This is a work of fiction and in no way draws on the lives of any specific person or persons. If there is any similarity to any real persons or events it is entirely coincidental.
This work is copyrighted by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written permission of the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.
My thanks to John who has read this through for any details that may need explanation for transatlantic, or non UK readers, and made several corrections. Any remaining errors, grammatical, spelling historical or whatever are entirely my fault.
If you wish to comment on the story then do contact me on Jeffyrks@hotmail.com. I aim to reply to all messages.
Jonathan 4 July 5th 2008
An annual event in the calendar of Jonathan's and Robert's school was Old Boys' Day. In Malcolm's time it had indeed been Old Boys' Day, but since it became a co-educational school, educating girls as well as boys, the alternative name of Old Pupils' Day did not ring true, so it was still called Old Boys' Day, even though the percentage of women present was steadily rising. One annual tradition remained firmly in the programme of events. The School Cricket First XI played the Old Boys' XI. In their time Malcolm, and his three sons, Michael, Stephen and Kevin had all played first for the school and then later for the Old Boys. Now in the summer of 2007 Jonathan was certain to be selected to play for the school.
Jonathan knew that his father would be unable to attend all of the match as Saturday was his busiest day of the week. Two weeks before Malcolm had been over to Michael's for a meal.
"Gramps are you coming to Old Boys' Day?"
"I don't think so, Jon. It is too soon after Janice. Some will be asking if she is around, and I will have to explain; and others will be expressing their sympathy."
"I was hoping you would come. I know Dad can't be there until almost the end of the game because of the shop. You've never really watched me play!"
Malcolm looked at his favourite grandchild, who was so much like him as a youngster to look at. "I'll think about it, Jon. But I make no promises."
"Please, Gramps."
Saturday 5th July was also the Ladies' final at the All England Tennis championship at Wimbledon, and both occasions enjoyed a day of uninterrupted sunshine, unlike the year before.
When Michael left home for work he had a word Jonathan. "I hope the game goes well for you, son. I wish I could be there to watch, but I'll get along as soon as I can, and hope to see you bat." When he was going out of the door, he turned to Jonathan. "I'll give you a fiver for every run you make."
"Dad, wow. Even if I make a ton?"
Jonathan did not know whether his father had heard the last remark or not.
[Readers who find cricket incomprehensible or boring and want to skip the next section fast forward to @@@@@@@]
The school won the toss and elected to bat. At 11.30 Jonathan and his fellow opening batsman strode out onto the field. He took guard. As so often happens the first ball of the game was a loose one. Jonathan got to the pitch of ball and drove it firmly all along the ground through the covers. He had opened his score with a four.
Malcolm arrived at the school at 12.30. He made his way to the usual place where his contemporaries met, and from where they could keep an eye on the cricket.
"Good to see you, Mal," said one of his old form mates. "It is just like old times. The school's opening bat looks just like you did nearly fifty years ago."
Malcolm looked onto the field. "He bloody well ought to, he's my grandson, Jonathan. How's he doing?"
"Very well. He has got thirty of the schools fifty runs."
Malcolm's attention from then on was firmly fixed on events on the pitch. He was reminded of one of his outstanding innings when he had scored a hundred for Whitgest in his first season playing for them. Jonathan swept and drove with ease, and his score steadily mounted. In school cricket thirty is a good score for a batsman to make, anything over fifty for an individual batsmen was a real matter for congratulation. No other batsman was able to stay with him at the crease for long, but Jonathan's score steadily mounted. It was in the middle of the afternoon that he made his hundredth run with a gloriously confident late cut. He made a hundred and sixteen before being caught out in the deep mid-field. The captain of the school side declared and all the players came off the pitch.
[@@@@@@]
In the break between innings Jonathan slipped out of the pavilion, and made his way round to where his grandfather was standing with his old school mates. Malcolm did not see him approach and the first he knew was Jonathan's arm around him and his voice, "Thanks for coming, Gramps. How much did you see?"
Malcolm turned and gave Jonathan a hug, muttering in his ear, "Well done. I'm very proud of you." Then as they broke apart he added so all who were standing round could hear, "You were about thirty when I arrived, so I saw most of your innings."
"I don't know what Dad'll say. He promised me a fiver for every run I made."
"He knows already. He's delighted."
"How does he know?"
"I sent him a text message with your score every quarter of an hour. 55 n.o and so on. He says its champagne at dinner this evening."
"I must go, Gramps. We've got to get your side out now."
The school beat the Old Boys that Saturday. Usually the Old Boys' greater maturity and skill at the game ended up with them as the winners, but not that year.
Michael arrived at the school to see the final overs of the game.
When father and son met they gave each other hug. "Well done, Jon. How do you want your £580. In coins? In notes and coins, or will a cheque do?"
"That's a difficult question. I'm in no hurry, so you can put your finances in order so you can pay me." He gave his father a wink. Those who heard this bit of badinage laughed, because all knew that the Pridhams were well heeled. "Can Bob come to eat with us this evening, Dad?"
"Of course he can. It not every day I have a son who makes a century at cricket."
Jonathan's heart was warmed. He knew that his father was pleased and proud of his success on the cricket field.
