All the characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, either living or dead, is entirely unintentional.
The story is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in any way without the express permission of the author who can be contacted at pjalexander1753@gmail.com
A Very Ordinary Boy (Part 1)
From Chapter 7:
I didn't look behind me but I could feel the wounded expression on Dyl's face and imagine Si's pretence at indifference and superiority. But this was the biggest bust-up we had ever had, seriously, by miles and there was no way that they weren't hurting as much as I was. As I walked out the front door, being careful to close it gently behind me (no petulant and childish slamming for me), my insides felt as if they were being chewed over by a rottweiller and my legs could barely turn the pedals on my bike as I cycled home. As my anger turned, first to resentment and then to sadness, I couldn't help but feel that things had been said and done today that could never be unsaid or undone and that the damage was likely to be irreparable.
It was a slow ride home.
Chapter 8: Out of left field.
This has been a very, very long week. Walking to school and back has been mostly okay and spending lunch break in the art room has been fine because it's meant that my Saint Seb project has made a lot of progress. Even Chalky White has been impressed and he pretty much thinks I walk on water already. But next week could get awkward because it'll be my mum's turn to do the school run. Just as well I've got all weekend to come up with a convincing reason why we won't be picking up Dyl on the way like we've been doing for the past six years. I wonder what excuse he's given his mum. Maybe I should ask him. Not a good idea? Yeah, you're probably right.
By the way, you keep wanting me to give you more details about my sex-life (or lack of) so I've got a question for you: when was the last time you woke up with a sticky mess in your pjs/shorts/boxers, or whatever it is you wear to sleep in? Yes, that's right, what I'm asking is, when was the last time you had a wet dream? What, you'll tell me if I tell you first? Okay, I'll hold you to that. So for me it was last Sunday night. First time since forever.
Saturday night dinner was one to forget although it could have been way, way worse. After all the drama of finding out about Dyl and Si and the nasty things that were said, I couldn't face the thought of going straight home so I cycled round for half an hour or so to give myself a chance to sort my head out. The fact is, though, that that wasn't very successful which meant that I made the mistake of being snappy to my mum when I was late back and she had a go at me for selfishly risking losing our table reservation. What did I care about some stupid table reservation (even at my favourite Turkish restaurant)? I'd just had the biggest bust-up ever with my two best friends and there was every chance that it would turn out to be a permanent break. Anyway, they held the table for us so there was no need for her to go off on one, something else I made the mistake of telling her. If my dad hadn't had a major incident at work that day -- something about a 737 with engine failure -- which he decided to tell us about in minute-by-minute detail, there's a very good chance that things with my mum could have got really ugly. Good one dad. Shame, then, that I was nasty to him too when he came up to check I was okay once we got back home and committed the major sin of not warning me in advance. Thinking about it later I realised that he had worked out from my mood that I was majorly upset about something and he was just trying to do the whole supportive parent' thing, but all I could do was snarl at him and tell him to get out of my space. I ask you, what an asshole -- that's me, not my dad. Yeah, I felt bad about it as soon as I told him where to go (literally) but by then it was too late and, anyway, once you've said something it can't be unsaid, something I was increasingly realising was also true of the conversation' with Si.
Now I'm not saying we haven't had our spats and fall-outs over the years but they've always been about stuff like which movie to go to or whether BTS is a boy band or a disease and they've never lasted more than 24 hours. Last weekend's blow up was in a way other league and I can't see any way of going back to how things were before, or anything like it. The first text I got from Dyl last Saturday night I thought would be the start of the `let's make up and be friends again' process but it turned out to be him telling me I needed to apologise to Si and then they'd think about making up with me. My reply was short and a long way from sweet and over the rest of the weekend the messages between us got sharper and angrier and more demanding. By the time there were no more texts from him I was beginning to agree with whoever it was who said that, when you find yourself in a hole, it's best to stop digging.
Of course, it was no surprise that there was no word from Si. In all the years we've been friends I've never known her to back down from any fight, much less admit that she might have been in the wrong about anything. Clearly it had been decided that Dyl would be the go-between and the more I thought about that the sorrier I felt for him. Poor Dyl. I just knew that, if I could get him on his own, it wouldn't take long to convince him that the way he and Si had behaved was totally out of order. But that wasn't gonna happen for as long as she had him 100% pussy-whipped.
By Sunday evening, after hours and hours of sitting in my room, going round and round in mental circles, I'd just about thought myself into a dead-ended black hole. I went over every minute of what happened at Dyl's house, trying to see it from everyone's point of view (honest, I did try), and as far as I could see I was the victim in this whole messy scenario, just as much as old Saint Seb had been (though minus the loin cloth and the arrows).
