This story has been a long time in the making. Part1 consists of 19 chapters, not all of which contain any sexual material. Its main characters are teenage boys. The author has not been a teenage boy for a long time and apologises if the dialogue is not always convincing.
All the characters and events in the 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
D'n'M Part 1
From Chapter 13:
After several minutes had passed and there was no sound of Zephan having fallen asleep, Milo somehow managed to find the courage to ask the question that had been preying on his mind all day.
"Are you gonna tell my mother?" His voice was quiet but surprisingly clear.
The slightly slurred response was several seconds in coming. "Tell her what?"
"About me. About me liking boys." Milo's voice found a little more volume and insistence.
"That depends."
"On what?" Milo didn't like the sound of such an ambiguous reply. He began to get a churning feeling in his gut.
"On what you're gonna to do to convince me not to."
"What do you mean?" The churning feeling got worse.
"Come over here and I'll show you."
Chapter 14.
Milo wasn't stupid. He was well aware of just how heavily loaded Zephan's invitation was.
Once again his mind was divided half and half'. One half of him (the half ruled over by the arrangement of often unruly body parts between his legs) was keen to find out just what Zephan's blurry, drugged-up brain was hinting at. This half was definitely a member (pun intended) of the Act Now, Worry Later Club'. It was the half that had persuaded him to put his hand round another boy's dick for the first time the night before. The half that had finally provided the answer to the `Was he or wasn't he?' question. So that was a good thing, wasn't it?
The other half had a very clear and unequivocal answer to that question. It knew that actions have consequences, that if he left the safety of his mattress on the floor and walked over to the bed -- the bed where his sexy cousin lay in just his underwear -- he'd be crossing some sort of line. And that there'd be no easy way back.
Curious and horny thirteen-year olds really shouldn't be faced with such a choice. The invitation hung in the space between them for less than half a minute before Milo was on his feet and walking the half a dozen paces to cross it. He stood by the bed, looking down at his older cousin, whose almost naked torso seemed to glow.
Zephan lay at full stretch, wearing just his dark grey boxer briefs and a half smile. One arm was bent at the elbow with the hand behind his head, flexing the bicep and revealing a lightly-haired armpit. Milo would have liked to turn on a light to get a better view but was worried that Zephan's weed-lowered defences might return to full strength in the glare of greater illumination. But even in the half-light Milo could see that, 500 years earlier, the boy would have been in constant demand as a model for all those famous Renaissance artists and sculptors. And who would blame them? He deserved to be turned into an artwork, a lasting celebration of adolescent male beauty. The perfectly-proportioned shoulders, chest, arms, abdomen and legs all demanded to be admired, while the cotton-covered young-man bulge acted like an irresistible magnet to the over-excited half of Milo's mind. He was in lust. He began to suspect that, whatever Zephan expected of him, he would offer no resistance. In fact, Milo wondered if there was anything he wasn't prepared to do. That's how horny he was.
"Hi Mi." Zephan sniggered. "Hi Mi. `Slike a little poem. It rhymes. Get it?" His voice had a slurry, blurry quality. "So you're back for seconds, eh? I was pretty sure you would be. Good news for you and me both. What you waiting for? There's room for two down here." Zephan inched to the side, making room for Milo to join him on the bed.
But Milo didn't want to be lying beside his cousin. As far as he was concerned the events of Saturday night had all happened way too fast, before he had the chance to properly take them all in. Tonight, Sunday, he wanted to slow things down and, most importantly, he wanted to see. Temporarily ignoring Zephan's invitation he walked over to the window and tweaked back the curtain. A band of moonlight entered the room and fell across Zephan's prone body. The older teen was suddenly lit up from face to knees, his body bathed in a pale, silvery sheen. Milo held his breath as his gaze travelled from shoulders to pecs to biceps to abs to thighs -- every muscle picked out in jaw-dropping detail. As Milo let out a long, heartfelt sigh, Zephan spoke.
"Don't just look at it. Come and enjoy it."
"Oh, I am. Really. I am." Every ounce of resistance, every inch of reluctance to admit the obvious was swept away by the irresistible prospect that lay before him. Without another thought Milo launched himself onto the bed and sat down on his haunches, straddling Zephan's lower legs, just below his knees. Milo reached out his hands and began to gently stroke those legs, from upper thigh to knee and back again. And again. And again. Beneath his fingers he could feel the light coating of hair which covered the firm young muscles. Leaning further forward Milo reached, no, not for the serious bulge in Zephan's underwear, but for the tantalising area of skin just above the waistband of those CK's. There he found a thin trail of shorter, even softer hairs running downward from tummy button to boxer briefs and - his mind quivered at this realisation - even further downward still. Milo used just one finger to trace and re-trace the course of this fascinating line, every time resisting the urge to take that finger further south. He became aware of Zephan's breathing, just a little louder and just and little faster than before.
Milo's hand moved away from the silk-like line of golden hairs and was making its way up and over the ridges of the sculpted abdomen when his wrist was suddenly trapped in a tight and insistent grip. Zephan's voice, slightly hoarse and raspy demanded, "On my cock. I need your hand on my cock." With that, Milo's hand was placed firmly onto his cousin's boyhood which, as he could instantly feel, had lengthened and thickened inside the cotton confines of the underwear.
Milo gently dragged his fingers along the length of Zephan's rigid boyhood as it pushed diagonally up towards the elastic waistband, stroking first from base to tip and then back again to the base. He felt it quiver, almost like a trapped animal straining for release from captivity. Even through the soft fabric Milo was aware of the raised ridge of the helmet-shaped dickhead.
