniform this RAF bloke was wearing looked like what they wore in war films and Jeremy hoped he wasn’t watching him staring at him. The first thing he noticed was how hot the bloke looked and the second was how young he was. Maybe a year older than Jeremy, no more. Jeremy was fifteen. He thought the boy couldn’t have been old enough to be in the real RAF so deduced he must be a cadet or something. He noticed the lovely smooth skin on his face and neck; he took in the strong chin, nice little ears, good cheekbones and eyes the deepest blue he’d ever seen. His face had nobility, a bit like a Greek statue. He’d make a fantastic subject to draw.
The RAF boy was reading a book and Jeremy tried not to stare at his face so instead he studied his uniform. The trousers and jacket thing was made from very thick, hairy material and must have been very uncomfortable because the boy kept scratching his legs and shifting about on the seat. And he kept putting a finger inside his collar to try to pull it away from his neck. He didn’t look happy, his face was very pink and Jeremy could see little rivers of sweat running down the sides of his face and soaking his collar.
Jeremy saw the boy smile at him. He felt like a rabbit trapped in headlights and didn’t know what to do. That smile made Jeremy’s skin tingle all over. It broke the ice and they started to chat. Jeremy learnt Max was seventeen and his posh accent was explained by his going to an independent school. Max had an amazing voice – a sort of a husky whisper, and that made Jeremy tingle all over too. After the guard had checked the tickets Max said he was off to the toilet to wash his face and hands then go to the buffet car and would Jeremy like a drink. He said yes please.
When Max stood up, Jeremy saw he was quite tall and although by no means chubby he had broad hips and his bottom pushed out the seat of his rather tight trousers a long way. Max wriggled about a bit, trying to pluck his uniform away from his body where it was sticking to him with sweat. He’d make a great model in a life class and Jeremy had this instant image of him sitting for him, nude! Jeremy had never felt tingling as intense as this!
While Max was away, Jeremy pictured him reclining, Roman-style, in a toga, only the toga was badly torn – like ripped to shreds! The thought gave Jeremy a hard-on. When Max came back, he handed Jeremy a lovely, cool Coke. It was most welcome – despite Jeremy’s relaxed clothing the heat and humidity were making him sweat too, but nowhere near as lavishly as poor Max.
“Do boys get whacked at your school?” said Jeremy, nervously. “I’ve always wondered what it must be like.”
“Yes,” said Max, “and it’s not very nice at all, especially the cane. In fact, I’ve had marks on my bum that lasted for days.”
Jeremy’s dick suddenly grew harder. “Does a whacking hurt at the time but leave a nice, warm glow afterwards? It was like that when I tried … I mean … that is …”
“Do you mean to say you’ve tried caning yourself? That must be tricky!”
“I d-don’t have a real cane,” stammered Jeremy. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound: “I saw a boy being slippered on a TV programme and wondered what it must feel like. So I tried slippering myself with one of Dad’s size ten plimsolls. It’s a bit difficult.”
“I bet it is!” said Max, grinning. “You should’ve asked a friend to do it for you.”
“I’d be much too embarrassed,” said Jeremy, feeling stupid.
“Well, I‘d do it for a friend, so long as we were doing it just for fun.”
“Really?” squeaked Jeremy, tingling more than ever, “would you do it for me?”
“Of course I would!” said Max, in that sexy voice of his.
Jeremy saw Max looking intently at his sawn-off denims and wondered if his new friend was kinky so he responded by crossing one knee over the other, knowing that Max would be able to see right up one leg of his shorts, if he wanted to.
“And would you mind wearing your uniform when you did it?”
“What – this uniform I’m wearing now?”
“Yeah, the thought of you in your uniform, whacking me, is a real turn on. Do you ever wear big shiny boots with the uniform?”
Jeremy felt he could talk to Max like they’d known each other for years.
“I’ve got boots at home,” said Max. “And I could wear blue gaiters to go with this belt.”
Jeremy decided to jump in at the deep end. “I want you to dress up in your full RAF uniform so I can get down on my hands and knees and kiss your boots. And then you can whack me!”
Max stared at him, his mouth open. “Are you sure, Jeremy? It’s all a bit kinky, isn’t it?”
“It’s something I’ve fantasised about for ages!” said Jeremy, amazed by what he was saying. Now it was Max thinking it was Jeremy who was kinky.
