Greg

Following the events after rugby nothing happened for days. Greg and I only crossed paths during French, our one shared subject. Practice came and it was Rattle -- in a fouler, the sod! The showers came and went. Rattle waited on, still in a mood. Greg didn't look at me and I was certainly not going to him (and risk a hard -- no way).

Still nothing for a week -- I was getting to be a wreck -- I had to say something. I had to know how Greg felt. What was it all about? Was he gay, was I? Was it just something all lads had to go through?

Phillips (nick name Hitler, need I say more) took the following practice (i.e. two weeks after the eventful shower. Frost, though not lingering, had made the pitch rock hard. Still we were made to practice, until Carter gashed his leg from knee to ankle. Practice was called off. It was only three o'clock and I thought this was my opportunity to catch Greg after the showers and sort this thing out.

But no...I had to collect my things and Carter's, and then take the stupid fat slob of an idiot to the school infirmary. Well he was, and he'd ruined my chance to get to Greg. Matron took control of Carter and I trudged off home dejected and with the cloud of a French dissertation to start and finish that night.

My Dad had died six months previous (when I turned 18) of a heart attack; Mum was out working. I went to my room and instead of wanking off as I would have done up to two weeks previous (I was too emotionally cranked up) I got out of my Rugby things and lay on my bed in my jock and started the French -- fucking boring.

I heard mum come back in and shouted down "I'm in my room; I'll be down for dinner."

Usually this stops her coming into my room, but this time I heard footsteps on the stairs and Greg's fetching tenor calls out "It's only me -- want you to help me out with this French shit."

Fuck, fuck, fuck, it was too late to get dressed, too late to do anything! Best to brazen it out, after all it was my bedroom and I didn't have a hard or anything. Greg came into my room -- he'd been there before as previously we had on a few seldom occasions worked on the French homework together. Not since the shower episode though and my mind was racing -- keep concentrating.

"Bloody hell Greg, I thought it was Mum." I told him to grab the other bed and that I had started but got nowhere. He took off his coat -- he had showered and changed and looked a million dollars! Do not get a boner. He had on this T-shirt 'Looking for Mr Benson' -- to keep my dick down I asked him what the band was -- I'd never heard of them.

He then opened up as if I had asked him to tell me his life story. His dad had died around the same time as mine (coincidently when he just turned 18). His dad had a motorbike accident and had gone under a lorry -- instantaneous. This much someone else had already told me. Greg, who up to this had also lived with his mum, had to clear out his flat as his parents had separated. In the flat his dad had left a letter for him and a letter for his brother, each sealed. Is his dad George Smiley? In the letter Greg learned that his dad had rented a lock up (but in a false name) and he wanted Greg to have all the stuff -- the key was in the envelope. Greg took and read the second envelope (his brother Rob's), which didn't mention the lock up but had a key to the flat and that Rob could have it -- it was rented and the rent was coming to him through the will. The flat is the one we now live in -- Rob never got the letter but was offered and turned down the flat.

So what about the T-shirt? Greg went to the garage and was fucked out his mind. Everything was packed neatly away it was books, pictures, leathers and other clothes including the T-shirt. Electrical gear, Bang and Olufsen; Greg was in 7th heaven this was his scene. He never told anyone of the lock up or of the envelope scenario. He moved into the flat and went back to the lock up to get the stuff and put it up in the flat and it was then the bomb exploded. The pictures were four foot black and white Tom of Finland prints amongst others. This was expensive and classy shit. The books were gay fiction the clothes were more than bikers' leathers they were gay scene. The names meant nothing to Greg but the pictures and books were unmistakable and his dad had wanted him to have this -- he knew then! Greg had spent the last five months reading and learning all this new stuff.

This was blowing my mind and still didn't know what this had to do with the T-shirt. I made some quip about no wonder he was having trouble with French! He just went on, "There's more."

Amongst the pictures and things there were some photos of your dad. My dad and Greg's were acquaintances in their youth. I mentioned this and Greg asked me if I was man enough to see them.

