Usual Disclaimer: If you are not of an age to read this because of the laws of your country or district please desist. If you are a bigot or prod-nosed fundamentalist of any persuasion find your monkey-spanking literature elsewhere and keep your predilections and opinions to yourself. Everyone else welcome and comments more than welcome.
My thanks to those who have kept in touch after my previous stories. If you haven't read them yet I have listed them at the end of this first episode. Bless you all.
Flip's Tale
Chapter 2
2A: My Arrival in Scotland: July 1996
I slept soundly that night on the train and missed completely our arrival at Edinburgh station but woke very refreshed as the train was chugging along by the side of a long lake I recognised from the map I had as being Loch Lomond. I watched spellbound, my nose almost pressed against the window, as we skirted the lake and the whole vista of hills and mountains in the distance was passing me. Time stood still for me, I did go for breakfast but again sat transfixed by the scenery passing. About two hours later we drew into Fort William station and I knew that after the hurry and bustle of the city I had lived in this was peaceful and quiet and any residual anger within was being dissipated fast.
I almost staggered off the train and there was Aunt Margaret waiting for me.
Although I hadn't seen her for years she was instantly recognisable. She greeted me very formally as if not quite certain what to expect, but, she couldn't have been nicer and on the journey to her bungalow outside Glenfinnan we set up a great rapport. I knew she was just like my dad and after an initial silence I spent a good part of the journey happily telling her about my rugby and the gym club and she responded as if she had known me all my life.
I lapsed into silence on the last part of the journey because the scenery again overwhelmed me. Around me were apparently vast tracts of uninhabited land and mountains. So, again, it was so different from my experience of the enclosed, built-up city I had been exiled from. But, was it exile? I still had to go to school. Was that in this wilderness too? My thoughts were confused and I felt unsettled.
Aunt Margaret was so like the photos of dad to be uncanny. In fact, I also looked like dad when he was my age from the one or two photos I'd unearthed in an album tucked away in mum's bedroom. I realised now that most of the photos I'd seen had been taken with a background of just the sort of scenery I was witnessing. Perhaps I was coming home. Even for a fourteen-year-old I was having some profound thoughts.
Aunt Margaret was kindness herself. My room at the back of the bungalow was bright and spacious. No frills, just the sort of room any boy of my age would give his eye teeth for. She explained she was a very busy woman. She had a surgery to run with two colleagues and it covered quite an area. She also had to make home visits so would be out most days for long periods. If the weather was horrible I could go round with her on her visits because at least then I could see further bits of the countryside and also meet some interesting people. She asked if I minded being left alone. I would have to deal with my breakfast and lunch but she would be home most evenings to prepare supper. I said I didn't mind a bit. This was all new to me but I could see I would fit in and be happy. So, any initial uncertainties were dispelled and by the evening meal we were chatting away as if I had known her every day of my life. I knew I was home!
On Sunday morning she took me to the village church and then to show me around a bit.
Of course, in the village itself everyone knew Aunt Margaret and my impending presence had gone the rounds. As we came out of church everyone was so friendly I felt I was getting a great welcome. So, I was introduced to all and sundry and invitations to call in were prolific. We then went to visit her nearest neighbours, a retired couple who lived about 500 yards further down the lane in a very similar bungalow. He had been headmaster of a school in Edinburgh and was quite old in my eyes. Both said if I ever needed anything to just ask.
I only saw one lad of about my age in church. There were some much younger boys in the choir and there were a couple of lads of fifteen or so who cycled past as we walked home and waved cheerfully to my aunt but she said they came from the next village. I didn't ask who the boy was but I think Aunt Margaret sensed something as she said she hoped I wouldn't be too lonely having to fend for myself so much.
Over the next few days I explored the surrounding countryside and thoroughly explored myself as well. I was fit, I was healthy and my boyish hormones were flowing fast. On my hikes around I never saw anyone so I was able to find plenty of places to have a rest, hide away a bit more and have a relieving wank at least twice during the day. I also, as I contemplated my adventures of the day in bed each night, tossed myself off before falling to sleep. I certainly wasn't lonely with my thoughts and my actions.
I sent postcards of Highland cattle and dour Scottish castles to Michael and to Stuart saying I was OK. On Tuesday I had two surprises. The first was a long letter from Michael. He said he was missing me terribly but was determined to do well at the gym. Then at the end he wrote that the thing he really missed most were our times together. He didn't actually write about what we did but there was a clear indication of the outcome. He must have had a wank and put a few spots of his come on the paper and somehow dried them quickly before he wrote that last page. He'd sent me some of himself.
I took the letter with me on my countryside exploration that day and read it through several times. I kept running my finger over the smears and thinking of us together. These blotches and some of the phrases worried me because I knew if Aunt Margaret ever found the letter she would guess what we had done and what he had sent me.
As it was so personal I did a very odd thing. During the afternoon, when I wanted a second wank so desperately after reading the letter again, I held the pages over my prick as I came and coated his loving phrases and the evidence. I folded the pages together making sure that the last page was liberally coated and found a place along the track where I placed the letter under a large stone. Michael was very much in my thoughts as I returned back later to the bungalow.
2B: A reminder of My Father:
My second surprise was that my aunt was already home. She was singing away softly as I entered. He give me a great smile and asked what I'd done that day. As she was producing a cup of tea and a couple of scones for me I described the route I'd taken up a path towards Sgurr and said I might try to get further on the next day. I didn't say I hadn't got as far as I could that day because of my preoccupation with Michael's letter. After I'd drunk the tea and was eating the second scone Aunt Margaret told me to stay at the table for a few moments. She went into the sitting-room and came back carrying a cardboard box.
"I think you should have this, Flip," she said, placing the box in front of me. "It was your father's and I am sure he would have wanted you to have it."
What was it? I stood up so I could open the box and look inside. There were some things wrapped carefully in layers of tissue paper. I lifted out the first and largest and pulled the paper away. It was a kilt, my father's kilt in the red and black of the clan Menzies tartan. I unwrapped the objects underneath. They were two sporrans. One a beautiful silver-mounted one, the other an everyday leather pouch. The final treasure was an engraved skean dhu. The initials PTM were my father's and mine. I was in tears.
My aunt came round to be and hugged me.
"Wear it with pride," she said, "You're home now!" And I knew she was shedding a tear as well.
When we had both calmed down a bit she explained my grand-parents had given my father the silver-mounted sporran on his twenty-first birthday and she had given him the skean dhu at the same time. She then gave me two pairs of long socks and the dark red flashes to go with them. She also asked, with a grin, if I knew what I should wear under the kilt. I was a bit embarrassed. She was my aunt, and a doctor, but implying to a fourteen-year-old boy that the custom was that nothing should be worn was a bit too near the knuckle. However, she prodded me in the ribs and said she had twitted my father many times about the fact and it was quite true. She also said that I should try everything on and if the kilt was a bit too big she had already spoken with Mr Ferguson the tailor in the village about doing any alterations.
