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.
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
PJ
D'n'M Part 3
From Chapter 13:
But what about M? Being aggressively face-fucked and then thrown out of your house by your own mother? Well, that was a whole different level of shit which he couldn't even begin to get his head round. This was one for the adults to sort out. For now, as M's best and closest friend, his priority had to be to find some way of making things better for him, if only in a small way.
Chapter 14:
Grace de Beer needed a drink. Perhaps two.
Only then, she thought, would she have the strength to see to the wretched boy, Zephan. What a disgrace he was. At least he wasn't from her side of the family. She made her slightly unsteady way out of the garage and into the kitchen. Kate was already there and, bless the girl, she was holding out a large glass of chilled sauvignon blanc. Perfect. She took the glass and swallowed at least half its contents. Yes, that felt better. Then she noticed that Kate was not alone. The boy sat on a stool at the far end of the breakfast bar. She was relieved to see that he had, at least, managed to cover his private parts. The memory of seeing him hard and ejaculating was still fresh in her memory. Just the thought made her turn cold. She took another large sip from the glass. He looked expectantly at her.
"Well? What have you got to say for yourself, you wretched boy?"
"It wasn't my idea. I'm no faggot. Like I said in there, he begged me to help him out. I was only doing it to be friendly and a good guest." Zephan's voice was full of bluster. He wasn't used to having to justify himself. He certainly wasn't used to having an unwanted audience when he shot a load. Fuck! That was way embarrassing.
"Why should I believe you? You were both in there, together, both doing the most obscene and filthy thing I have ever seen. Easy for you to try to pass the blame onto Milo. So I'll ask you again, why should I believe you?"
The truth was she did believe him, but it didn't do any harm to keep the boy dangling for a while longer. She believed him because what she had seen merely confirmed what Kate had been telling her for months about the disgusting things that went on in Milo's bedroom and, most likely, in Dan Reed's bedroom too. She had no idea how he repeatedly managed to get around the restrictions she put on his computer but, again according to Kate, he managed it every time so had unlimited opportunities for his squalid activities.
"Just go and look back in the garage. The evidence is there, sure enough." Zephan knew he was onto a winner now and the bluster turned to cockiness. "It's in there on the floor, all the proof you need that I'm telling you the truth and that your son is a filthy faggot." If he wasn't careful, if he didn't quit while he was ahead, there was a chance he'd go half a step too far and find that the spotlight had switched from the now absent Milo back onto himself. Not a good idea. He softened his tone. "I swear, aunt Grace, I'm not making it up - the proof is there."
She didn't disbelieve him, but there was no way that Grace de Beer was going to lower herself by going back into the garage to start grovelling around looking for evidence of her son's disgusting behaviour. She looked at Kate and indicated the door to the garage with a flick of her head. Kate raised her eyebrows but did as she'd been instructed. Less than a minute later she was back holding, at arm's length, Milo's treasured porno mag. The look on her face told its own story. She walked over to her mother and dropped the magazine, face up, on the counter top. Grace de Beer looked down to see a skinny, jock-strap clad teenage boy and a well-muscled semi-naked college athlete staring back up at her. She felt the wine she'd so recently swallowed trying to make its way back up to her mouth again.
In her increasingly rare moments of complete sobriety, Grace knew that her responsibility as a mother was to love and care for her children equally and that ultimately, parents carried a great deal of responsibility for how their kids turned out. That was when she was sober. The rest of the time, the fifty plus per cent of inebriated time, she viewed her husband and son through the bottom of a glass which presented her with the same narrow view -- that men, whether grown or growing, were a total disappointment.
When she'd first got together with Gerry she was convinced he was the one to travel with her on the journey to the best of everything -- the best jobs, the best holidays, the best cars, the best homes, the best position in society, the best children (if children there had to be). What a disastrous mistake that had turned out to be. Okay, so Gerry was successful in business, but not as successful as she knew he could be. Yes, they went on expensive holidays, but only to places that thousands of others went to. It was true that they lived in a comfortable home in a good area, but the house wasn't grand by any standards (i.e. her standards) and it definitely wasn't in the most exclusive area of town. Everyone said she held an admired place in the local community, but there were those who felt able to look down on her from a more lofty position.