No matter what I tried, nothing could help me see a way out of the whole fucked-up situation, not drawing, not reading, not even Rosa's roast beef dinner. And that was a meal eaten under an even darker cloud than Friday night's at The Sultan. Even dad gave up trying to jolly it along. As soon as I could escape I made it back up to my room. Lying on my bed I put in my earbuds and tuned into my standard, go-to, classic teenage dark-night-of-the-soul sound track -- The Cruxshadows. You'd think I'd want to listen to something a bit cheerful, something that would make me feel as if life was at least half way worth living, but when you're down and can't find any way back up you might as well wallow, and the excellent Cruxers do that for me every time.
When I woke up it was way dark outside, the only light in my room was coming from the time display on my digital clock -- midnight. How did that happen? I felt like shit. My eyes ached and I could still taste Rosa's gravy coating the inside of my mouth. I dragged myself to my bathroom, took a piss, splashed some water on my face and brushed my teeth. Back at my bed I stripped down to my T and Haines then crawled under the covers. It was less than ten minutes into Monday before I was fast asleep and dreaming.
And, oh man, what a dream. I told you before that my ultimate fantasy is of me in the middle of a hunky threesome being enthusiastically serviced, ideally by Dan Reed and Milo de Beer. Well, my dream on Sunday night took things to a whole new level. Yes, it was a classic threesome with Dan and Milo but the third member of the trio wasn't me, it was Noah. Where was I? Yes, I was there but sitting across the room, watching the action. Taking in every cumtastic detail.
You're gonna hate me for this but, when I woke up early on Monday morning, cum crusting up the inside of my briefs, I couldn't remember every detail of what had gone on in the dream and I still can't -- damn it! But I could remember enough to spice up my wanking sessions all this past week (and there have been a lot of those, believe me).
The first odd thing I can remember is that I know where we are. Usually when I have a sex dream (at least, the ones I remember afterwards) where it's happening is completely irrelevant and anonymous, with all the focus on the action, but this time I can tell exactly where we are -- the book section of Food for Thought. But I tell you, FfT has never looked like this. For a start the lighting is really subdued and atmospheric and the floor is covered in books, all the books from the big central table. And they haven't been neatly stacked in organised piles like it was a stock inventory or something official, no, they're scattered across the whole space, as if the place has been struck by a literary tsunami. And spread across the table, where the books usually are, are three naked boys, all beautiful, all hard and all focussed on nothing except what they are doing to each other. And believe me, they're doing a lot.
Straight off my eyes are drawn to Noah, lying flat on his back, quietly moaning, legs wide, butt raised and cock pulsing, his almost hairless hole being thoroughly and expertly two-fingered by Milo who is kneeling between those open legs. And Milo is slowly stroking his own thick 7+ inches with his other hand, a long strand of pre hanging down and swinging in rhythm to his stroking. Two more fingers, Dan's, are getting wet and sloppy in Noah's mouth, at the same time as his cock is being gently massaged by Noah's right hand while his left circles, first one upstanding nipple and then the other. There's no doubt that these boys are serious athletes, especially Milo with his classic, wide-shouldered, snake-hipped, deep-chested swimmer's build. And Dan is no slouch in the body department either, though with him it's the toned legs and muscled butt of the runner that are his `stand-out' features. If this scenario is how the dream started, or whether they made-out first or undressed each other, or given each other mutual bj's, I've no idea. All I can tell you is that this was the first scene I remembered when I woke up, but it wasn't the last, and I know you'll be pleased about that.
As I began to come round from my sleepy state and realised what a great dream I'd been having, I desperately tried to hang onto it before it faded and disappeared into morning wakefulness. My hand was down inside my briefs, cupping my balls and still-sticky cock, and suddenly a new picture filled my brain.
All three boys, D, M and N, are still on the table but now I can see another figure who's sitting on the shiny black office chair I always use when I'm working at FfT. Of course it's me but I don't ever look like this when I'm at work. For a start I'm almost naked, wearing only my briefs, with the waistband hooked under my balls and my cock wrapped up in my hand. And I'm not sitting upright in the chair, instead I'm sprawled out as if I've thrown myself backwards into it, my legs spread out in front of me and my butt hanging over the front edge of the seat, one finger of my other hand lazily circling my hole.
On Monday morning, as I lay on my bed trying to bring the dream back into focus, I grabbed my morning wood and began to stroke. Immediately my mind wandered back to the dream and a new image filled it. Now I can hear a voice, my voice, and I'm standing beside the book table giving instructions.
"Noah, lick Dan's dickhead. No, slower, more deliberate. And Milo, pull backwards until your cock is almost out of Noah's hole and then ease it back in again, bit by bit."
I realise that I've become the director of this movie, telling the three boys what to do and how to do it. This is the ultimate power trip and I'm gonna make the most of it. I've got Dan and Milo both kneeling on the table with Noah on all fours between them. It's a classic spit-roast scenario. Milo's thickness is seriously stretching Noah's hole. It looks pretty uncomfortable but, judging from his moans and his demands for Milo to go deeper, Noah is enjoying every second and every inch. And then there's his own cock which is steel-hard and pumping pre with every thrust of Milo's pelvis. Who'd have thought that Noah was such a bottom boy, at least in my dream if nowhere else? In the café he always seems to be full of confidence and across every situation.
