by Zack
“So beautiful, Michael…”
So softly spoken Mike almost thought he’d imagined it. He reached down to clasp Kevin’s hand and pushed it down on his oh-so-hard cock; and Kevin grasped him through the cloth. Mike followed through, pushing beneath Kevin’s arm to feel what he had hidden under his smart jeans, and found him as wildly aroused. They lightly tweaked, rubbed, stroked, and explored as Mike leaned his head farther back to allow Kevin’s busy teeth and lips chew his ear until he was squirming with the heat of nibbling. Again, the voice was so slow, burbled through gentle teething, Mike barely understood, but his cock did.
“Shall we, I mean… would you…?”
“Yeah,” Mike breathed. “Let’s.”
With evident reluctance, Kevin relinquished his labial hold on Mike’s ear and with a shy smile took his hand to lead him from the kitchen. The house was large, but in his sexed-up state the detail escaped Mike’s understanding. He followed Kevin in a daze, hardly able to believe this wasn’t a dream that he’d wake from soon to find himself at home in his lonely bed. A low light threw a masculine bedroom into gentle relief. A large poster of the cricketer Geoffrey Boycott dominated one wall and next to it a smaller one of a slickly be-suited David Bowie bore the legend, “Challenging the core belief of rock music!” Kevin had a double bed to himself. Extensive built-in wardrobes filled the wall facing the bed, broken only by an open doorway through to a well-appointed bathroom. Two large windows faced out over The Boltons, and Kevin swiftly drew the curtains, which depicted ancient Roman countryside scenes in ochre, maroon, and dull greens—a complete contrast to the otherwise modern looking room.
They stood facing, suddenly shy again. Mike began to think that for all his age advantage and the suave confidence of his background, Kevin was inexperienced in sex. Mike was hardly an expert, but he was by now more familiar with the mechanics. He sensed it would need care, and that to rush things would result in pushing Kevin away. Nevertheless, he would have to lead a bit. He reached out and pulled Kevin to him, encircling his waist so their stiff cocks bumped together, and leaned his forehead against Kevin’s so that their noses pressed tip to tip.
“Do you like to come off?”
Kevin snuffled a quiet laugh. “Mmhmm.”
“A lot?”
“Depends what you mean.”
“Once a day, twice, more?”
“That’s a bit personal.”
Mike’s turn to laugh softly. “I know.” He was slowly grinding their crotches together, enjoying the feeling of Kevin’s cock pressing back happily enough.
“You?” Kevin asked after a pause.
“What?
“Oh hah. Coming off.”
“Course I do.”
“So? How often?”
Mike shrugged. “On a good day, in the morning after waking up, before going to sleep, and—opportunity available—two or three times during the day.”
“Crikey! That’s a lot.”
“I can’t help being sex-obsessed and easily aroused… like you, now.”
For long moments they continued swaying against each other in silence, foreheads pressed together. Then Kevin moved and returned to nibbling on Mike’s left ear while talking softly into its shell. “Michael, do you need to come off now?”
“God, yes. You?”
“I…I’ve been to the Catacombs twice. Tonight was the second time. Never had the courage. And I never did anything at school. Might’ve if you’d made a move on me, perhaps.”
Mike forced Kevin’s head around to look into his troubled eyes. “Are you saying you’ve never?”
“That’s why I couldn’t believe it was you there.”
“Is that why I’m ‘fab’? Because I’m someone you vaguely know from school?”
Kevin stiffened in Mike’s arms. “Oh, no. I… I don’t know. I mean, look at me. You get me very aroused.” He stuttered to silence and frowned, but kept pressed up against Mike’s throbbing dick, his own attesting to his rampant state. “Perhaps.” It sounded like an admission, but then Kevin leaned in and pressed his lips to Mike’s. “Make me come off, Michael, like I want to make you.”