"Bloody hell Greg you're doing my brain in -- It's been six months, I've got photos of my dad, give them to me, keep them yourself, do what you like with them."

I was letting off at Glen again; all because I didn't want to be the first to admit that I wanted him. Then Greg gave me the photos of my dad and his on the motorbike together. Apart from the helmets neither had a stitch on. My dad was sitting on the back holding on tight to this bloke's prominently engorged dick. Both were grinning and obviously enjoying it. The more I looked, and I just couldn't take my eyes from the photo, the more became obvious. Greg sheepishly told me that the bloke was his dad but said nothing more. In another I saw that Greg's dad definitely had a finger up my dad's arse and through his arse up his dick by the look of his face! (I didn't know then who took the photos.)

"Fuck Greg -- I can't handle this! I'm going for a shower -- I haven't had one since practice."

I left for the shower leaving the photos and Greg on his bed. I had nearly finished showering when Greg came in; he had obviously been upset. I got out and he grabbed me, hugged me and kissed me. This I had done before but never with a guy. This was fantastic -- I was out of control. My dick went straight up. Greg felt it, his hand went down and he whispered -- "Ryan, I want to share all this with you, forever".

I held him so tight I thought I was going to kill him. Then Greg quietly went down on his knees and took my dick in his mouth. More of his exquisite learning came out. My arse sphincter went into spasm. He licked the front of my dick and then lapped my head. I just stood there thinking how come I get so lucky and watching via the shower mirror. He pulled down on my balls as his teeth gently nipped my shaft to the head. At one time I thought his tongue was actually going to go down inside my dick. He sucked the head purple. He pulled down so my dick looked (and felt) a foot long. He rimmed it, he licked it, he sucked it, and he lapped it. He held it so gently at times and then so hard I nearly cried out in pain. Then just as he was wrapping his tongue round the head, his teeth gently holding my rim I began to buck. My head was going to explode, this time for no reason all; I really wanted him to be sucking it when I came.

My arse cheeks clenched, I pushed out my dick into Greg's face, and I yelled some expletive as I rammed my organ fuck knows where. A fortnight's pure white and creamy cum filled Greg to overflowing; it was dribbling down his chin as his mouth came up to meet mine. We kissed and half of it came into my mouth. This was the first time I had tasted my own come. Seems weird to think of that now -- I had tasted my own blood, cuts etc. I had even tasted the metallic taste of my own urine, can't remember now just how but I had, but never my own spunk. Now we had mouths full of it we had our faces covered in it.

Greg took his clothes off -- they were damp from hugging me anyway. He was rock hard his prick stuck out, slim, long and with the most beautiful head I have ever seen. I worshiped him. I ran my hands down over his nipples and wanted him so badly. He told me to lie on the bathroom floor -- this is it, this was the moment! Then Greg asked me where the shaving stuff was. Too far gone for fear I watched in sheer disbelief as he proceeded to wet shave my shaft and balls! While he did he explained the meaning of Mr Benson. Greg didn't want to get into this scene but this is what they did and for him it felt great. It certainly made him look great. After he shaved my front (leaving my bush thankfully) he asked me to turn over and completed the job by shaving my arse crack, while I felt the carpet fibres stick into my hard shaft. He was so gentle I thought he must have done this loads of times, not so he did it to himself every Friday that was all. (Now Friday is always shave night)

Finished he lay on my back. His dick was rock hard against my arse cheeks and he held my sides tight as his face came next to mine. The door went this time it was Mum.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, for bloody hell's sake, why now? I grabbed a towel and wrapped it tight round me, holding my dick tight to my body, told Greg to get in the shower and went down, from the stairs I explained that I had just had a shower and now Greg was having his.

Mum made dinner and suggested Greg stay to get the work done. Greg counter-suggested we take it round to his flat if that was OK. Fine all round -- Had to get this shit arse-work done somehow.

Greg's flat is for part 3.