Part 3 of the story of D'n'M, just like Parts 1 and 2, includes sex between teenage boys, some of it non-consensual. As before, it is the characters themselves and how they react to events that are key to whatever success the story achieves.
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
PJ
D'n'M Part 3
From Chapter 11:
Then hell broke loose. The door flew open and there was a scream as Milo's mother and sister exploded into the garage. The scream was immediately followed by about three seconds of complete and eerie silence before chaos erupted again. The whole scene was so surreal Milo almost laughed out loud. But it's hard to laugh with a mouthful of pulsating dick.
Chapter 12:
On the drive home from work Helen Reed's head was full of teeth, which, for a partner in the town's largest dental practice, wasn't really a surprise. The teeth in question belonged to old Mrs. Wilton who, at eighty-three years of age, still had a remarkably healthy set but who now needed a complicated new denture that Helen had been working on for several weeks. She was puzzling over the details of the upcoming fitting procedure as she turned the car into the street where the Reeds lived. This was a journey she took every day of her working life so, inevitably, there was an element of driving on `auto-pilot' involved, so it wasn't until she actually turned into the driveway of her home that she became aware of the figure scrunched up at the top of the ten steps leading to the front porch. It took her a few seconds to dismiss Mrs. Wilson's denture to the back of her mind to free up enough mental space to process what she could see. It looked like Milo sitting there. Strange. Why hadn't he just used his key to get in? She got out of the car and walked round to the porch steps. She stopped before making her way up.
Yes, she was sure it was Milo, but why was he sitting there at this time of day? And why hadn't he looked up as the car turned in? And why was he hunched up into himself? And why was he very obviously shaking? This didn't make a whole lot of sense.
"Milo, is that you?" The question was basically redundant as she was 99.9% sure that it certainly was Milo, but by asking, she expected to get his attention and also give herself a few more seconds to assess the situation. There was no response.
"Milo, are you okay?" There was a degree of concern in her voice as she began to walk up the steps. When there was still no response the concern grew. Something was clearly not right.
"Milo. What's the matter?"
Dan's mum was now level with the boy's head but she couldn't see his face because it was buried in his hands. However, what she could see was that the shaking she had noticed earlier was now even more obvious. Then it dawned on her - was he, could he be, crying? The answer to that question came in a totally unexpected way as Milo leapt up from where he'd been hunkered down and, with a howl that sounded as if it was torn from the very deepest pit of his being, threw himself into Helen Reed's arms. Instinctively she wrapped him in the most secure, the most comforting hug she could muster. They must have stayed in the same position for several minutes (neither of them was timing it) as Milo's sobbing gradually subsided. When she felt it was safe to do so, Helen lifted her head away so that she could get a first, proper look at the distraught boy in her arms. It was then that she noticed the unmistakable outline of a hand printed across one half of his face and a bloody wound on the opposite temple.
"Milo! What on earth happened to you? Did you get into a fight?" There was now real anxiety in her voice. This just didn't make sense. Milo was no way a fighter, and even if he were, why was he here on her door step and not at his own home? Alarm bells began to ring loudly inside her head.
Milo's response to the questioning was to grip Helen even tighter as his sobs returned to their previous intensity. Why was she asking such difficult questions? Couldn't she just hug him without talking? Please, could they go inside now?
At the very moment Milo was thinking it, Helen decided that the best thing to do was to get them both inside, perhaps then there'd be more chance of getting Milo calm enough to explain what on earth had been going on. Gently she untangled their arms enough to turn Milo around and steer him across the porch to the front door. A few seconds later they were inside the house, shuffling towards the sitting room. Milo continued to sob.
"Right Milo, you sit there on the sofa while I go and get you a drink of water and something to take care of that cut on your head. I'll only be a minute or two. Okay?"
Milo heard what she was saying but it sounded far away, as if he was under a pile of duvets or smothered in cotton wool. However, he nodded and Helen turned round and headed for the kitchen. Now that he was inside the familiar security of the Reed home, Milo felt himself begin to relax. The only other time he could remember feeling so anxious and stressed had been in the days leading up to him coming out to Dan. Why was it, he wondered, that the two times in his life when he had felt the greatest anxiety had both centred on his sexuality?
He hadn't been aware that his shoulders were hunched up by his ears until they began to drop. And he hadn't realised how loud his sobbing was until that, too, started to die down. He searched in his pockets for something to wipe his eyes but found nothing so had to make do with the sleeve of his crumpled T.