Suddenly I was thinking about the café and that had to mean that I was fully awake again. Sure enough the image of the steamy three-way dissolved away. Crap! But there's got to be more. There's no way such a vivid and fantastic dream could just fizzle out with no climax - literally. But no matter how hard I tried to get myself back in the moment no more pictures came into my head. Even more disappointing was the feeling of my morning wood beginning to soften and that's when I became all too aware of the mess inside my underwear. Shit! I couldn't delay any longer getting up and ready for school. With no morning lift with Dyl I've been having to leave at least half an hour earlier than usual to be sure of getting there on time, so that has meant either less time in bed or no shower and last Monday morning that was definitely not an option, not given the state of my cummy cock, balls, pubes and hand. Eugh!!
I think I'm probably pretty much like most other post-pubescent teenage guys, I mean, my first wank of the day is usually while I'm taking my morning shower. (Though to be fair it's sometimes my second!) Last Monday was no exception and as soon as I started to soap the dry cum off my dick it responded in the usual way -- awesome hard-on. Of course, the up and down cleaning motion quickly became the up and down wanking motion which, as usual, quickly became the familiar all-over tingling feeling, which was about to turn into the inevitable knee-trembling cum explosion when something totally unusual happened. In my head I'm no longer standing under the steaming water of the shower, hand on throbbing `two-or-three-more-strokes-and-I'm-cumming' cock, instead I'm standing by the table, back in the book department. My hand is still wrapped round my throbbing cock and my attention is 100% fixed on Milo's gleaming joy-stick as it's pulled backwards out of Noah's quivering hole and squirts quarts of creamy cum over his balls and open thighs before being plunged back into the demanding gap.
In the dream Milo's volcanic eruption is matched by my own -- that'll be why my underwear was in such a mess -- a great shower of cum raining down on all three boys as they each moan to a climax on the table. And that was also the moment, last Monday morning in the shower, that my first official load of the day sprayed out of my cockhead and hit the glass screen, soon to mix with the spraying water and disappear down the drain. Great start to the day!
As I said, memories of that dream have fuelled my wank-off fantasies all week, and that's been great. Less great has been how awkward that's made me feel every time Noah has come over to hang out with me when I've been working in FfT. Hey, there's no reason to look surprised, I mean, last time I `saw' him he was being used as a canvas for Milo, Dan and me to paint with our cum! So I've been even more tongue-tied with him this week than normal and I just know he must be thinking that I'm a total dumbass screwball. And who could blame him?
But then today something completely out-of-left-field happened and I still haven't 100% taken it in. He says he wants to spend time with me, just the two of us. Yeah, the awesome Noah Richmond asked me to go camping with him next weekend. How amazing is that? Well, I say weekend, it'd really just be Saturday night and Sunday, so we wouldn't be able to go far. Noah says he can get me off my shift early -- one of the perks of being related to the owner (that and free coffee and cake) -- so we should be able to be away by 3.30 or 4 at the latest. He says he'll clear out the back of the van he uses for work, put down a mattress and a couple of sleeping bags and load up with sandwiches and pies and other stuff that doesn't need cooking. We can throw in our bikes, he says, and ride some trails, says he knows some good ones in the National Park south of here, about twenty miles out of town.
It sounds amazing and at first I didn't know what to say. I mean, why me? Why would this town's most perfect boy want to give up most of his weekend off to spend it with me -- Mr. Ordinary? I almost asked him that exact question but then I thought about Tani. Why wasn't he planning on spending the weekend with her? Apparently she's booked into an upmarket spa hotel with her mum and sister while her dad goes to a soccer game with some of his old university friends somewhere across the country. So Noah has got the weekend to himself (as long as his dad doesn't find out and make him work overtime) and he wants to spend it with me. Wants to, "Get to know me better. Talk about art. Get out in the countryside for a change." So what could I do except stutter out a mumbled, "Thanks. Yes please. That'd be great."? Talk about eloquence!
It was only as I was riding home that it properly sank in that me, Jack Ordinary' Smith was gonna be spending alone time with Mr. Perfect' Noah Richmond. What do you think about that, Dyl and Si? And not just spending time with him but really hanging out. For a whole 24 hours. Even sleeping together. No, not like that. You know what I mean -- sleeping in the same space together. Oh shit! Now look what you've done. Just the thought of lying no more than a foot or so away from him has got me seriously hard. I'm gonna have to do something about it, so that'll have to be it for today. And talking of hard-ons, you never did tell me about your last wet dream. Next time.? Okay, I'll hold you to that.
As an author, it's REALLY encouraging to know that there are people out there who are taking the time to read what's been written, and then bothering to send a response. So please do feel free to write to me at the email address given at the top of the chapter. I welcome all comments and guarantee to write back. PJ
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