Flat Tyre

FLAT TYRE (t/t cons mast oral)

by Dicomar dicomar@gmail.com

Hello all,

Thought it would be worth recounting some of the experiences I had when I was a kid for you to enjoy. This is the first one of a few that I have - hope you like them :-) They all have their origins in truth, but both the effects of time and mental rose-tinted spectacles have no doubt 'enhanced' my recollections over the years. Have fun....

--Dicomar

==========

The wobbling of the bed to which I usually awoke to was conspicuous this morning by its absence. I'd shared a bunk with Jim since the beginning of that year, and every morning to date I'd been greeted by the steady reciprocal motion of the rickety old bunk.

Being fourteen and perpetually horny, there was no way I could help but be aroused by this. Coupled with the fact that Jim was actually rather good looking, my mind danced away with all sorts of fantasies, their intensity directly correlated to the steadily increasing amplitude of the bunk's wobble as Jim pleasured himself beneath me.

I generally pretended to be asleep, peeping out from between the matress and my quilt into the mirror on the wardrobe door opposite. Inexplicably, a pair of socks from the draw below or the wayward arm of my dress blazer would always somehow manage to prevent the door from closing completely, ensuring that the angle was perfect for me to observe the cause of the rocking bunk.

Occasionally - generally on warmer days - I would be rewarded with the sight of Jim sliding his fist up and down his dick instead of the more normal bouncing of the covers over his midriff. Another variation was the occasional use of a rolled-up tee shirt that he would carefully position on the bed, then place his dick on top of it and grind down into the soft lump he'd created.

Those operations generally produced a slower but altogether more violent motion of the bunk, so much so that on the last occasion - yesterday - the foot-board began to thump against the wall with rather alarming ferocity. Instead of him slowing down to prevent the noise and in turn rob me of a rather astounding performance, I wedged my foot in between the offending edge of the bed and the wall, causing me to wince in pain as my toes were rhythmically crushed in time to his humping.

But it was worth it. His quilt was soon discarded (such was the amount of heat his exertion was generating), leaving me a perfect profile view of his tight arse rising and then thrusting his dick back down into the matress. I was as hard as I'd ever been in my life, also face down but peeping once again into the mirror. The motion of the bed was so intense I could feel myself approaching my own orgasm as my body's inertia caused me to rub my own hips into my matress, aping Jim's actions.

The stabs of discomfort in my foot rapidly became ambiguous as my orgasm approached, my poor, sensory-overloaded brain not quite knowing what to do with the signals it was receiving. Beneath me, Jim's humping reached a crescendo, accompanied now by some determined grunts and far more staccato stabs from his hips.

As I felt myself begin to unload into my boxers, Jim groaned and shook, mesmerising me as his arse-cheeks clenched with each squirt of cum I knew he was depositing on to the tee shirt.

A minute or so later as our breathing slowed, I felt the more irregular wobbles of him getting out of bed. Squinting through faux-closed eyes, I watched in the mirror as he stood up from the bunk and stretched. His cum-slicked erection - a respectably stout six inches of it - flexed in concert with his body. Involuntarily, I licked my lips as he picked up his humped tee shirt and cleaned the remaining cum from his dick and stomach before throwing it back onto the bed. He grabbed his towel from the back of the door, skilfully wrapped it around his waist so his engorgement was not overly obvious and set off for the bathroom.

In the mirror, his tee shirt - complete with glistening puddle of cum - seemed to call out to me.

Listening to his footsteps rattle down the two flights of stairs to the ground-floor bathroom in the boarding house, I quickly scrambled out of bed, shuddering with a kind of sick delight as I felt my own cum squidge around my soaked boxers.

Poking my head round the door just to satisfy myself there was no-one in range (unlikely as ours was the only dorm on the floor), I knelt by Jim's bed to inspect the fallout from his session. His bed was still warm and his scent wafted up from it like some intoxicating eastern perfume.

In front of me was his tee, adorned with a puddle of ejaculate. Unable to prevent myself, I picked it up and gently waved it under my nose. Immediately my softening dick regained all of its turgidity, the cum-slicked material posing little resistance and allowing it to slip out of the fly of the boxers. I found my right hand wrapping its fingers around my dick and quickly establishing an urgent jerking rhythm, my slick foreskin slapping rather obtusely in the quiet dorm.