I scurried to my bedroom and stripped off my shorts, underpants and ordinary socks which I had put on already for my day's excursions. My grey school shirt stayed on and I quickly pulled on the socks and attached the flashes. Getting the kilt round me took a moment's thought but I buckled it up and tucked my shirt in and it wasn't too big. Perhaps a little too long as it dipped down just below my knee level. I slung the leather sporran round my waist and looked at myself in the mirror on the wardrobe door. I looked great but there was something missing. The skean dhu. I picked it up in its sheath and stuck it carefully in the top of my sock. I was ready for inspection. I really did feel proud wearing my father's own rig! I knew I was home!
Aunt Margaret actually cried when she saw me. I went up to her and hugged her and thanked her for making me so welcome and so happy and now today.... It was too much for both of us.
"You're so like him," she said when she had composed herself a bit, "As soon as I saw you step off the train it was just like meeting your father when he used to come back from school for the holidays at home in Edinburgh. He was just like you, headstrong, wilful, a bit too quick with his fists." She grinned at me. "He gave your grandparents more than a few worrying moments. I shouldn't tell you all this but he got himself into several scrapes - just like you - but he got through them. He nearly got expelled from his school for beating up a bully who had been tormenting a younger boy. It was only because the younger boy said what had happened that he was reprieved and, in the end, praised for what he'd done. But....," here she paused and gave me another hug, "....we all loved him and he survived his schooldays, got qualified, married and had you and Stuart...."
I nodded and sniffed as I didn't want to let Aunt Margaret see I was crying a bit as well. I said I was so pleased with the whole outfit I was going to wear it all the time until I went to school. Aunt Margaret pointed out that the kilt was really not my size. Dad had been over six foot tall and I was still only five foot nine. I was pretty tall for my age but I needed the kilt a bit shorter. She said if I took it to Mr Ferguson he would advise.
I was knocking on Mr Ferguson's door at nine o'clock next morning. He got me to put the kilt on - underpants included - while he measured and fussed. I said I wanted to wear it while I was staying at my aunt's. He smiled and said that it was a wee bit too long and he didn't want to alter it because I would grow into it soon but it so happened he had a kilt with almost the Menzies design which a braw wee laddie had sold to him when he went into the British Army. He rummaged around in some boxes and brought it out. It was the same dark red but with a backing of dark, dark green.
"Och, laddie," he said, "Only the devil himself would know the difference."
"And you and me," I replied, causing him to crease up with laughter.
I offered to pay for the kilt. I didn't know how much it would cost but I had a few pounds in my savings account. He said it was a gift as I had said I would wear it all the time and it was good I felt I wanted to. I thanked him profusely and went home and changed into my full outfit.
It was a very proud boy who went off trekking that day. I think I climbed some pretty steep paths with much more of a swing in my step with the swing of my kilt. I also felt even more randy than usual and noted that one advantage of wearing nothing underneath meant that when I had my three wanks that day in the open air all I had to do was to sling my sporran to the side and lift the front of my kilt to gain easy access to my unruly rod.
I had taken two more postcards with me so I sent details of the day to both Michael and Stuart. On Michael's I did smear a tiny spot of spunk I retrieved from the ground after my third wank. I hoped the postman would think it was evidence of Scotch mist but I knew Michael would know its true origin!
2C: Tom:
The next day I set off again on a different route. I had looked carefully at the map the night before and decided I would try exploring the other side of the valley. This would lead me along Loch Shiel and Bheinn Odhar Bheag. I hadn't gone far when I was aware that I was probably being followed. I was only dimly aware of someone behind me but when I stopped to peer around me I knew there was a shadowy figure somewhere. In the end I noticed a bend in the path with a rock. I strutted purposefully as if ready for the next slope up but at the last moment darted behind the rock and put my haversack down.
I waited and was rewarded by the sound of stealthy footsteps approaching. I stepped out from behind the rock and confronted a youngster of my own age in pullover and shorts who stared open-mouthed and was about to turn and run when I, at least four inches taller, grabbed him and we both fell to the ground.
"Why are you following me?" I demanded as fiercely as I could.
He looked a bit scared so I sat up and but still held him by an arm.
"It's OK," I said, "I'm harmless. Who are you?"
He looked straight at me and gave me a sly smile.
"I'm Tom McLaren and you're Dr Menzies' nephew aren't you?"
I nodded and the penny dropped. I had seen him before, he was the boy in church on Sunday.
"But that doesn't tell me why you are following me," I said sternly not letting on I'd seen him before.
The sly smile came again.
"Because there's no laddies like us in the village. They're either the wee bairns or they auld thugs. And I saw you in church on Sunday."
I grinned at him and let go and said I'd seen him there too. We sat cross-legged and looked at each other. I smoothed down the front of my kilt as I didn't want him to get a full view of my equipment.
"Och," he said, "We only moved here at Easter. My dad's in the police." He said it the Scottish way `polis'. "He wanted to come into the country so he transferred from Glasgow but the laddies round here don't like the police."
I smiled back. I couldn't care less. I just wondered why the older lads didn't like the police. I didn't mind the police and Tom looked a nice lad.
Well, we ended up sharing my sandwiches and his scones and baps and over the next few hours we shared our life stories and we both warmed greatly to each other. He wanted to know why I was wearing the kilt and I told him about my dad. He said he had only worn the one his father had bought him for family weddings and ceilidhs but his dad had been in a Highland regiment before he joined the police and he had lots of photos of him wearing his. He said if I was going to wear mine every day so would he and could we be friends and could he come along with me every day. I readily agreed.
In bed that night my thoughts were filled with the picture of my new friend.
My nightly wanks so far had been accompanied by a parade of Rugby Club mates, Jimmy and Darryll from the gym and, of course, Michael. Tonight I was particularly rampant as I hadn't indulged during the day so as my hand took up its automatic position the feelings were particularly intense. My thoughts began to flow and my panorama included my new friend as well.
It had been late in the afternoon when we were sitting on a grassy knoll quite high up enjoying the warm sunshine that I'd been able to take a good look at him. I had taken off my shirt and he'd shed his pullover and tee. Neither of us had tans and we laughed at each others pale skins. I saw that he didn't have as much muscle as I did but I had noticed he had a tuft of black hair in his armpit when he was pointing out something towards the top of the hill where we were sitting. I had similar reddish strands in mine so knew he must be about as developed as I was. I shot a second load just as I was imagining a scene where he and all my friends were firing their loads as well. As I lay there scooping up my come and licking my finger I wondered if he and Michael and all the others were doing the same.