And the reason for this `almost but not quite' state of affairs that left her so frustrated and permanently angry? That was an easy question to answer, it was all down to her husband's fundamental lack of ambition and his willingness to settle for less than the best. No real backbone her father would have said. Thankfully neither of her beloved parents had lived to see her growing disappointment and underlying lack of fulfilment.
Given how far Gerry had fallen below the level she had hoped for and expected when they had first married, it had come as no surprise to her when she realised, years ago, that Milo was set on the same path to mediocrity as his father. But mediocrity was one thing, this, this gay `thing' the boy had chosen was so far away from anything acceptable that it was completely beyond comprehension.
But there on the counter top, staring up at her, was the grubby evidence that confirmed everything that she had suspected, that Kate had told her, that Zephan had alleged. But oh no. No! No! No! She hadn't spent the best (more like the worst) part of twenty years building a respectable and widely-admired place in this not quite top class community, only to have it pushed into the mud thanks to the unspeakable behaviour of a worthless son who did ... who did ... THAT! No. The boy had proven himself unworthy to be a son of hers and she'd lose no sleep over the fact that he had gone, and to make doubly sure that she'd not lose sleep, she'd pour herself another glass of wine.
As she tipped the remainder of the bottle into her glass she heard an insistent knocking on the front door. She wasn't expecting anyone to call by. Again she gestured to Kate who, again reluctantly, left the room. From where she stood in the kitchen, carefully draining her glass, Grace heard voices (Zephan did too but his attention was focused on his smartphone so he took virtually no notice) but they were neither loud nor clear enough (and she wasn't sober enough) for her to be able to tell who Kate was talking to or what was being said. The who was revealed soon enough when Kate returned to the kitchen.
"Mum, it's ..." She didn't get a chance to finish before the sentence was completed by the unexpected visitor.
"It's Helen Reed. Hello Grace, I hope this isn't a bad time." As she entered the room Helen noticed the empty glass in Grace's hand and the unfamiliar teenager sitting at the breakfast bar glued to his phone. She assumed he was Milo's cousin. Well, she had no intention of wasting any time on him. She had things to say and do and she wanted them done as quickly and painlessly as possible.
Helen `high and mighty' Reed. Daniel's mother. She was last person Grace de Beer wanted to see.
"How nice to see you, Helen. This is a ... surprise. You know Kate of course but you won't have met Zephan before. Zephan is Milo and Kate's cousin." There was a definite slurring to her voice and everyone in the room was aware of it, except Grace herself.
"He's here for the three schools' sports tournament this weekend," chipped in Kate. She didn't know exactly why Dan's mum had turned up out of the blue but she guessed it had to have something to do with Milo. And given the state her mum had descended into since Swimboy had been thrown out, there was a good chance that things could become very unpleasant indeed unless she stepped in to shield her mum from whatever attack Dan's mother had planned.
"Thank you Kate, for telling me something I already knew." This very obvious put-down was said with disdain in her voice and a dismissive look towards Zephan. "Yes, I've heard a lot about your cousin, and none of it has been pleasant."
Suddenly, realising he was being spoken about, and not in complimentary terms, Zephan dragged his attention away from his phone and stood up. "You don't want to believe everything that faggot has told you." Big mistake. Helen Reed's attention was now fully focused on him.
"Don't you dare use language like that to describe Milo or anyone else." She took a step towards the youth and he had the good sense to sit back down. "Not only is it abusive, homophobic and completely abhorrent, it is also a crime. It's called hate speech and, added to what else you've done today, it could land you in more trouble than you could possibly imagine. Now stay sitting down and don't speak again."
Zephan was stunned into silence while Kate watched this exchange with growing alarm. Things were quickly getting out of hand and she was out of her depth.
"Helen, I don't think ... "
"I'm Mrs. Reed to you Kate and I think you should stay quiet too. You've hardly been the big sister that Milo needed or deserved."
Kate's mouth snapped shut. Grace watched this onslaught on her family with mounting anger. This dismissal of Kate, the one person she could rely on, was completely unacceptable. And in her home, too. Who did Helen Reed think she was? She had to struggle to keep her speech coherent.
"Who do you think you are, c ... coming in here and making acc ... accu ... accusations? You need to g ... go." Why were words sometimes so determined to be difficult?
"Grace, I came here because I knew you'd be worried about Milo and wanted to let you know that he's safe at home with us and that he'll be staying the night."