Max was warming to the idea. Inside his sweat-sodden boxer shorts his dick was stiffening. He was wondering what it would be like to whack Jeremy’s bottom and was enjoying the sight of the smooth, slender thighs revealed by Jeremy’s shorts, the tattered hems of which had by now risen a long way. Max had to tear his eyes away from the delicious sight.
“Look, Jeremy, I’m getting off at Doncaster and we’ll soon be there. Let’s swap addresses and phone numbers. I’ll be at home in two weeks’ time and I’ll be alone. My parents are heading off for France early on the Sunday morning. I’ll have the house to myself all day but I’ve got to go back to boarding school in the evening. It’s a hundred miles away.”
“You mean I could come to your house and we could do what we’ve been talking about?” said Jeremy, wriggling about in excitement. “I’d love it! As far as I’m concerned, I’m on for it!”
“OK,” said Max, sounding equally excited. “I’ll phone you as soon as I’m back from my course. And I might have a special treat for you. I once stole one of the teacher’s canes. I’d forgotten about it but I think I’ll be able to lay my hands on it. So you’ll be able to experience what we private schoolboys have to face!”
“I can’t wait!” yelled Jeremy, just as the train was pulling into Doncaster.
Max was still cooking in his uniform and wiped his face yet again. Jeremy stood and rummaged in his duffel bag.
“That hanky of yours is soaking wet. Here’s a clean one of mine. Give it me back in a fortnight!”
“Oh, thanks, Jeremy. You’re an angel.”
“Yeah!” said Jeremy, turning round and poking his nice little bottom in Max’s face. Max gave it a playful slap and they both burst into a fit of giggling.
Max waved at Jeremy from the platform and Jeremy spent the rest of his journey making from memory a sketch of Max’s face. It wasn’t at all bad and later he did another one of him sitting in his uniform. In the next few days, dozens of sketches of Max appeared but Jeremy was just practising. The real sketches would be of a nude Max.
“Now, you’re sure you’ll be alright, Max?” said his mother, “there’s food in the fridge to last you all day.”
“Don’t forget to lock the house properly before you head back for school,” said his father.
“No, Dad.” I’m going to have a quiet day here and I’ll make sure everything’s OK before I go.”
“Be careful, darling,” said his mother, hugging him and giving him a motherly kiss.
As soon as his parents had gone Max was filled with apprehension. Jeremy was due at ten and he’d expect to see Max in full uniform, including belt, boots and gaiters. It was going to be a hot day, possibly in more ways than one. Max went upstairs and removed his jeans and shirt.
With an increasing feeling of nervousness, he began to put on the RAF uniform. He’d tried shaving the inside of the trousers with his razor but it hadn’t made much difference – the host of horrible little bristles still scratched his inner thighs and made the skin painfully inflamed. Boxer shorts helped hardly at all. Highly tempted to wear pyjama trousers under the thick serge he decided not to in case Jeremy found out and thought him a wimp. That’s what boys at his school were called if caught with pyjamas under their battledress uniform. It invariably led to a public debagging and much ridicule.
When fully dressed, Max checked his turnout in the mirror then practised a few swipes on his bed with his stolen cane. He was already feeling uncomfortably warm and to protect his thighs from the itchy trousers as long as possible, remained standing rather than sitting down. He paced anxiously about, peering out of the window to see if Jeremy was coming. At 10.15 he began to wonder if Jeremy’d got cold feet. At 10.30, with no sign of him, a sweating Max was feeling extremely silly gazing out of the window, dressed unnecessarily in his stifling RAF battledress.
His heart missed a beat as he saw a familiar face in the distance – the face that had been occupying his dreams for the past fortnight. Jeremy was hurrying along, obviously aware of being late, and scanning the numbers of the houses in the street. He stopped by the front gate, looked nervously about him, then opened it and walked up the path. Max had the door open before Jeremy could ring the bell and ushered him quickly inside.
“You’re late!” he barked – or tried to bark, his voice not being the barking kind.
“I’m sorry. I overshot the station on the Tube and then got lost looking for this road.”
“That’s no excuse. What happens to boys at your school who are late?”
Max tried to sound angry but really he was overjoyed to see this slim and gorgeous boy whose face was even sweeter than he’d remembered.
“They get a ticking off…”
“Is that all? At my school we get detention – and if there’s a purge on, which happens a lot – any boy who’s late gets the cane. Do you realise there’s a purge on right now?”
“No, SIR, if you please! Well, there is a purge on and you’re late. So what’s going to happen to you?”