The next morning Aunt Margaret had already left by the time I reached the kitchen looking for my breakfast. It was all laid out ready and there was a note about things I could use to make my sandwiches with and she would see me, God willing, for supper at seven after evening surgery. I was all ready by nine o'clock and the weather looked pretty good. I had arranged to meet Tom at his house so made my way down to the village and to the police house.
He was at the door ready and waiting. He really did look smart. He was dressed in his McLaren kilt of blue with red and yellow lines, leather sporran, shirt and pullover and carrying a haversack as well. He grinned hugely and invited me in to meet his mother who beamed at me and said she was glad Tom had found a friend as she thought he was a wee bitty lonely. She said we looked a fine pair of young lads wearing the kilt and Tom's dad would be proud to see us both. I didn't see his dad as Tom said he had gone off in the police car earlier to see a farmer about a dead cow.
Needless to say we were then weighed down with good Scottish cooking for our lunch. His mother said we couldn't possibly survive without scones, baps and cake and these joined the sandwiches I had prepared already in my haversack.
We set off on the track which led along the banks of the loch and then took off up on a sloping path. Tom asked me shyly why I was so muscular. I hadn't told him much the day before about the gym and the Rugby Club. I told him I'd had to spend a good few hours lifting weights and working on the machines. As I was telling him about the gym I began to get a hardon. He looked a bit envious at my biceps when I flexed them and goggled when I opened my shirt and rippled the beginnings of a six-pack.
"Can I feel them?" He asked tentatively when we stopped for a breather.
"Yes, of course," I said, knowing that one of Michael's favourite pastimes, as we tossed each other off, was to feel my taut muscles.
Gingerly, Tom felt my biceps as I flexed as best I could for his benefit. Naturally, I had to show him how I could manipulate all my muscles so I stripped off my pullover and shirt and told him to feel my pecs. I wriggled them, which was my party trick taught to me by Jimmy Lang who was a past master at making his muscles move and then let Tom put a hand over my stomach muscles as I rippled them. I then lifted up the hem of my kilt so he could see my thigh muscles as I flexed these as well. By this time I had a raging hardon so drew the kilt up just far enough so my balls and the base of my cock would be visible.
I flexed my thighs in turn and my balls jiggled and I could feel my shaft getting even harder. Tom looked me in the eyes with a sly grin on his face.
"I saw you the day before yesterday in the trees," he said quietly. "You know?" He looked at me again and made wanking movements. "Can we?"
I grinned back at him and put my hand under my kilt and stroked my cock. I needed no second bidding.
"You want to?" I asked.
I didn't have to say anything else. He stood back a couple of feet or so in front of me and his kilt was unbuckled and shirt and pullover were off in a flash. Although shorter than me, but three months older, his whippy tool was a good half inch longer at full stretch than mine. I watched until his cock was standing straight up then I too unbuckled my kilt, dropping it and my sporran to the ground. We looked at each other and grinned. I stepped towards him. Right hands advanced simultaneously and we gripped each other's stiff dongs.
Liberal amounts of come sprayed out from two bared knobs after our foreskins had been retracted as a preliminary to two hard, fast wanks. Tom's offering hit me square in the stomach when he came and mine hit him on the chest. We giggled uncontrollably surveying each other with the pearly streams dripping down our torsos.
I gathered up some of his boy cream dripping down my stomach and sucked my finger. He looked puzzled. He had obviously not tasted his own cum. Tentatively he put a finger into the drops of my spunk on his chest and did the same. He smiled.
"Tastes odd," he said, "Never done that before."
He reached out to get some of his own from my stomach. He licked his finger. He nodded his head like a connoisseur.
"Taste's different, doesn't it, but it's still good."
"Of cause that's good, that's yours," I said and we relapsed into giggles.
We cleaned ourselves up with a bit of loo paper I had learned to carry in my rucksack as I'd been caught short my first day and had to resort to dragging my dirty arse over some rather lush grass to clean myself.
We dressed again and spent the next hour telling each other our sexual history. Tom was quite candid. He said he'd actually followed me a bit two days before without me knowing and had witnessed my first wank when I went into a clump of trees. This had set his own juices flowing so he'd gone back down and home to have a wank himself. What a missed opportunity, but I was rather glad he hadn't seen my third outflowing onto Michael's letter and what I did with it.
He then told me an incredible tale of being kidnapped one afternoon when he was ten by some older boys in Glasgow who'd captured him when he was going home from school one day. It wasn't really a kidnap, but they made him toss the four of them off in a lock-up garage with the strict injunction, after they'd finished sprinkling the ground with their spunk, that, if he didn't do it to them regularly, they would tell his dad. That meant he knew all about boys and cum long before me.
Those boys actually got fed up with him after a couple of sessions as they said he was a useless wanker and turned their attention to other youngsters. But he'd ended up with a good friend called Davie Dewar at High School who he'd taught to wank when he found he could make spunk just before he was fourteen and the other lad was a bit younger. They had spent many hours together in Davie's bedroom after school most days just like Michael and me. He said he missed Davie now he was here and had to just do it to himself.
I told him a bit about Michael and me and we both agreed how much we missed our pals but were happier now that we could be friends. One thing I did tell him was about Darryll giving me a blow-job in the shower and then how that became a real favourite for Michael and me. Tom didn't know about blow-jobs. He and Davie had only jacked each other off.
By this time we both needed relief again. I tossed him off and then he gave me the most gentle but incisive wank I'd ever had. His hand barely fluttered up and down my length but it was enough to make me buck and groan as I fired my load. He said he and Davie liked that way very much.
I gave Tom his first blow-job the next day. He insisted I should show him how it should be done and I hadn't seen a boy in such ecstasy. His five and a half inches was not too thick and fitted my mouth perfectly. I licked and sucked avidly until spurts of his hot boycream crashed against the back of my throat. I let him howl as there was no one around for miles. His cries were so intense I shot my own load all over his legs while I was kneeling there listening to his yells. This was a daytime wet dream in the extreme.
As it so happened, my experience of wet dreams at night was restricted to two early on in my pubescent period. As I didn't really understand these and woke with sticky stuff all over my hand I didn't know at that time that anyone could come like that without having a hand actually rubbing one's prick rather than just holding it. Here was I savouring his spunk in my mouth, while he called out with joy, with my own semen pumping out unaided all over him. As soon as he had recovered his composure he was disappointed I wouldn't let him suck me off immediately. He laughed when I described my discomfiture in having sprayed his legs but he made it all up to me two hours later when he sucked me dry.