Unable to pass up the opportunity, I extended my tongue and tasted Jim's still-warm cum for the first time.

It tasted like he smelled, but a whole lot stronger. Quickly, I took a long lick of it, drawing a strand of the sticky liquid into my mouth. Having been craftily consuming my own cum practically since I first produced any, I was prepared for the texture but not the taste. I had liquid Jim in my mouth, and that thought was all it took to find myself ejaculating over the trousers he'd discarded the previous night.

I watched as my second load of the morning rocketed out of my dickhead on to his black uniform trousers, in no state of mind to actually do anything about it.

Suddenly, reality hit home. I'd just jizzed over the crotch of my room mate's uniform. CRAP!

Not really able to wash them out without getting them too wet or Jim seeing, I ended up using the only cleaning tool available to me - my tongue. As best I could, I found myself licking my own cum off the crotch of Jim's trousers. Even in the ensuing panic, the thought did cross my mind that I'd much rather be doing this with Jim in them, but that was soon forgotten as I heard footsteps making their way up the stairs.

I took a final lick at his flies, wrenched my own boxers off, threw them up on to my bunk and rushed out of the dorm with my towell barely hiding my erection. I muttered a rather muffled "'lo," to Jim, and breathed a sigh of relief as I trotted down to the shower queue.

This morning, however, there was no wanking. Not even a little bit.

I carefully opened my eyes and looked in the wardrobe mirror. Jim's bed was already vacated and turned down. Bollocks! My own morning hard-on was calling for attention even if Jim's was nowhere to be seen, so I figured I'd just have to deal with it "the old-fashoned way": on my own.

After showering and getting dressed, I pulled on my cycle helmet and reflective band (as were school rules) and meandered out to the boarding house bike sheds to cycle the couple of miles to the school itself. Walking was possible, but why spend the forty minutes or so walking when you could do it so much quicker on a bike?

As I was unlocking the heafty "D" lock that secured the rear wheel to the bit of ironmongery the school insisted was a bike rack, I noticed both of my tyres were as flat as pancakes. I glanced up to the underside of the top rail of the bike's frame, and bugger me if my pump hadn't gone as well! Clearly I'd pissed someone off, and immediately my thoughts turned to Jim.

Jizzing over someone's school uniform isn't the kind of thing anyone would appreciate, really, and the thought disturbed me somewhat. Had he found out? Was he just "let your tyres down" angry or "tyres? They're just for starters!" angry? He was quite a bit bigger than my scrawny, slightly scruffy blonde-headed self, so I was dearly hoping it was the former.

I abandoned my helmet and reflective paraphanelia with the bike and began walking briskly towards the main road. There was only a couple of hundred meters or so on the road before a quick leap over a style and on to a well-trodden footpath that lead off towards a rather rickety footbridge that spanned the river, parallel to an altogether more substantial brick road bridge that traversed the entire flood plain. Beyond that was a small wood and, rising beyond it like a half-arsed, low-budget version of Hogwarts was the school itself.

As I reached the footbridge, I heard a "Hey!" from under the road bridge. There was Jim, nonchalantly leaning against the underside of the arch through which the river flowed, smoking the last remnants of his morning cigarette.

"H..."

My voice caught in my throat.

"Hi."

"C'm'ere a sec."

In a split second my brain was analysing and dissecting that sentence fragment, looking for signs of an implied, but unspoken "...and I'll grind your bones into flower for you,"

While not overtly agressive, I decided there was a touch of something not usually present. I weighed up the alternatives to not doing as he'd asked. All the scenarios ended up with me in the river. I turned and began to walk towards him.

He stood from the wall and crushed the butt of his cigarette under the toe of his boot and began to walk under the bridge. I followed him.

Half expecting to find most of the under-fifteen rugby team waiting there for me, I was relieved to see just Jim, grinning ever so slightly.

"So you enjoyed yesterday morning, then?"

"Eh?" I bullshitted.

"You liked watching me sperm?"

"I don't know what you..."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"I..."

He took two quick, firm steps towards me, causing me to take two back and nearly reversing into the river in the process.

"Did you enjoy it? Yes or no."

I hesitated. He took another few steps and I closed my eyes, wuss that I was.

The impact I was waiting for never came. I could smell his acrid Silk-Cut-tainted breath as it played over my face.

"I'm willing to bet," he said, running a hand over the front of my trousers until he cupped the tips of his fingers under my bollocks, "that you REALLY enjoyed it."