They sat down to dinner soon after Jonathan and Robert got back from school so Abigail and Thomas, Jonathan's younger siblings could take part in the celebration. Malcolm was also present enjoying every moment of his grandson's success. Champagne was drunk, and Michael said to them all how proud he was of Jonathan's achievement. "You've won your Pridham cricket cap, son. Your grandfather, your two uncles, and myself, all made at least one century in our time. You have beaten us all by making it when you are younger than any of us. The first of the next generation of cricketing Pridhams. May there be many more, but not at five quid a run, and to think I nearly said ten quid! Well done, Jonathan." Michael handed a cheque for £580 to Jonathan.
"Thanks, Dad. Thank you all for your support, not just today but over the years. Thanks Dad for teaching me how to hold a bat, when I was young, and to watch the ball, and watch the bowlers hand. And you'd better learn not to make any rash promises in future." Everyone laughed.
It was nearly ten o'clock when the table was cleared, and the party began to break off. Malcolm soon left to return home to Whitgest. Abigail and Thomas were directed towards bed. Lois and Michael were busy in clearing up the aftermath of the meal. Jonathan and Robert were left alone in the dining room.
"I must be going, Jon."
"I don't feel like bed. I still need to wind down. Let's go for a walk."
Michael and Lois were told, and the two young men left the house. When they were outside Jonathan turned to Robert. "There's one thing I need to make the day complete."
"What's that?"
"My cock up your arse!"
"Okay then. Usual place?"
In their wanderings they had found a secluded unfrequented spot. There was a disused railway track that had been turned into a cycle track and footpath. When there were trains running it had joined the mainline going south towards London. But the now the cycle track swung away to a narrow lane about one hundred yards before the main line. The remaining stretch had become overgrown, and close to the main line was a tangle of trees and brambles. Jonathan and Robert had found this a good place to go when there was no home available for their sexual encounters. Though express trains thundered past a few yards away, they were completely out of sight. There was just enough light for them to make it to their usual spot under an ash tree.
"Come on, Bob, get that bum of yours out into the open."
Robert undid his belt and zip, and lowered his jeans to his ankles. Jonathan's cock had been hard most of the way as they had walked to this spot. He too lowered his jeans.
Robert lent against the tree trunk, sticking his bum out. They had done this many times before. "I suppose you're going to use spit, and just shove it in," asked Robert speaking over his shoulder.
"Not at all, I have got a bottle with some oil in it, should lubricate it well enough."
"What oil is it. I hope it's not bicycle oil."
"No, you clot. It's grape seed oil. I thought about sesame oil, for 'Open Sesame' but it smells too much. I didn't think Extra Virgin Olive Oil was appropriate for your arse."
They both laughed. Jonathan proceeded to prepare Robert, and then his own cock. He shuffled up closer to Robert, and put his cock on the target and pushed. With one long and fairly slow thrust he penetrated the whole length of his cock into Robert.
"I must be careful or I'll cum at once."
That was the last thing they both wanted. Robert's reaction was quick and perfect, he asked a question, changing the subject. "Which of all the strokes you made in your innings was your best do you think?"
Cricket was probably the only distraction that would have worked. Jonathan paused to think. "I think the first boundary, the cover drive off the first ball. I know it was a poor ball, but I think my stroke was perfect."
The momentary distraction worked. The peak was passed, and Jonathan was no longer in danger of immediate ejaculation. He began to thrust slowly in and out. He reached his hands under Robert's shirt, and first stroked his back, and then reached round to fondle his nipples. These at once were hard, and Robert began to groan and move with pleasure. Jonathan's hands lowered to feel Robert's cock and balls, and then to wander over all that was in reach.
"My balls are full to bursting, Bob. I haven't wanked for three days."
"Wow. Whatever for?"
"Getting ready for the match."
"So I must be prepared to be blasted away and carried off on a flood of your cum."
"Something like it."
"But think of the cleaning up."
"I've come prepared. Got a flat pack of toilet tissues to take care of that."
They both groaned appreciatively as Jonathan's approached his climax. It was not very long delayed and it was a mighty one. The initial torrent of cum seemed to last far longer than usual. They both felt it. That was followed by a series of follow-up throbs that were their usual experience.
"Wow, Jon. I think your cum must be coming out of my ears."
"There certainly seemed to be a lot of it."
"I wished I had received it in a position where I could have watched more than the trunk of this bloody tree."
"You want me to go without wanking for three days again?"
"Yea. Why not? I can feel it beginning to trickle down my leg, I think we had better do some cleaning up, and then I want to do you."
Within a few minutes their roles were reversed. Robert had wanked that morning in the shower, so he took longer, and deposited less of a load into Jonathan.
"Thanks, Bob, for that. I don't think I'll be wanting to do it with anybody but you."
"What are you going to do at Uni. You'll be joining Gay Soc and having sessions with loads of different guys. We can get together in the Vacs, but I don't intend being faithful to you during term time."
"What you do is up to you. But I intend to keep myself only for you." They walked on in silence for a while.
"I think today has been the best day of my life, a century at cricket, and a really good fuck with my best friend," said Jonathan as they parted.
Jeff at jeffyrks@hotmail.com