2D: Going Places: Summer 1996
That afternoon began six weeks of unalloyed pleasure for me and I think, for him. We met up each day having planned our trip immediately we returned home in the afternoon. We chose mainly unused paths and most days we never saw another soul. We did see tourists at times but these were only around the borders of the loch or on the lower paths. We were photographed several times as examples of young Scots lads and one American gave us a five pound note each after enthusing about how we appeared and taking about a dozen photos with us against various backgrounds.
Tom borrowed his dad's binoculars and we became quite expert in spotting the birds which wheeled around high up. We stalked deer, spying on them from a distance. We explored old crofts and piles of stones marking some forgotten site. We did miss a couple of days as the weather was awful and Aunt Margaret took pity on us and took us out on her rounds in her Range Rover after morning surgery. Of course, we were shown off to numerous elderly people who enthused over our garb and how we were good young Scots boys. Also, my aunt was a mine of information about plants and birds and lent me guides to use so Tom and I became quite expert at identifying all sorts of flora and fauna, but each day we planted our own seed, either into each other's willing mouth, or, straight onto the ground.
On a couple of other days Tom's dad took us around in the police car. He obviously doted on Tom and pulled his leg all the time with the things he said and told me. Poor Tom squirmed a bit at times but I poked him in the ribs and agreed with all his dad said.
On those days we couldn't indulge at all but I certainly made up for it in bed at night.
Tom was very funny anyway, he had the same sense of humour as his dad. He had lots of droll stories to tell. He had lots of little sayings he'd picked up in his life in Glasgow. He kept me in fits of laughter especially when he described how my come bathed his tonsils better than any cough mixture and should be bottled as an alternative to Irn Bru any day. I wasn't too certain about this last recommendation as I thought that drink, beloved by generations of young Scots, was foul. Tom usually had a bottle of it in his haversack for lunch most days and tried to get me to come into the empty bottle one afternoon which I refused to do stoutly.
Anyway, it wasn't long before I'd told him about how I and Michael had re-invented the sixty- nine and he was eager to try it. After that he tried to think of new ways but could only come up with numbers for our hand jobs. These distinguished by the number of strokes between, say, whether it was a quick come, a seventy-fiver, or a slow, labourious come, a three hundred and sixty fiver, which he said was my average and made his bloody arm ache. I told him he shouldn't grumble as that would build up his muscles.
If I thought Michael and I were horny then wee Tom was doubly so. After he'd asked me the usual question on the first day about how often did I do it and I gave the truthful answer that it was usually three times a day he fell silent. He then confessed he generally did it more often. I couldn't believe it when he said he'd wanked six times on the previous Saturday but only four times on Sunday, and only because he had to go to church and didn't have time. Anyway, most days together resulted in both of us coming three times and as we parted one afternoon at his gate he whispered, with a cheeky grin, he was away hame for a wee hammie'. I looked puzzled and he explained about the Glaswegian rhyming slang, ham shank - wank'.
This all came to head towards the end of August when Tom seemed particularly quiet one morning when I met up with him. As we trudged up a fairly steep path I noticed he winced once or twice and he didn't make any of his sudden darts off the path as he was wont to do if he spotted something interesting. All was revealed when we stopped for a rest and a bite to eat and drink. As he went to sit on a convenient rock he grimaced. I asked him what was the matter.
"You're not to laugh, Flip," he said guardedly, "I'm in pain."
I wasn't going to laugh at someone in pain especially as only two nights before I had gone with my aunt when she had to treat a lad who'd come off his motor-bike and was lying by the side of the road moaning and groaning. He was only about eighteen and my aunt said he'd broken his leg badly and, after giving him a shot of something, she and I, plus about six other curious onlookers, waited ages until an ambulance came to take him off to hospital. He was certainly in pain and I hoped my friend Tom wasn't suffering like him.
So, I said to Tom that I wouldn't laugh as long as he told me what was the matter. It was a few moments before all was revealed. I could see he was embarrassed about something but in the end the poor little sod lifted up the front of his kilt and uncovered his cock which was swathed in a tied on handkerchief. He carefully removed the hankie and looked at me rather woefully as he stretched out his limp prick. It was evident the wretched lad had rubbed the side of it red raw. I stared at the poor scarlet-tinged object. I noted he might be short in stature but this didn't lessen the size of his dong even in a damaged state.
"I couldnae stop it," he almost whimpered as he lifted it up for my inspection, "I couldnae stop last night I wanted it sae bad. I had to dae it three more times 'cause I ached for it sae much!"
His Scots accent became more pronounced as he became more agitated. I should think he should be agitated. The little bugger had come already three times the day before in my company. I must admit I had too, but when I went to bed that night I was satiated and went to sleep almost immediately with no further needs. No wonder his cock was sore. He must have pulled his wire so violently and for so long the silly sod - I mean, poor lad, - had skinned it.
I was very tempted to have a laugh but he looked so woebegone, but, being Tom holding up his cock it, of course, began to harden. Oh my God, six times the day before and the snake was rearing its head again! As it thickened the whole thing looked more terrible. The sore patches stretched and there was a clear fluid oozing out. I had the only solution. Without thinking I knelt down in front of Tom as he sat on the rock and took the whole stiffening length into my mouth as carefully as I could. I summoned up copious amounts of saliva and just let his rod lie on my tongue bathed in my warm spit.
Tom looked very apprehensive when I peered up at him. But then he sighed and put his hands on my head to steady me. We stayed still first of all for a couple of minutes while his poor, damaged cock was bathed in the warm fluid in my mouth. I didn't suck or lick, I just let my juices flow around it. Somehow I managed to produce even more saliva until my mouth was so full I had difficulty in not swallowing some of it.
He whispered down to me that it didn't hurt now but I kept his prick in my mouth for at least another ten minutes. During this time he held my head steady and I put my hands up under his kilt and began to knead the twin globes of his arse. Suddenly he gasped without any warning and a stream of spunk mingled with my saliva. He had shot his load through sheer joy just as I had painted his legs the first time I had sucked his young cock.
I had to let his prick go. My mouth was now too full. Prick, saliva and now spunk. I needed to swallow urgently so his slowly softening cock slipped out. It was liberally coated with my spit and his spunk and a trail dripped to the ground as he sat there with his legs apart surveying the result. I stood up rather shakily having been on my knees for nearly a quarter of an hour.
Och, Flip," he said with relief in his voice, "You've made it feel so much better. You should be a doctor like your aunt if you can cure things like that!"
We both burst out laughing at what he'd said. I think we both had pictures in our mind's eye of rows of poor lads all with skinned cocks being given the treatment by Doctor Flip.
Anyway, I think my cure did the trick. I gave him the same treatment twice more during the day and when we parted he swore solemnly he wouldn't touch his cock again that night. I said that was just what the doctor ordered. Needless to say the injunction didn't apply to the doctor himself as I tossed myself off once more in bed thinking of my friend and the feeling of his shaft in my mouth.
