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
PJ
D'n'M Part 4
From Chapter 14:
"Enough about you and Dan, you may not be ready to do me but we're both here, we're both naked and I am still REALLY horny." To prove it, Grey took hold of Milo's hand and placed it firmly on his still semi-chubbed dick. "How about it, M, finish me off?" He made it sound like a question but it was really an order, one that Milo was all too happy to obey. With his right hand on the rapidly-inflating dick and the left circling one instantly-rigid nipple, Milo quickly brought Grey to a point where his back was pressing hard into Milo's chest, his butt was lifted off the floor and his breathing was coming in short gasps. His sack suddenly tightened as balls and prostate combined together to send a shower of fresh boycum arcing up and out, landing several feet away.
"Shit, look what you made me do, M"
"Yeah, I can see, and it'll be your job to clean it up -- but not before you've done the same for me. Get to it."
Chapter 15:
Sharnia Margelles had been more than a little surprised to see the name listed for the first appointment slot of the day. Dan Reed's series of therapy sessions had come to a natural and positive conclusion and she had been more than happy to sign him off. So why would he suddenly turn up again now, several weeks later? And why on a school day with no word from Mr. or Mrs. Reed to okay the appointment? When she buzzed through to Chanelle, her PA, she was told that Dan had left a phone message over the weekend, on Sunday she thought, almost begging to see her. Fortunately, there had been a cancellation. The boy was outside in the waiting area. Okaaay. Something here didn't add up.
If Dr. Margelles was surprised that Dan wanted to see her again, she was positively shocked when she first saw him as she stepped outside her office. He was sitting hunched in a chair in the corner, hoodie pulled up around his head, his upper body almost imperceptibly rocking backwards and forwards. This did not look good. She walked over and crouched down beside the chair so that her head was level with his. She wasn't sure that he knew she was there until he flinched when she lightly rested her hand on his forearm.
"Hello Dan. Let's go into my office, shall we?" She deliberately kept the tone of her voice flat and unemotional. Training and experience told her that Dan was not in a good place and it would not take very much at all to tip him over whatever precipice he was currently on the edge of. She led the way, not looking back but trusting and hoping that he'd follow. As she passed Chanelle's desk she indicated that she was not to be disturbed and it would be best to be prepared to make excuses to her next client if, as she suspected, Dan's time was to overrun. Also, would she please inform Dan's parents of the unscheduled meeting?
Once in her office she moved to her desk, picked up a notepad and pencil and then sat down in one of the two armchairs. She didn't speak, nor did she look directly at Dan although she could hear that he had, indeed, followed her in. A few seconds later he threw himself onto the sofa with his knees drawn up and most of his face still hidden by his hoodie. For two, three minutes neither of them moved or spoke. Eventually Dr. Margelles glanced over to where Dan sat hunched and immobile, seemingly completely uninterested in where he was. She got up and closed the door. On the way back to her chair she looked again in his direction and this time she was able to get a reasonable look at his face, half hidden in the folds of his hood. There were dark rings around his eyes and the tracks of tears down his cheeks. She decided it was time to break the silence.
"Take as long as you like Dan. I'm here to listen when you're ready."
There was no response.
"Whatever is troubling you, we can try to sort it out together."
Sort it out? He'd spent most of the weekend trying to sort it out, in his head at least. Sometime in the early hours of Sunday morning he had slipped into a fitful sleep, a sleep that was constantly re-visited by the picture that had sprung into his mind at the moment of his jerk-off climax. He woke early, 6:30, not great after such a short, disturbed night. After he'd peed he turned to look in the mirror. Fuck! He looked terrible. His eyes were puffy and his face was streaked with dried-up tears. He'd prised off his Nikes before falling onto his bed, but apart from his footwear he was still dressed in the same clothes he'd been wearing when ... Shit! He didn't want to think about it. Maybe a shower would help him feel better. Peeling off his cargos and boxer-briefs he found his small bush of pubic hair and lower tummy crusty with dried cum. Gross, and not just that, but also yet another reminder of who had been front and centre of his thoughts as he'd cummed the night before.
Clean, dressed and feeling marginally more human, he was a surprisingly early arrival downstairs in the kitchen. His parents were drinking coffee.
"Morning D," greeted his dad. "It's not often we see you at this time on a Sunday morning. Juice?"
Dan nodded. Juice was poured and passed. He drank.
