Part 3 of the story of D'n'M, just like Parts 1 and 2, includes sex between teenage boys, some of it non-consensual. As before, it is the characters themselves and how they react to events that are key to whatever success the story achieves.
Welcome to new readers. In order to properly understand why and how Dan and Milo have got to where they are at the start of Part 3, I strongly recommend you read Parts 1 and 2.
All the characters and events in the 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
This story of D'n'M, past, present and future, is dedicated to Clint and his `Milo'. They know who they are.
PJ
D'n'M Part 3
From Chapter 2:
"Welcome back to adolescence my friend. Next thing you know you'll be getting zits! But hey, tell me more about the jerking-off. I'm surprised you can still remember how to do it."
"Well I can," and here the voice volume dropped again and became more hesitant. "Sometime, maybe, you can fill me in on any new, er, techniques you've learnt from all those hundreds of hours you spend watching on-line porn?" As he said this a quiet smile appeared on Dan's face.
In response, a huge smile spread across Milo's face. "Any time, D, any time. The Master Masturbator will be only too happy to continue your jerk-off education."
Suddenly the sky was all silver lining and the clouds had disappeared.
Chapter 3:
Adeline Boyeda knew teenagers inside out. She should do, after all, she'd been teaching them in the classroom and coaching them in the pool for more than twenty years. She knew their potentials and their strengths; she also knew their weaknesses and their failings. And don't get her started on their tricks and their foolishness. She was good at her job and had enjoyed many coaching successes over the years, at both regional and national level. Tom Reed, for example. His combination of natural talent, her expert coaching, his perfect basic physique and many hours of hard work in the pool and gym had combined to produce a very fine high school athlete. And now, according to his occasional emails, he was knocking on the door of the national squad. She was, of course, delighted for him but she also felt justified in taking a fair share of the credit for his progress and success. When it had come out that his kid brother had been one of Dave Roberts' victims she could only guess at just how hard that must have been for the whole family, especially Helen and Roger who she had got to know well over the years.
Ms. Boyeda, aka Ballbreaker Boyeda (but only behind her back and well out of her hearing), had initially been disbelieving when news of Roberts' arrest had been made public. She'd known and worked alongside the man for years, there was no way he was capable of such awful crimes. There must, she convinced herself, be some sort of dreadful mistake. But then, as more and more current and former students came forward to confirm the allegations, her disbelief turned to disgust. The shocking revelation of the existence of hundreds of pornographic photos of naked young boys added new layers of horror. She was appalled that a trusted colleague, a fellow coach, could commit the foul and disgusting acts he had been accused of. She was also only too aware of the very real danger that all the coaches at the school would be tarred with the same brush or, at the very least, suspected of covering up the horrific truth. In her darker hours of reflection she had seriously considered walking away from the school, her job and the students. But she wasn't a quitter, never had been and, luck and good health permitting, she never would be.
If pressed, she would also readily admit that her resolve to stay in post was strongly influenced by the make-up of her current squad of talented swimmers. The boys, she increasingly believed, had the potential to sweep all competition before them and hand her the most successful season of her long and distinguished career, and that was definitely something worth sticking around for.
In her view, Milo de Beer was a particularly good example of the strength in depth amongst her boys' as she liked to think of them (not that she'd ever admit to anything like affection for her team members - her reputation as hard but fair' had been painstakingly constructed). He had all the attributes needed for success in the pool being long-limbed, hard-working and competitive. He may not have the innate talent of someone like Tom Reed but he more than compensated for that deficiency in work-rate and drive. When she'd found out that Milo was best friends with Dan Reed and was devoting himself to supporting his friend through the horrors of the abuse scandal she had admired his loyalty and the strength of their friendship but feared the worst in terms of how this might impact on her team and its potential for success. And yes, there had been several months when Milo had more or less disappeared from swimming and she, unusually short-sighted coach that she turned out to be, had pretty much written him off as a potential champion. As she said at the time, he was never in the pool or the school gym, made no effort to keep in contact with the rest of the squad and showed zero interest in the sport. But to be fair to the boy, once Roberts had been sent away, basically for the rest of his life, and everything began to return to something like normal for everyone involved, Milo had set-to, knuckled-down and given 100%, with the aim of winning back his place on the team.
When he returned to training it quickly became clear that she had underestimated the boy and that he hadn't been completely inactive during his months away, in fact he had kept himself in pretty good shape. He had definitely gained muscle and maintained good tone and definition, and he had experienced a significant growth spurt and gained some height, a couple of inches at least. He had also become a victim of one of the inevitable, and, in her opinion, always annoying, side-effects of puberty -- body hair! Admittedly it wasn't much, just a light dusting on his lower legs, some growth under the arms and a few soft wisps down from his tummy button. Standard teenage stuff. She knew, of course, that the appearance of hair on the body was a significant and important marker on the journey from child to adult and that, for many boys, it was something to be proud of and a useful weapon in the adolescent one-upmanship stakes -- an `I've got more hair than you have so I'm more of a man' sort of thing. It was something that bestowed important bragging rights and provided a clear indicator of where each boy stood in the pecking order.