Next day the diseased organ was much better. Tom was insistent, however, that he needed further treatment. I had picked up a bit of my aunt's prescribing jargon so I said he should have the treatment three times per diem until cured. He readily agreed and it took three more days of sixty-nining until the object passed inspection. We, of course, didn't stop the treatment after that but giggled as we lay down in position each time saying `just in case of a further outbreak'.
2E: The Crunch!:
With all our trekking we were both getting stronger and tougher. I wasn't missing the gym so much as I thought I would. Tom wanted to know how he could build up his muscles so whenever we found a pile of rocks we would choose a couple of suitable ones each and do a series of reps and curls.
Although he looked thin he was wiry and his arm muscles actually were like steel hawsers. He could jump up and clutch at a branch and haul himself up with no seeming effort. I had to pull up hard to get my extra weight in the air. He was as active as a terrier. He was fearless, leaping up onto clumps of rock and scrambling away up into places I wouldn't dare venture. I was amazed at the risks he sometimes took when he would suddenly reappear peering from some overhang.
Once, the little sod disappeared from my sight and then reappeared some fifteen feet above me on the edge of a rock jutting out over the path. As I stood telling him off for been so foolhardy he lifted up his kilt, grabbed his cock, pulled back his foreskin and aimed a jet of hot piss down at me. I barely had time to leap out of the way as he cackled maniacally and waved his dripping dick at me trying to get me with the last drops.
I swore at him calling him an ungrateful little bastard then stalked off up the trail. I was determined to get my own back but kept up a good pace until once he was on the trail behind me we were about fifty yards apart. Then I saw my chance. There was a bend in the path as it passed another outcrop of rock. As soon as I reached it I darted behind it. He was completely fooled because he came marching straight up to the ambush. At the last moment he sensed where I was and took off down a grassy slope. I followed and rugby tackled him and we rolled on the grass dropping our haversacks in the process. I held him down sitting on his back and as he lay there began to tickle him unmercifully while he squealed and begged forgiveness.
I continued tickling him until he was a helpless mass of jelly. I then lifted up his kilt, revealing his bare arse, and gave him four hefty smacks saying that was for trying to piss on me. He squealed even more but then laughed and said that didn't hurt him, he'd had worse from his dad with the slipper. I gave him two more hearty thwacks then parted the cheeks of his arse and deposited a large gobbet of spit onto his pink pucker. Then, without thinking, I shoved my middle finger into his hole.
This took me as much by surprise as it did him. I'd never down this before.
I'd experimented on myself once after overhearing something at the gym but I didn't get very far as I was too tensed up. But it was different for Tom. My finger went in to the first joint, presumably lubricated by my spit. Tom then pushed back on me and my finger disappeared all the way into his chute and he clamped his ring muscles above my second knuckle. I felt him twitch on my finger. I didn't know what to do. He twitched again, his muscle loosened and I quickly withdrew my finger. It was surprisingly clean, but then we'd both had a dump just after lunch. I moved back off him and he turned over and grinned up at me.
"Sorry I nearly pissed on you, Flip, please forgive me. You're still my friend?" he finished contritely.
"You're a nasty little tyke," I said trying to keep a straight face, "You should have had many more whacks than you got."
"But I liked what you just did much better."
I didn't know how to answer that. I'd heard allusions at the gym to boys fucking other boys usually when one lad was trying to wind up another and threatening to stick his prick up his arse. I remembered what the bullies had said. They had clearly implied that's what could happen to me. As I didn't have a minge at the front like a female my other hole could be the target. But now, I had stuck my finger into Tom and he said he'd liked it. Actually, whether it was the effect of me tickling him and having close contact, or because I had stuck my finger in him, I now had a complete hardon. What would happen if I impaled him on that steely object?
I just let my thoughts wander as we rolled apart and retrieved our haversacks and dusted ourselves down. We were friends again but as we continued our walk and later that night in bed my thoughts were racing. I knew we both enjoyed our adventures together. I knew we delighted in the intense pleasure we gave each other wanking or sucking each other, but, was there anything else?
Next day as we lay in the grass during the afternoon soaking up the sun, at the same time sharing the binoculars to watch a doe and her faun about seventy-five yards away, I broached the subject which had been bugging me.
"Hey, Tom," I began hesitantly, "You know yesterday after I smacked your backside I had my finger in you, did you mind?"
Tom handed me the binoculars and looked at me with his guileless blue eyes.
"Och, Flip, it was great," he said, quite enthusiastically for a usually rather dour Tom, "I had a great feeling inside when you did it."
We lay in silence for a bit longer. I squinted through the binoculars and noted the dappled coat of the faun.
"D'you want to try it someway else," Tom asked. He paused, then asked demurely, "With your prick?"
There seemed to be a natural chemistry between Tom and me after our time together. We'd already shed our tees to take advantage of the sun. Next our kilts, socks and shoes were discarded and I saw the doe and faun in the distance scuttle into the shelter of a clump of trees.
"You go first," he whispered, "But dinnae hurt me."
My prick was hard as iron by then and stuck straight up my belly almost painfully pressing against me. I eased my foreskin down and my usually pale pink knob reddened as blood suffused it. We didn't know the best mechanics of boy-fucking but Tom almost instinctively lifted himself up on his knees with his butt in the air towards me. I knelt behind him and like the day before parted his cheeks. I dribbled a few drops of saliva into the crack and then drew the first finger of my right hand over his puckered hole at the same time putting my other hand under him holding his stiff prick. I felt his pucker under the pad of my finger and massaged it with my spit. As I did this he shivered and his prick twitched.
I let go and concentrated on his crease letting a few more drops of saliva down until there was quite an amount around his hole and on my finger.
I pressed very gently and he shivered again and moaned. Then he whispered "It's nice". I continued to run my finger back and forth and he began to buck his hips until I pressed a little harder and his ring opened and my first knuckle was in. He set up a steady twitching movement and I pressed down more. He grunted as I pushed, I waited, then pushed a little more. My finger went in further until my second knuckle was just in.
He murmured something which I didn't quite catch then I had an idea. I must have had some experience in a previous life because I then pressed my second finger against the first. It seemed too easy as that went in as well. I looked down. His pucker was now quite open with my two fingers encased in it and I could press my fingers apart a bit. I took the plunge as it were and aimed my prick against my fingers and his hole. As I slipped my fingers out I pressed my knob end on his somewhat opened hole and pushed. About an inch of my cock vanished into him.
He grunted, I waited, I pushed again. He whimpered a bit but the next thing I knew my pubes were tight up against his buttocks. I could get no further, I was fully in. His ring muscle had relaxed so much I had just slid completely in. Now it was different as his muscle began pulsating against my engorged prick. I was so hyped up with excitement I immediately squirted the most intense load deep into my friend. His buttocks pushed back on my cock and I collapsed onto his back.