"How are you feeling this morning? A bit brighter than last night?" This was his mum, her tone mostly neutral but with an unspoken under-current that was clearly expecting an explanation, or better yet an apology, for last evening's rudeness.
"Er, yeah thanks. And sorry about, well, you know, last night." He still had no clear memory of just what it was that he had said as he arrived home but he certainly remembered his mum's response to whatever it was and knew that an apology was both expected and deserved.
"That's okay. We'll say no more about it. As long as you're feeling more yourself this morning, that's the important thing." As she spoke she moved round the table and gave him a gentle side-on shoulder squeeze.
"Thanks mum. `Preciate it."
"So," broke in Roger Reed, "How was the hot ..." He didn't get to finish asking D about his date, he was stopped in mid-flow by a warning look that flashed at him from his wife. She had obviously worked out that all had not gone well on Saturday evening (maternal intuition?) and that this was not the time for a parental inquisition. Roger did a conversational handbrake turn. "Toast? Eggs? Cereal?"
By the time Dan had crawled his way through a small bowl of Cheerios, half a slice of toast and a few mouthfuls of juice even Roger could tell that all was not well with his younger son's world. "I'm going back to my room," Dan said.
"D, what about Chri ...?" Again, as a second warning look was fired in his direction, this one backed up with a vigorous shake of Helen's head, Roger was cut off in mid-sentence. Dan was aware of neither the look nor the shaken head, in fact he was barely aware of anything except a growing feeling of emptiness coupled with a build-up of tears behind his eyes. He needed to get upstairs before his mum was nice to him again or his dad had a chance to ask him any more stupid questions.
Back in the familiar world of his room he tried listening to music in the hope that the sound would drown out the noise in his head, but not even Young Thug was loud enough to push back the tide of remembered conversation from Saturday evening. Half an hour of Assassin's Creed was no more successful at erasing the images (one in particular) that seemed to be burned onto the inside of his head. Maybe a run would help. Ten kilometres later he came to the breathless conclusion that it wouldn't. Where was the new Dan Reed when he needed him? The Dan Reed who had stood up to Eddy's attempted manipulation? The Dan Reed who had got himself his first ever date?
He knew that the most natural thing, the answer to his anger and confusion, was to message M or, better still, speak to him, but that was a non-starter, not after what had happened when he'd jerked-off last night. Besides, there was now Grey to consider. Where did he fit in, now that he and M were shave-buddies and Cum Brothers? He knew they both had the hots for each other so it was obvious that they'd pair up. Two's company. And the irony of the situation didn't escape him, after all, it had been M who had expected to be squeezed out as soon as he, Dan, had paired up with Christy or some other girl. Fat chance. That boot was now totally on the other foot, with him being the third wheel. How fucked up was that?
Okay, so he couldn't talk to M but what about Tom? He could always talk to Tom. Tom wouldn't judge him, wouldn't laugh at him, wouldn't patronise him. Tom would listen. Tom would tell him what to do. Tom would make it better.
Tom wouldn't answer his fucking phone. Aaagh!
There was a knock at the door. It was his mum's knock, two light taps, not his dad's three or four frame-rattling thumps. There was no way he could face his mum, not now, not yet. She'd be caring and sympathetic and he'd be miserable and pathetic. She'd ask lots of mum-ish questions and he'd have no Dan-ish answers, at least, none he was willing to give. He kept still and stayed quiet. Hopefully she'd think he was asleep and go back downstairs. She did.
So, he couldn't talk to M, he couldn't talk to Tom, he wouldn't talk to his mum. Then it struck him, there was someone he could talk to, someone who wouldn't have any expectations, someone who'd listen, someone who would help. He speed-dialled the number. Just a recorded message -- no--one available at weekends but an emergency hospital number to ring if it was a crisis. Well, it was bad but he couldn't pretend it was a crisis. He left a message. Then he slept. There was nothing else to do.
He spent the rest of Sunday avoiding his parents, only appearing at meal times and spending no longer than absolutely necessary out of his room. That meant, of course, that he couldn't see M, but he did think to prevent him from becoming worried enough to come over by sending a text saying he wasn't feeling well and they'd talk again at school on Monday. Of course, he was particularly anxious to avoid their regular bed-time chat even though he knew that he was just delaying the inevitable uncomfortable conversation when he would have to explain about his humiliating date and hear how M and Grey were now a cosy twosome. And thinking of Grey, what about the swimming match? In all the horror of Saturday night he'd completely forgotten about the swimming match. He'd never before failed to go and support M. What sort of friend did that make him? Yeah, the sort of friend who cums with pictures in his head of M naked, hard and sexy, that sort of friend. Fuck! Could this weekend get any worse?
