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:
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PJ
D'n'M Part 7.
From Chapter 9:
It wasn't fair to keep the boy in the dark and, if Milo and Dan were sensible, they'd try to make sure that he felt to be fully involved in the decision-making process. After all, like he'd said just a few minutes ago, he wasn't your average fourteen-year-old kid and his uncles needed to start appreciating and acknowledging the reality of that.
Chapter 10:
The game was in full swing when Dan and Mio arrived at the park. They soon spotted Gerry standing alone on the touch line and made their way over to him. They exchanged brief hugs before Milo asked where Nico was. Gerry pointed at the moving mix of players on the pitch. As it was a Saturday morning pick-up game there was a whole mash-up of players, from teenage kids (mostly boys but with two or three girls included) through to middle-aged men; from the lean and fleet-of-foot to the slightly saggy and quickly-winded. No standardised team kit was being worn by either side, but a whole mixture of T's and shorts, including English Premier League and national team jerseys from several European countries. But it didn't take long for them to spot Nico, weaving through the mass of bodies, the ball at his feet, his eyes scanning left and right as he zeroed in on the opposition goal. With his attention focused on the waiting prize he let loose a right-footed drive which shot the ball into the air and effortlessly through the flailing fingers of the no-hope goal keeper.
"Yeeeees!" Nico's shriek of delight and success echoed around as his arms spread out in a triumphant salute and his rag-tag assortment of team-mates gathered round to congratulate him. He glanced over to where he knew his grandpa was standing and was quick to spot that Gerry wasn't alone. Milo and Dan were standing there too, all three of them clapping and cheering and beaming from ear to ear. Nico returned the smiles, waved briefly then turned his attention back to the game which was just about to re-start, taking up a position roughly three quarters of the way along the centre line.
When they talked about it later as they ate lunch in the small Thai place a short distance from the park, they couldn't decide who had been more surprised by what had happened next. The referee was just about to blow his whistle to signal the re-start when a new player jogged onto the pitch, choosing a position in midfield, not too far from where Nico was standing. The boy had to look twice to be sure his new team-mate really was who he thought he was. Milo, still standing with his dad on the touch-line, felt his jaw drop open and knew there must be a look of total disbelief on his face. Gerry was just puzzled. As far as he knew, what he could plainly see happening just a few metres in front of him was, supposedly, never, ever going to happen. And Dan? Well, although it had been a split-second decision (if it had been a conscious decision at all), the moment he focused his attention on the people around him, sorting out in his mind who were members of the team he'd joined and who were on the opposition, he felt weirdly relaxed and comfortable. Okay, so he wasn't exactly appropriately dressed but no-one seemed to care about that. He took a moment to breathe. Had it really been more than half a life-time since he'd last kicked a soccer ball? What had happened to his hatred of Baker and his determination to never again have anything to do with the game? Vanished, that's what, vapourised like a shallow puddle in the heat of the midday sun. Yes, the outline shape of the puddle was still there but it was very faint and barely visible.
"So why? What made you do it?" asked Milo, his spoonful of green curry briefly forgotten half way between bowl and mouth. "You vowed you never would."
"Yes," added Gerry, "And you've stuck to that promise for more than fifteen years."
"So what," Milo persisted, "Was different about today?"
Yes, Dan wondered to himself, what was different about today? What had changed? "It just sort of happened," he replied, weakly. "I honestly didn't think much about it. I saw Nico score that amazing goal and the smile on his face and the way the rest of the team all crowded round to congratulate him and I thought ... I thought, `I remember what that's like. It's a feeling like nothing else, and I want some of that,' and the next thing I knew, I was jogging out onto the pitch and lining up alongside Nico, waiting for the ref to blow his whistle. And it felt good. Really good." Both Milo and Gerry were struck by the wide smile on Dan's face and the brightness of his eyes.
But Milo knew that Dan's explanation wasn't the truth, at least, not all of it. "No, you're not fooling me, D. There's more to it than that. Don't try telling me that this isn't at least partly connected with what we talked about and agreed the other day. I'm right, aren't I?" There was a definite `no-more-bullshitting-me' edge to his voice.