It was my turn to whimper. I had never come so fast nor so furiously with no effort at all. Even the intensity of the day I'd painted his legs paled into comparison with the experience now.
Tom stayed quite still but then started to twitch his buttocks very quickly and rhythmically at the same time panting with each jerk. My prick was still embedded to the hilt in him and remained steel hard even though I'd shot a full load. I would have thought he'd milked my poor balls of a complete day's supply but his body was now an automatic giant wanking machine. I too was gasping and panting after a minute or so as my depleted balls summoned up another load, or at least, I had another orgasm. I was already sweating buckets and my breath was rasping in my throat but this was so intense I yelled out a deep-throated "Uuuuuugh!" which rebounded off the nearby rock face. I collapsed again on his back and we both fell to the ground as his knees gave way under him.
We rolled slightly so we were on our left sides, still with me tightly held by his ring muscle. I was whimpering now, tears running down my face. Tom waited patiently until I had calmed down as I was still breathing pretty quickly. We lay side to side for several minutes until my softening prick fell from his now relaxed hole. He turned on his side to face me and we lay with our arms over each other's shoulders for ages.
We couldn't speak, we didn't want to or need to. We just looked into each others half-closed eyes. I had just given Tom my whole being, he had given me the means of attaining the heights of pleasure, it was now my turn to give him the same.
At last I was calm. I leaned forward and gave him a peck on his ear. I whispered that it was his turn and I was ready for him. I knelt up and he now positioned himself behind me. He copied all my actions. I felt the warm saliva trickle between my cheeks as he parted them carefully. His finger on my ring was so gentle and I felt the first surges of pleasure as he stroked it. I then felt the lightly probing tip of his finger as he pressed onto my ring and tried hard to relax myself. Gently, gently, the finger found its way in. Unfortunately then my reflexes took over and I clamped that tender seeker. He stopped and waited.
Five times I clamped down and relaxed again. Tom patiently waited as gradually my ring let more of his finger in. His patience paid off. My little muscle was being taught very efficiently to admit this intruder and it wasn't long then before I felt his second finger entering as well. I relaxed again and both fingers went in further accompanied by the soft drizzle of warm saliva.
He massaged my passage by moving his fingers up and down gradually widening my hole. Copying me he withdrew his fingers but at the same time pressed his own steely rod into me. He was a bit too quick as I clamped his dick for a moment. I felt a bit of pain but then the exquisite feelings started as he fucked me steadily and deeply. I could feel his cock pistoning in and out of me, teasing the underside of my ring as he managed somehow never to withdraw it completely. On each downstroke I felt the soft tickle of his little bush of hair as he reached his limit and I knew he was fully in me. I matched his slow movements until we both reached the heights of another orgasm. He moaned and gave vent to loud sighs of `Aaaaagh' as he shot his load as far as he could get in me on a final heavy downstroke. He leaned over my back and massaged my hard cock and I soon fired a sticky wad onto the grass.
Slowly we parted and stretched out side by side facing the sun, letting the warm afternoon rays warm us as we lay, an arm over each other's shoulders. I shut my eyes and must have dozed for a while. I came to because of a shuffling and snuffling sound. We had been lying there so quietly and peacefully the inquisitive doe and her faun were within six feet of our heads looking down on us. Tom had his eyes open too, our gaze met. He leaned towards me and whispered. "That was wonderful". The doe and her faun must then have been aware of the two sweaty, rutting boys and moved off slowly back into the shade of the trees.
We were very quiet for a long time. I think we had realised we had truly become friends that afternoon. We livened up as soon as Tom stood up. He was, luckily, completely in the nude as he audibly squelched as my spunk dripped from his hole. I was in the same condition and we giggled uncontrolledly as we generally did whenever anything we thought was funny was said or happened. We both had a wad of loo paper in our haversacks and both disappeared behind convenient trees and cleared ourselves out. Tom's efforts were accompanied by the sound of a long, wet fart which set us off again guffawing. Two very happy boys dressed again and continued with their day.
Although we still had more of the holiday together that was the only time we fucked each other. That had been a very special moment. Our wanking and sucking seemed much more intense probably because from that time on it was so much more unhurried. We took our time and our climaxes seemed so much more overwhelming and concentrated that we both reduced the number we could endure each day. Two during the day was now the norm, with another in bed at night, at least for me, just to round off the pleasures with the images and play-backs of all we had seen and done that day.
It was also interesting that we never got fed up with each other's company. I wanted each day to be with Tom. We chatted, we were silent, but never quarrelled or lost our tempers with each other. Even the pissing incident was just boyish humour though Tom did ask a few days later if I had felt a bit annoyed. I was much calmer in myself and I think I had learned a lot about myself in those six weeks. I wrote to Michael twice a week and told him of our adventures - not the sexual ones although I did hint that things were happening. I sent cards to Stuart once or twice a week with bits of news. He sent me a couple of short letters saying he missed me around and hinted that the Creep was moving in. I ignored that and as there was never a letter from my mother I didn't bother writing to her. There was a gap in replies from Michael then a letter arrived followed by postcards saying his parents had decided to take him off for a fortnight in Corfu and he hoped we were as tanned as he was. No hope. Even with our shirts off most days neither of us got more than a golden glow! This was especially so as I was so fair-skinned with my red hair and Tom was almost the same.
2F: Kinloch: August 1996:
The holiday was coming to an end fast. In the third week of August it had been arranged for Aunt Margaret to take me to the school to meet my new housemaster and to see what the place was like. We also had to collect all the bits and pieces of my new school uniform which were being delivered to the outfitters in Fort William.
It was decided that I'd better visit the school dressed in my old school uniform rather than the now rather grubby kilt. Aunt Margaret said we could leave that at the dry cleaners on our way through Fort William in the morning and collect it on our way back later in the afternoon when we went to the outfitters.
It seemed odd wearing trousers again. Also, I had grown even in the few weeks of the holiday so felt very ungainly in my old school clothes. Still, the new uniform was going to be very smart. A green lovat sports jacket and grey trousers for best and dark green sweatshirts with trousers for school wear. Mr McCrae's house colour was a lighter green so I had to have my sports gear in that colour. Mr McCrae, of course, was going to be my house master. I wondered what that meant but all was revealed on the visit.
We got to the school, some twenty miles from Fort William, about eleven in the morning. A long drive led from some gates to a collection of buildings which ranged from rather dour looking large houses to what seemed to be a mini castle. Aunt Margaret followed the signs pointing to `McCrae's' and ended up alongside a large building with a house nearby and what looked like old stables and outbuildings by its side. Someone was riding on a big power mower cutting the grass of the lawn in front of the house.