"You can't say anything, right?" Dan broke his silence. "It's against the rules or something."
It took Please Call Me just a few seconds to tune into Dan's question. "Do you mean is everything we talk about confidential?"
"Uh-huh."
"Unless you tell me something that makes me think there's an imminent danger of you harming yourself or hurting someone else then, yes, nothing you say to me in this room can be reported to anyone else without your permission."
There was a pause while Dan let that information roll around inside his head for a minute or so. Eventually, when he felt he was ok with her answer he began to tell Please Call Me everything that had happened. He started with Eddy and the photos (he even included the stupid scheme to use them to attract girls), went on to describe the events of the party, with a big focus on Christy and setting up the date, felt himself getting stressed all over again as he recounted the build- up and the endless questions and petty details, told of his growing annoyance over Christy's lateness, squirmed as he re-told the make-out session and its deflating outcome, and finally, after a long pause for a painful internal debate with himself, explained about the late night jerk-off and the stunning image of naked, hard and beautiful M that had flooded his mind at the same time as his tummy was flooded with cum. (He used rather less colourful language to describe that last part.)
Throughout Dan's re-telling of his recent, painful history Please Call Me stayed more or less silent with just an occasional question to clarify something that he had said, although, having asked permission right at the start, she did make a few notes as he spoke. Eventually Dan had nothing more to say. In the bright light of an ordinary Monday morning everything he'd described sounded faintly pathetic and ridiculous. So he'd lost his hard-on. So what? And he'd imagined the face (and body, don't forget the body) of his best friend as he'd cummed. It wasn't as if they'd never jerked off together, was it? He looked directly at her for the first time since he'd entered the room. He noticed that behind her a large painting of a historic sailing ship had been replaced by three much smaller pictures of flowers. Roses? Maybe. He didn't know flowers. Her hair, of course, was a very different colour from when he'd last seen her. Was she going to tell him that he was wasting her time, that he should go away and suck it up?
"Thank you Dan for being so honest. Some of that was obviously hard to put into words but you did really well. I got the feeling that you didn't leave anything out. At least, nothing important."
Dan nodded.
"Good." She glanced down at her notes and when she looked up again she noticed that, although Dan was still squashed into the corner of the sofa, and although he still had his knees pulled up to his chest, his shoulders were less tense and the hoodie hid less of his face which was now looking more relaxed and open. Also good.
"Before I say anything Dan, I'd like to know what you're hoping to happen between now and when you leave this room."
This wasn't what Dan had been expecting. He'd thought Please Call Me would have a neat and simple explanation for what had happened on Saturday night and he'd be able to go home with his head clear and everything just as it had been before (except, maybe, with a dick that wouldn't wimp out on him).
"Erm, I dunno really." He paused, trying to decide what to say. "I suppose I want to know ..." Then he understood. Fuck! It was easy. Why hadn't he realised before? "I want to know that I'm normal. That I'm not some weirdo who can't stay hard when a girl he really likes touches him and who fantasizes about his best friend when he jerks-off. That's what I want."
"That's a big ask, and we could probably spend a long time debating the correct definition of `normal'."
Dan looked alarmed. Time-wasting discussions about the meanings of words was not what he was there for.
"But, don't worry, we won't be doing that."
Alarm turned to relief. He just needed to know that he was normal. Simple. Surely everyone knew what normal was, so why would there be any argument about it? Adults always wanted to complicate everything. It must be one of their ways of trying to stay in control.
"It seems to me," Please Call Me was speaking again. "It seems to me that what you have described this morning centres around two separate but connected issues. There's Christy, and how things worked out with her on Saturday night, and then there's the exact nature of your relationship with your best friend. Does that make sense to you?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
"Quite where `normal' fits into the picture will, hopefully, become clear. Okay. Let's start with Christy. You're familiar with the way I like to work with young people so you'll remember that I won't expect you to say anything unless I get something badly wrong or if I need to ask for some additional information. Dan nodded.
"Right, back to Christy. Saturday night was a big deal, yes?" She didn't wait for an answer, although Dan nodded again. "It was your first ever date and something you'd been looking forward to and fantasising about for a very long time, way before your birthday party. If I remember rightly, several years ago in the early stages of puberty, you'd been fixated on another girl. Becky?"
"Beth."