He squeezed me gently through the thin artificial fabric.

"Yes," I squeaked, not daring to open my eyes.

He chuckled, clearly enjoying himself.

"I know you watch me." he stated. "Every morning, pretending you're asleep. Don't think I hadn't noticed how you prop that door open..."

Shit.

And to make matters worse, his gentle fondling was having a not-altogether surprising result. A little snort of air through his nostrils confirmed to me he knew what was happening and was enjoying every minute.

"So, do you like watching me?"

"I..."

He squeezed my bollocks a bit tighter than would be pleasurable.

"Nnngh - yes..."

Suddenly, he let go. I opened my eyes to see my trousers tented out with my stiffy, then looked up to see Jim hauling his own, far more impressive erection out of his flies.

"C'm'ere."

I obeyed, erection leading the way.

"Why don't you touch it, if you like watching so much?"

I hesitated.

"It don't bite..." His voice was softer now.

I swallowed, took a step forward, then encircled his red-hot stiffy with my hand. Now it was his turn to grunt, pushing himself into my palm so his skin was pulled back. His leaking dickhead slithered wetly up my wrist.

I looked up and met his gaze directly. He grinned, then landed a quick kiss directly on my lips.

"C'mon," he said, stuffing his hardon back into his trousers.

"Wha... Where?" I spluttered, my mouth now totally devoid of all moisture.

"Just follow me. Quckly, before anyone sees us."

He took my hand and dragged me back under the arch. Pausing momentarily to check if the coast was clear, we trotted back to the footbridge. The slimy marine ply surface protested under our weight as usual as we crossed the river before taking a divergent path towards the edge of the woods.

Although only composed of perhaps a couple of hundred trees interspersed with smaller shrubs and undergrowth, Jackson's Wood provided surprisingly good cover. With practiced ease, Jim charged full tilt into thicket, easily finding a path of least resistance that I was later to find he used quite regularly.

After a minute or so of intense rustling, we reached a small clearing a couple of meters in diameter. We stopped, panting, the lack of rustling now having given way to a gentle, country-quiet. Looking around there was nothing but dense vegetation surrounding us to a height of a couple of meters. Jim took on a slightly pensive look, as if he was weighing something up in his mind.

"Do you PROMISE not to say anything about what I'm about to show you?"

"Of course!"

If it involved becoming intimately acquainted with Jim's nether regions, right then I'd have promised anything!

"I mean REALLY promise?"

"I'm not going to say anything, mate! Honest!"

He didn't look totally convinced, but decided my response was adequate reassurance.

He took my hand again, turned to face the wall of undeargrowth not quite opposite where we'd entered the clearing, and pushed his way into the thicket once more, towing me behind.

The branches were much more dense now and I had to duck my head down as the sinuey limbs thrashed into my cheeks. Quite abbruptly, Jim stopped and I ran straight into the back of him. He chuckled and turned, pulling me into him. I felt his hands roam down my back then squeeze my arse cheeks.

"I've never shown anyone this before. You're the first," he explained.

"Shown anyone what?" I asked, too taken with the sensation of my crotch mashed into his to be overly concerned about what he was showing me.

"You know, for bloke who's in top-set everything you really are thick," he grinned.

I grinned back dopily. I still hadn't a clue what he was on about.

"THIS," he emphasized, releasing one of my buttocks to thump the crumbling brickwork against which we were pirched.

So engrossed had I been in the feelings that I simply hadn't noticed the largeish bottle-shaped building now towering a good few meters above us.

"What is it?" I asked, dumbfounded that something so bizarre could possibly exist on the school premises, not to mention its sudden 'arrival' without me noticing.

"It's a smoke house," said Jim, casually replacing his hand on my bum. "Used to cure fish and game and stuff."

"How'd you find it?"

"Remember that detention I got a couple of years back with Mrs. Knight?"

"The Librarian?"

"Yeah. She had me sorting out all these old photographs and stuff from one album into another. 'Rearranging the archives', she said. Seemed pointless to me, but some of the photos were quite interesting. Loads of naked boys for starters," he grinnged, thrusting his hips forward and simultaneously making me gasp and realise that he'd just admitted to liking pictures of nude lads. Cool!

"Naked?"