Mike pulled Kevin to the bed, and while still standing, carefully unfastened the belt and unbuttoned the top of Kevin’s jeans. And suddenly he recognized that this was actually his first seduction. As one of Jim’s boys, it was always mechanical, emotionless, without much care, although, yes, often with a thrill of excitement, but ultimately empty. An offer of sexual release in the shortest possible time in which the steamer got his jollies, the trade a tired hand and a fast payoff. At school the sex had really only been fumblings or hurried blow jobs in the Spanish club, usually hand-jobbed to the finish. Again, relief without affection. Eric Pendelton was maybe different, a bit of feeling there, but they never had time to linger over the action. Geddit on, geddit off. Now, tonight, it was different altogether. The feel of naked flesh under his fingers as he peeled Kevin from his jeans was an entirely new sensation.
Mike took his time, stripping himself as he undressed Kevin. When they were down to briefs they each took time to explore again. Firm balls, hard cocks, eager for more.
“You’re big,” Kevin breathed wonderingly as his fingers explored.
“And you’re…beautiful.”
And then fully naked, they stood with legs pressed to the edge of Kevin’s bed, so close to each other their nose tips touched. Mike reached his hands around Kevin’s narrow waist and stroked fingers lightly over the firm skin of his ass cheeks. He enjoyed the resulting flex of underlying muscle moving with life-force. He pulled their bodies closer until their hips locked in conjunction and their erections mashed together. It still seemed incredible, almost impossible to be with this god-like senior and be held in Kevin’s arms, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other trapped under his own arm but stroking his shivering flank, to relish their mutual hardness and mounting desire.
He wriggled his hand between them and stroked it southward between the press of their abdominals, across the light down of Kevin’s stomach until his fingers encountered cock flesh, his own and Kevin’s. The low moan Kevin exuded only inflamed Mike to further action. He grasped the shaft of Kevin’s dick, stroked it, and flicked fingertips over the ridge of almost-retracted foreskin. This instantly led to an eruption of excited bucking. Their shafts found rubbing positions alongside each other. The desire to kiss Kevin overwhelmed Mike. He’d never done it before. Jez had kissed him, but he didn’t regard that pot-poked mouth clash a proper kiss. He pressed down until their parted lips brushed. Mike could tell Kevin was not an experienced kisser either, but the electric thrill which pulsed through Mike from head to toe was incredible. By the way Kevin’s cock jerked against his, he was loving it too. Mike pushed his tongue against Kevin’s lips, which yielded until he met the smooth barrier of teeth. Kevin gasped a light breath of beer and let Mike probe deep into his mouth. Again, an explosion of excitement surged like a boisterous wave up and then down Mike’s lean frame as their tongues engaged fully and Kevin molded his body harder against him. It was as though this tentative exploration released a spring in Kevin. Suddenly, his grip on Mike tightened. He twisted his head sideways and mashed his lips almost brutally against Mike’s in a breathtaking smack of lips that had them both circling around to finally fall on the bed.
They kissed, grappled, ground their loins together, and humped each other in a frenzy lubricated by a burst of mutual sweat. Nothing Mike had done at school matched the intensity of his first sex with Kevin. Mouths glued, tongues entwined and thrusting, he felt Kevin strain until every sinew in his neck was corded tight as cable. He became muscle-rigid for a second and then exhaled loudly as he came in ass-humping thrusts.
“Aah, Michael…”
In a flurry, Mike captured Kevin’s probing tongue between his teeth and gasped as his own orgasm flowered. He shot his load in nine or ten or twenty jerks into the wet press of their stomachs.
Afterward, they continued moving stickily aga
inst each other with more languid fucking motions. Kevin nibbled at Mike’s left earlobe as the nearest to engage and breathed heavily into the auricle. “Love you, Michael.”
“Hmmm.” Mike rolled his head slightly to look into Kevin’s pale eyes. Is it that simple? A good feeling… someone you craved but would never know, yet here now? Is that love?
Kevin snuggled back down again and recaptured the earlobe, making Mike stifle a laugh against his shoulder. “I want to buy you something for this, something I can chew on properly.”
Mike frowned. “What something?”