“I’m going to get caned, sir?”
“That’s right; you’re going to get caned! Put down your duffel bag and follow me.”
In all this excitement, Max hadn’t taken a proper look at Jeremy but now he did. If Jeremy had looked dishy on the train, he looked even more desirable now, although he was in jeans not shorts. He probably looked dishier because he was clearly very nervous. Max fought off the inclination to give him a cuddle and ask what he’d like to drink, knowing he must keep up the pretence of this strange game. He ordered Jeremy into his father’s book-lined study, directing him to bend over the heavy leather chair he’d carefully positioned earlier.
“I’m afraid this caning is going to hurt, boy. But you thoroughly deserve it, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” Jeremy’s voice was a terrified little squeak.
Max hoped his horrible trousers weren’t tight enough to reveal an erection, because his dick was already showing interest.
“I’m going to give you six strokes and I want you to accept your punishment like a brave lad.”
Max picked up the cane from the desk, the same cane that had been laid across countless unwilling bottoms at his school, and flexed it. He’d given it a soaking in tepid water so the rattan was nice and flexible. He knew from unhappy experience that the springier the cane, the more it hurt.
Jeremy was shaking as he leaned over for punishment. To Max he looked smaller than he’d looked in the train. The jeans were very tight and the shape of Jeremy’s bottom made a most tantalising sight. Max wondered what it would look like naked. He drew his cane back and paused.
“Can’t do it!”
“Why?” muttered Jeremy in a very small voice.
“I can’t hurt you, Jeremy. I just can’t do it. I don’t want to hurt you. Please stand up.”
Jeremy stood up and had to wipe his eyes as a few tears had already fallen in anticipation of the pain he was expecting. He looked at Max, whose lovely face was moist, not with tears but with perspiration. An hour in that uniform was an hour too long. Max put an arm round Jeremy’s shoulder and led him into the kitchen for a drink. Max drained his water very quickly. He mopped his face with a towel.
Jeremy looked in wonder at Max’s face. Those eyes of his were so deep blue, his skin so perfect. Jeremy’s fear had been replaced with feelings of lust and his dick responded accordingly. He watched as Max began to scratch between his legs and wondered what it must feel like to have that heavy, itchy wool pressing on your bare skin.
“I’m sorry, Max – what I said about fantasising about being caned wasn’t true. Yeah, I did try to slipper myself but it was silly and didn’t hurt at all. I said it so we could meet again. What I really want to do is draw you but I thought that would sound weird so I made up the story about wanting to be caned by you. Sorry – I’m wasting your time and now I’m embarrassed. I’d better go.”
“Bloody hell, Jeremy, I’ve never wanted to cane you – it was you that wanted it, not me! Let’s forget about it and have a nice day together instead. If you want to know, I feel bloody relieved!”
“But I’m bloody boiling in this uniform,” he continued. “I can’t wait to get it off.”
He took his beret off and for the first time, Jeremy saw the lovely strawberry-blond hair. Much of it was dark with sweat but you could see its true colour in places.
“Oh hell,” said Jeremy. “The real reason I hoped you’d be in uniform is because I wanted to draw you in it. I’ve got some sketches in my bag I did on the train after you got off. It’s from memory, of course. Can I show you?”
Max was very impressed with the sketches and said he’d be prepared to stay in uniform a little longer just so Jeremy could draw him. Overjoyed, Jeremy grabbed his sketchbook and pulled the leather armchair near the window. Max didn’t need his beret on to sit for Jeremy so he ran a towel over his hair and then combed it. Then, sustained by cold lemonade from the fridge, the boys settled down in the study. Max was in a perfect position, the sunlight creating a good contrast between light and shade on his hair and making the features on his noble face even more attractive.
Partly for comfort and partly to disguise his hard-on, Jeremy knelt rather than sit as he sketched. Poor Max was still very hot and Jeremy incorporated into his sketch the trickles of sweat constantly running down Max’s cheeks. After all, Jeremy had never yet seen him without them. Max kept having to scratch his thighs. After twenty minutes, he asked Jeremy how much of him he was drawing.
“Head and shoulders.”
“Well, you little bugger, I don’t need these boots and gaiters on. Or these bloody trousers. I’m going to take ‘em off.”