"Apparantly the founder was this real back-to-nature looney. Anyway, one of them was of the scout troop catching fish from the river and then smoking them..."

"How do you smoke a fish? You'd need a bloody big pipe; and I bet it's a bastard to get lit in the first place..."

Jim looked appaled for a moment before he realised I was joking.

"They smoked them here. Took a while to work out where the photos were taken, but that weekend I went looking for this place. And I found it," he said, proudly. "C'mon..."

We squeezed round the side of the smoker until we came to a low archway. Flashing a grin at me, he ducked inside, pulling me after him.

Inside, as my eyes grew accustomed to the much dimmer light, I could begin to make out the building's structure. Rather than being a nice simple construction, the smoker had a series of spiral brick protrusions which supported iron girders in a kind of criss-cross pattern, gradually tapering towards the chimney hole.

"Mad, eh?" whispered Jim, his voice reverberating of the smooth inside in a rather surreal manner. Letting my hand go, he walked to the opposite side of the wall and began to climb an iron ladder that was attached to the wall.

After he'd climbed to the first girder, he stepped off the ladder and walked along it tightrope-style until he was silhouetted against the light entering through the chimney.

"You coming or what?"

I wasn't a gymnast. Infact I was shit at most things that required hand-eye coordination. I hesitated.

Jim grabbed his crotch obscenely. "You won't know what you're missing..."

Actually, it was exactly the opposite. I DID know what I'd be missing. I began to climb.

Jim grinned and completed his walk over the beam so he was directly above the door. Here, there was another ladder that went up to the next level.

"Just look directly at the end of the beam as you walk along it - you won't fall."

Somehow his blazee confidence endowed me with that I would otherwise have lacked, allowing me to trot with no drama whatsoever along the length of the beam. The hollow "thung, thung, thung" noise of my feet on the iron richcheted around the inside of the smoker until it managed to escape from the chimney, dieing away to nothing.

The next ladder was easier now for me, especially as Jim's tight arse was leading me on like a donkey after a carrot. There was a more substantial walkway here which again crossed back to the other side of the structure. Another ladder then brought us to the top 'floor' - a sparsely slatted circular arrangement (presumably to let the smoke permiate) with a large hole in the centre.

The thing that surprised me was the age of the timbers of this floor - they looked new. In fact, they were made of plywood!

"Made them in tech last year. Put my foot through too many of the old ones, So I decided to change them," explained Jim.

The light was a lot brighter here now we were so much closer to the chimney top and I could see that the area was by no means spartan. Jim had been busy. There were two old tea chests that made seats and, as he opened the lid, demonstrated that they doubled as weather-proof storage. From here, he took a sleeping bag and then from behind the chest he produced a large circular lump of ply,

He positioned it over the centre hole in the floor, filling it neatly and removing the majority of my concerns about being up here.

He spread the sleeping bag out and sat on it and started to remove his trainers. His socks were removed next and, as his shirt came off, I suddenly realised what he was doing.

Making up for lost time, I kicked my own shoes off, hauled my shirt over my head and shucked my trousers down, leaving me stood in just my boxers and socks.

Jim was a whole lot more leasurely in his disrobing , leaving me stood feeling a little foolish, but he soon was in the same state as myself. I couldn't help but notice the large tent in his boxer briefs.

He indicated I should come and sit next to him. As I sat, he took my hand and guided it to the bulge between his legs. I traced my hand over the length of his straining stiffy before venturing a little lower and marveling at the size of his testacles. They felt huge to me and seemed to exude the warm scent that was Jim.

As I gently kneaded and investigated him, he let out a quiet, content grunt.

"You done this before?" he asked me, almost whispering as if he was worried he'd break the spell he'd cast over me. I shook my head no, and reciprocated the question.

"Yeah," he admitted sheepishly.

"Who with?" I asked, more turned on than anything else.

He looked slightly embarassed. "My brother."

"Oh, cool!"

"You don't mind?"

"At least one of us knows what we're doing," I smiled back.

Jim grinned too, then leaned over to the tea chest once more. He rummaged around for a moment, then produced a very battered and well-thumbed magazine.

"Dunno where Alex got this from, but he said I ought to have it as, uh, food for thought."

He handed it to me. I'd never really had a good look at a porn magazine before, much less one with kids our age - no - BOYS our age doing stuff with each other. As I flicked through the pages, my mind raced. The centre spread was a picture of a cute blonde boy having his arsehole licked out by his very enthusiastic friend. A large white stain and the unmistakable smell of liquid-of-Jim told me that my friend beside me liked the idea as much as I did.