“You’ll see. Tomorrow. It won’t hurt, really.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Good Spring,Bad Summer
Coping with hay fever, antihistamines, and exam revisions again would have been sufficient to bring Mike low, that summer of 1977, but there was a ball-busting better reason for his misery. As he stared blankly at the Saint John’s Wood landscape of gray roofs and blossoming tree tops through the shower-streaked windowpane in the school library, Mike fingered the stud in his left ear. It was the same as poking a hurting tooth with his tongue. Every touch hurt his mind, not his body. And to think, disaster had struck at a point when life should have been simply amazing. Kevin had been thrilled for him that Quintin Kynaston’s head of physics, the man who also ran the photography club, had awarded Mike the honor of being star pupil in the annual leavers’ photography exhibition.
But that was then, not even a month ago, and even now his damned pictures in their fashionable glass-only frames still adorned three walls of the main assembly hall. He twisted the ear stud around, which produced another burst of mental pain by reminding him of the day he got it.
“I told you the piercing wouldn’t hurt.”
Kevin laughed gaily at Mike’s mock-tortured grimace, as he rotated the neat little silver stud.
“Well it still does,” he complained.
“You’re only saying that to make me feel bad. And you only have to do that every now and then, and only for another day. That’s what the man said.”
“What made you think of this?”
“I told you. To give me something to nibble on.”
“Wasn’t my ear enough?”
“Of course. You have the most delectably tasty, lickable ears ever. But the stud. Well, I can see it glint whenever you are in my sight, and no matter what you’re doing or who you’re talking to, I can say, ‘That’s mine. He’s my boy.’ Kind of like a beacon.”
The words made Michael feel warmly melted inside. He loved the idea of being Kevin’s personal possession. Kevin had spent a fortune for such a small object. To keep Mike in the dark they had walked the length of Old Brompton Road to Knightsbridge. Mike couldn’t believe it when Kevin led the way through the hallowed portals of Harrods. First, he headed toward an exclusive retreat where customers could have their ears pierced for the princely sum of five pounds, which included a plain surgical steel stud and after-care lotion. In spite of what he said, and how squeamish he felt about it, Mike barely noticed the operation. From there Kevin took him through the huge store to the Tiffany department.
When he saw the glittering array of jewelry, Mike’s jaw dropped. He looked at Kevin in wonderment.
“You didn’t think that surgical safety-clip was it, did you?”
They picked out the right stud together, and while the shop assistant wanted Kevin to buy gold, he was adamant it had to be sterling silver. The range was not extensive, but Mike pointed to a single stud set against a black velvet background.
“Simple, but elegant and… masculine.”
Mike and Kevin renewed the intimacy of the previous night when they arrived back at The Boltons. Mike rang his mother to say he was unexpectedly spending another night with a friend, but he’d be back after school tomorrow (he omitted saying that he’d skipped a day and bunked off). Kevin kept nuzzling his neck, which made talking difficult, and only backed off when Mike went to grab his balls. When he put the phone receiver down, Kevin promised to nibble only on his right ear until the left was fully healed. And then they headed for bed. Only a day in each other’s company had the effect of relaxing Mike, and he was happy to see reciprocation in every movement Kevin made. It was as if the barrier of sex had been breached, and if neither was yet a fit for the other, there was a lot less of the clumsiness of the night before. And any niggling concern about what Jim Attridge might think, Mike shoved forcibly to the back of his mind as they took turns to remove an item of the other’s clothing.
The way it worked out, Kevin got naked first, leaving Mike only in his briefs. Not that they made much difference because the thin material outlined the hardness of his cock, strapped at a slight upward angle from crotch to top thigh muscle, as clearly as if he were without the underwear. “Just stand there,” he commanded Kevin, and then sat on the bed’s edge and began to run his hands lightly over the glorious torso before him. Neck muscles, into the valleys of the clavicle bones, down through the shallow gap between the deltoids and the smooth slopes of pectorals. He fingered the nipples and smiled at Kevin’s gasp and the unavoidable jerk of his equally hard cock. Where last night he’d been shy, today Kevin seemed proudly erect and happy to show it off. But not too soon. Mike wanted to play his fingers down the bifurcating line between the abdominals, outlined by perfect youth rather than the sort of swimming exercises Mike still kept up, and the slighter dip which separated the rectus from the oblique abdominal muscles. With every touch, Kevin shuddered deliciously and his cock waved like an embassy flag pole in a high wind.