However, as every swimming coach knew, anything that interfered with the body's aquadynamic performance could add hundredths of seconds to a swimmer's time and, in swimming, hundredths of seconds could mean the difference between a podium finish and not placing at all. Which was why, at the end of the second training session of the day and with only a week to go before the regional tri-sport tournament, she had made it crystal clear to all her swimmers that, pretty much on pain of death (or, at the very least, temporary suspension from the squad) no-one was to turn up to tomorrow's session with any visible hair except on their head, and not much of that either. She hoped and expected that that was clearly understood by everyone. No exceptions. None.
And that was why, at the precise moment that Ms. Boyeda was sitting in her office trying to give some shape to her final team selection for the forthcoming tournament, Milo de Beer and Duncan O'Dowd (known to his friends and team-mates as Dods, ever since the day he had realised, as a sexually-awakening eleven year old, that his usual diminutive of Dunc rhymed, disastrously, with spunk) were in Duncan's bedroom, modestly turned away from each other, self-consciously stripping down to their still damp Speedos.
"This is stupid, M," Dods exclaimed, turning to look over his shoulder. "We see each other virtually every day getting undressed in the locker room and naked in the shower, why are we being so shy now?"
"Search me," replied Milo (who didn't stop to think just how little effort that would take under the current circumstances), who had been thinking much the same thing. "Maybe it's because we've never been alone together in your bedroom taking our clothes off before."
"True that. And you've never before been about to let me get up close and personal to you armed with a razor. But trust me, I've done this with other guys on the team loads of times. Your baby soft skin is safe in my hands." Dods grinned.
Milo wasn't sure how convinced he should be by this reassurance. On the upside it was good that, being a senior member of the team, Dods had done this shaving thing before. But that also had the potential to be a major downer -- what if he didn't compare well with all the other guys the older boy had, in his own words, been up close and personal with? Getting shaved for the first time was a big deal and he didn't want to show himself up or make a fool of himself. He smiled back but his was nowhere near as convincing as Dods'.
"Don't sweat it man. It really is a piece of piss. All you have to do is stand completely still while I scrape a length of sharpened metal scarily close to your teenage pride and joy. What could possibly be wrong with that?" Dods' grin became ever more maniacal. He was having fun and enjoying this gentle teasing. "Follow me into the bathroom big boy."
As Milo did as he was instructed he was relieved to see that Dods had an over-bath shower. That meant, with any luck, that both boys wouldn't have to crowd together into a very small space like they might have had to do in a cubicle shower. Milo really didn't trust his dick to stay well behaved throughout his first ever mutual shaving encounter, and being able to have some distance, however small, between himself and Dods had to be a good thing. The bottom line was, he was young, perpetually horny, gay and in the closet so it was hard enough (no pun intended) to stay limp when surrounded by dozens of toned, fit and naked guys in the relative anonymity of the locker room, how much harder (maybe more intentional this time) was it gonna be when it was just him, Dods and permission to touch?
Dods interrupted his thoughts with a very surprising question. "So you're a virgin?"
"Huh?" The startled look on Milo's face spoke volumes of shock, disbelief and confusion.
"A shaving virgin!" Dods' laugh echoed around the tiled bathroom.
"What? Oh, yeah. Well, it's never been an issue up to now. Ms. Boyeda hasn't expected it before and, to be honest, it's only recently I've had enough hair for it to be on the agenda. And even now I haven't got much."
"Yeah, it sucks. No sooner do you get enough of the stuff to go up a few levels in the macho stakes, being able to show it off and all, than you're ordered to shave it off. Same thing happened to me a couple of years back. I was gutted cos I was late getting any - even round my dick. But you get used to it and it sorta becomes automatic."
This was much more personal information than Milo could ever have expected from a senior member of the team, but then, Dods was known to be a pretty open and friendly sort of guy so maybe he shouldn't have been so surprised. And thinking about it, ever since Milo broke into the team, Dods had always seemed genuine and approachable. In fact, and why had this never occurred to him before, the whole squad was pretty relaxed and friendly. It got him thinking.
"So, how do you wanna do this?" Dods asked, continuing on before Milo had time to reply. "As it's your first time I think I ought to do you first so you get to see how it's done. That okay with you?"
Milo nodded as Dods turned on the shower.
"Okay. The first rule is, never do it dry. The hair gets caught on the blade and it can be really uncomfortable and," he paused to emphasised the point, "it leaves your skin red and sore. Not a good look. So, once the water is warm enough, you get into the tub and get yourself wet while I fetch the razor and stuff."
Milo put his hand into the water stream and decided it was warm enough to step into. No sooner was he under the flow than Dods was back with the shaving gel and razor.
"That's good. Now put one foot up on the edge of the tub so I can see what we're dealing with."
Milo did as he was told and, over the next ten minutes, he watched carefully as Dods proceeded to expertly remove the short but clearly visible light brown hairs on Milo's lower legs, all the while maintaining a running commentary, explaining exactly what he was doing. Milo suspected that the talking was to reassure him and put him at ease which, in many ways, was exactly what it did. But for Milo the novelty of having another guy repeatedly stroking parts of his body (even if it was only his legs) was a deeply sensual experience and one that another part of his body responded to in an embarrassingly predictable way. Milo's hands instinctively moved to cover his chubbing dick. The movement caught Dods' eye. He raised his head and was confronted by the cause of Milo's discomfort. A wide grin spread across his face.