I felt my boxers being eased over my straining erection. As it popped out, Jim's rough, slightly caloused hand encircled it causing me to draw breath rather sharply. Jim just smiled.

Without so much as a "by your leave", he licked his lips and began tounging around my dickhead, probing under and around my foreskin.

"Jim," I squeaked. "Don't you think this is a bit... er..."

"Gay?" he asked, moving his hand further down to play with my testicles like they were some kind of executive stress-relief toy.

I nodded whilst biting my bottom lip.

"I've just been licking your nob end. 'A bit gay' doesn't seem to do it justice."

"And it doesn't bother you?"

I already had a good idea as to the answer to that one.

"Why should it?"

"So are you... um..."

"A homo?"

I looked down at his hand rummaging around in my boxers. The term sounded so derogatory for something that was right now providing me with so much pleasure and a promise of even more to come. I nodded, embarassed at my lack of tact.

"I dunno. Mark - my brother - says it's dumb to put people into categories. He says he is, though."

"What?"

"Gay."

"Oh."

"He reckons that everyone ought to try it, though, just to see."

"And that's what you did with him? Try it, I mean."

"Yeah. Although I'm still not sure," he smiled, shuffling a little closer to me, "so I keep trying and trying, and I suppose eventually I'll find out. You want to try with me?"

He didn't wait for an answer, deciding instead to choose that moment to kiss me.

Now this might sound odd to some of you, but until that moment I'd never really kissed anyone. Not in the heat of passion, I mean... Yes, I'd kissed my parents and my cousins and my aunts and so on, but I had yet to do it properly. As such, I didn't quite know what to do.

Jim retracted his hand from my boxers and stroked my face reassuringly. "Just go with it," he whispered, the acrid smell of his last cigarette still sharp on his breath. Somehow this made him seem more grown up and worldly wise to me, even though I found the smell itself quite repulsive. Because of the situation, though, I interpreted it as exciting, and was more than willing to 'go with it', as he put it.

He kissed me again, planting his lips against mine as he gently held my head, the vee between his thumbs and fingers cradled under my ears. Then his tongue came into play, gently running itself over my lips. I knew what a french kiss was and hence the basic mechanics, but it still took a moment to appreciate it all. Soon, his tongue joined mine in my mouth, quickly massaging my own. I extended it to slide past his, causing us both to smile slightly as they fought against each other in a bath of our mixing saliva.

With his hands still in place, he gently guided me back on to the sleeping bag, breaking the kiss as he did so.

"So how gay was that?" he asked.

"Not as gay as you sucking my dick, but still pretty gay," I smiled back.

"And?"

"I liked it."

"Thought you would. So do you watch me every morning?"

"Yeah. I really like it when you get too hot and have to throw the covers off."

Jim smiled back and snuggled up to me a bit more, tracing a finger over my chest which caused me to shiver.

"And what do you do?"

I swallowed really hard.

"I watch you wank," I admitted. I was really getting into this, as was Jim. He snuggled up a bit further, his erection now wedged securely against my right hip. "But what I really like is when you bunch up a tee shirt and hump against it."

"What, like this?" he asked, swinging his right leg over me and planting the bulge in his boxers directly on top of my own. Looking me straight in the eyes, he pushed his crotch forward, mashing his dick and then his balls into my own. We both grunted with the feelings produced.

"Yeah," I squeaked. "Just like that."

"And then what?" asked Jim, starting to gently hump against me while he supported his upper body on his elbows.

"Then... Then I imagine what it would be like to be the tee shirt," I admitted, blushing furiously.

Jim simply lowered himself on top of me. Not really ready for that, I felt slightly winded as his weight forced the air from my lungs. As I said, he was a well built lad: Not at all flabby - there was just a lot of him!

Even though his dead weight right on top of me was almost asphyxiating, it turned me on incredibly to feel the muscles in his chest flexing and releasing as he continued to fuck himself against me lazily.

"Then what?" he whispered, curling the palms of his hands around the tops of my shoulders, allowing him to get a better purchase for his downstrokes.

"Hnnngh.... I... I wonder what it feels like to squeeze your arse..."