Jeremy’s heart leapt. He was going to see Max’s body at last. He wondered if it would be as he’d dreamt it to be. Off came the canvas gaiters, then the huge, clunky boots, then the canvas belt, then the tunic thing, which Max called a blouse. His blue shirt had dark sweat stains under his arms and on his back. He eased the braces off his shoulders and was ready to drop his trousers.
“Are those braces, Max? I’ve never seen any before.”
“Yeah, you’ve got to wear braces or these bloody trousers are so heavy they’d always be falling down.”
Jeremy couldn’t help leaning forward to watch the next bit. He’d be seeing Max’s bare legs for the first time. Would they live up to expectations? They certainly did! Max’s legs were absolutely fabulous: long, firm and muscular, with broad thighs and wonderful calves and everywhere entirely smooth and hairless. Not a blemish anywhere. Jeremy knew he’d have to draw them and wondered how he could get Max to pose nude, or nearly nude.
“Phew! That’s better!” said Max.
“Yeah, brilliant!” said Jeremy, his dick pulsating urgently.
Max put his battledress blouse back on and buttoned it up. Then he sat down.
“Right then, head and shoulders only,” he said, smiling sweetly.
Jeremy tried to concentrate on his sketching pad but his eyes kept being drawn to Max’s bare legs. He could see his boxer shorts and tried so hard not to imagine what was within. He failed, of course. He was glad he was kneeling because his erection would otherwise be unmistakable. He’d just suffered a minor emission into his briefs but his dick was harder than ever and ready for another squirt.
Gradually, Max’s legs turned from hot pink (literally) to a lovely, natural, flesh colour. Jeremy took out his pastels and did some colour matching on his pad. For future reference, you understand. He was drawing just head and shoulders, remember.
Max was getting restless. Jeremy had now been sketching for over an hour and the heat was building.
“Tell you what, Jeremy, I’m bloody hot so why don’t we cool down and have a shower? Then we could relax in the garden, maybe do a bit of sunbathing. And there’s some lunch.”
“Mmm, I could do with a shower,” said Jeremy. “I’ve had a little accident.”
Max didn’t seem to hear that last sentence. He stood up and took off his hairy blouse, his tie, his drenched detached collar and his sweat-stained shirt. What a body! Now Jeremy could see it all; all but for what was inside those boxers. When Jeremy stood up, his own hard-on was revealed in all its glory.
“You little imp! Upstairs with you!” said Max, grinning broadly and looking at Jeremy’s dick pushing against the front of his jeans. “Come on, I’ll race you upstairs! Our shower’s big enough for two!”
The boys shared the shower, keeping their hands to themselves but giggling insanely most of the time and not very discreetly looking at each other’s nether regions. Each was pleased with what he saw. Then they towelled themselves dry and Max put on an old pair of tennis shorts and a T-shirt. Jeremy stuffed his jeans and newly-soiled briefs in his duffel bag and took out some denim shorts.
“Are those the shorts you wore in the train?” asked Max.” “I don’t remember them being so short.”
“Same ones,” said Jeremy, putting them on. “But I took a couple of inches off the legs. I thought you’d like ‘em a bit shorter.”
“You bet I do!” Max was now sporting an erection. “They couldn’t get much shorter! And going commando, too. You’re a little tinker, you are!”
“You’re a bit of a tinker yourself!” said Jeremy. “Going commando like me – and in shorts like that!”
Max wasn’t wearing underwear – he was instinctively following a school regulation.
“School rules,” he said. “Only a jockstrap’s allowed under sports shorts and mine’s at school.
He was presenting a highly arousing picture for Jeremy, who saw the outline of Max’s turgid dick pushing against the left leg of his tennis shorts. The shorts were wickedly brief and any moment the tip of his dick could poke out below the hem. Seemingly unaware that he was on the verge of indecently exposing himself, Max suggested a bit of lunch.
You’ll have gathered by now that for an intelligent seventeen-year-old Max was extraordinarily naive. He’d always shrunk away from any suggestions of intimacy offered by girls. Several boys at school had flirted with him but the boys had been ugly and Max had vigorously repelled their advances. There’d been incidents on the rugby field and in the locker rooms where Max’s bottom had been grabbed, fondled, kissed, even bitten but never with his permission. The thought of sharing a shower with anybody would never have entered his head – until today.
Jeremy had changed everything. For one thing the younger boy didn’t seem to pose any kind of threat so Max felt relaxed with him and for another, he fancied him rotten.
The boys were soon tucking into cold meats and salad from the fridge, washed down with a can of beer. Max said he thought it was too hot to sunbathe in the garden.