Attention to the femoral muscles and the three groin structures had Kevin on the point of rebellion, and at the lightest brush of fingertips up the pulsing shaft of his cock, he grabbed Mike and forcibly lifted and threw him on his back down on the bed. In seconds he was doing the same to Mike, but with his tongue. And then his mouth found Mike’s cock and swallowed it with an eagerness which Mike matched as soon as he could wriggle to get fully underneath. Kevin scrabbled to place his knees around and on either side of Mike’s hips, and Mike had to use a free hand to bend Kevin’s dick down, it was so hard-pressed to his stomach.
This was like no Spanish “next door” because, for one thing, those rarely entailed more than unzipping a fly, and for another they had never developed into mutual sucking. The proximity of Kevin’s lean, naked body drove Mike wild with lust, but also with a sensation that eluded his recognition, something which emanated from inside his mind, an emotion he associated with the “romantic heart” of love stories. Neither needed the other to confirm that the conclusion to this frenetic sucking would be a juicy fountain filling their mouths, a coming together of need, energy, youth, utter erotic excitement, and sheer damn sexiness.
When Mike told Jim Attridge a few days later why he had been a bit preoccupied recently, Jim was not impressed. They met in the Markham Arms on King’s Road in Chelsea after Jim left enough phone messages with Mrs. Smith to piss Mike off. Jim took one glance at the newly glinting stud and snorted in disgust as if its presence confirmed something disgraceful. As far as Mike could work it out, Donny was Jim’s boyfriend, and that was okay, wasn’t it? But Mike Smith turns into an item with someone, and that’s not kosher, oh no, not at all.
Mike pointed out Donny.
Jim laughed harshly and got all BBC-floor-assistant knowing and bossy. “That’s completely different. For one thing, it’s a convenience. Donny gets a place to crash, I get a no-strings-attached lay whenever I feel like it, and he, the Geordie git, doesn’t get jealous whenever I go fuck someone else or get a blow job up against a tree on Hampstead Heath or have to service some jumped up pop prickster who thinks he’s owed because the chart says so and I can’t fix the cunt with some other kid from the recording.” He shook his head in world weariness. “You don’t get it, do you?” His voice subsided to a creamy-cooey sibilance. “You and this Kevin-sweetie are all pink little turtle-doves, perfect and tied up with satin bows in your love bower.”
“Oh sto
p that shit—”
“S’not shit!” Jim pressed his face close to Mike’s. “Look, you’re a fab draw on the game. The punters love you. You get to choose, by and large, and pick what you won’t do, and still bring in the dosh. Go all lovey-dovey with Kev-boy and you won’t give a shit about the rest of us. What about Donny?”
Mike looked perplexed. “What—?”
“He idolizes you. How’s he gonna feel if you abandon him?”
The laugh burst up before Mike could suppress it. “Oh for chrissakes, Jim. Idolizes me! Shove it, will you. Listen to yourself.”
Jim went into a professional sulk.
“I’m sorry, but it’s my life, and I’m not saying I won’t be around ever, just not as much.”
“That’s what they all say. Then lurve fucks it all up. You’ll miss the money.”
Mike thrust his hands in his jeans pockets, thumbs out, and leaned back against the bar. He shook his head slowly, and a touch of amusement played on his lips and in his eyes. “I’m sure Donny will get over it. And, like I said, I haven’t quit. I just want to some time to myself—”
“And this Kevin. I don’t suppose you want him finding out—”
Jim reeled back but a second too late to avoid Mike’s grab at his jacket lapels. He pulled the pimp up hard, face to face. The snarl on Mike’s face must have alarmed Jim, because the sun-bright control-freak slipped behind a cloud for a moment. “Don’t even-think about it,” Mike mouthed slowly, enunciating each word.
“Boys, if you’re going to get frisky, take it outside,” the guy behind the bar said in an even voice that nevertheless brooked no argument.
Mike released Jim, who stepped back and brushed his jacket down. Mike stood still, fists clenched, eyes blazing.