"Ah yes, Beth. And, again, if my memory hasn't let me down, it was her physical attributes that you found particularly attractive at the time."
Images of Beth Harper's chest flashed into Dan's mind and just as quickly disappeared. That all seemed to have happened a long time ago to a completely different person -- the old Dan Reed.
"And you told me before, that, up until that time, you hadn't taken much notice of the general chat among your class-mates about girls and sex. That you'd been, in fact, quite naïve and innocent for your age and stage of physical development."
Rub it in, why don't you?
"But that your elder brother had been very supportive in helping you better understand some of the changes you'd been experiencing."
Had he really told her that, about the TRWDPS? Shit! He must have been in a bad way after the Roberts stuff to have admitted to the things he'd done with Tom.
"And then, of course, there was the dreadful aftermath of the abuse by your teacher which meant that, for a long time, you had neither the inclination nor the emotional capacity to think about girls and dating."
You've got to hand it to her, she may be old but her memory was still in tiptop shape. She was also still paying him the compliment of not talking down to him or being patronising. Dan was suddenly very glad he'd called her.
"So by the time of your sixteenth birthday party the idea of a proper date with a girl had become a seriously big deal. Great news, then, when a very attractive girl seems equally excited by the prospect of a date with you. So far so good, everything is panning out better than you could have hoped."
Please Call Me paused for breath, Dan nodded in agreement.
"You didn't tell me much, in fact nothing at all, about what you were hoping would happen on Saturday evening, so I am going to ask for a bit more clarification. It being your very first date, did you ask any of your friends what you could reasonably expect to happen, based on their experiences?"
Dan shook his head.
"Or any of her friends?"
He shook again.
"Did you have hopes of your own?"
"Some."
"Holding hands?"
"'Spose."
"Kissing?"
"Maybe."
"Making-out?"
"Uh-huh."
"More than that?"
Dan made no response. For him this line of questioning was something like torture, for Please Call Me it was closer to pulling teeth.
"Can we at least agree that you were keyed up? That you were pinning a lot on the success of the evening? That you had been imagining all sorts of exciting possibilities ever since the party?"
"Of course it was a fucking big deal. That's why I'm here. Fuuuck!" Dan had reached the end of his patience.
This wasn't the first time a young person had resorted to expletives during a session and she was sure it wouldn't be the last, although it had never happened with Dan before. Interesting. She let it pass with a slightly raised eyebrow.
"Sorry," Dan muttered into his hood.
"Accepted," replied Please Call Me before continuing. "Have you ever heard of something called Performance Anxiety?"
"What? No. What performance? I don't do drama or music."
Please Call Me couldn't completely suppress a smile. "No, it's got nothing to do with drama or, for that matter, any sort of public entertainment."
"What then?" Dan was beginning to lose the thread of this conversation. Had he been wrong to have had so much confidence in her ability to provide an answer to his problems?
"You had invested a huge amount in the success of Saturday evening. During the week you had thought and thought about what might happen, very likely imagined all sorts of extremely pleasurable sexual outcomes whenever you masturbated."
She ignored Dan's outraged expression.
"In your mind you had built up this date to be something that was going to be life-changing. Perhaps you'd even imagined it to be the final proof that you'd put the whole Mr. Roberts episode behind you and that the new Dan Reed was finally ready to take the world of dating by storm. What do you think Dan, have I got that right?"
Dan was shocked. Could she actually see inside his head? Did she have surveillance cameras trained on him 24 hours a day? Fuck she was good. He nodded. What was going to come next?
"So, there you are, after a rocky start to the evening, everything is going well, better than well. You're making-out with the girl who you have been fantasising about all week. She tells you how much she likes you and gives you permission to touch her breasts. At the same time, she makes it clear that she, too, wants to touch you in a very intimate way, maybe go further than just touching."
The accuracy of the picture that Please Call Me was painting was so clear in Dan's head that he was taken right back to the steps of the bandstand and to the moment when he knew that Christy was about to make contact with his rock-hard and aching boner, the boner very like the one that he could feel had sprung up as he sat there listening to his counsellor. Fuck! How sick was that? Fuck!
"And there you are, harder than you've ever been, and with all your masturbatory fantasies about to come true."
Ignoring what was going on in his underwear, Dan's head was like a nodding dog in the back of a car. He was desperate to know how this was going to end. Just a minute, he knew exactly how it was going to end, and not for the first time his dick went from stiff to limp in seconds flat.
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