“Well, in that case,” said Jeremy, “would you be my life model here indoors?”
“I’m not posing naked, not even for you!”
“No, not naked but d’you remember telling me in the train about the PE shorts that weren’t big enough to cover your bum properly so when you bent over for the cane half your bum was bare?”
“A bit of an exaggeration, Jeremy but yeah, they were a bit like that. Got rid of ‘em last year, thank God.”
“Well, that’s lucky then cos I’ve brought my PE shorts and I want you to put ‘em on.”
Reaching into his duffel bag Jeremy produced a pair of white PE shorts even smaller than the tennis shorts Max was wearing. Aware that Jeremy seemed to be taking charge Max counter-attacked.
“No! I can’t wear those! Look, let me show you what happens when your bum’s showing when you bend over for the cane. Go and lean over that armchair again!”
Jeremy smiled and did as Max had bidden. Was he hoping for a caning after all?
“Now this is what happens when you’re wearing shorts; the teacher yanks ‘em up as far as he can.”
With some ferocity Max pulled up the waistband of Jeremy’s cut-offs. Jeremy squealed in pain. Three inches of his little bottom became bare. Max cupped his right hand over the bare part of Jeremy’s right buttock.
“Now d’you see what I mean? Where my hand is lying is where the cane will be aimed and that means a really painful experience for you. Pure agony!”
“Yeah, OK, Max.” Jeremy liked the feel of Max’s hand on his bottom and Max seemed in no hurry to take it off.
“D’you like touching my bum, Max?”
“You bet I do, you little scamp!”
“Well, I wanna touch yours but first I wanna draw it. Can I go now, please?”
Embarrassed to find himself still clutching Jeremy’s adorable little bottom Max let go and Jeremy stood up and tugged his cut-offs down to their normal position. Although never mentioned it was now growing obvious to both boys that there would be sex before the day was out. Jeremy decided to take charge.
“I like those shorts of yours, Max. I’ve never had tennis shorts. Can I try ‘em on?”
“But what am I to wear?” said Max. “I’m not putting that bloody uniform on again!”
“It’s obvious,” said a beaming Jeremy. “You’ll have to wear my PE shorts. Go on, be a sport!”
This made Max shudder but ever polite he said “OK, you win, you rascal. But no peeping while I’m changing.”
“But I’ve already seen you naked. The shower, remember?”
“Oh yeah, I nearly forgot,” said Max, turning away and reluctantly removing his shorts.
The realisation that he was under Jeremy’s command had reduced the intensity of his erection which made it easy to get his tennis shorts off -an event immensely enjoyed by Jeremy – but putting on his young master’s tiny PE shorts was quite a struggle, they being so tight. He arranged his dick pointing upwards and heaved on the waistband until it had reached his waist. His balls were squashed together and formed a large bulge in the front of the shorts.
“Christ! I can hardly move!” said Max, turning to face Jeremy.
“You won’t have to move – you just need to lie on your back while I draw you.”
Jeremy had quickly swapped his denim cut-offs for Max’s tennis shorts and stood there grinning cheekily. The shorts fitted him nicely and, like his denim shorts, left his thighs almost entirely bare. Unlike Max, he still sported a juicy erection but the shorts were just able to contain it. Jeremy looked good enough to eat.
And so did Max. Ordered onto the sofa wearing just the PE shorts, he was told to recline with his head on a cushion and the knee nearer Jeremy drawn up “so I don’t have to see your naughty bits. Not yet anyhow.”
Once again kneeling on the carpet, Jeremy began to sketch but this time his subject was the whole of Max, from the hair on his lovely head to his perfectly formed feet, surprisingly dainty for a six-foot boy with such wide hips. Jeremy had achieved his ambition to draw Max full-length and as near nude as made no difference. The shorts left the lower half of Max’s nearer buttock bare and Jeremy would draw the hem even higher so it would look like Max had only a strip of cloth round his waist.
Max heard Jeremy’s little clucks and squeaks of satisfaction so assumed the art was going well and remained as still as he could. It was such a relief not to have to keep scratching his thighs. There was little conversation. Max didn’t want to distract Jeremy and Jeremy was lost in a world of his own as he sketched, erased, sketched and shaded. As he drew one curve after another of Max’s gorgeous body he was lost in wonder. His dick was relaxed now and Max’s had been too nervous to stir since he’d put on those PE shorts.