Up to this point Nico had taken very little part in the conversation, not since all the back-slapping and congratulating on the brilliant goal had stopped and he was no longer the centre of attention. But, although it seemed as if he was fully absorbed in his plate of khao pad, he was actually paying close attention to what was being said by the adults around him. He knew from what his grandpa had told him that Dan had been a good soccer player as a young teenager but something had happened, and the result had been that he had vowed, when he was still a young kid with a lot of potential to be a really good player, that he'd never play the game again. Nico still didn't know exactly why he'd taken that decision although it was obvious from what he'd managed to piece together from the bits and pieces he'd overheard and the little that he had been told, that it hadn't been anything good. He suspected there was some sort of threat or unpleasantness involving an adult -- maybe an older teammate or sports teacher or coach -- but he didn't know for sure and he had never got up the courage to ask. After all, he didn't really know Dan that well and it was clear that no-one else felt it was their place to fill in any of the gaps. Maybe now, sitting in the restaurant, still surrounded by the lingering glow and golden success of the match, he'd finally get to hear what had happened to Dan back when he was no older than he, himself, was now.
It took a while for Dan to answer Milo's question, and when he did his voice was quiet and hesitant. It sounded as if he still hadn't fully made up his mind about what he was prepared to say.
"Yeah, you're sort of right, it does have something to do with what I said to you when we were talking about the future a couple of days ago, but mostly it's like this. If we get what we've agreed we both want, the green light for Nico to live with us for real, then he needs to understand some of the stuff that's gone on in the past, and he needs to hear it from us so he knows he's getting the truth, not some half-baked or distorted version."
"Are you sure about this, D?" Milo instinctively knew that Dan was meaning the whole nasty business with Baker and he was immediately on his guard. His concern could be clearly heard in the way he asked the question. Even though the abuse D had suffered was a long time in the past, Milo knew how much the damage still echoed down the years through to the present day. It was a hugely significant part of their shared story but it was something the two of them rarely spoke about, preferring to leave it in the past, something that bound them together but which didn't need to be revisited, so it was no surprise that Milo was anxious about D suddenly seeming to be willing to talk openly about it now, and in such a public place.
Dan gave a small nod to Milo, sending an unspoken message that, yes, it was scary but that it was going to be okay. Then he turned slightly in his seat and put one hand on Nico's forearm. Nico looked up. It took Dan a few more seconds before he began to speak.
"I don't know what you've heard or managed to work out, but the truth is that when I was just a bit younger than you I was a real soccer fan. I was pretty good at it too. I played for he school."
Gerry interrupted, "He was more than good, he was a real star of the team. He had a bedroom stacked with trophies and medals."
"I don't know about that, but I really enjoyed playing and I really looked up to the school coach, even though he was pretty tough and expected everyone to put in 100% all of the time. His name was Mr. Baker." Dan paused, an anguished look appeared on his face. After a few seconds he seemed to regain control and tried to continue.
"Yeah, I really sort of idolised him but that turned out to be a big, big mistake." He paused again and took a large gulp of air. It was clear that he was struggling to say more. Silent tears began to slide down his face. Nico couldn't take his eyes away. Dan turned and looked helplessly at Milo. He nodded again, this time the message was obvious - that he couldn't say any more but that he genuinely wanted the whole, sordid and distressing story told, or at least an age-appropriate version of it. Milo reached for Dan's hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze, and began to speak.
Ten, fifteen minutes later Nico knew a great deal about Dan's teenage obsession with soccer, his skill on the field and his loyal devotion to Mr. Baker. He knew, too, about how Dan had been targeted and manipulated, coerced and abused, and the resulting catastrophic breakdown. It was Gerry who interrupted the flow of the story to proudly explain about Milo's dogged devotion and determination to be there for Dan and how he'd supported him every day and in every possible way for the weeks and weeks it took for Dan to begin to recover. Hearing the praise being heaped on him by his dad, Milo looked uncomfortable and quickly diverted the focus away from himself and onto the Reed family's fight to right the evil and criminal wrong done to Dan by Baker. He explained, too, about the reluctance of the Greenside High School authorities to co-operate. And towards the end of this, sometimes tragic, often sad but always compelling story, Nico heard how Dan's unbelievably brave decision to make his experience public encouraged dozens of other boys who had endured the same treatment over the years to come forward and how this had resulted in Baker finally admitting his guilt and being sentenced to a very long term of imprisonment which was, he was very happy to hear, still years from being completed -- if it ever would be.