"The night? He c ... can stay with his pre ... precious Reeds forever for all I care. There's no place for a fa ... " Grace saw the warning on Helen's face just in time. "homo ... s ... sexual in this house. You're welcome to him, you and that son of yours. He's probably the reason Milo's turned out the way he has. Two g ... gay boys together." Damn! The glass was empty again. How did that happen? Where was the bottle? Grace slumped down onto the nearest stool.
Helen struggled to make sense of what she was seeing and hearing. How could a mother, any mother, slap their child with such force that they fall and cut their head open, throw them out of their home and then say such mean and hurtful things about them? This was all so vindictive and cruel and she couldn't believe that this was the Grace de Beer she'd been friends with for more than a decade. She knew about Grace and the drinking but things had obviously become much, much worse than she had imagined. Appealing to her better nature clearly wasn't an option. At least, not here, not now.
"I refuse to believe that you truly mean any of the horrible things you've said and done today, Grace." Helen took care to stay calm and reasonable -- it wasn't easy, not when what she really wanted to do was let loose with both barrels. "If I did I'd be on the phone to social services right now. Instead I'm going to collect some things for Milo and then I'll go." She turned to Kate. "Show me up to your brother's room, Kate, and then take care of your mum." Kate nodded and stayed silent. "And you," Zephan was, once again, the focus of Helen Reed's attention, "you'll make sure to stay away from Milo for the rest of your visit, or there will be consequences that you won't enjoy. Is that quite clear?" Zephan also nodded, also mutely.
Helen was seething when she finally got M's stuff into her car and she didn't trust herself to drive straight home. She needed some decontamination time. She couldn't understand, two decades into the twenty first century, how such closed-minded and ignorant homophobic actions and attitudes could still exist. And Grace certainly wasn't ignorant and she wasn't uninformed. This was an age of legal acceptance of same-sex relationships and marriage equality. It was a time of enlightenment and pride after hundreds of years of bigotry and repression. At least, that's what she'd always thought. Now she started to wonder if she'd been deluding herself and looking at the world through rose-tinted spectacles. And Milo was such a lovely boy. How could anyone, least of all his own mother, harbour such venom and hatred. It really did beggar belief.
Once she'd calmed down enough to trust herself to turn the car towards home, her thoughts turned to a vision of a long soak in a hot bath to ease the tension she felt throughout her body, accompanied by a glass of one of Roger's vintage malt whiskies to relax her mind. That would be the perfect way to end such a strange and stressful day.
Roger was there on the doorstep to greet her. He must have been listening out for the car. As they unloaded the things of Milo's that Helen had liberated from the de Beer house they briefly filled each other in on what had happened in the last hour. Helen gave a brief and highly edited version of her visit to Grace, promising to provide a more detailed version once she'd turned her recent vision of watery relaxation into a reality. Roger explained that he'd only managed to leave a message for Gerry de Beer on his phone and that Dan had taken some re-heated lasagne up to his room shortly after Helen had driven off and hadn't reappeared since.
On her way to her bathroom, whisky glass in hand, Helen paused to listen at Dan's bedroom door. When she decided that all was quiet in the room she carefully opened the door and peeked in. In the light thrown by the bedside lamp she saw D and M curled up in bed, in exactly the same position -- spooned together - that she'd seen them in countless times since M had first started sleeping over aged six. Some things never change. Thank the Lord. She quietly closed the door and continued on to her appointment with a hot bath.
Dan had been asleep, but only very lightly so even though the closing door made almost no sound, it was enough to bring him back to consciousness. He knew it must have been a parent - he guessed his mum - checking on them. There was something warmly reassuring in the knowledge that, even though he was fifteen years old and getting on for six feet tall, one or other parent regularly looked in on him at night. He felt very comforted by the fact, almost as comforted as he invariably felt when he was able to snuggle up to M and feel his friend's gentle, but not altogether silent, breathing as he slept. This night was no exception, in fact it was made all the more poignant because of what poor M had endured earlier in the day.