“Right, that’ll do,” said Jeremy, closing his sketch book. “I’m hungry.”
“Oh,” said Max. “There’s more food in the kitchen.”
“Not hungry for food, Max. I’m hungry for your body. D’you realise I haven’t even touched it yet? Just roll onto your tummy and stay where you are. Keep very still.”
Max felt Jeremy’s soft hands on the backs of his legs, gently stroking and slowly working their way up from behind his knees until they were caressing his smooth, firm thighs, taking their time to explore every inch of flesh, fingertips probing his inner thighs where he’d so often had to scratch to ease where the RAF trousers caused so much discomfort. He felt the hands reach the delicious curve where his bottom started and now his dick was harder than it had been all day. Fingers at last reached the little PE shorts and slid inside for further exploration. By now Jeremy’s face was so close to his he could feel the boy’s breath on the back of his neck.
‘Face like a marble statue and legs like a marble statue,’ thought Jeremy as he eased himself closer to Max until he could kiss his right ear. Max had never experienced anything like this. Never had he felt someone else’s fingers moving so gently over his body. And now he felt his bottom being clutched by both of Jeremy’s hands and his ear moistened by Jeremy’s full and sensuous lips. It was ecstasy. What would happen next?
This is what happened next. Max realised he was about to climax and stain the sofa. That would never do.
“Quick, Jeremy! My bedroom – quick!”
Both boys hurtled upstairs and into Max’s bedroom. Max threw a towel on the candlewick bedspread and two seconds later the boys were on the bed in each other’s arms, chests touching, legs writhing together, hands grasping each other’s bottom and engorged dicks taking on a life of their own as tummies became smeared with juices and pelvises began to thrust.
The boys’ thrusts were rather poorly synchronised but the results were entirely satisfactory and – if you’ll pardon the expression – came quickly.
And then there was stillness. Well, relative stillness; the boys were hugging each other and their subsiding dicks were enjoying their own companionship, pressed between two tummies and bathed in warm semen.
“Kiss me, Max,” said Jeremy in a breathy whisper.
“Oh, Jeremy …” said Max, in a husky whisper. In other words, in his normal voice.
Max had never kissed like this before. He’d heard about it of course but it hadn’t happened on any of his previous experiences of being kissed. No aunt of his had ever slipped her tongue into his mouth. But Jeremy did and for Max it was ecstasy. And for Jeremy, who’d done all this sort of thing before, it was the best ever. Max had turned out exactly as he’d hoped – no, it was far, far better. And as for that gorgeous body …..
When they awoke it was 16.30 and almost time for Max to go back to school. With some difficulty they drew their sticky bodies apart and shared another shower. This time they did touch each other, tenderly and often.
Jeremy had whipped off the tennis shorts before falling onto Max’s bed so they were clean but the tiny PE shorts were badly soiled.
“I can’t leave ’em here,” said Max, “and we haven’t time to wash ’em so I’ll take ’em to school and wash ’em there.”
“So why don’t you keep ’em?” said Jeremy. “Something to remind you of me. You could wear ’em under your RAF uniform.”
“OK,” said Max, smiling. “And I promise to wear ’em when I go flying.”
“I’d like that, Max and you can keep that hanky I lent you on the train. Could come in handy for when you get airsick.”
“Oh, you horrible little scamp!” said Max, laughing.
“But what can I have to remind me of you?”
“Why don’t you keep my tennis shorts?” said Max. “You look fantastic in them and if you want to remember me just look at the name tag inside.”
“Thanks, I love ’em already and I promise to go commando whenever I wear ’em.”
“Dirty little tinker!”
And with that the boys fell into a long embrace and only just had time, having cleared up the house, to make it to the station for Max’s train.
“I can get the Tube from here,” said Jeremy, “so we can say our goodbyes on the platform and then head in opposite directions.”
“But our minds won’t go in opposite directions, Jeremy. I’ll always think of you and please send me some sketches.”
“Course I will. And I’ll always think of you, Max. And fly safely, for God’s sake.”
“I’ll try – oh hell, my train’s coming in. Kiss me again or I’ll cry!”
Careless of people watching they hugged and kissed one last time. When they drew apart so Max could board the train Jeremy was in tears.
“I love you, Max,” he said, in a very shaky voice. “Say something, so I can hear your voice just one more time.”
“And I love you too, you little tinker,” said Max, choking with emotion and thinking how much his life had been changed by meeting that boy on the train.
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