"And that," said Dan, finally feeling able to contribute again to the story, "That is why I decided never to have anything to do with soccer ever again -- not to watch it, not to play it, not even to read about it."
"So what made you change your mind today?" asked Nico, still unable to look away from Dan. "Why'd you join the pick-up game in the park?"
"Honestly?"
Nico nodded.
"'Cause of you."
"Huh?"
"Soccer's important to you, yeah?"
Nico nodded again, an unbidden smile flickering at the corners of his mouth.
"If it's important to you, and if we're gonna make this family thing work, then it's gotta be important to me, `cause you're important to me, and you need to know that. And I understand that I've not given you much of a reason to trust me or believe in me up to now, but that's gonna change, I promise, and joining the game today was a good way of demonstrating that to you. And besides," Dan added, "I enjoyed it and realised how much I'd missed it and how much I've hurt myself by turning my back on the game for all these years."
Nico knew this was the moment when he should say something significant, momentous even, something to meet Dan halfway on the path towards beginning to build a real relationship together. Dan had opened up to him, exposed a dark and painful period in his past, treated him with honesty and respect. He knew that this was a big moment which deserved an equally sincere and meaningful response. But he didn't say anything. He couldn't say anything. The tears that were flowing unstoppable down his face made speech impossible. Instead he allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and wrapped in the closest and most amazing four-way group hug. In that moment, for all of them, it felt as though the tide had turned.
That evening, as it turned out the last one for a while that Nico was to spend at his grandpa's house, Gerry was disappointed when the boy announced that he was going to spend the night in his own bed. Although no reason had been offered, Gerry reckoned that it had been a very emotional day and that the kid had a lot that he needed to process, so maybe it was no surprise that he needed some time alone with his thoughts. What he didn't know, and would have been surprised had he found out, was that Nico had already moved on from the drama of the soccer game and the revelations at the restaurant, and had shifted his focus back to the interrupted events of the morning.
Now that he'd been reminded of the pleasure to be had from taking things into his own hands, more specifically taking his dick and balls into his own hands, Nico lay on his back, the bedcovers thrown aside, his T pulled up to reveal his chest and tummy and his sleep shorts down around his ankles. He had been gently fondling and massaging his long-neglected boyhood for very nearly an hour, revelling in the familiar sensations that radiated out from between his legs, deliberately moving his hands away every time he felt things building towards a crescendo. He wanted this to last, to celebrate his return to normal teenage boy behaviour, to maximise the pleasure to be had from taking himself to the edge, and then pulling back just in time. He had a plentiful supply of pre-cum which he used to keep his dick well lubricated, at one point transferring the clear, sticky liquid from dick slit to butt hole, before quickly deciding that, no, sliding a finger up inside himself really wasn't his thing, at least, not for now.
Inevitably there came a point where his desire to delay the big finish for as long as possible was no match for the overwhelming need to let loose his load of teenage boycum. The hand that was wrapped around his dick went into overdrive while the one on ball duty encircled his sac, tugging it gently and pulling it away from his body. With his knees bent and his feet pressed flat to the mattress he pushed his midsection up towards the ceiling, pointing his dickhead skywards and groaning deeply as the first bullet of cum shot out and up, shaping a speed-of-sound arc that landed far behind his head. Bullet number two followed a similar path but fell short, straight into Nico's now noiseless but gasping open mouth. Numbers three and four landed on chest and tummy, with the final outpourings of this monumental barrage lacking the strength to do anything other than drool down over the still-clasping fingers, to come to rest in the tight tangle of wiry hair which absorbed the creamy liquid like a sponge.
That, the exhausted boy decided, was totally the cum of cums, the king of jerk-offs, the wank of wonders, the ....
Before he could complete the thought, his body had subsided back onto the bed and he was fast asleep, his unconscious mind floating on a sea of adolescent hormones and full of the images that have filled the sleeping minds of teenage boys for tens of thousands of years. Throughout the night his hand never left his dick which, as a result of the physical contact and the non-stop mental picture show, was never less than half chubbed. And in the morning his first conscious thought was to wonder how soon he could stage a repeat performance of the spectacular night before. Yes, he decided, this new chapter in the life of Domenico de Beer promised to be a whole lot of fun.
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