A Touch of Heaven
This story is based on the life of one George Carr. (Name changed -- obviously) Please treat it with the respect a true story deserves. See the introduction to chapter 1 for the details.
If you would like to, please write to me at succum@gmx.com as I would love to hear from you and know what you think about this story. We are now about half way through the story and so I would really like to hear your opinion.
Remember this story contains reference, graphically, to sexual relations between two teenage boys. If this is illegal in your country or if you find such things offensive then close down this page in your browser and look somewhere else.
Now, read on and enjoy
Rick.
A Touch of Heaven
Chapter 12
That ride home after being with Scott was always the longest and the worst part of my day. When I got home, I parked my bike in the shed and made my way past my parents giving them as wide a berth as I could just in case there was still some smell of our afternoon's sex lingering on me. Safely in the bathroom I had a good scrubbing shower to get all the smell off and make sure I was properly clean. I also used the opportunity afforded by the long mirror in the bathroom to have a look at my hole that had lost its cherry today. I thought that it did not look a lot different from what it did before I had a cock up it. Really the only real difference was that it was still a bit red from the stretching it had received, but I was sure that would go away by the morning. With my shower finished I went to my room and lay down to have a short rest before tea as I was understandably quite tired.
Mum woke me up for our meal and after it I was clearing the dishes to the kitchen so I could do my chore "just because we are part of the family" or in other words for no pocket money, of washing them when Scott phoned. We chatted for a bit and then Scott wanted to make a date for us to meet up the next day. After working through what we each had on we agreed that we would meet at his place the following afternoon. Then Scott said that was good, because he had something he wanted to talk to me about. I felt cold suddenly and fell silent.
"Hey George, are you still there?" Scott called down the telephone at my silence.
"Yeah, sorry, I'm just a bit tired; is all." I replied.
"Oh, ok then, see you tomorrow."
"Yeah, see you."
"Miss you." Scott surprised me.
"I miss you too." I returned and we hung up.
I went back to my chore with a sense of dread. What could Scott want to talk to me about? As I washed and dried the dishes I had a myriad of thoughts racing round and round in my head and because I was a sensitive teenage boy in the cusp of manhood, I feared the worse. Then an over-active imagination took over and I began to come up with all sorts of case scenarios to explain it away.
Firstly I decided that while he had enjoyed the fuck he had changed his mind and did not want to continue down the gay sex route anymore and so did not want to see me out of school again. Just that thought brought some tears to my eyes and as a result I missed the counter with a handful of cutlery I had just finished drying and they went crashing to the floor. The noise brought my mum rushing in to check that I was alright and so my immediate hopes of being able to just pick them up and put them away were gone almost as quickly as they had come and I found myself putting the knives and forks back into the basin to wash them again. At least it had not been a plate that would have smashed to smithereens and just been suitable for the dust bin.
As soon as mum left the room again my thoughts went back to Scott and building on the last one was that he has secretly been having sex with a girl and just used this afternoon's activity as a trial to find out which he preferred and now he had chosen to be heterosexual and so wanted nothing more to do with me. Or maybe he just wanted to stop the sex part. I decided I could live with that because although I was enjoying the sex very very much, I loved Scott and just being with him would be enough.
My inability to concentrate on the chore I was doing caused it to drag out much longer than it would normally have taken me to do, even with the extra washing of the silverware. Such that when I eventually wandered through the lounge on my way to my bed room, my mother stopped me and asked if everything was alright. Of course I told her it was but she insisted by asking if I was sure about that. Maybe she had seen the glisten of the tears in my eyes when she came through to the kitchen after my little mishap. Needless to say, I got grilled for a few moments despite my continued assurances that I was ok, just a little tired and so was heading off to bed.
Why I thought escaping to my room and going to sleep would work I will never know. I stripped off and lay down on my bed as the thoughts continued to whirl around in my head. Such was my sense of doom that I could not even summon the interest to get my cock hard let alone have my habitual, ritual wank before going to sleep. Sleep, what was that? Yeah I dozed, but I don't think I slept properly at all during that night and know when I finally emerged from my bed in the morning I did not feel at all rested. What is more is those thoughts were still doing a fairground dance in my head.
I got up and got dressed and went downstairs to get my breakfast. I still had all morning to wait as I was not meeting Scott till after lunch. Dad asked me to assist him in moving the winter wood supply as we had received a delivery the day before and it all needed to be stacked in the shed so that we could get at it easily on those cold winter nights. I reckoned this would take my mind off the problem and also help to move the time along a bit faster. I loaded up the wheel barrow and took it round to the back of the house dumping it out in the shed doorway. Dad then stacked it neatly in the shed. If it had been my choice I would simply have thrown it all in, in a big pile -- but then it would not all have fitted in; let alone the other tools and implements that occupied the shed.
That chore left me all hot and sweaty and as it had taken longer than I thought it would, I only had a little bit of time left to have a quick shower and grab a sandwich on my way out of the door to get my bike from that shed we had just so nearly filled with split logs. Holding my last sandwich between my teeth, I mounted my bike and took off out the yard to go to Scott's house, guiding the bike with one hand while the other held that sandwich or part thereof until I had finished it. Then we were back on the safety tour with two hands on the handle grips and both feet firmly pushing the pedals as my legs acted in co-ordinated effort to piston those pedals and drive the wheels around faster and faster and so hasten the time I would be with Scott once more. Yet as eager as I was to find out what he wanted to say, I found that as I approached the last block or so before his house I began to slow down. Unconsciously at first and then with some trepidation.