Helen returned with a bottle of water, some antiseptic wipes and a small box of first aid supplies. "You drink this and sit still while I see to this cut. It might sting a little." Her tone was deliberately normal and her attention to Milo's wound was gentle but business-like. She had decided, on the journey to and from the kitchen, that she needed to avoid creating a drama out of whatever crisis it was that Milo was so very clearly experiencing. Either he'd open up to her and tell her what had happened or he wouldn't, either way it would be for him to decide if and when. Perhaps he'd start to feel better once Dan got home from his run. The bond between the two boys always seemed to provide unending mutual strength and support. Whatever, she'd keep things as low-key as possible, at the same time making it clear to the boy who she looked on as her third son, that he was safe and under no pressure to say or do anything he wasn't comfortable with.
"I'm really sorry for just turning up like this but ... but ..." Milo was unable to complete the sentence as the shaking began again.
"You know you never have to apologise for being here. You've always been welcome in this house Milo and you always will be. No matter what. Now keep still while I put some antiseptic cream on this wound."
Milo did as he was told, sitting still while trying to get the tears and the dripping nose under control. He was doing pretty well until Helen accidentally prodded the still-livid palm print on his cheek. He winced, and before she could apologise Milo began to speak.
"She did that."
"Who did?"
"My mum."
Helen was too surprised to have time to supress a horrified gasp escaping from her mouth.
"She slapped me as hard as she could. That's how come I fell over and hit my head on the corner of an old crate." Milo's voice was unnaturally calm and that shocked Helen almost as much as the words themselves. She was at a loss to understand how anyone, least of all this lovely boy's own mother, could raise a hand against him. She knew, of course, that things in the de Beer house hadn't been good for a while but this was so much worse than anything she could ever have imagined. When she spoke she was as reassuring and careful as she could be.
"M, you don't have to say anything at all about what happened, but if you decide that you want to tell me I promise to listen and not repeat to anybody anything you don't want me to."
"Thanks. That means a lot. You, and Mr. R and this house, they've always meant a lot to me. And D, of course. Sometimes I think I wouldn't have made it this far without you guys." Milo didn't mean to sound dramatic or pathetically needy but it was only as the words were leaving his mouth that he became aware of the fundamental truth of that statement, certainly as far as the past few months were concerned. Life at home had become grim, yes, that was the best word, grim. His mother's constant disapproval (not to mention the drinking), Kate's incessant sniping and viciousness and his dad's near-total absence had combined to make the de Beer house just about the last place on the planet that Milo wanted to be. No wonder he felt so much safer, so much more himself, when he was with D and his family. The Reed house was his safe haven. The Reed family was his security network. Thank crap for the Reeds.
To Helen Reed, what Milo had just said was an extraordinary admission for a fifteen-year old boy to make, especially one who, on the face of it, had just about everything that a twenty first century teenager could want or need. But in Milo's case it wasn't the surface image, the public face of the de Beer family, that told the real story, and just how far from reality that image actually was she was soon to discover.
"I know that you know that things at home aren't great, haven't been for a long time."
Helen nodded but said nothing.
"Mum and dad hardly ever speak, Kate's always either angry or is like an invisible person and dad spends as much time as he can at the office or on some site somewhere. So that just leaves me."
"Leaves you? Leaves you where?"
"At home. With mum. Even with all the time I spend here or at the pool, I have to be at home sometimes. And that's when she gets the chance to really have a go at me."
"Have a go at you how exactly?" Helen hoped that the question sounded as neutral as possible. She didn't want it to seem to Milo as if she had jumped to conclusions, although, of course, she had.
"Oh, you know -- I don't spend enough time with the family, I'm here too much, I don't do my chores on time, my room's a mess, I don't work hard on school stuff. Anything really."
Helen thought that the majority of Milo's description could apply to most teenagers, her two included, but she said nothing. She wondered what had happened to bring about today's crisis. Like most people in the tight-knit (code for nosy) area where they lived, she'd heard various rumours about Grace de Beer being seen less than sober while out and about in the community. This was even true, one notorious and particularly malicious, but generally well-informed gossip, had alleged, at church of all places. Before she could speculate on whether there might be any sort of link between that and Milo's appearance at her house today, she was brought back to the moment when the boy asked her a direct but rather opaque question.
"You know about me, right? Tom said you'd probably guessed. He said not much gets past you."
"Know what, exactly?"
"That I'm gay."
It wasn't the information in itself that surprised her -- she had, as Tom surmised, worked it out for herself some months before -- but the unvarnished, matter-of-fact way that Milo announced it. He sounded very definite, very sure of himself, and why shouldn't he be? She had long ago decided that it wasn't who you loved that mattered, but the fact that you loved at all. Besides, she knew one hundred percent, that sexual orientation was not a choice but something built into every person's DNA. The fact that Milo had decided to share the fact of his orientation with her just made her love him and be proud of him even more.
"I feel really flattered you chose to tell me that M, but it's really none of my business. Gay, straight, bi, unsure, whatever, to me you're just Milo. Never feel that you have to explain yourself to me." She hoped that she'd got the tone, as well as the content, of that little speech right. The last thing M needed at this moment was any hint that she was judging him negatively or disapproving in any way. "And yes, Tom was right. I had worked it out."