As I said it, I knew he'd already given me permission simply by asking the question. I wrapped my arms around him and ran them down to his undulating backside. Feeling them through his skin-tight boxer-briefs was an experience to start withm but he soon muttered to me that I should push them down.

I slid my fingers under the elastic first, almost shaking with anticipation. His skin felt burning hot to me, and it simply added to the wonderful texture of his smooth, taught buttocks clenching and releasing.

I felt the pressure he was exerting on my crotch vanish for a moment as he lifted his midsection, encouraging me to remove his underwear. The elastic was pushed below his buttocks and I traced my fingertips back round to the front.

Lifting my head, I looked down between our two bodies. I swear I nearly came there and then. Jim's taught abdomen contrasted sharply with my own much less defined stomach, creating the appearance of some great otherworldly hall, my stomach being the floor and Jim's the ornate vaulted ceiling.

At the far end of this hall stood two monuments, both of them straining against the now-damp fabric in which they were encased.

Hands shaking, I ran my fingers along until they met in the centre and carefully guided the elastic over Jim's hard-on. I moved them down, allowing the tops of my fingers to run down its veiny length. He really was incredably hard and his fast heart beat was making his entire dick pulse.

Suddenly loosing the need for caution, I pushed his boxers as far down as I could before repeating the operation with my own. Jim chuckled at my exhuberance and lowered himself back down on to me. I grabbed at his buttocks, my fingertips gingerly reaching the edges of his arse crack while my legs found themselves winding around his.

Jim was breathing more heavily now, snorting into my ear as he did so. This quickly turned into a gentle nibbling, and then on to something more determined.

He kissed me again, thrusting himself against me. I was now all the more ready to kiss back, running my fingers through his thick, wayward hair as his humping brought me closer to orgasm.

I found my tongue back in his mouth myself smiling at the rather grotesque noises we made as we quite literally 'sucked face'. Flashes of his tight arse reflected in the mirror in our dorm flashed back infront of my mind's eye as I realised that arse was now directly under my groping hands.

That did it. I wrapped my arms around his back and thrust my hips up into him as I came. And fuck me did I come! Jesus... I mean I thought having a crafty one over Jim's tee shirt was good, but to have the real thing draped over me was just something else. After a couple of squirts I'd exhausted any supply of fluids my body could supply but apparantly that wasn't enough to draw a close to my orgasm.

It did, however, seem to induce Jim's. With a kind of intensity that made me feel totally helpless yet completely protected by him, he too started to squirt. He had obviously missed his morning performance as his supply was far more plentiful than my own, already having wanked myself off once that morning (a decision I now sincerely regretted).

He grunted and spasmed and thrusted against me and I could feel his cum being injected between us creating a marvelously warm, slippy feeling.

The ferocity of the moment began to dwindle and the concept of reality started to return, albeit in a rather surreal, out-of-order kind of way. Jim kissed me again and smiled.

"I don't think I really need to ask if you enjoyed that," he grinned, thrusting against me one last time. I whimpered as the jab of intense stimulation caused a final glob of cum to be ejected from by dick. Jim sniggered mischeviously.

"Now - no fucking guilt, OK? Mark told me that. What we did was just fun."

"Oh... Uh, OK..."

Jim looked into my eyes which obviously betrayed my dismay at his offhanded remark. His face softened a little.

"Unless you want it to be a bit more than just fun."

I couldn't have stopped the grin if I had tried with all my might. I crained my neck up and kissed him more vigorously than I'd ever done previously and ran my hands through his wayward hair.

"That'd be a yes, then," he panted as he gasped for air.

"Yes it fucking would," I confirmed. "You've been teasing me with your morning aerobics since the beginning of the year and I'm buggered if I'm gonna let you stop what you've just started!"

Jim laughed again. "You will be!"

"Eh?"

"Buggered."

I was confused up until the point I felt his hand slide down my arse and start poking around my hole. I gasped out of shock more than anything else, but as the concept hit home - that at some stage Jim wanted to be INSIDE me - I felt my now flagging erection snap back to life.

"C'mon - we'd better get going... We'll be late for assembly otherwise."

Jim. Somehow he managed to keep his feet on the ground while having his head in the clouds...

And that's why I love him.

===END :-)

Do let me know what you think of this story - dicomar@gmail.com - and if you want any more. There's a lot more to tell about me and Jim as well as some other memories to re-live!

All the best,

Dicomar