"Sorry M, my bad. I forgot to mention -- everyone bones up. It's just what happens. It doesn't bother me. I've seen it dozens of times before. Don't sweat it." Milo reluctantly moved his hands back to his sides.
"Right, that's your legs done. What's next? Pits and then treasure trail?"
"Erm, yes. Okay. You're the expert."
Treasure trail? He knew exactly what the term meant, he'd seen it on Nifty often enough, but he'd never come across it anywhere else or heard anyone else use it. He wondered if it was a common term, known to everybody, or could it be that Dods, too, had learnt it from Nifty? And if he had, could that mean that he was ...? This intriguing line of thought was interrupted by the order to put his hands on his head, immediately followed by Dods' assault on his underarms with a squirt of the cold shaving gel. Milo flinched.
"Keep those hands on your head and don't be such a wuss." Once again Dods was grinning so Milo knew the older boy wasn't really annoyed with him. As Dods began to drag the razor across the delicate skin of his under arms, Milo felt a wave of regret, almost of sadness, sweep through him. He hadn't been the proud owner of a nest of armpit hair, however sparse, for very long, and here he was, metaphorically speaking, waving it goodbye. Another sacrifice for the team. It made him even more determined to make sure he wasn't stuck on the bench throughout the upcoming tournament.
"Okay, legs and pits done. I hope you're paying attention so you'll remember what to do when it's your turn to do me. I don't want to be chopped to shreds, you know."
Milo was getting used to Dods' teasing sense of humour and he simply grinned back and nodded his head. Meanwhile half his mind (you know which half) was thoroughly enjoying itself, picturing the scene to come as Milo set about the task of shaving Dods, and inventing a whole range of exciting scenarios which all climaxed with, yes, you've guessed it, a double climax! Again, Milo's train of thought was broken by a sudden and unexpected sensation, not cold shaving gel on his underarms this time but a warm hand stroking up and down his tummy.
"Hmm. Not much there, but we'd better get rid of it. When The Ballbreaker says everything off, she means everything off!"
Surprise, surprise -- the combination of his daydream about double climaxes and the sensation of Dods' gentle stroking had transformed his dick from moderately chubbed to full on boner, and thanks to the tight Speedos it had nowhere to go but diagonally up towards his hip. Yes, it was uncomfortable, but more importantly it was totally off the embarrassment scale. What would Dods think of him now?
"Oh man, you really have boned up. I told you it happens, every time, without fail."
Milo turned scarlet. He had never felt so self-conscious. Had he been alone at home, he would immediately have released his rock-hard dick from its confinement. That, of course, was not an option now. Crap!
"When it happens the best cure I know for UBS is ..."
"UBS?"
"Unwanted Boner Syndrome is ..." And with that, Dods reached across to the shower controls and adjusted the temperature dial. Milo was instantly deluged by a blast of very cold water. Within seconds he was shivering, goose-bumped and, thank crap, limp. Hooray for finger-tip temperature control.
Dods glanced at Milo's Speedos as he turned off the flow of water. "Sorry about that, dude, but I knew that'd get things back under control. Let's get that treasure trail shaved off before your dick wakes up again. Okay?"
Milo could only shiver and nod his assent. He couldn't wait for this whole cringe-making process to be over. He'd be surprised if Dods ever spoke to him again after today.
Dods squirted more of the shaving gel onto his hand and then began to apply it to Milo's mid-section. His touch was very gentle as he spread the gel over and around, from tummy button to the waist band of Milo's Speedos.
"Great abs, dude. You'll have a proper six pack before you know it. You must spend a lot of time in the gym." Before Milo could respond Dods' next move was definitely a surprise -- he adjusted the front of Milo's Speedo downwards. Milo's first, horrified, thought was that he was intending to pull the swim suit off completely. His face must have registered the mixture of shock and panic he was feeling.
"Don't worry, dude. I need to get right down to where your pubes start. But I won't go any further, I promise. Unless you want me to of course." There was that teasing tone of voice again, accompanied by the inevitable grin.
"It's cool," muttered Milo, looking away and over Dods' head, although in reality, he felt it was anything but cool.
The feel of the razor being scraped across his lower torso was one of the most sensual experiences of Milo's fifteen years. It was like being repeatedly stroked by a set of manicured finger nails. Needless to say one half of his mind immediately set off into teenage boy fantasy heaven and the first thing to join it on its journey was Milo's dick. Within seconds it was rock hard again and desperately straining inside the even more limited space available for expansion, the waist band of the swimsuit having been pulled down. The other half of his mind hurriedly went into `cool it and calm down' mode, desperately trying to take the heat out of the situation. But it was hopeless, Milo's boner was not open to persuasion. Relief, when it put in an appearance, came from a completely unexpected direction.
Dods said, "M, my friend, we need to do something about that boner!"
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