"Well my mum hadn't, until today."
"Is that why ...?" Helen left the question unfinished and hanging in the space between them.
Milo nodded, a look of sad resignation on his face which he gingerly rubbed.
"Want to tell me about it?"
Milo nodded again and took a drink from the bottle of water. Then he began to speak. He didn't go into a lot of detail about exactly what had been going on in the garage in the minutes before his world fell apart - he just couldn't do that, either to himself or Mrs. R - but he said just enough to give her an idea of the picture that greeted Grace de Beer as she burst in on the two boys.
At first it would have been difficult to decide who was the more horrified, Milo on his knees with his mouth full, Zephan in the middle of the room with his shorts around his ankles, or Grace de Beer with her eyes wide and disbelieving. Milo had been the first to react, pulling his mouth off Zephan's rock-hard rod and pushing his cousin away with one hand while desperately trying to get his own dick back into his underwear with the other. Taken by surprise, both by his aunt's sudden appearance and by Milo's forceful shove, Zephan ended up on the floor, flat on his back, naked from waist to ankles, his dick steel hard and exposed to the gaze of Grace and his cousin Kate. He hadn't been lying when he had shouted out that he was close to cumming, in fact he had gone past the point of no return. With no chance to do anything to stop it or even organise his hands to cover it, his dick erupted in three powerful jets of thick and creamy cum. His aunt's reaction was volcanic. She marched across the room and grabbed Zephan by the front of his T. Then, with an almost super-human effort she half dragged, half kicked the semi-naked and rapidly deflating boy to his feet and propelled him towards the door, screaming at him to get out of her sight. Before he did as he'd been ordered he turned back into the room, pointed directly at Milo and spat out that it had been him, Milo, who had `started it' and that he, Zephan, was totally innocent and had only gone along with it as a favour to his cousin. If anyone was to be punished, he claimed, it shouldn't be him.
By now Milo had managed to cover himself and get to his feet. His mind (both halves working together for once) was desperately trying to make sense of the chaos that had, so devastatingly, erupted around him. The words of Zephan's accusation bounced around inside his head without coming to rest anywhere where he could begin to make sense of them. He'd started it? Zephan was innocent? Had only agreed in order to do him a favour? That was all so fucked-up (yes, he'd used the word, but only in the privacy of his own head so don't tell anyone). Surely no-one would believe it, not Kate, not even his mum. Just how wrong you can be he was about to find out.
His mother flew at him like a tornado, her arms flailing and venomous words spilling from her mouth. He was a disgrace to his family. He was disgusting. He was evil. He made her want to vomit. He should be ashamed. He should be locked up. He was no son of hers. The words hit him like an avalanche, her hand hit him like a whip. She struck him with maximum force right across one side of his face, the blow taking him completely by surprise and forcing him to stagger sideways. Milo's feet disappeared from under him and he fell against the corner of the wooden apple crate he'd been sitting on earlier. Within seconds there was blood pouring from the open wound and, a minute or so after that, a searing pain across the whole of his face. It felt as if it was on fire.
Milo would remember his mother's next words for the rest of his life. They were branded into his memory. He just about managed to keep control of his voice as he repeated them to Helen.
"Get out you little shit!" she had screamed at him. "Get out of this house! Get out! Get out! If I never see you again it will be too soon."
Milo described how he had pulled himself back onto his feet, even then thinking he'd be able to calm his mother down and get her to see that Zephan's accusation was a total lie. But then he saw the look of undiluted contempt that was written across her face and he knew there was no chance of calm or reasonableness. And when he naively looked for support from Kate who was still standing in the doorway, he saw something very similar written there but with an added layer of mockery. That's when he knew there was no point in him trying to get either of them to think differently about him, their minds were set and there was nothing he could do to change them. So he reached for the nearest skateboard hanging on the wall and left, left the garage and his home, and took himself on the short journey to the Reed house and to where Helen had found him at the top of the porch steps.
Getting to the end of the story coincided with Milo getting to the end of his reserves of strength and energy and belief. He could barely hold himself upright and began to slump downwards like a gradually deflating balloon. He could neither speak nor think. He was done.
Helen lost count of the number of different emotions that ran through her as she listened to Milo's account of what had happened to him. Anger and disbelief certainly featured strongly in the list, but at the end, as the boy collapsed, exhausted onto her lap, the two that dominated all the others were an overwhelming love for this open-hearted teenager who had first come into her life as a happy four-year old, along with a determination to do everything she could to right the wrong that had been done to him.
Thanks to all those who have taken the time and trouble to write to tell me how they feel about this story. As ever I am very grateful for all feedback and promise to respond.
To keep this amazing resource open and freely available to readers everywhere, please consider donating to:
http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html