Yes, poor Milo. He so didn't deserve the shit that had been thrown at him by his cousin but, more especially, by his mum. What sort of twisted fuck up was that? He hoped his own mum had really torn into them. She could definitely be pretty scary when she chose to be. No, scrub that, she could be downright terrifying. He hoped she had been, especially with M's mum. He had no reference point for charting the total collapse of the relationship between a mother and her son in the way M had described to him. Definitely twisted. Definitely fucked up. How was it fair, that was D's mental stumbling block, how was it fair that someone as great, as special as M could be abused by his cousin and then assaulted and thrown out by his mum? He could barely begin to imagine what a total fuck-up M's day had been. Well, maybe here was something he could do about that.
Milo wasn't sure if he was more asleep or awake. It seemed to him that he wasn't one hundred percent of either. He decided he was probably more asleep than awake because the feelings that seemed to be radiating from between his legs were ones he associated with his regular jerk-off dreams -- the tingly warmth, the gentle pressure, the insistent pulsing. He was really getting into it and, in the general comfort of the dream, he was beginning to worry that things might get out of hand (or out of balls) and result in a sticky mess! Drowsily alarmed at that prospect he moved a hand down to his dick and was shocked into pretty much total wakefulness on discovering that there was already one there -- hand, that is -- and it wasn't his. What?!!
Over the course of the next few seconds a whole series of thoughts, questions and realisations chased each other across his mind: This wasn't his bed; where was he? That was D's bedside lamp. He must be in D's bed. Nothing unusual there. Whose body was spooning his? It must be D's. That's okay then. Why were there two hands on his dick? One was certainly his own. And the other one?. It could only be ...
"D?"
"Sshhh!"
"What are you doing?"
"What does it feel like I'm doing?"
"It feels like you're jerking me off."
"Full marks, Einstein!"
"But why?"
"Why not?"
"Well, you're not ... "
"Gay? Maybe not, but I know how good it is to jerk-off and I've heard it's even better when someone else does it for you."
"I won't argue with that. But ... "
"You've had a fuck of a day and I thought I'd be nice for it to end in a good way. That okay with you?"
"Okay."
"Right. So shut the fuck up and let me do this for you."
"Be my guest."
"I said, shut up."
"K."
"I won't tell you again."
Milo finally closed his mouth. He took his hand away from his dick but the warm, tingly, pulsating feelings continued. Both halves of his mind relaxed into this comfortingly familiar, yet also deeply unfamiliar, jerk-off. His prostate performed its usual magic, producing large quantities of pre-cum, ensuring that the well-practised up and down action was smooth and almost frictionless, except where it counted. The pressure he felt around his shaft and over his dick-head was close to perfection and the knowledge that it was D's hand at work on his dick took Milo to new levels of pleasure which flooded through his body from hairline to toe nails.
If someone had offered him this moment on condition that he had to accept everything else about this armpit of a day he would have had the two halves of his mind fighting each other over the outcome and, to be honest, he really couldn't say which half would have come out on top. Of course, he had long ago given up fantasising about having any sort of meaningful sexual contact with D (those post work-out jerk-offs didn't really count as sex), partly because he knew and accepted that D was straight, but mostly because he found it frustrating and upsetting in equal measures, so he refused to upset himself by thinking about it. And there was no way he'd ever push the boundaries or take a chance that D might be up for some serious action, the friendship between them was way too valuable and the consequences of mucking up were way too great. No, he would never overstep the boundaries, never. But this, this was like the answer to a prayer (not that he did that any more, not since it hadn't made things with his mum any better) and he was way more than happy to go with the moment and enjoy it for the one-off gift that D was offering.
Talking of offering, his balls were just about to make an offering of their own. He'd better warn D otherwise there was gonna be a sticky mess all over his bed sheet.
"Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Aaaah!" Too late! But oh, so worth it. His balls continued to tingle and his dick-head still throbbed. "Oh, sorry D, I've made a mess of the bed. You'll have to launder tomorrow. I really am sorry ... but it was great. I owe you."
"Nah, don't sweat it M, I caught most of it in my hand. It's stickier than mine. How strange is that?"
Dan turned over and reached under the bed for his trusty Mickey Mouse cum rag (yes, the very same) and wiped his sticky hand. Milo could hardly believe it, not only had D jerked him off so awesomely but he'd taken his whole load in his hand and calmly wiped it off. Yes, this truly was a priceless friendship and he could hardly believe that he was one half of it.
"I love you, D.".
"I love you too, M. Now go back to sleep."
Thanks to all those who have taken the time and trouble to write to tell me how they feel about this story. As ever I am very grateful for all feedback and promise to respond.
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