We drew up and stopped and climbed out of the Range Rover. The mower stopped and a tall, very tanned lad of about seventeen came over to us. He was dressed in a light green tee shirt, light green running shorts, trainers and he had the hairiest legs I'd ever seen. I was staring at his legs as he greeted Aunt Margaret and was only brought back to earth when I paid attention to what he was saying.
"Hello, you must be Dr Menzies, I'm Simon Fleming," he said to my aunt holding out his hand. "I've been told to look out for you as Mr McCrae is off walking the dogs and Mrs McCrae is in the house."
He turned to me.
"Hi, you must be Phillip, I'm Simon or more usually Si!" he said giving me a handshake and a smile which made my knees quiver and something twitched in my groin.
I grinned back, feeling rather awed, and managed to blurt out, "I'm usually Flip."
He gave me another ravishing smile and turned to aunt Margaret.
"I'll lead the way," he said, "Mrs McCrae is making coffee and I could do with some and I expect you could.. I've spent all morning on that thing." He pointed back at the mower. "Couldn't get it to start for ages." He pointed then towards Aunt Margaret's Range Rover. "I like the car, I suppose you have patients up rutted tracks."
Aunt Margaret laughed. "Och, and almost down into the loch as well. It get's us about fine, doesn't it, Flip?"
I managed to say something in reply because I was lost contemplating the backs of Simon's hairy thighs and calves. Of course, most of the lads at the gym tended to shave or wax their legs if they were doing body-building so it was a new sort of sight for me. None of my age group at the Rugby Club had hairy legs. Michael had a downy sprouting above his knees and I had the beginnings of a red golden haze there and on my shins. But, Simon had thick black curls and I longed to brush my fingers through them. My cock twitched again. Down, Fido, I thought, not now for God's sake!
Thank goodness we arrived at the kitchen door. We were greeted by a large, smiling lady who introduced herself and said her husband was, as usual, absent-minded, had probably forgotten we were coming and had taken the dogs off for their morning walk. I was introduced and we sat around the kitchen table and had coffee and biscuits. As soon as Simon and I had finished ours Mrs McCrae suggested he took me to show me where I would be sleeping and eating, etc., etc.
We walked briskly to the larger building near the house in which he explained were the dormitories for the younger boys and some double rooms for older lads like him as well as two common and prep rooms and a rudimentary kitchen where we would have our breakfast. He explained there were about thirty boys in McCrae House and there were nine other houses of about the same size. Lessons took place in the castle-like building and there was a chapel and dining-hall there as well. He also said in an off-hand way that he was now starting his final year and he was Head of House.
By the time this recital had finished I was being shown the ground floor of the `House' and then we went up two flights of stairs and entered a dormitory with seven beds in it.
"You'll be in here, Flip," he said. "I guess if no one else has bagged it you'll have that bed and locker there." He pointed to the second bed from the end wall of the four on that side. "I know Paul Campbell has put his name on that one and as he's the room prefect he can choose." He indicated the bed against mine nearer the end wall. "You're all in our second year."
I must have looked puzzled, I would be in the Year 10 or the Fourth Year at my other school. Simon laughed and divined my bafflement.
"Don't forget Senior School starts here when we're thirteen so Paul, Fergie, Clyde and Little Dick will have been here one year already. More for Paul, Fergie and Dick as they came up from the Prep School."
I counted up. He's mentioned four others and there was me as well. Seven beds? Who else?
He was good at thinking other people's thoughts.
"Oh, as well as you new here there's also two others. I don't know much about them but they're Arab boys and they are cousins. Mr McCrae hasn't told me why they're coming here."
I thought I'd better enlighten Simon why I was coming here.
"You'd better know why I'm coming here."
He grinned at me.
"Don't worry, Flip, Mr McCrae told me you'd flattened a couple of thugs and you had a bit of a reputation for a hot temper."
He sat down on the bed he'd signalled might be mine.
"Do you want to tell me? My lips will be sealed but it's better if I know so as to scotch any rumours 'cause I have to be in charge of you lot most of the time."
I sat on the edge of Paul's bed and started to tell Simon my saga. It took a while and he asked me several sharp questions as he clearly wanted to get the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I confessed I had been troublesome at school but I gave him an open look and said I'd been really helped by three people, Dr Williams, Michael and now Tom. I explained about mum and the Creep and how sorry I was for Stuart and how Aunt Margaret had come to the rescue. He leaned forward and put a hand above my knee. My cock twitched even more violently.
"Don't worry, Flip, my mum and dad are separated. Mum's disappeared somewhere down in South America with her friend'" - he emphasized friend' - "and dad works in Hong Kong. I was out there for three weeks, then I was shipped off back here and I've been staying with Mr and Mrs McCrae just as I have been since the age of eight".
He pointed at the beds on the other side of the room.
"Clyde's American and his father's just getting divorced for the third or fourth time. He's been at an adventure centre and in Paris for the summer with a friend, and, Little Dick, there, lives with his grandparents during the holidays as his parents are in South Africa. There's lots of us here who've got our own troubles." He put his hand on my knee again. "But we've got each other to keep us going. You'll be OK here. I know."
It was all I could do from jumping off the bed and kneeling in front of him.
I wanted to feel those curls on his legs. From my position I could see, every time he moved , a tantalising bulge encased in white fabric up the leg of his very short shorts. I think he caught me staring at his legs and moved them apart a bit more. The bulge moved. Not today, Flip, I thought.
I told him then about the gym and my place in the two rugby teams, at the club and at school. He sat up straight.
"Good, you've volunteered yourself for the House team. I'm Captain. Then there's the school teams. We try to field four so there will be those you can try for as well.
I'm in the Firsts."
Oh, Flip, I thought, another God!
"If you want to do some weight training and so on we've got quite a bit of equipment in the school gym." He paused. "But you could use my weights I've got at the back of Mr McCrae's garage. I don't let anyone else use them."
He smiled. Was this an invitation. I hoped so. I looked at the shape of his body under the tee.
"You look good," I said, "Have you been training long?"
"Since I was fourteen. Dad made me go to the gym in Hong Kong when I was there one Christmas and I liked it. Plenty to see and do, eh? We'll be able to spot for each other. I'll look forward to that. We'll see what you're like then!"
I was going to like Simon. He was like Darryll, Jimmy and Maxie rolled into one.
"Come on, I'll show you the heads and then we'd better get back 'cause I expect Mr McCrae will be back by now."
He took me through a door in the far wall and showed me a shower room with three showers, wash basins, and three loos partitioned off. He said the room was called the `heads' because that was naval slang and a previous house master had been in the navy. He said it got a bit crowded in the morning with seven but he'd been in the room when he was in the second year and, in fact, had had my bed. Another little frisson - Simon had even lain in that bed! We went downstairs and as we came out of the side door we were greeted by two large black Labradors which lolloped over to Simon and nuzzled his legs. Lucky dogs!