"Oh fuuuck!" Zephan gasped. "Do it some more."
Milo obeyed, sweeping his hand down the shaft and over the twin swellings of Zephan's balls. They felt alive under Milo's finger tips as he delicately caressed them, first one, then the other and then both together. It was as if Milo was on auto pilot, following a pre-determined program that he was completely unable to resist. So when he found himself bending his face down to kiss those balls, he took it as the most natural thing in the world. As his lips connected with the fabric-covered mound between Zephan's legs there was a soft moan of pleasure and neither boy would have been able to say which of them had produced it.
From the balls, Milo's lips travelled up the shaft to the tip. There they were surprised to find a small damp patch, surprised yet intrigued. A tentative tongue flicked out to explore this new find. There wasn't much to taste but the heat being given off was a complete revelation. Almost immediately Milo's mouth opened and he began to gently nibble along Zephan's steel-hard length.
"Oh fuuck!" The boy was stuck in a vocabulary cul-de-sac. But not for long. "Suck me. Fucking suck me," he demanded.
As Milo heard Zephan's desperate command, that other side of his mind -- the sensible, boring side -- suddenly came awake, having been dozing and inactive for the previous twenty minutes. This half started reminding him about crossed lines, about irrevocable decision-making, about acting in haste and repenting at leisure. This last was one of Mrs. de Beer's favourite phrases and, at the thought of his mother, Milo's resolution hardened (much like his throbbing dick) and he decided to ignore all the warnings his sensible side was giving him. His hands reached for Zephan's boxer briefs. He lifted the waistband, pulled it out and down, then lodged it under the boy's hairless ball sack.
Freed from its fabric prison, Zephan's cock stood straight and proud, primed and more than ready for action. Illuminated by the soft moonlight it looked, for all the world, like the lead actor on a stage. The shaft was very slightly bent in the direction of Zephan's sculpted abs and a pulsing blue vein ran its full seven-and-a-half-inch length. Although uncut, the foreskin was drawn back to reveal more than half of the crimson head. Pre-cum oozed from the slit. Oh yes, this was definitely the leading player in this drama and Milo was the very appreciative audience.
"Don't just look at it." Zephan's voice was more desperate than commanding. "I really need to cum."
So, like the adoring fan he had become, Milo took the star in his hand, lowered his head, opened his lips and worshipped it. He hadn't had any idea what to expect, hadn't, in fact, given it any thought at all. One thing he did know, from all those Nifty stories and porn videos, was that teeth were a great big no-no. What he didn't know, however, was just what to do about them.
As things turned out, this wasn't a problem Milo had to find a solution for because, within seconds of Zephan's cock being enveloped in the warm wetness of his cousin's mouth, the boy's hips thrust upwards, pushing several inches of quivering, rock hard boy meat into that wonderful hole and three powerful blasts of teenage cum shot out to fill it. Which of the two boys was more surprised it wasn't possible to say -- not that either of them was able to speak at that precise moment in time. Zephan's first boy-on-boy blow job (in truth, and whatever he might have boasted about to his team-mates on countless occasions, his first bj of any gender combination) had left him beyond speech. Milo couldn't speak for the simple reason that his mouth was full of slightly salty, fairly glutinous, completely shocking teenage boy cum. And so, he realised, were the insides of his own boxers.
Suddenly Milo's sensible half clicked back into gear and had no difficulty in persuading his body of the best course of action to take. Within seconds he removed his mouth from his cousin's slowly-wilting boyhood, stood up from the bed, walked to the bathroom, bent over the toilet bowl and spat. Minutes later he was back on his mattress with clean teeth and clean boxers, listening to the insistent sound of Zephan's stoned and sexually-satisfied snoring.
Milo lay on his mattress, almost in shock. He'd done it. He'd actually done it. He'd given his first, real life blow job. Ok, so it had probably been the quickest and least skilful bj in the history of boy-on-boy sex. And, yes, he had spat out the unexpected result of those few seconds rather than swallowing the projectile contents of Zephan's balls like in all the best stories. But still, despite the speed and the wimpishness, he had actually done it. So he lay there, on his back, with the sound of his cousin's snoring in the background, carefully going over each detail of what had taken place right there, in that room, that very evening. He knew he had to concentrate on committing every second of that amazing experience to memory so that he could re-live it over and over again for months, maybe even years, to come.
And that's exactly what he was doing as he sat in the back of the car, safely protected by his ear buds, as the miles rolled by on the long journey home. At least, that's what he was doing until he was brought painfully back to reality when a picture of D dropped unbidden and from nowhere into the middle of his daydream.
The thought of D - his best friend, his brother, his other half -- ever finding out about the events of the weekend and the way they had answered, once and for all, the `Am I or aren't I?' question caused Milo to break out in a cold sweat. No! D must never, never, never know.
Apologies, again, for another pause in posting the remaining chapters of D'n'M Part 1. Life suddenly became very busy in the latter part of November and there just wasn't time to concentrate on the necessary final revisions. Things have calmed down now and I promise that the last few chapters will follow between now and the festive season at the end of December. I remain enormously grateful to those readers who have stuck with these two boys from the beginning and who continue to offer encouraging and positive comments. As ever, I guarantee to respond to all emails.
To keep this amazing resource open and freely available to readers everywhere, please consider donating to;
http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html