"Come on, Boz and Sam," he said patting one then the other, "Let's go and see your master."
Mr McCrae was sitting in the kitchen in earnest conversation with Aunt Margaret. When he stood up he towered over me and Simon as he was well over six feet tall and very thin. He shook me by the hand heartily and then he and I went into his study where he grilled me about who I was and what I knew. I was glad I liked English and I had guessed he taught it because of the names of the dogs although I wasn't quite sure which pair the names referred too. I was asked what I had read and he asked my opinion of The Lord of the Flies which we had been going through at school last term. I asked about the dogs' names, Dickens or Dr Johnson? He laughed and said I was better read than most and said "Guess?" As he was Scots I said Boswell and Samuel Johnson and was told I was correct. He wrote something on the pad in front of him. Then he switched to maths and I remembered enough about Pythagoras to mentally work a problem he set after drawing on his jotter. My French was tested next and wasn't too bad, I thought. Then he asked about transpiration in plants and respiration in animals and I knew that pretty well.
In the end he gave me a quizzical look.
"And do you want to come here?" he asked.
I said rather quietly I didn't have much choice but I would do my best.
"I want you to do better than your best," he replied, "And I think you can. I've talked to Dr Williams and your aunt and I've had a long letter from the Head of King Edward's and, you'll be surprised to know, a letter from Martin Williams as well. I think you'll fit in well here."
I looked at him almost open-mouthed. I stuttered some words of thanks. He stood up thrust out a hand. I shook it.
"Welcome to Kinloch School and McCrae's House, now we'll go and see what Mrs McCrae has rustled up for lunch."
Lunch was good. A thick soup followed by escalopes and ending up with a fruit pie. I was starving and I noticed Simon giving me appraising looks at the amount I was consuming.
After lunch Simon gave me a tour of the school itself and I was very impressed. The school even had an up-to-date IT room even better equipped than my old school. Simon snickered when I asked how much time we were allowed in there.
"Not long enough for you to surf certain sites!"
I knew what he meant but I expected there were blocks on incoming data in any case like at my home school. I sniggered in reply.
2G: Waiting:
On the way home to Aunt Margaret's I chattered away nineteen to the dozen. I think Aunt Margaret was a bit surprised at the way I had accepted my fate as a boarder.
Simon's description of my room-mates was intriguing and I wondered a bit how I would fit in with boys who knew the ropes and had been in boarding school so long. Still, I wasn't going to be the only new boy in the dorm, there were the Arab boys as well. Who were they? I wondered. And, of course there was Simon. If the others were like him I thought I would be OK.
We stopped at the dry cleaners first and collected my clean kilt. I was determined to take that with me. Then we went to the outfitters and spent nearly an hour while I tried on the trousers and jacket that had been ordered and Aunt Margaret went through the pile of other clobber I had to take. Then home to supper and bed. I had plenty to tell Tom in the morning but my major image that night as I wanked myself twice was Simon, that bulge in his green shorts and those hairy legs.
Tom was waiting outside the bungalow at nine o'clock the next morning. He was all agog for my news. I told him everything I could remember and he said he wasn't certain he would really like to live away from home and, anyway, he was going to miss me during term time. I said that Aunt Margaret had given me strict instructions not to get my kilt grubby again so we did more sedate hikes for the remaining days we had together. This didn't mean that we didn't indulge, we certainly did with both of us producing copious amounts of come each day we were together.
I had forgotten that mum and Ray the Creep were getting married on August Bank Holiday Saturday. Aunt Margaret didn't mention anything but I had a card from Stuart from Brighton where his nerdish pal's parents had taken them for the Bank Holiday weekend.
So, I never found out who went to the wedding and I didn't really care.
I had one more surprise a few days before the holidays came to an end. In a long letter from Michael he told me that Darryll was moving in with their family! I didn't know but Darryll has been in foster homes from the age of three and his present foster parents, with whom he'd been nearly ten years, were getting elderly and his foster mother was not well. As Michael's father knew them well and so knew of Darryll he'd said he could have their spare room until he finished school next year and went to University. I was very pleased. Michael had said he'd got on well with Darryll at the gym. He certainly wouldn't be lonely with him around and I suspect it wouldn't be long before other things happened between them as well. Michael hadn't hinted at anything yet but... give them until Christmas!!!
Tom's summer holiday finished on Wednesday in the week before I had to go to Kinloch School on the next Wednesday so I had that Thursday and Friday by myself. I did a lonesome recce on one day and found the stone under which was Michael's letter. It was still there, rather wet and worn. I added another offering of spunk to it and hid it again and hoped Michael would still remember me. Saturday and Sunday I was able to spend with Tom who was rather subdued because we were parting for a few weeks.
My last day came. It was rainy and blustery and Aunt Margaret left me to pack my things tidily ready to take to the school the next day. I put my treasured kilt, sporrans and socks at the bottom of the case. I didn't pack my skean dhu as Tom's dad had said, when I'd said I was taking my things to school with me, that it might be construed as a dangerous weapon. He gave me a replica made of plastic. It looked quite authentic though so that went in as well. I mooched around for the rest of the day until Tom came home from school in the afternoon.
He took one look at my packing and said it wouldn't do. He was much more tidy than me in folding things up. Aunt Margaret had washed all my rugger kit, gym kit and new shirts, sweatshirts and pyjamas so they didn't look too new and Tom re-packed them very expertly into the large suitcase and my travelling bag. Only my school uniform was left out ready to wear in the morning.
When I was in the outfitters I had bought Tom a present of rugger socks in his school colours and he gave me, in exchange, a wooden framed photo of us standing side by side in our kilts which had been taken by his father a couple of weeks previously.
Left alone until Aunt Margaret came back from evening surgery we were able to strip off and sixty-nined twice lying on my bed, rather than the usual rough ground which had been our usual bed for the last few weeks. Tom said this was a good way to say farewell until the Christmas holiday. After the second one we lay side by side and exchanged each other's spunk with tongues gently thrusting into each other's mouths. I knew that would be a good memory to have of my friend Tom if I was ever lonely at school.
Tom stayed and had supper and in the privacy of my bedroom afterwards we hugged and felt each other's hard cocks which pressed between us. I had lots to think about in bed that night as I contemplated both the happy weeks I had just experienced and the unknown of the new school. My thoughts of Tom overcame any apprehension and I came again copiously with him in mind and then slept soundly without a qualm.
To be continued:
Other stories you might be interested to read are: Spying on My Brothers: Incest Section: May 2000 Easter Rugger Tours and after: H/S Section: Jun 2000 Jordan's Story: H/S Section: July 2000
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